by Valerie Parv
No one would ever label Noni delicate or submissive, or her granddaughter for that matter, Shara mused as she drank the milk. She didn’t care. She would rather follow Noni’s example and live her life her way. Being submissive hadn’t done her mother much good.
A choking sensation gripped her. Was she determined to avoid emulating her mother because she believed in equality for women, or because she was afraid of dying young like her mother, Vivani, who had died giving birth to Shara?
She snatched up the phone then made herself put it down, unwilling to disturb Noni again with stupid fears spawned by sleeplessness. At this very moment thousands of women were having babies safely and joyfully all over the world. So would Shara when the time came. If it ever came.
Suddenly her gaze was caught by one of the photographs still visible amid the clutter on Tom’s desk. Torn between knowing she wasn’t supposed to see it, but unable to tear her eyes away, she set the glass aside and lifted the photo for closer study. The rock art on the cave wall had faded with the centuries but was still clearly discernible. Several other photos showed the same style of art.
Her heart picked up speed. She was sure she’d seen figures like these in the caves in Q’aresh. If only she was at home, she could be certain. But all she had at present was her memory.
“What are you doing?”
Startled, she looked up to see Tom looming in the doorway, his raking gaze taking in her long legs and bare feet, the uniform shirt ending at her thighs. His short black silk robe hung open over matching sleep shorts and his feet were also bare. Her heart began to beat double time. “I couldn’t sleep so I called my grandmother in Q’aresh.”
“You what?”
She recoiled from the fury in his tone. “I’ll pay for the call.”
He gestured in savage dismissal. “That could be truer than you think. The charge isn’t the problem. If anyone knows you were the caller, they could trace the number.”
“I only spoke to my grandmother and her personal assistant. She’s completely loyal to Noni,” she said, annoyed at hearing a tremor in her voice.
He came in and stood over her. “You’d better hope so.”
She resisted the urge to jump to her feet and meet him eye to eye. Without something to stand on, it was a lost cause anyway. Instead, she summoned years of royal training to say primly, “It’s done now. Any consequences are on my head.”
Instead of defusing his anger, her comment seemed to fuel it. He grasped the arms of the chair and leaned over her, sparks flaring in his dark gaze. “I’m sure you’re used to doing as you please back home, but this isn’t Q’aresh.”
She blinked furiously, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of reducing her to tears. “What have I done that’s so terrible this time?”
“Because you’re not in this alone, Princess. My whole family could pay for your indiscretion. Earlier today, your intended went looking for you at Des’s place.”
Her heartbeat stuttered. “Jamal didn’t do anything to harm Des?”
“Fortunately not or he would have had me to answer to. But the stress isn’t helping Des’s condition. Nor is Jamal’s offer to buy off Max Horvath and take care of my foster father’s medical bills if he hands you over.”
She dragged in a strangled breath. How could she let Des turn down such an offer? She had to give herself up and hope she could make her father believe the truth about Jamal. Youth and time were on her side. Des had neither. “He should accept.”
In Tom’s gaze she saw a glimmer of respect. “Yes, probably, but he won’t. Any more than I would in his shoes. Or any of us.”
The code of the outback again? Or was it plain stubbornness? Guilty of the failing herself, she couldn’t condemn it in Tom or his family. The closeness of Tom’s mouth to hers made her thoughts spin. Heat exploded through her. He was magnificent in his anger, the sense of power and danger only heightening her desire for him.
“You can’t stop me from surrendering to Jamal in return for honoring his promise,” she whispered.
Tom’s eyes glittered. “Want to bet?”
Chapter 8
His mouth descended on hers, strong as his anger, hot as her desire, negating any argument she might have made. She wanted nothing more than to lose herself in the kiss and whatever might follow.
If she did, she would truly be pleasing herself, but oh, she was tempted.
Unable to resist, she allowed herself a long, sensuous taste, feeling his lips soften against hers when he met compliance instead of objection. Desire shivered through her, swelling unbearably when he brought her to her feet and pulled her against him.
His chest was every bit as hard and muscular as it looked. Beneath the sculpted flesh the powerful beat of his heart kept time with hers and she burrowed deeper, feeling his robe settle around her like enfolding wings.
His masculine aura invaded her senses, blended with shower scents and the tang of peppermint toothpaste. On the brink of overload, her reason shut down. She forgot that she wanted to give herself up to Jamal, and gave herself up instead to everything Tom made her feel. She was all emotion, all sensation, all desire, surrendering to his embrace and wanting more.
His mouth answered her unspoken plea, his tongue dancing with hers in an unbelievably erotic braille. Flame tore through her until she expected her hair to crackle with the effect. Instead, she sizzled inwardly, his accusations and her dire situation swamped by the need to give from the deepest well of her being and take all she could from his.
Tom put into the kiss all the concern for her that he’d fought against acknowledging. Hearing that she’d contacted the palace in Q’aresh, his blood had chilled at the risk she was taking. If palace security traced the call to this number they could notify Jamal who’d be here with his henchmen before daylight.
