by Maisey Yates
When the staff left, only the two of them remained. She hated the awkwardness. At least they’d had some sort of relationship before all of this. It had been tense at times, and they’d often been working toward opposing goals, with the undercurrent of attraction always there, making things difficult, but it hadn’t been like this.
He was so closed off, all of his defenses up, his walls thick around his soul. Keeping her out. Keeping everyone out.
“Do you want children?” she asked, blurting it out before she had a chance to censor herself.
“I need children. An heir.”
“But do you want them?”
“Do you?”
She thought about it—really thought about it for the first time—about what she would choose if there was no one involved but herself and the man she loved. What it would be like to hold a child in her arms, a baby. The only baby she’d ever held was her niece. She was so perfect, a little mix of Max and Alison. Would their baby be the same? A mix of the two of them? It made her heart tighten, made tears well up in her eyes.
“Yes,” she said, knowing it was true. “I had always taken it for granted before that I would but … yes, I do. Even if I weren’t in the position I’m in, I would want them.”
He didn’t respond, he only lowered his eyes to the documents that were in front of him.
“You wouldn’t, would you?” she asked, feeling a heavy sickness settle in her stomach.
“I do not want a wife. Why would I want a child?” His voice was hard, cold.
“So if we do have a baby … you won’t love him?”
“I will give what I have, Isabella. No child of mine will be neglected.”
“Of course,” she said slowly, hearing the bitterness creeping into her tone. “You would do your duty. As you always do.”
“At least I will do that. Many men do not.”
“But is it enough if your relationship with your father is only there because he feels he has to give it to you?” She knew it wasn’t enough from a fiancé, from a husband.
“You’re borrowing trouble. There is no child yet.”
“But there will be, Adham. We’re going to have a family together, and I have a right to know how you see that family in your mind.”
He said nothing for a long moment, clenching his fists tightly, like he did when he was grappling with his control. “I wish that I could offer you more.”
“You could.”
“No, Isabella. I lost that ability long ago. That’s what life experience can do to you. It hardens you. You simply haven’t been through enough to know that yet.”
“You’re doing a wonderful job of making sure I reach that point,” she said acidly, rising from her chair and exiting the room, her heart pounding in her chest.
She wanted to scream, wanted to run into the solitude of the desert and hurl obscenities at the sky. Why did there have to be such a painful distance between herself and the man she was supposed to marry? The man she loved.
It seemed cruel that in a room full of strangers she could connect, could laugh with them, talk with them, and yet the one man she could not reach was Adham. There was a war raging inside him. She felt it—felt the struggle, the tension in his body whenever they were near each other. She didn’t know what he was fighting, and she had even less of an idea of who would win.
But if she could have nothing else she would find a connection with him again. She couldn’t stand him being a stranger anymore. She couldn’t stand that moment of connection, that moment when he’d been inside her, been one with her, to be nothing more than a distant memory.
She needed more than that. From her marriage. From life. There were choices in her life that had been made for her, things that were out of her control, but she would not let her relationship with her future husband be one of them.
The household was still when Isabella crept from her room that night. The staff had left long ago, the guards that were standing sentry outside silent and out of sight.
She had managed to get directions to Adham’s chambers from one of the maids—which had been embarrassing, since the other woman had clearly been shocked that Isabella didn’t already know the location of her fiancé’s bedroom.
She wrapped her robe more tightly around her body, holding it against her skin like a shield. She was mostly bare beneath it, the only covering under the terrycloth the sheerest bra and panties set she’d bought while she was in Paris.
Pushing the bedroom door open, she walked in and took a deep breath, clenching her hands tight, trying to stop the shaking. The only thing she really feared was his rejection.
“Adham.”
That voice—husky and sensual, so sexy—called out to him in his sleep, penetrated his dreams. Adham rolled over and froze. She was there, standing by the door, the pale moonlight bathing her body in a silver glow. Her white robe was bright in the light, and he could see clearly as she unfastened the belt and then shrugged it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, pooling at her feet, leaving herself nearly naked to his gaze.
Even in the dim light he could see the faint shadow of lacy lingerie, and beneath that the darker shade of her nipples and the curls that covered her feminine mound.
His heart-rate increased. His body was instantly, painfully hard. When she moved forward, those hips swaying, her perfect body moving with such feminine elegance, his whole body burned with a need so acute his teeth ached.
“Bella,” he grated.
“Adham,” she said again, her voice enough to make his shaft jump. “I need you.”
He needed her. He had no idea how it had become so. Yes, he needed her in a physical sense, but suddenly it felt like more. It was almost impossible to keep himself in the bed, to keep from getting up and taking her in his arms, holding her to him.
“What happened between us … I know it was wrong. I know why you haven’t touched me since. I do understand what a betrayal it was for you. The fault was with me.” Her voice sounded thicker now. “But that’s behind us now. It has to be. We’re getting married. We’re the ones who are trying to make a better future for our people. We can’t have that night standing between us.”
