Romancing the Crown Series

by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)

  Lying in the same bed with him night after night, feeling the heat that radiated from his body, knowing he wore nothing but boxer shorts, had evoked a hunger in her … a hunger to touch his warm skin, a hunger to have him touch her.

  As she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, he worked the buttons that ran down the front of her bathing-suit cover-up. He tore his lips from hers and shrugged out of his shirt, then raised her up to help her rid herself of the gauzy material that covered her.

  Instantly she was gifted with his smooth, firm chest making contact with her breasts, the only barrier between them her thin bathing-suit top.

  Again their mouths met, this time in frenzied need. She ran her hands over the width of his back, reveling in the feel of solid muscles beneath the warm skin.

  She gasped as his hands splayed to cover her breasts. Even through the fabric, his touch was intensely pleasurable. His lips left hers and trailed a path down her neck, shooting electric currents through her at every point of contact.

  His hands left her breasts and caressed down her sides and across her lower abdomen, then swept down to lightly stroke the inside of her thighs.

  He seemed to be in no hurry. His caresses became slow and languid, as if he were savoring each and every inch of her skin.

  It was only by the intense glow in his eyes and the uneven rhythm of his breathing that she knew he was as lost in waves of desire as she was.

  By the time he reached behind her to unfasten her bathing-suit top, she was ready for their intimacy to deepen, and as his hands covered her bare breasts, a moan escaped her.

  "Samira." He said her name softly, almost reverently as his thumbs razed over the throbbing tips of her breasts. "You are so beautiful."

  Beneath his touch and in his gaze she felt her own beauty for the first time in her life. It resonated inside her, a new and wonderful feeling.

  He made her feel not only beautiful, but desirable as well, and she wanted to give back to him the feelings he stirred in her.

  But before she could tell him how beautiful she found him, before she could put into words how handsome he was, how he moved her, his mouth captured the tip of her breast and the ability to speak was lost in the vortex of sensation that engulfed her.

  He teased her nipples, licking and nibbling the turgid tips until she thought she'd go mad, and when she thought she could stand no more, he eased her swimming-suit bottoms off her and touched her where she needed his touch most.

  Tenderly, yet with mastery, he took her higher and higher. It frightened her just a little, the incredible tension that built inside her. But her fear was overwhelmed by the explosion of sensations that swept through her, leaving her shattered and gasping and weak in his arms.

  Only then did he kick off his shorts and briefs and take full and total possession of her.

  She'd thought herself completely sated, but as he eased into her, a new hunger awakened in her. He released a moan of such pleasure it echoed in her veins and stirred her to heights she'd never known existed.

  As he stroked slowly, deeply into her, her heart threatened to beat right out of her chest and she feared she might die from the exquisite, intense pleasure.

  Again he seemed to be in no hurry. With a languid rhythm he moved against her … into her, building inside her a conflagration that threatened to consume her.

  She cried out, she thought she might have said his name, but she wasn't certain. Her cry seemed to snap whatever control he'd retained. With a guttural moan that came from the very depths of him, he increased his rhythm.

  Faster and faster they moved together, hips locked, hands gripping and breaths gasping until she was once again tumbling over the edge and this time she took him with her. He stiffened against her as wave after wave of sensation swept through her.

  Afterward, he rolled off and to her side, his arm around her as if he were reluctant to break all physical contact with her. Neither of them spoke for long moments.

  "Are you all right?" he finally asked as he reached up and softly stroked her hair.

  She snuggled closer against his side, loving the way their bodies fit together. "I'm fine. More than fine, actually."

  "I didn't hurt you?"

  "Of course not," she assured him.

  They fell into a silence again. She was grateful he didn't move to get up, to leave her. She liked lying in his arms, feeling his hand smoothing over her hair, his body against hers.

  There were so many things Samira wanted to say … to ask. She wondered if making love to him would always be as wonderful as it had just been. She wanted to tell him how amazing it had been.

  Had it been as wonderful for him? She wished he'd tell her. She wished she could ask him. But, she feared that if she asked him, he would tell her that he was simply doing his duty. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Chapter 8

  Homesick.

  Farid had never believed he could feel homesick for his country, but after two and a half weeks in Montebello, that's exactly how he felt. And he knew Samira felt it, too.

  It was another gorgeous day in Montebello, the sun bright overhead in a cloudless blue sky. He and Samira sat at a small round patio table, sipping cold citrus drinks.

  The restaurant served only sandwiches and drinks and had very little seating inside, but had a dozen umbrella tables in front of the establishment,

  Around them, as usual, the piazza teamed with people and noise, and for the past half an hour the two of them had been people-watching.