Maybe it wasn’t up to Tom to stop her giving herself up to her fiancé, but he was going to anyway. Much as he admired her willingness to sacrifice herself for the Logans, he couldn’t let her. In the first place, invalid or not, Des was likely to kill him. And in the second, she would end up bound to Jamal for nothing. Because Tom knew what she didn’t: that a man like Max Horvath wouldn’t be content with Jamal’s payment when an even bigger one in diamonds might be his for the taking.
More alarmingly, if Shara was right and Jamal coveted her father’s throne, the stakes climbed even higher. She might be handing him the means to take over her country with who knew what consequences for peace in the region.
They were all noble reasons for restraining her, Tom rationalized, knowing that not one of them explained why she was in his arms. He wanted her there, pure and simple.
The sight of her curled in his chair, wearing nothing but his shirt, and with a faint milk mustache beading her upper lip, had aroused all his protective instincts and most of his other instincts as well. Telling himself he was no good for her didn’t help. Never having been a candidate for sainthood, he simply had to touch and taste.
He should have known this would happen sometime. Until now he’d been able to separate women into those he bedded with their enthusiastic approval, and those he could care about and therefore avoided if he could.
Where did Shara fit in? His gut clenched. He’d desired her since his first, arousing glimpses all those years before. Her grace and beauty had haunted him since forever. Hearing of the work she’d done with Judy had earned his respect. Meeting her again had only banked the fires higher. But she wasn’t the type a man loved and left. By touching her he was breaking all his own rules.
So why didn’t he stop?
If she objected in the least he would, he vowed to himself. He might not be a saint, but Des had raised his boys to be gentlemen, up to a point.
On her side she had admitted to some skill in self-defense. All she had to say or demonstrate was “no.” A tiny struggle, a well-aimed kick, and it would be over. A bit of pain might just bring him to his senses because it sure as blazes wasn’t happening any other way.
Come on, come on, he urged silently. Show me what you want before it’s too late for either of us.
She showed him by sliding her hands around his neck and pulling his head down to deepen the kiss. A growl like a tiger’s rumbled deep in her throat.
He watched his scruples sink without trace.
Unable to contain himself any longer, he plunged and she opened to him, her tongue twining with his as he flexed his fingers in her glorious hair. The blood thundered in his veins, making him forget his self-imposed rules, banishing all thought except how good she felt in his arms.
She was losing her mind and in danger of losing a lot more, Shara realized in the part of her brain still capable of rational thought. She hadn’t known she could feel like this, as if some other wanton creature had taken over her body. Whatever Tom gave her didn’t seem nearly enough. She ached to be part of him in the way she had learned that men and women came together, but only in careful euphemism, for fear of too much detail corrupting her innocence.
There was nothing innocent about the way she writhed against him now, feeling the power of his desire through her thin shirt. Visions of pressing him back against the couch in his office and tearing away his clothes crowded her mind. She wanted to experience for herself what her tutor had only hinted at. She wanted Tom. And the sheer physicality of his response left her in no doubt what he wanted.
Sweet reason, what was wrong with her? Had she lost her mind when Jamal brought her to Australia? She didn’t even have the excuse of greenness, as she’d had when she fell in love with her tutor. With Tom she knew perfectly well what she was inviting.
Shocked at herself, she flattened her palms against his chest. As if a current had been cut off, he released her and took a step backward. His chest heaved and his eyes were wild, and there was no concealing the state of his arousal. But then he stepped back. Without a word he walked out, the door rocking on its hinges as he jerked it shut behind him.
No, she wanted to cry. Don’t go. She felt as if she had been toiling up an enormously steep hill, then just as she was about to reach the crest, the force pulling her upward had pushed her back down before she could glimpse the glory awaiting on the other side.
Why had he stopped at her slightest touch? She hadn’t been sure herself whether she’d been resisting or exploring, but he’d reacted as if she’d screamed a rejection at him.
What was it about her that aroused him then made him break off before taking things any further? Was she not beautiful enough? Sexy enough? Experienced enough?
That had to be the explanation.
A man like Tom must want a woman of the world who could match him in the bedroom arts. Not a pampered, protected princess he’d have to coax every step of the way. Where was the pleasure in that for him? Shara already knew he was a man of great passions. Going slowly and gently while she caught up probably wasn’t on his agenda.
She tried to feel grateful that he’d been strong for both of them, but instead she seethed with frustration. How was she supposed to become experienced if he wasn’t prepared to teach her how to satisfy him? Well, damn him. This time she’d been vulnerable, her emotions in turmoil after the call to her grandmother. She wouldn’t give him the chance to reject her again.
With head high she emerged from the office to find him slumped on the sofa, watching what looked like a sales pitch on TV for some complicated exercise equipment. Not something he would ever need, she thought, then remembered her promise to herself. No matter how attractive he looked—and with his shirt open and his chest and feet exposed, he looked good enough to eat—she wasn’t going to let him get to her.
