Captive of the Desert King Page 14

With a gentleness he’d never thought himself capable of, he placed her in the middle of the bed.

  She rose up on one elbow, her eyes heavy with desire as she watched him shed his pants.

  Sarah took in the lean muscle that roped through his frame. The firm thighs, the smooth, sculpted chest.

  But it was the longing in the dark eyes that had her lifting her arms.

  A moment later, he pressed her into the mattress, imprinting his body against hers. Just as she had done a few minutes before.

  He dug deep for the tenderness he had not used for a long time—a tenderness she needed to feel, as much as he needed to give.

  As if reading his thoughts, Sarah parted her legs, settling him against the warm, wet apex between.

  A low groan erupted from deep within Jarek’s chest. The underlying pitch filled with so much emotion that it threatened to crack his heart wide open.

  Sarah tugged his hair, pulling his mouth down until it hovered over hers. “I’ll make it better, Jarek,” she whispered. “I promise.”

  He kissed her slow at first, letting the hunger build until their mouths moved together. Wild. Erotic.

  Jarek’s hand slipped down between them to the soft triangle between her legs. He cupped the heat, then used his thumb, moving it in gentle, tender circles until she rocked restlessly against him, wanting more.

  She curved her hands over his back, kneading the tense muscles, caressing the quivering, sweaty skin until desire pinched at the base of his spine and every nerve in his body screamed for release.

  Underneath, she drew up taut, trembling against him. Her breath came in quick gasps as she fought against the tidal wave that threatened to sweep them over a precipice of control.

  “Jarek,” she whispered, her eyes fluttered before they locked with his. “I can’t. Please.”

  He drove into her with one, long thrust. Then watched the green in her eyes lose focus with pleasure.

  They moved together, the tenderness he’d been afraid to reach for there in every smooth, silky stroke.

  For the last time the balance of power shifted, away from both of them.

  But neither cared. The freedom far outweighed the risk. They careened toward the edge, exploding over the precipice, out of control. Each held on to the other as they plunged into the peaceful abyss beyond…where only the two of them existed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jarek rose from the bed, careful not to wake Sarah. What he’d done was stupid. He added unnecessary risk to her life.

  He could not love her, could not risk her. Could not trust her.

  Yet he’d bedded her.

  If ever a time he deserved to be whipped, it would be now, he thought with self-deprecation.

  He’d spent four hours the night before looking for answers, consoling a devastated family.

  Coming up short on both accounts.

  He walked past the dresser, only to stop when his gaze fell on her recorder. Without thought, he picked it up and hit the play button.

  “Your parents were killed in a car accident, weren’t they? Right before Rashid was born.”

  “A personal question?”

  “A personal interest. One I promise to keep off the record.”

  Jarek pressed the stop button. Then the fast forward.

  Finally, he hit play.

  “There isn’t a day I don’t think about them.”

  THE SUN PEAKED through the bedroom curtains, waking Sarah. Automatically, her hand stretched to the pillow beside her. Finding it empty, she sat up and looked around.

  “What is this?” Jarek sat in the Queen Anne chair, fully dressed in his clothes from the night before. In his hand, he held her recorder.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Slowly, she sat up, tugging the comforter above her breasts and brushed her hair behind her shoulder. If she was going to take this punch, she’d lead with her pride. “You know it’s my recorder.”

  “I found it on your dresser.”

  “You searched my room? After I fell asleep? After we made—”

  “Yes.” He tossed the recorder into her lap.

  “You decided to listen to my notes.” She picked up the recorder and offered it back to him. “Feel free, I have nothing to hide.”

  “Turn it on.”

  “Why?”

  “Do it!” he snapped.

  Crestfallen, she hit the switch.

  “A personal question?”

  “A personal interest. One I promise to keep off the record.”

  Slowly, Sarah shut the words off. “You think I broke my word.”

  “Lies.” He thrust his fingers through his hair. “I’m tired of them.”