She reached behind her back and her bra straps slid down her shoulders, down her arms, revealing her full breasts. He gripped the sheets, willing himself to stay where he was. He wanted to watch her, wanted to let her lead. A first for him, but he was captivated by her, held captive by his desire for her.
“So, I want us to start again.” She gripped the sides of her thong and shimmied out of it, dropping it onto the floor with her bra. And she was naked in front of him, her body, so lush and womanly, the most perfect sight he could imagine.
She put her knee on the bed, then brought her other leg up so that she was kneeling before him, still out of his reach, but close enough that he could smell her scent. Floral and female, uniquely Isabella.
She gripped the edge of the sheet, pulled it toward her until it slid away from his body, revealing just how much he desired her. Her eyes rounded, her lips parting.
“I didn’t get to see you the first time. Not really.” She moved forward, her movements more awkward now, but he found that just as sexy.
She wrapped her hand around his erection, a small sound escaping her lips. He couldn’t hold back the groan that rumbled in his chest. Her hands were so soft, and she looked so wicked and tempting that he was afraid he might not be able to hold back, that he might end things then and there.
She moved her thumb along his shaft, the motion un-practiced but even more erotic because of it.
“I want.” she began, but her voice deserted her for a moment. “I want to be in control this time.”
She leaned forward, flicking her tongue lightly over the head of his penis. He gripped the sheets tighter, the breath hissing through his teeth. He should stop her. He would. Soon.
“I’ve been wanting to do that,” she whispered.
Leaning in again, she continued to give him
attention with her mouth, her exploration growing bolder as she continued, her noises of pleasure mingling with his.
“Bella,” he ground out, feeling the first shiver of orgasm rack his body. “Stop. Now. I can’t hold back.”
She didn’t stop, and he didn’t possess enough willpower to make her. He could only wind his fingers through her hair as she continued, taking him deep into her mouth, the moist heat surrounding him, pushing him over into the abyss, waves of pleasure coursing through him, sending molten heat through his veins.
Isabella raised her head, situating herself so that her head rested on his stomach, her glossy black hair spilling over his chest as she moved her hand idly over the ridges of his abdominal muscles, over the hard, smooth flesh, scarred in places, but still so beautiful to her. So alive.
She could feel his heart raging, could tell by the fine sheen of sweat on his body how intensely he had been affected by what had just passed between them. She felt as if she had just won a small victory. For a few moments she had held the control, had made him shake with need, had pushed him over into that place where there was nothing but pleasure, nothing but the moment.
“Come here,” he said, his voice husky.
She levered herself up so that her face was even with his, and he cupped her chin, kissed her deeply on the lips before reversing their position so that she was on her back, vulnerable to him now.
His eyes were hot, his pulse beating rapidly at the base of his neck, and she could feel his body hardening again.
Her eyes widened. “You can’t be ready again already. I took biology classes, so I do know some things.”
He chuckled, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He looked younger, more carefree than she’d ever seen him look, and, even as aroused as she was, she felt tears gather in her eyes.
“Give me a few more minutes,” he said, “I’m not quite there yet.”
“Then what …? Oh!” She let her head fall back onto the pillow as he closed his lips over the tip of her breast, sucking it hard into his mouth.
He pulled away, blowing lightly on her damp skin, making her nipple harden painfully, before moving down, kissing the rounded curve of her breast, her ribs, her stomach, the tender spot just beneath her belly button.
His teeth grazed her hipbone lightly, the tiny sting of pain mingled with the pleasure roaring through her body was so erotic that she felt the first wave of orgasm begin to rise up, her internal muscles pulsing, ready for his possession.
“Adham,” she breathed, reaching for his shoulders, trying to bring him up so that she could kiss him, so that she could have him inside her.
“Not yet, amira,” he said, parting her legs, pressing a hot kiss to her inner thigh.
She shivered, her body anticipating the touch of his mouth to her most sensitive spot even before he made the move.
When the heat of his tongue did touch her there, sweeping over her clitoris, she arched beneath him, a sharp cry escaping her lips. Was this what he’d felt when she’d done it to him? So helpless and shaky? Desperate for release and feeling as if she was standing on the edge of a cliff?
He pleasured her that way until her entire body was rocking with wave after wave of pleasure, crashing through her, leaving her spent and breathless.
“Was it that good for you?” she asked, her words labored as she tried to catch her breath.
“Better.”
“That’s impossible.”
She was rewarded with another dark chuckle as he moved to take her lips in a searing kiss.
“Now,” she pleaded, another climax building inside of her. “Please.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist and brought her down so that she was on top of him, straddling him. He gripped her buttocks with his big hands as he moved her into position, so that his hardness was nudging the entrance of her body.
She sighed as he stretched her, filled her. There was no pain this time, only pleasure so deep, so intense, it seemed impossible for her body to accommodate it.
