Pretty Liar (The Pretty Trilogy #2) Read online

  Instinctively, he sucks in his bottom lip. Breath catches in my throat: I long to kiss him hard, mash my lips against his with the craze that has suddenly flooded my veins. Hot, frenzied kisses until our clothes and restraint fall away. But I don’t. I find I can’t, frozen by the prospect of letting him see this need. I rein in my ardour, desire stinging the back of my throat, and instead, draw my tongue against his full bow.

  He sighs raggedly and I can’t hold back any longer, the sound pushing me over the edge. As quick as a flash, I’m above him; crawling and laying my body flush against his. I run my hands through his hair, my mouth moving to his jaw, kissing and licking as I travel. Reaching his neck, I place my mouth against the prominent vein as it beats beneath my lips, the pulsing echoing in my groin. For those few mad beats I want to bite, lay my teeth against his skin, around the sensation. I satisfy the thought by grazing my teeth there.

  A masculine groan hums from his throat.

  I lift my head as he moves abruptly, twisting and bringing my hands above my head.

  ‘You know how it feels, don’t you? To want to mark me as yours, etch possession with your teeth? The woman who thinks she isn’t, says she can’t, suddenly realizing that she needs.’

  His hips rock into mine as he strains his torso upwards. I moan and arch my back from the bed, relishing the feeling of his body against mine and submitting to his words.

  A sudden rap of knuckles against the door sounds and Kai stills. The sound beats out again and I can feel the hard length of him against me, pulsing, almost in time to the noise.

  ‘Leave it,’ I whisper, my body rising against him. I rise higher than expected as he moves.

  ‘I can’t.’ Kissing my forehead, he stands and readjusts the seam of his pants before leaving the room.

  Bugger. Bollix. Feck.

  My arms and legs hit the bed, disgruntled, as shuffling and murmured thanks sound from beyond the door. Then Kai returns, sitting against the edge of the bed.

  ‘Aren’t you coming back?’ I rub my hand across the cover, still needy. I can still get with this, I haven’t yet gone off the idea.

  ‘No, habibti.’ He chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck and absolutely avoiding my eyes. ‘Things to see, certain persons to do . . . later.’

  ‘What?’ I pull myself upright with an exasperated huff.

  ‘You’ve wanted to do the tourist things,’ he says, holding out his hands. ‘Time to get changed. We’re going out into the desert.’

  Yes, I want to do touristy things, but right now I’m more interested in doing him. And for a fleeting second a look of delight crosses his eyes and I wonder if he arranged the inopportune knock at the door, just for the tease. Paranoid.

  ‘Here,’ he chuckles, throwing me a pair of khaki pants from the holdall, pants I recognize. It looks like he has been rifling through my drawers. A long-sleeved linen shirt follows shortly afterwards, covering my head.

  ‘Oi, watch it,’ I snipe.

  ‘Ya’allah, habibti. Quick, we’re on a schedule here,’ he says, tapping my arse as I slink off the bed with the reluctance of a sullen teen.

  ‘Dunno why I have to get changed,’ I grumble, shimmying the pants up my legs.

  ‘You need to be suitably attired for the desert. I’m afraid a skirt isn’t appropriate.’

  ‘Why? Will I get sand in my crack?’ Inappropriate, thy name is Katherine.

  ‘In your—’ Bending from the waist, a huge belly laugh rocks his body.

  ‘My arse crack, not . . . the other,’ I qualify stupidly. Shut da puck up already. ‘It’s an Aussie thing, like a builder's bum . . . y-you probably wouldn’t understand.’ My cheeks flame red, but Christ knows what he’d call this shade. Abject-shame, maybe?

  ‘None of it sounds very comfortable,’ he says straightening. ‘You do say the funniest things.’

  ‘Pleased I’m entertaining,’ I mumble as he wraps me in his arms.

  ‘Funny and irresistibly sexy. But the wind can be harsh against your skin, changing is for your comfort,’ he says, his voice softening. ‘And then there are the men we’ll be travelling with. I don’t want them ogling my girl’s legs.’ He kisses the crown of my head. ‘Come, let’s go.’

