She laughed; she couldn’t help it. His cynicism was so completely natural, as though he barely realised he was doing it.
‘I believe people can obey a peace treaty,’ he said quietly, his voice dark. ‘But that hatred dies a long, slow death. Many lives have been lost on both sides. How many deaths have there been in this war? Would you not wish to retaliate against a man who murdered someone you loved?’
Sadness brushed through her at his words and she couldn’t help wondering if he’d lost someone to the awful unrest of their people. ‘I think vigilantism is bad for that very reason. It’s why victims should never get to enact retribution—how easy it would be to answer death with death, pain with pain, instead of finding the restorative properties of forgiveness.’
He was silent; she couldn’t tell if he agreed or not, only that he was thinking. They reached the edge of the enormous marble room and by unspoken agreement proceeded down the stairs. They were not steep, but his hand reached out, pressing into the small of her back in a small gesture of support.
It was meaningless. Absolutely nothing—yet it was the sort of thing that would never have been allowed to happen if he knew who she was. The Royal Princess of Taquul could never be simply touched by a commoner! But no one knew her identity except the few servants who’d helped her get ready. She moved down the steps and unconsciously her body shifted with each step so that they were pressed together at the side, touching in a way that sent arrows of heat darting through her body.
At the bottom of the stairs, he gestured to the edge of the pool. ‘Stand with me a while.’ He said it like a command and she suppressed a smile. People didn’t dare speak to her like that in Taquul—or anywhere.
She nodded her agreement. Not because he’d commanded her to do so but because there was nowhere else she wanted to be. His hand stayed pressed to her back, guiding her to the edge of the pool. There was a tall table they could have stood at, with ballerina waitresses circulating deftly through the crowds. It was everything they needed, so Johara wasn’t sure why she found herself saying, ‘Would you like to see something special?’
He turned to face her, his eyes narrowing in assessment before he moved his head in one short nod of agreement.
Relief burst through her. It should have signalled danger, but she was incapable of feeling anything except adrenalin. No, that wasn’t true. She felt excitement too, and in the pit of her stomach, spinning non-stop, she also felt a burst of desire.
The man strode beside her, completely relaxed, his natural authority impossible to miss. She wondered if he was a delegate from a foreign country, or perhaps one of the powerful industry leaders often included in palace occasions. A wealthy investor in the country’s infrastructure? He certainly moved with that indefinable air of wealth and power.
Steps led away from the pool—these older and less finessed than the marble—giving way to a sweeping path. She walked down it, and his hand stayed at the small of her back the whole way, spreading warmth through her body, turning her breath to fire inside her and deep in the pit of her stomach she had the strangest sense of destiny, as though something about him, this night, her choice to walk with him had been written in the stars a long, long time ago.
* * *
He couldn’t have said why he was walking with her. From the moment he’d seen her across the crowded ballroom he’d felt a lash of something like urgency; a need to speak to her. The room had been filled with beautiful women in stunning couture, dripping in gemstones with ornate face masks. While her black gown clung to her body like a second skin, showcasing her generous curves to perfection, it had been a long time since Amir had allowed physical attraction to control his responses.
Desire wasn’t enough.
So why was he allowing her to lead him away from the party—knowing he had to stand beside Sheikh Malik Qadir within the hour and showcase their newly formed ‘friendship’? At least, for the sake of those in attendance, they had to pretend.
Nothing had changed for Amir though. He still hated the Qadirs with a passion. Nineteen years ago, with the death of his parents, he had sworn he would always hate them, and he intended to keep that promise.
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Patience. We’re almost there.’ She spoke with a slight American accent and her voice was smooth and melodious, almost musical.
‘Are you in the habit of taking men you don’t know into the wilderness?’
She laughed, the sound as delicate as a bell. ‘First of all, this is hardly a wilderness. The gardens are immaculately tended here, don’t you think?’
He dipped his head in silent concession.
‘And as for dragging men I don’t know anywhere...’ She paused mid-sentence, and stopped walking as well, her eyes latching to his in a way that communicated so much more than words ever could. He felt the pulse of response from her to him, the rushing of need. Her breathing was laboured, each exhalation audible in the quiet night air. Overhead, the stars shone against the desert sky, silver against velvet black, but there was no one and nothing more brilliant than the woman before him. His hands lifted to her mask; he needed to see her face. He wanted to see all of her. But her hands caught his, stilling them, and she shook her head a little.
‘No. I like it like this.’
It was a strange thing to say—as though she liked the anonymity the mask provided. He dropped his hands lower, but instead of bringing them to his side he placed them at hers. His touch was light at first, as though asking a question. In response, she swayed forward a little, so her body brushed his and he was no longer able to deny the onslaught of needs that were assaulting him. He felt like a teenager again, driven by hormones and lust. How long had it been since he’d allowed himself to act on something so base?