They moved together, their breathing building in a staccato rhythm, their sighs of ecstasy filling the air, and when they reached the summit this time they went over together.
“I love you.” The words fell from her lips with ease, straight from her heart. And even though she hadn’t intended to say them she wouldn’t call them back. She did love him. With everything she had. He had made her who she was. He had helped her become a woman—not because he’d taken her virginity, but because he had shown her the importance of putting others before herself, the importance of living for more than her own happiness.
He had made her complete. And if he never loved her in return, she would survive. She could never be sorry that she loved him. He was good, strong, the most wonderful man she’d ever known.
Isabella rested her head on his chest, her cheek pressed against the place where his heart was beating, fast and ragged. Her body was satisfied, but her heart wanted to weep with the need to feel as though it had mattered to him, affected him, put a crack in those walls that surrounded him.
She looked at him, at his face, and saw his expression unguarded for the first time. Raw. Confused. And if he had been any other man she might have thought she saw fear there too.
She put her hand on his cheek, moved in to kiss him, but he derailed her, drawing her to him, wrapping her in his embrace and bringing her to rest again on his chest. It was a caring gesture … or at least it appeared to be. But she knew it was his way of regaining control. Of avoiding conversation.
So she let him. And he didn’t seem to notice the warm tears that fell from her cheeks onto his bare skin.
His arms were tight around her, but as close as he held her, her breasts crushed to his bare chest, she felt there was a gulf between them. A gulf that was there by his design.
Desperate to find some closeness, a connection, she pressed a kiss to the scar that bisected his pectoral, the light dusting of hair tickling her lips. He stiffened, his muscles locking tight.
“I think it would be best if you went back to your own room, amira.”
She looked up at him, at his face, closed off and cold. It seemed to come so easily to him. How did he do it? She was rocked to her core, her entire world tilted off of its axis, and he was detached.
Maybe he was right. Maybe he couldn’t love. But she had a hard time believing that. He was the best man she had ever known. A man who put others before himself constantly. He had sacrificed his life for his country, continued to do so even now that he was the High Sheikh.
But for all of the goodness in him he was so hard, so damaged, she feared she would never reach his heart. She wanted to. She wanted to tear away those barriers if she had to do it with her bare hands, if she had to dig until her fingers bled. She wanted to reach him. Wanted to find the man beneath all the protective layers.
She wanted to heal him, but he didn’t even realize that he was wounded.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, sitting up, not bothering to cover her breasts. It was pointless now. She’d already given him so much more than her body that her nudity was the least of her concerns.
“I do not want any of the staff to find you here.”
“I don’t care.”
“Maybe honor and tradition mean nothing to you—”
“That isn’t fair, Adham.” She climbed out of the bed, unable to be close to him when she felt so angry. “I wasn’t alone that night.”
“I didn’t mention that night.”
“But that’s what this is about. That’s what all of it is about.”
“You were the one who said you wanted it put behind us. Yet you bring it up now, when that it suits you to fight.”
She wanted to scream in frustration. “Well, maybe I don’t know how to handle this. Any of this. I’m so … I’m confused. And we just … we just shared that incredible experience and you want me to leave!”
His jaw tightened, and there was a dangerous glint in his dark eyes. “Just
go, Isabella.”
“You can’t order me around. I thought you’d learned that by now.”
He stood from the bed too, not bothering to cover his body either. His naked physique was enough to make her feel hot, even as angry as she was.
“You are still so young,” he said. “You take everything personally, make it about you. I am guarding your reputation. A virgin princess is expected, required by the more traditional citizens of my country, and I will not bring shame to them with ugly rumors of their Sheikha. Staff are only so loyal when money is offered to give up salacious secrets.”
“But we’re getting married. It isn’t as though—”
“As though we slept together while you were engaged to marry my brother? Do not think we have escaped those sorts of rumors. It is one reason we have stayed here rather than returning to Maljadeed. The press in the city is rabid, and gossip is flying everywhere. Hassan has been open about his desire to marry for love, but our relationship is a source of great interest. I mean to protect your reputation.”
“Maybe I don’t need you to protect my reputation,” she flung out carelessly.
“You feel too much, Bella, with too much passion,” he grated.
“And you feel nothing.”
He turned away from her, his high cheekbones, the square shape of his jaw highlighted by the moon filtering through the window. “It is better that way.”
“I don’t think it is.”
She swooped down and picked her robe up from the floor, embarrassment hitting as she tugged it on. Somehow dressing in front of him and making the walk of shame out of his bedroom felt much more shameful than disrobing for him had.
But to her it had been an act of love, and to him it had been nothing but satisfying his libido.
It was a strange thing how after sharing that kind of closeness with him she seemed to feel more disconnected in the aftermath.
“That’s just more evidence of how naive you are,” he said, his voice hard, unyielding.
“I’m not naive, Adham,” she said, her voice shaking. “You’ve done a very good job of ensuring that I didn’t remain that way.”