  Outside once more, Kai greets two locally attired men standing by a large Toyota Land Cruiser. As they complete their introductions, I stand awkwardly beside Kai studying the pair. I guess the older of the two to be the leader, based on his bearing and years. Probably about sixty or so, judging by the lines on his weather-beaten face and the grey hair protruding from the sheghma scarf, wrapped almost turban style around his head. His eyes catch mine once briefly at this stage, sliding shyly away.

  ‘Kate, this is Mohammed and his son, Adil. Our guides this afternoon.’

  ‘Hello.’ I offer my hand and retract it quickly at their embarrassed faces, but my greeting is returned by salam’s and we head towards the car, Kai and I climbing into the back.

  ‘Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?’

  ‘The desert.’

  ‘Well, duh. And?’

  ‘And . . . wait and see.’

  I cling to Kai’s hand as we begin to move, even more so as we’re jostled around the interior as the SUV lurches and climbs across the once distant dunes. The three men chat amiably in Arabic, Kai relating their conversation as I force myself to nod grimaced responses. To be honest, I neither listen, nor give a flying fuck, about our surroundings. I’m too busy trying to control the urge to hurl.

  ‘You okay?’ Kai questions during one particularly rapid descent.

  ‘I’m fine.’ I push my lips together in what I hope resembles a smile. ‘At the risk of sounding like a whinging kid, are we there yet?’

  ‘Nearly.’ He laughs, patting my hand.

  When we finally stop, in what seems like, an age later, I climb gratefully from the vehicle into, what appears to be, a small camp consisting of a Bedouin style tent and a smattering of low seating on the sand. It’s pretty basic but welcoming enough. I drink greedily from the bottle of water I’m handed; the heat of the afternoon hitting me after the cool interior of the car.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ I ask, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

  Kai indicates the tent with a tilt of his head, as a boy of about fifteen walks toward us. Dressed in a scarf and a pale kandura robe, his leather covered arm is outstretched and held at an angle in front of his chest. Perched on the heavy leather glove sits a golden bird; beady eyes, razor sharp talons and beak.

  ‘A falcon?’

  ‘Actually, she’s a blonde sakeret. We’re going hunting,’ Kai replies with a wide smile. Trying to return his enthusiasm is difficult but somehow I manage some semblance of a smile, swallowing the return of my nausea.

  ‘Don’t you want to?’

  His smile falters and I feel like an ungrateful cow. I wanted the Arabian experience, this must be some part of it, mustn’t it? One of our guides, companions or whatever they are, then mutters something in Arabic and there follows a smattering of laughter. Kai laughing softly along with them. Great. Now they’re taking the piss.

  ‘They’re saying perhaps you don’t have the stomach for it.’

  ‘They’d be right,’ I mutter.

  ‘You wanted traditional.’

  ‘Cockroach racing in Brisbane is traditional once a year, but I don’t take part in that either,’ I say under my breath.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Nothing.’ I draw the word out with a shake of my head, having regressed to a belligerent teen. This definitely isn’t Disney’s Arabia. Hunting. Just the word makes me feel ill. Blood and death are not my idea of a romantic afternoon.

  ‘We’re not really going hunting,’ Kai says, leaning forward and whispering now. ‘It takes hours, a dogged perseverance, and a great deal of stamina, and I have no intention of tiring you out before later.’ He straightens, his gaze confirming exactly what he means, his eyes flicking over me, lingering in certain areas quite
lasciviously.

  An hour or so later, I’ve decided I’m actually having fun. Sure, the birds look unnerving in their medieval executioner-type hoods. And, yes, they also eat cute, furry things, things I’d rather not see hanging dead from their talons, but they’re also extraordinarily graceful and beautiful, in a very startling way. Very much like Kai.

  I even wear the leather glove at one point, the bird sitting dispassionately on my arm, its golden plumage ruffling as though sensing my unease. I hand it back shortly afterwards, glad to be rid of the thing. But the highlight for me has to be watching Kai as he stands bold against the desert backdrop, his regal bearing not dissimilar to the birds, the joy of being there painted on his face.

  Handing the bird over to Mohammed, Kai offers me a hand to help me from the ground.

  ‘Have you had fun?’