  So much for the pledges of undying love.

  “I didn’t record our conversation.” Sarah tossed the recorder to the end of the bed.

  “I trusted you, damn it.”

  “You never trusted me. You just slept with me. A person can do that without trust easily enough,” Sarah argued dully.

  A hiss of anger shot across the room. Jarek took a step forward, his hands fisted.

  She gathered the sheet, using the thin material for a veil of protection.

  Bitterness edged her laugh, ate at her gut. “You realize when I finally hear what’s in your heart, it’s nothing but accusations of betrayal.”

  “Enough.” Jarek grabbed her chin until her eyes met his. “I want to know who you’re helping.”

  “No one,” Sarah whispered, this time the tear ran un-checked down her cheek. “Not even myself.”

  “What the hell are you thinking, arresting my reporter?”

  Jarek wasn’t surprised those would be the first words out of President Jon Mercer’s mouth.

  “I’m thinking that I have lost four good men. Two who died under suspicious circumstances.”

  “And you believe Sarah is involved?”

  “Yes.” Jarek’s hand gripped the phone harder. “And until I have answers, she stays under guard.”

  “What evidence do you have, Jarek?”

  “You mean in addition to the tracking bug I found in her purse after the crash?”

  “Circumstantial. Anyone could have planted that on her.”

  “I found her recorder in her bedroom with taped conversations. Private conversations that should not have been in her possession.”

  “You’re out of your mind. Sarah wouldn’t break our agreement—” A string of cuss words cut off his sentence. “What were you doing in her bedroom?”

  After years of jungle and political warfare, Jon Mercer was no fool. And Jarek knew it.

  “You slept with her, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Jarek confirmed, the word dug in like barbed wire against his throat.

  “And then imprisoned her?”

  “I confined her to her room,” Jarek responded. He was well within his right. “And before you go there, I didn’t sleep with her as some ruse to get information. I didn’t discover the recorder until afterward.”

  President Mercer let out a long whistle. “So you tried and convicted her without getting the facts.”

  “She wouldn’t say anything after I showed her the recordings.” Pain sliced deep—deeper than any of the scars that crisscrossed his back.

  The fact that he’d allowed himself to care, allowed himself to believe, if only a small bit, scared the hell out of him. And drove him to this one last option.

  Mercer continued, unaware of Jarek’s struggle for emotional distance. “I cannot believe you think Sarah is behind this.”

  “I don’t,” Jarek admitted.

  There was a long pause. “I’m not following you, son.”

  “Look, Jon. Someone is trying really hard to make me believe Sarah is involved. I need to find out who that might be and protect her at the same time.”

  “So you accused her of treason and locked her up.”

  It wasn’t a question but Jarek chose to answer anyway. “In her suite. It’s not like I threw her in jail, damn it,” Jarek argued,
refusing to second guess his decision. “If I tried to reason with her, she’d make herself a bigger target. This way she’s distracted with her anger for me.”

  “You’re in love with the girl, aren’t you?”

  Jarek ground the answer between his jaw. He would only admit the truth to himself. Making it public wasn’t an option.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “I’m glad you find this situation humorous,” Jarek bit out, not bothering to contain his impatience.

  “Jarek, you’re either the bravest son of a bitch I know, or the stupidest,” Jon Mercer observed after he got his laughing under control.

  “Neither.” The word was clipped, his royal breeding re-asserting itself. “I am a king who must protect his own. Once I resolve this, she can go home. If she goes home hating me, all the better.”

  “I don’t have to tell you that if this isn’t resolved soon, our agreement is going to be in jeopardy, son,” Jon pointed out, his voice suddenly serious.

  “I would expect no less.”

  “Good. Then you’ll understand why I’m sending Cain MacAlister to Taer to help straighten this mess out. He’s already on his way,” Jon added. “You have twenty-four hours.”

  Cain MacAlister was the Director of Labyrinth—an American black-ops agency—Quamar’s old boss and one of Jon Mercer’s most trusted friends.