‘Come with me,’ she murmured, hunger in the words, desperation in the speed with which she spoke. She reached down and grabbed his hand, linking her fingers through his, pulling him beside her. The night was dark and here they were far from the revellers, but as an enormous shrub came out of nowhere he was grateful for the privacy it created. She reached for the loose branches and brushed them aside, offering him a mysterious look over her shoulder before disappearing through a wall made of trees. Her hand continued to hold his, but he stood on the other side a moment, looking in one direction and then another before stepping forward. Large, fragrant trees surrounded them, the foliage thick to the ground.
The sky overhead was the only recognisable feature, but even that was unable to cast sufficient light over the structure. It was black inside, almost completely, a sliver of moonlight offering the faintest silver glow.
‘This way.’ She pulled him a little deeper, her other hand on the leaves as if by memory, turning a corner and then another, and as they turned once more he could hear water, faint at first but becoming louder with each step. She didn’t stop until they reached a fountain in the centre of this garden, this maze.
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ she asked, turning to face him. He didn’t spare a glance for the space in which they stood. He was certain she was right, but he couldn’t look away from her. He ached to remove her mask; even if he did so, he would barely be able to see her face, given how dark it was this deep in the maze.
‘Yes.’ The word was guttural and deep.
He lifted a hand to her chin, taking it between his thumb and forefinger and holding her steady, scrutinising her as though if he looked hard enough and long enough he could make sense of this incredible attraction.
‘It’s famous, you know. The Palace Maze.’
He nodded. ‘I’ve heard of it.’
‘Of course. Everyone in Taquul has.’ She smiled, a flash of dark red lips. He didn’t correct her; she didn’t need to know he was from Ishkana—nor that he was the Sheikh of that country.
He continued to stare at her and her lips parted, her eyes sweeping shut so beyo
nd the veil of her mask he could see two crescent-shaped sets of lashes, long and thick.
He should leave. This wasn’t appropriate. But leaving was anathema to him; it was as though he were standing in quicksand, completely in her thrall.
‘How long are you in Taquul for?’
Something shifted in her expression, in the little he could see of it, anyway. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t like it here?’
She expelled a soft sigh. ‘I have mixed feelings.’
It made more sense than such a vague statement should have. ‘What do you do in New York?’
Her smile now was natural. ‘I started the Early Intervention Literacy Association. I work on childhood literacy initiatives, particularly for children aged four to seven.’
It surprised him; he hadn’t been expecting her to say anything like that. She looked every inch the socialite, the heiress, rather than someone who rolled up her sleeves and worked on something so important.
‘What drew you to that?’
Her eyes shuttered him out even as she continued to look at him, as though there was something she wanted to keep secret, to keep from him. He instantly hated that. ‘It’s a worthwhile cause.’
He wanted to challenge her, to dig deeper, but he felt he was already balancing on a precipice, and that the more he knew was somehow dangerous.
‘Yes.’ Silence wrapped around them, but it was a silence that spoke volumes. His dark eyes bore into hers—a lighter shade of brown, like oak, sunshine and sand. He stared at her for as long as he could before dropping his eyes to her lips, then lower still to the curve of her breasts. The dress was black but so glossy it shimmered in the gentle moonlight.
‘This is incredible,’ he muttered, shaking his head as he ran his hand along her side, his fingertips brushing the flesh at her hips, then higher, tantalising the sweet spot beneath her arms, so close to her breasts he could see her awareness and desire, the plea in her eyes begging him to touch her there. His arousal hardened; he wanted to make love to her right here, beneath the stars, with the trees as their witness to whatever this madness was.
‘How long are you in Taquul for?’
Only as long as he absolutely needed to be.
Every moment in this kingdom felt like a betrayal to his parents and their memory. ‘Just this event. I leave immediately afterwards.’
Her eyes glittered with something like determination and she nodded. ‘Good.’ It was a purr. A noise that was half invitation, half dare. The latter made no sense but the former was an utter relief.
‘In answer to your earlier question, I don’t ever do this.’
He was quiet, waiting for her to say something else, to explain.
‘I don’t ever drag men I don’t know into the maze, or anywhere.’
Her breath snagged in her throat, her lips parted and her head tilted back, her eyes holding his even as she swayed forward, totally surrendering to the madness of this moment.
‘But you’re different.’
His smile was barely a shift of his lips.
‘Am I?’
‘For starters, you’re the only man here wearing black robes.’
He nodded slowly. There was a reason for that. Robes just like these had been worn at an ancient meeting between these two people, an event to mark their peace and friendship. His choice of attire was ceremonial but yes, she was right. All the other men wore either western-style suits or traditional white robes.
‘Except, it’s not what you’re wearing.’
She lifted a hand, pressing her fingers to his chest. The touch surprised them both, but she didn’t pull away.
‘Have you ever met someone and felt...?’ She frowned, searching for the right word.
But it was unnecessary. She didn’t need to explain further. He shook his head. ‘No. I’ve never felt this in my life.’
And before either of them could say another word, he dropped his mouth to hers and claimed her lips with all the desire that was humming inside his body.
