The Cobra & the Concubine (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) (33 page)

"Khepri, what is wrong?" Badra cried out.

He dashed for a nearby basin. Kenneth shoved two fingers down his throat. Gagging, he forced himself to retch.

When it was over, he still trembled, weak and incredulous. His throat burned. Cold water sounded good. He glanced up and saw Badra standing by solemnly, a glass in her hand. Kenneth nodded thanks and drank deeply.

"What happened?" she asked, her lovely brow knitting.

Kenneth managed a shaky smile. "I suppose I don’t like oranges as much as I thought I did."

A little while later, the aftereffects of the cantharides tormented him mercilessly. Flames licked his groin. He had hardened to stone. Kenneth turned to Badra, who was teaching him to read. Grasping her hand, he pressed it to his lap.

His voice was rough. "Badra, I need you ... I-I can’t be gentle. Not this time."

As she gave a shaky nod, he led her to the bed. Kenneth jerked her gown off, tearing it in his haste. Trembling shook her at the fury of his passion, the hard gleam of lust in his eye.

Turning her around, he gave her a gentle but firm push to the mattress. She felt horribly vulnerable and exposed.
I can do this.
He needs me, she told herself. She would not allow fear to drown her like Egypt’s hot sands.

"Badra, don’t be afraid of me, my love," he begged. His voice was like dark chocolate melting. A fresh breeze drifted through the latticed windows. She willed her body to relax.

"No, Khepri. I am not afraid."

Air slid over her nude backside in a soft caress. Badra felt the bed sink with Kenneth’s weight. Arms outstretched, she waited. She bit down on her wobbly lower lip and clung to her love for him.

He gently lifted her hips into the air. His naked flesh felt torturously hot as he settled behind her. Kenneth curled a rock-solid arm around her waist, as if to brace her for what was to come. A hard stiffness poked her feminine folds, teasing and circling. So hot, oh, she was fire, burning, needing him. Delicious anticipation inflamed in her loins.

The first thrust was deep and powerful, jolting her to the core. He felt impossibly huge as he stroked inside, thick as an iron bar. Hot breath feathered her cheek as he leaned over. Then he slid a hand beneath, fingers teasing, probing and stroking as they rasped against her. He was the sun, bright, burning hot, melting her with heat. She throbbed and squirmed against the stroking fingers until the fire exploded into an inferno.

"Khepri!" she screamed, clutching fistfuls of sheets.

Gulping in air, she collapsed against the mattress. He groaned and ruthlessly continued to drive into her. Each heavy slap of his body, each powerful thrust, created new waves of sensual heat until she arched and broke apart with furious pleasure once more. Shuddering, he convulsed and pumped his seed deep inside her as his hoarse cry filled the room.

Barely had her thundering heart resumed a normal cadence when he collapsed to the bed. Sweat slicked his body as he drew her forward, eyes fierce with passion.

"This time, you do it."

Locking Badra in his arms, he rolled onto his back so she lay atop him. "Sit up," he told her.

Positioning her over his still-hard arousal, he grasped her hips. Questions danced in her dark eyes as her fingers tightened on his shoulders.

"Now, my love, slide down," Kenneth instructed.

Slowly, she sank onto his thick length. Her mouth parted with a look of surprised delight as he impaled her fully. A groan wrenched from his chest.

Badra placed her hands on him, her head thrown back. Slowly she slid up. Down. A rapture overcame her.

Kenneth let Badra ride him, biting back his painful need to surge upward hard and fast. Instead, he concentrated on palming her breasts, teasing the nipples to hard little pearls. He rubbed and caressed as her hips pumped.

When a choked cry wrung from her lips and she tightened around him, his agonized body could wait no longer. Reversing positions, he rolled forward, pinning her beneath him. He relished the satin under his lips as he kissed her soft skin and stroked the curve of her breast. He touched his forehead to hers, aching for that intense connection. More than skin to skin, soul to soul. He wanted his heart merging with hers.

Badra flexed her hips, moving beneath him. He could hold out no longer. Kenneth surged forward in a violent thrust, touching her womb. She cried out, pressing him closer.

"You are all the stars blazing in Egypt’s night to me, my love," he told her in Arabic, his voice thick with passion.

He thrust deep inside, marking her with his touch, his heat, his body. No other man would ever touch her again. He would heal all her wounds and they would be together forever.

Upon the lovely slope of her neck he rained hot kisses, burying himself again and again in her, reveling in the tightness sliding against him so warm and exquisite. He threw back his head, his breathing ragged in the quiet room.

So long—he had wanted and waited and dreamed for this for so long.

His body quivered as he felt every sensation pool hot and heavy in his loins. Kenneth gave one last thrust, held her tightly and climaxed. His body shook and he cried out her name as he spilled himself again deep inside her.

After a moment; aware he was crushing her with his weight, he lifted up on his elbows, gazing down at her tenderly.

"Badra." Her name was a whisper. She caressed his cheek. Kenneth groaned at her touch.

So fine-boned and delicate, yet so corporeal and solid. She was fashioned from the sturdy elements of her homeland, as lasting as the great limestone blocks of the pyramids. Neither the harsh sun nor the raging winds of her slavery had worn her down; rather, they’d endowed her with a mature beauty as lasting as those great structures.