  ‘Yeah, the view’s spectacular.’

  He turns his head over his shoulder, nodding in agreement and missing my private joke. Then, pulling me to his chest, he leans over me, brushing the sand from my pants with more force than is absolutely necessary.

  ‘Oi, watch it!’ I laugh as I pull myself free and walk to the car.

  ‘This was once their livelihood.’ Kai gestures to Mohammed and his son on our return journey. ‘The Bedouin used falcons to hunt food for sustenance, rather than for sport.’

  ‘A harsh existence I imagine, living out here.’

  ‘Some still choose to live this way, prefer it even, over the pressures of city life.’

  ‘I can’t imagine. It must be so hard.’ Despite the romanticism of the desert, I can’t imagine living without my straightening irons, drive-through coffee, and the other trappings of life.

  ‘The birds weren’t bred in captivity, either. They were hunted and trapped at the beginning of the season. The men would set up the trap, dig themselves a hole in the sand and climb in and wait.’

  ‘Sounds a bit like fishing.’

  ‘The waiting, maybe. Though I imagine training a falcon would be like taming a shark, one you’re bound to day and night in an effort to subdue them, bend them to your will.’

  I laugh humourlessly, imagining the pain incurred in that task.

  ‘My father gave me a falcon when I was thirteen,’ Kai reveals quite suddenly. As he shakes his head as though to dislodge a distant image or memory, I hold my breath, greedy for insight and loathed to interrupt. ‘Most kids get a fucking dog.’ Turning his head to the window, he speaks as though to the lowering sun. ‘I released her, let her go free. All I could think was that she was trapped, like me. No point us both being unhappy.

  ‘Faris was livid, of course. Told me I should be more like Essam. That I needed to toughen up. I can’t tell you how that made me feel, you see, he and Essam’s father—his brother—have always been rivals. For him to say I, his only son, was less than his nephew, the guilt and hurt he made me feel . . . ’

  ‘Guilt,’ I prompt, his reflection turning inwards.

  ‘Yes. He told me the bird would never survive in the wild, that I’d as good as killed her myself. That she’d be picked off by a larger predator. Said if I didn’t harden up, the same could be said of me. I think that’s when I started to hate him.’

  His head turns from the window and he takes my hands. ‘I found out later that by tradition, birds are released at the end of the season, set free and allowed to resume their migration pattern. Faris and his mind-games.’

  I feel rather than see his minute shake of the head.

  ‘Maybe he acted in anger.’ I try not to sound disingenuous, but my words are hollow, feeble even. The little I know of his father doesn’t at all endear him to me at.

  ‘You don’t know him as I do,’ he relays without emotion. ‘He does nothing without considering all angles. The one reckless act of his life was his marriage to my mother and don’t we all know it.’

  ‘Looks like we’re both poor in the parent department.’ I bring his hand to my mouth and lightly kiss the palm.

  ‘Poor in affection, rich in pocket.’ He arches an eyebrow. ‘That’s part of the problem. Faris has so much money, it’s hard for him to believe he’s not actually God. Everything has an angle, everyone has a price.’

  ‘Parents, can’t live with them—’

  ‘And can’t kill them without going to jail and I’m just too pretty for that.’ He smiles once more, though rather sadly, returning his gaze to the window.

  Twenty

  ‘You shower first.’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’ I try to mask the sudden disappointment that we aren’t heading in there together. This shower is certainly big enough for two and a little mischief.

  Kai’s expression morphs from relaxed to surprised to knowing in a fraction of a second; nought to sexy in the blink of an eye. But so much for the mysticism that is woman. I must’ve been the last in the line for womanly mystique. I smile, slightly manically, I imagine, then bend to hide my face, sliding off my runners with the tips of my toes. Cheeks still stinging, I head to the bathroom, closing the door behind me without once looking back.

  I know I’m blowing it all out of proportion, but I feel like I’ve been somehow spurned. I can’t help but take it a little personally, especially after the innuendo of “later” and stuff. Of course, it’s been a very hot afternoon and maybe he’s tired. Or maybe his interest in me is on the wane. Swallowing the disconcertion, I strip from my sand coated clothes and drop them to the floor. Switching on the shower, I steel myself for the rush of water from the shower head at the wall but instead, water cascades in an almost rainfall effect from above. Steam builds, fogging the air as I reach for the posh bottle of hotel shampoo.