CHAPTER TWO
THE DRESS WAS impossibly soft and, at its back, small pearls ran the length of her spine, so he had to undo each one in order to free her from the stunning creation. He was impatient and wanted to rip the dress—but the material was seemingly unbreakable. Besides, he had just enough sense left to realise he’d be doing this woman a great wrong if he left her to emerge from the maze with a snagged dress.
What they were doing was mad on every level. He knew nothing about her—he could only be grateful she knew nothing about him either. The last thing he needed was a complication that would detract from the peace accord.
She’d been right about the masks. Anonymity was perfect. He removed the dress as quickly as he could, stripping it from her body with reverence, a husky groan impossible to contain when he saw the underwear she wore. Flimsy white lace, it barely covered her generous breasts and bottom. The effect of the silk and her face mask had his cock growing so hard it was painful.
He swore under his breath, dispensing with his own robes with far less reverence, stripping out of them as he’d done hundreds of time before, unable to take his eyes off her as he moved. He was half afraid she’d change her mind, that she’d tell him they had to stop this. And she’d be right to do so! This was utter madness, a whim of desire and pleasure and hedonism, a whim he should deny himself, just as he’d denied himself so many things in his time for the sake of his country.
He knew that his kingdom required him to marry—he was the sole heir to the throne and without a wife the necessary children were impossible to beget. Yet he had only ever engaged in careful, meaningless affairs, and only when he’d felt the conditions were right—the right woman, who would understand he could give her nothing in the way of commitment, because he had an obligation to marry for the good of his kingdom. Did this woman understand that?
She reached around behind her back, as if to unclasp her bra, drawing his mind away from his thoughts and back to the present. He watched as she unhooked the lace, her breath hissing between her teeth, her eyes on his as the garment dropped to the ground beside her, revealing two perfect, pale orbs with dark, engorged nipples.
He swore again, and when her eyes dropped to his very visible arousal, he felt a little of his seed spill from his crown. Her eyes looked as though they wanted to devour him.
Aljahim, he wanted this. He wanted to feel her, to taste her, to touch her all over, but time was against them. This would be so much faster than he wanted.
‘I cannot stay long,’ he said quietly; it was only fair to forewarn her of that before they began.
‘Nor can I.’ She reached for the elastic of her tiny scrap of underwear but he shook his head.
‘Allow me.’
Her eyes widened and she dropped her hands to the side, nodding once.
He closed the distance between them, pausing right in front of her, his pulse slamming through his body.
‘This is what you want?’
She nodded.
‘You’re on the pill?’
Another nod, wide-eyed, as though the reality was just dawning on her.
‘I don’t have any protection—’
‘I’m safe.’
He nodded. ‘As am I.’
She bit down on her lip, a perfect cherry red against the dark hue of her skin. He ached to remove the mask and see her face, and yet it also served to draw attention to her lips and eyes, both of which were so incredibly distracting.
‘Please.’
The single word was his undoing. He groaned, kissing her once more, dragging her lower lip into his mouth and moving his tongue so that it duelled with hers, teasing her at first before dominating her completely, so her head dropped backwards in surrender and he pillaged her mouth, each movement designed to demand compliance—yet it was he that was complying t
oo, with the current of need firing between them a most superior force.
His hands cupped her naked breasts, feeling their weight, their roundedness, pushing his arousal forward against the silk of her underpants so she whimpered with need—a need he understood.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her body weak against his. He understood. It was overwhelming. He broke the kiss simply so he could drag his mouth lower, over her décolletage, conscious of the way his facial hair left marks as he went, his teeth adding nips, something primal and ancient firing inside him at the sight of his proof of possession. If he were less fired by desire he might have felt ashamed by such an ancient thrill, but he didn’t.
He took one of her ample breasts into his mouth, seeking her nipple with his tongue, rolling the sweet flesh until she was whimpering loudly into the night sky. Only then did he transfer his attention to the other breast, lifting his thumb and forefinger to continue the pleasurable torment on the other. She bucked her hips forward; he knew how she was feeling, for his own body was racked with the same sense of desperation.
He wanted her but he didn’t want to stop this yet. He could feel her pleasure tightening, her body responding to his instantly, and he wanted to indulge that responsiveness, to show her how perfectly they were suited. With his teeth clamping down against her nipple and his fingers teasing the other, he wedged her legs apart with his knee then brought his spare hand to rest there, parting the elastic from her with ease to allow a finger to slide into her warm, feminine core.
She groaned, a sound of complete pleasure and surrender and delight. He didn’t stop. He pushed another finger into her depths and then used his thumb to stroke her, pleasuring her breasts as he paid homage to her.
She crumpled against him; his arms, his mouth, were holding her body in place. He felt her stiffen then, and begin to shake; she was exploding, gripping him hard as her body was racked with an intense, blinding release. He didn’t relinquish his touch; he held her close, the squeezing of her muscles against his fingers eliciting an answering response from him.
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