Reluctantly, he slid from her wet warmth. Then he rolled to the side, taking her with him.

"Do you know how much I love you," he asked, framing her face with his hands.

Her hands encircled his. "I love you too, Kenneth," she whispered back. "I always have."

They fell into a peaceful slumber. Sometime later, he awoke. He loved her again, slowly this time, as if she were a fragile faience. He held her tenderly as she screamed with pleasure, her cry echoing off the ceiling of the large room. And in her arms, he found his needed surcease, the cooling release of the volcanic heat stoked inside him.

Much later that afternoon, he left her to rest as he quietly dressed and headed for the Shepherd’s. He went directly to the front desk, inquiring about any messages from London. The desk clerk sorted through his slot and withdrew a yellow paper. A cable from London.

He ripped open the telegram, wishing he could read. Kenneth glanced at the clerk. "Can you read English?"

"No."

Kenneth tucked the cable into his brocade vest. Heading for the staircase, he swallowed hard.
Can’t read
, a voice inside mocked him.
Can’t even read your own damn cable
.

When he reached his suite, Kenneth hesitated. He had to find out what it said. He trusted only one person. Swallowing his pride, he walked to Jabari’s door and knocked.

Rashid opened it. He murmured a polite greeting—polite for Rashid—and led Kenneth inside. Jabari sat on the floor, face drawn as he read over some papers. Ramses sat nearby, honing a dagger on a small stone.

They looked up with expectant hope as he dropped to the floor next to them. Kenneth nodded at Ramses.

"Getting ready to sacrifice a lamb for dinner?"

He held up his
jambiya
. "Getting ready to sacrifice a few eunuchs guarding a certain brothel." Mirth twinkled in his amber eyes. "Although I would say they have already sacrificed the two most important things."

"As you can see, we are eager to know how soon we may rescue Badra," Jabari said, setting the papers down.

Kenneth eyed the sheets. "Business?"

"Bank statements of our holdings, accounts." The sheikh rubbed his eyes. Dark shadows hovered beneath them.

Kenneth hesitated. "Jabari, I have something private to discuss with you."

Ramses glanced at Rashid, muttering something about obtaining coffee in the lounge downstairs. They left and Jabari focused his intense gaze on Kenneth.

"Is it Badra?"

"No." His gut kicked fiercely as he handed the sheikh the cable. "I need you to read this to me."

Surprise flared in Jabari’s eyes. "Why?"

"Because ... I can’t read it for myself. I never learned to read English." Kenneth squared his shoulders.

The sheikh drew his dark brows together, then suddenly his face sagged. "Allah. I did not teach you ... only Arabic. Ah, Khepri, I did not realize—"

"Never mind," he said quickly. "But please, read it."

Jabari unfolded the paper, the crinkling like thunder in the quiet room. In his deep rich voice he read:

"Did some checking on your grandfather’s death. Stop. Physician admits signs of illness mimicked arsenic poisoning. Stop. More to follow. Stop. Be careful. Stop. Smithfield."

Arsenic poisoning. Kenneth’s heart slammed against his ribs. Jabari lowered the cable, his lips set in a thin line.

"Khepri, what does this mean?"

Kenneth clenched his fists to control the urge to smash them against the wall. Someone had killed his grandfather. The food, the rich French food that made him ill ... arsenic. He had been healthy enough to fight it off, but not Grandfather. Kenneth swallowed hard. The living were his prime concern now. Badra. Every minute she was linked to him but not free put her in danger. He had to get her out. He drew in a breath and looked at the sheikh.

"That’s not important now. What is important is getting Badra out of there. Tomorrow morning, when everyone is still asleep, I’ll return here. Gather everyone in my room now. I have a plan."

In the expansive sitting room of his suite at the Shepherd’s Hotel, Kenneth sketched a plan of the brothel’s interior for the Khamsin rescue team.

"Getting her out will prove difficult. All male visitors must surrender their weapons before visiting the harem. The brothel itself is a two-story building. The reception quarters are downstairs, the harem on the second floor. There is one outside door in the harem. It leads to an outdoor walkway that rings the entire building. There is one outdoor stairwell going down to the courtyard, well-protected from all angles. It is a fortress. Two guards, armed with scimitars, are posted at all times with orders to call for reinforcements."

Jabari frowned. "A raid is foolish then."

"Well, we can’t go storming in there. It must be a more subtle attack." He glanced up at the warriors hovering nearby, awaiting word from their sheikh. "If you send these men in, disguised as wealthy sheikhs on holiday and desiring some excitement, then they can be inside the harem to assist me."

Rashid looked at him evenly. "A good start. However, they won’t be armed. What do you suggest, Khepri?"

Kenneth hid his surprise at the newfound respect in Rashid’s voice. He tapped his crudely drawn map, pointing to the room where business was transacted.

"This connecting door leads to the harem. It’s guarded on the women’s side but not locked. The guards will stop a man trying to get in, but not a woman. One of you, veiled as a woman and hiding weapons, can slip inside and join me—and pass out weapons to the others. I need a good fighter at my side."