  “Twenty-four hours for what?”

  “To think up an apology.”

  “I won’t need that long,” Jarek admitted. “You will have my official apology as soon as I get to the bottom of this.”

  “Me?” Jon snorted. “You’ll need every second of that twenty-four hours to apologize to Sarah. And even then, if I know Sarah, it won’t be enough.”

  HER PRISON WAS LITTLE MORE than her bedroom, but it might as well have been the prison cell Jarek had described in the palace basements.

  Sarah choked back the anger. She’d been so stupid to trust someone who was incapable of feeling.

  Keys rattled, then the door opened slowly. Ivan stepped back and allowed Nashemia past with a food tray in one hand and a set of white towels in the other.

  The young guard refused to make eye contact when he shut the door.

  Sarah wasn’t angry, understanding Ivan’s loyalty was to his king.

  “I’m not really hungry, Nashemia.”

  “You must eat to keep up your strength.” The woman glanced back at the door, her features tight with nervousness.

  She placed the tray on the coffee table and stepped closer to Sarah. “I do not believe you are the spy, mistress,” she whispered.

  “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

  “I’ve taken upon myself to arrange for your escape.”

  “My what?”

  “Escape. I’ve heard that the king refuses to extradite you back to your home. That means you will stand trial here for treason.”

  “What’s the penalty for treason?”

  “Death, by firing squad.”

  “I don’t believe—” Sarah stopped and shook her head. Did Jarek hate her that much?

  “I’ve arranged for your escape tonight. I usually bring Ivan a snack and some coffee at midnight. Be ready, then.” She reached between the towels and handed Sarah a white servant’s dress and scarf to cover her face.

  “No, Nashemia, I don’t want you to risk—”

  “I risk nothing. I must go now.” Nashemia grabbed her hand. “Be ready. I will make sure you get to the airport, then home. You can prove your innocence much easier from America.”

  Before Sarah could say anything, Nashemia was back through the door.

  Sarah sat on the bed, gripping the servant’s uniform in her fingers, her heart little more than a cold lump in her chest.

  Suddenly, she realized there were many forms of death.

  THE BUZZER ON JAREK’S DESK was insistent. He hit the button on the intercom. “What is it, Trizal?”

  “Your Majesty, Dr. Haddad is here to see you,” the secretary answered. “She says it is urgent.”

  “All right, I’ll see her.”

  Sandra walked in, her khakis and blouse now replaced with doctor’s surgical scrubs and a white lab coat. “I just finished Bash’s autopsy, Jarek.”

  “And?”

  “Bash died from potassium chloride. A poison that attacks the heart muscle and caused Bash to go into cardiac arrest. His death had nothing to do with his burn injuries.”

  “He was murdered.”

  “Yes.”

  “How long was the poison in his system?”

  “Quite a while. Five, maybe six hours. It had been added to his drip, so the poison took time working.”

  Jarek frowned.

  “Whoever entered his room, knew what they were doing,” she said.

  “Any ideas who?”

  “Sarah Kwong.”

  “Are you sure?” Jarek leaned back in his chair. “She had told me that she’d seen him twice yesterday, but I don’t think—”

  “Three times,” Sandra corrected. “The last time places her in his room around the same time he’d been given the poison.”

  “How would she have access to enough poison to kill Bash?”

  “I don’t know,” Sandra admitted. “But I do know that she visited Bash just before the Independence Day Ball. I believe that was why she was late.”

  RASHID’S STOMACH felt funny and tight, like a twisted ball of twine he couldn’t unravel. He slid out of his bed and knelt on the floor. He slipped his hand under the bed and pulled a picture that he had taped to the bottom.

  He stared at the woman who was smiling in the picture.

  His mother, Saree.

  The ball tightened. No matter how hard he tried he could not remember her. Or the love he’d felt for her as a baby.