She took a seat opposite him, crossing her legs at the ankles and tugging the shirt over as much of herself as she could, although it wasn’t much. “Good program?”
Without looking at her he aimed the remote at the set and muted the sound. “Not as good as the one that was on before it.”
Her heart picked up speed. “The one you turned off?”
“The one we should never have turned on in the first place.”
“Wrong channel?” she asked, wondering how long he would keep this up before he told her outright that he preferred a woman with experience. Then she could assure him that she wouldn’t sleep with him now if he was the last man in the Kimberley. Whether she meant it or not was beside the point. Pride demanded the pretense.
“Wrong everything,” he said tersely. “Time, place, couple.”
“Then why didn’t it feel wrong?” she demanded. So much for pride.
He did face her then, his measuring look shriveling her defenses to nothing. In spite of her promise to herself, if he kissed her now she would be his for the taking. When had she become so pathetically needy?
“Because it’s late, we’re alone and you’re vulnerable,” he said.
“You make it sound as if I’d throw myself at any man in the same circumstances,” she snapped. “Well, you’re wrong. I have my standards. Why do you think I pushed you away?”
As lies went it was a beauty. She hadn’t pushed him away as much as tried to give herself breathing space before plunging in again. Thankfully he wasn’t to know.
“Good, I’m glad we’re in agreement,” he said heavily, reactivating the television’s sound.
On the screen a woman in a skimpy sports top and leggings was pushing and pulling cords, and talking about how the machine strengthened her already luscious body without building unsightly muscles. Shara might be naive but she knew that wasn’t possible. Any more than she could move the immovable object that Tom had become.
The woman on the screen was welcome to him. A blond Amazon, she was probably more his type anyway. “I’m going back to bed,” she said, her tone dripping ice.
He didn’t look up. “I wouldn’t get undressed if I were you.”
Was he warning her that he might be overcome by desire after all? Instant betraying heat washed through her and she struggled to keep the effect off her face. “I’ll lock my bedroom door,” she said with a calmness she was far from feeling.
“That flimsy lock won’t do you much good if Jamal and his goons show up.”
Fool, she told herself. How could she have forgotten that her call to Q’aresh might have been traced? Tom had made her forget, driving everything from her mind except how much she wanted him to make love to her.
Her Royal Highness Princess Shara Amelia Vivani Najran al Dashara, Hope of Q’aresh, Daughter of Light, had allowed a man not her husband, not even her fiancé, to kiss and caress her until she was mindless with lust.
Thank goodness he’d stopped. It still hurt knowing she hadn’t been able to drive him mad with desire for her. Or that he could walk away and watch television, for pity’s sake. Her ego would take some time to recover from that. But the sane part of her knew he’d done the right thing. When this was over, she would probably never see him again. What if she’d gotten pregnant? Her life was difficult enough right now without involving an innocent child.
“The risk of the call being traced isn’t great,” she said, fighting a vision of herself cradling a baby.
“How can you be so sure?”
“My grandmother’s private line bypasses the palace switchboard. It’s encrypted against bugging.”
“So the only weak link is the personal assistant.”
“She’s been with my grandmother for twenty years. I’d stake my life on her loyalty.”
“Let’s hope that isn’t what you’ve done,” he said. “Either way, we’ll know by morning.”
With his dire words ringing in her ears, Shara hadn’t expected to sleep a wink during the night. She followed his advice and dressed before stretching out on top of the covers. But she must have been more exhausted than sh
e realized, because the next thing she knew, Tom was placing a cup of coffee on her bedside table. She had forgotten to lock the door after all.
“Relax, I’m not Jamal,” he said, noting her startled reaction. “Although if I had been, you’d be on your way back to Q’aresh by now. You were dead to the world.”
She sat up. Not used to being awakened by a man, she was glad she’d slept in his shirt tucked into Judy’s jeans, so there was nothing untoward for him to see. Soon she would have to shop for clothes of her own, she thought. She was starting to look like a fugitive as well as feel like one.
Tom hadn’t changed clothes either, although the rumpled look suited him. With stubble shadowing his face, and his eyelids heavy from their late night, he looked disturbingly sexy. She hadn’t heard him return to his room, she realized. “Did you sleep at all?”
His expression became shuttered. “Some.”
She was used to being guarded but not by someone with nothing to gain. “You sat up all night in case Jamal showed up.”
“I slept on the couch. No big deal.”
It was to her. Later she’d have to think about what Tom’s actions might mean. Logic told her he wouldn’t have wasted time bringing her coffee if there was any immediate danger. “He didn’t find out about the call,” she surmised.
“Looks like you got away with it this time. But we have to find you a safer bolt-hole. It’s only a matter of time before he learns about this one.”
Tom sounded as if he wanted rid of her, yet he’d kept watch over her all night. What was going on here? “You don’t have to worry about me. I got away from Jamal once, I can do it again,” she insisted. “As long as I have to, in order to convince my father of Jamal’s true nature. I’ll never belong to such an evil man. I’d kill myself first.”