  ‘Let me.’

  I start as the Kai steps into the shower. My eyes flick between his face and much lower, unintentionally falling to the sharp angles of his hips, the hardness beneath his skin. I follow the muscles indented from knee to thigh joining the delicious ‘v’ at the point of his hips. It’s a whole other kind of muscle memory. Beads of water cling to his skin as he reaches for the shampoo himself, pouring a generous amount into his palm, he begins to massage it into my scalp.

  ‘Head back,’ he murmurs, tilting my head with a hand beneath my chin.

  Relaxing into his body, skin momentarily sticks to skin as his firm fingers work against my skull. I close my eyes as he soon begins to rinse the suds from my hair. Relaxed by his silent attentions, I melt under his touch, sighing reflexively as his hand moves down the column of my neck and down to my breasts. The shuddering noise echoes in the small space, the air swirling around us like an erotic fog.

  Hands against my shoulders, he turns me, our mouths just a kiss away from each other. I find my hands stroking the wetness from his back and hips and in just one step he’s there, covering my mouth with his. He wants me and I’m an idiot, the evidence springing between us as we kiss. The tenor of our kiss changes in an instant, deepening as lips press against lips, as I open and welcome his thrusting tongue. I move my hand between us, to the satin of his shaft, running my fingers lightly across his length.

  ‘No patience,’ he whispers moving my hand from between us, his own skimming my thigh and coming to rest behind my knee. Lifting it, he lays it against his own, his hand between us, teasing my opening, slick with water and desire. My hands find his broad shoulders as I rock up to him in an obvious plea.

  ‘What am I going to do with you?’ he admonishes, his mouth curled against mine.

  ‘I could think of something.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Fuck me.’

  Fuck me, I’m brazen. The words reverberate around my head and the confines of the shower. Not really one for the suggestion box, I can’t quite believe I said that out loud. Shouldn’t I feel embarrassment in the place of this thrill?

  ‘Oh, I had planned to. Later.’ His kisses become small, nipping bites across my jaw as his fingers continue to tease. ‘But I could make a concession,’ he growls, pulling back. ‘Ask me nicely.’ His lazy gaze b
urns down at me as one finger glides higher and more firmly along my ribbon of flesh.

  I make a noise, part moan, part plea, as his finger begins to circle and pet. My hands tighten, my body writhing against his hand.

  ‘You can do better than that,’ he suggests, all growly. My legs weaken, hands gripping tighter still, pulling him to me as my forehead falls to his chest. ‘Ask me nicely,’ he repeats. ‘Good girls say please.’

  ‘Please.’ My answer is instant, my voice heavy with need. I imagine it swirling through the air, coating us, as I continue shamelessly to rock against his hand. ‘Please,’ I plead as his fingers continue to work me.

  With a hand on my shoulder, he turns me swiftly, pushing me flat against the wet tiles. Water courses down my back, the cool of the tile under my cheek as I breathe rapidly, adrenaline now chasing the yearning running through my veins. Our skins seal in the humidity as he pushes his body against mine, my breasts trapped hard against the shower wall. Head lowering, he licks hotly along my neck, tasting the water from my skin. Taking the sensitive lobe of my ear into his mouth, he grazes it and I gasp, the pressure resonating lower.

  ‘Bend forward,’ he rasps in my ear as he moves back. My hands slide from the wall as I half turn, my eyes following him to where he stands behind me, smirking. I rest my cheek back against the wall, almost perturbed by, what seems like, his smiling censure. Perturbed and turned on, the feeling growing with each swallowed breath.

  My body starts a moment later as his hands grasp my hips, pulling the bottom half of my body away from the wall.

  ‘Palms on the tiles.’ His tone is bass, harsh as he pushes on my head, bending me forward. ‘You want to be fucked. I want to fuck you like this.’ I can feel the length of him rubbing against the crease of my arse; my body stiffens, my eyes shooting wide as I stutter ‘no’, half turning again.