  Her long, black hair was thick and straight. Her eyes sparkled and crinkled at the corners when she smiled. The sparkle was something he never found in father’s eyes.

  Rashid wanted his father to be proud of him, but mostly he just wanted his father.

  Sarah loved him. He was sure. He could tell by the way she hugged him. It was like Aunt Anna’s hugs, but warmer, more special.

  Plus, she listened to him. That always proved adults loved you.

  Sometimes it scared Rashid, because his father never did. But Sarah had changed him that way. It seemed that his father noticed Rashid more, not just when he got into trouble.

  With a sigh, he put the picture back in place. He didn’t want the maids to find it when they made his bed in the morning. If his father discovered the picture, he would take it.

  He didn’t really miss his mother, but he was sad over her death. Maybe Sarah could change that for them all.

  Rashid’s stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten dinner. He had been too excited about his plans to help destiny.

  Quickly, he went to his bedroom door and listened to the low murmuring of his two royal guards. Satisfied the guards were still at their post, he tiptoed to his bathroom and opened the laundry chute.

  Maybe he could find a midnight snack in the kitchen.

  SARAH PACED HER ROOM, her hands fisted in the caftan pockets. She’d dressed in the white servant clothes less than an hour before, then kept her robe handy just in case Ivan opened the door.

  “Mistress Kwong?”

  Sarah glanced at the clock. Just after midnight. “I’m here, Nashemia,” she whispered and opened the door.

  The young woman stepped over the slumped guard. “We must hurry. The sleeping drug I gave Ivan will last a few hours but we could be discovered by any one of the guards or servants.”

  “We will leave, but first I need to ask if you have seen my jade necklace?”

  Nashemia’s eyes went to Sarah’s neck. “No, mistress. Has it been stolen?”

  She’d spent the last hour searching for her necklace. The night before, she had left it in her nightstand, only to find it gone earlier today.

  “It doesn’t matter. We don’t have ti
me. If it turns up, will you save it for me?”

  “Yes, I promise.”

  Sarah nodded and grabbed her bag from the dresser. The recorder caught her eye. She’d thought to leave it behind, but at the last minute she placed it in her caftan pocket. Why give Jarek more ammunition against her?

  Slowly, Nashemia opened the door and peered up the corridor. Nodding to Sarah, both women stepped around the sleeping guard and headed toward the rear of the palace.

  The halls were nearly deserted with only the occasional guard walking sentry. Quietly, they maneuvered down the stairs and into the back servant quarters.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I have an SUV,” Nashemia answered, her eyes on the darkened rooms. “I will take you over the border. I have family who can help you get back to the States.”

  Sarah followed the other woman outside the palace walls to a black SUV. Both women were relieved when they reached the car without mishap.

  It wasn’t until she was at the car that she noticed the emblem on the side. “This is one of the palace vehicles.”

  “Yes. It was the most accessible.” Nashemia opened the door, urging Sarah inside.

  “I don’t want you to get into trouble. And stealing one of the palace vehicles definitely brings trouble.” Sarah frowned and climbed in the front. Then hesitated. What was she doing? Proving herself guilty and taking an innocent bystander along with her?

  The servant got into the passenger seat and closed the door.

  “Nashemia, I cannot do this. This is wrong. I need to see the king.”

  “You cannot, mistress.” Desperation tinged Nashemia’s words. “He will imprison us both.”

  “I won’t tell him how I escaped. I can tell them I shimmied down the laundry vent,” she said, mentally thanking Rashid.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress Kwong,” Nashemia’s voice hardened. “But I cannot let you spoil our plans.”

  “What plans?” Sarah didn’t see the scarf, smell the bite of chemical until it was too late.

  She struggled but the first whiff of ether was caught on her gasp of surprise. Sarah struggled against the sickening darkness that clawed at her belly, brought bile to the back of her throat.

  Her eyes fluttered, focused for a moment on Nashemia’s smile. Then there was nothing.