  He knew Samira was homesick because in the past few days she'd spoken longingly of home, but hadn't mentioned being ready to return.

  He wasn't sure what she was waiting for, but knew she couldn't put off the inevitable forever. Eventually they would have to return to Tamir and together they would have to face her parents.

  Farid couldn't guess what Sheik Ahmed's reaction might be to the news of their marriage and Samira's pregnancy. Certainly the sheik's temper was legendary and Farid had a feeling he certainly wouldn't be thrilled with their news.

  In the back of his head, Farid still believed Samira would crumble and want out of the marriage once they returned to Tamir.

  She would buckle beneath her father's questions and would end up telling him the truth. Once that happened, there was no way to guess what the future would bring.

  He gazed at Samira now, wondering if she had any idea of how lovely she looked. Clad in a dark-pink dress that complemented her dark eyes and hair, she looked warm and alive and achingly touchable.

  He took a sip of his cold drink in an attempt to cool the eternal flame that had ignited in him since the night they'd made love a week before.

  "I've been thinking about names," she said as she stirred her drink with the straw. "Do you have any preferences?"

  "I'm pretty partial to mine. I don't see any reason to choose a new one," he replied teasingly.

  He was rewarded by her laughter and she gave him a playful slap on the arm. "I'm being serious, Farid," she exclaimed, her dark eyes sparkling prettily. She set her glass down. "What was your mother's name?"

  "It doesn't matter," he replied, the familiar tightness pressing against his ribs as thoughts of his mother fluttered through his mind. Would the anger never cease? "I think it better to give children their own names rather than name them for somebody."

  He realized his voice had held a harsh edge and she looked at him in surprise. "I'd still like to know the name of the woman whose ring I wear," she said.

  Farid sighed, realizing it was easier to tell her than to make a big deal out of not telling her. "Raisa. Her name was Raisa."

  "Raisa." She looked down at the ring on her finger, then back to him. "That's a beautiful name. And your father's?"

  "Hashim." This one came more easily to his lips and brought with it not only the warmth of love, but also the ache of enormous loss.

  She picked up her glass once again and took a sip, her gaze never leaving his face. "Why are you so angry with your m
other?"

  "I'm not," he replied, guessing that the words sounded as false to her as they did to his own ears. "I just don't want to name my daughter after her." He knew his answer hadn't satisfied her. "Let it go, Samira," he said softly. "It's a complicated issue."

  She studied him another long moment, then he saw the corners of her lips curve upward in a faint smile.

  "Okay, then if we have a boy we'll call him Bubba, and if it's a girl we'll call her LulaBelle."

  He knew she was trying to get a rise out of him and he returned her grin, shoving aside thoughts of his mother. "How did you know those are my favorite names of all time?" he said, refusing to rise to her baiting.

  Again he was granted the luxury of her laughter. For a moment, he tried to imagine his life without the sound of her laughter and was struck with a feeling of bereavement that twisted his insides.

  She turned her attention to the people passing by the restaurant patio area and he kept his attention focused on her.

  Making love with her had been a big mistake. In his wildest dreams he hadn't imagined that making love to Samira would be so wonderful.

  She had been far more responsive, far more passionate and giving than he'd ever dreamed possible. He'd been intoxicated by the taste of her, the feminine scent of her. He'd been exhilarated by her sweet sighs and her throaty moans as he'd taken complete and total possession of her.

  "You're staring at me, Farid," Samira now said, her cheeks coloring a becoming shade of pink as she directed her gaze back at him.

  "It's one of the pleasures of being your husband," he replied. "Didn't you know that in our marriage contract it says I have the right to stare at you?"

  She gifted him with a teasing smile. "Does that mean as your wife I have the right to stare at you, too?"

  "Of course," he said. "Marriage is an equal opportunity staring institution."

  She leaned across the table, her chin cupped in her hand and stared at him unabashedly, the teasing smile still curving the corners of her luscious lips.

  It bothered him, how much he liked her smiles, how much he loved those early morning minutes when he awakened to find her, warm and sleeping in his arms.

  It bothered him that he enjoyed her laughter, that he found so many of her habits endearing rather than irritating. In the past two weeks of their marriage, he'd become far too taken with her presence in his life, and he knew that was dangerous.

  The worst thing he could do was to convince himself that anything about their arrangement was permanent. She'd married him on the rebound, frantic with worry and heartbroken by another man.

  She was a woman who believed in and had dreamed of a romantic valentines-and-flowers kind of love that he would never be able to give her.

  She had married him for expediency, not for love. She had slept with him because they were husband and wife. She had slept with Desmond Caruso because she believed herself in love with him.

  Over the past week he'd fought with himself to keep from making love to her again, knowing that it would only make it more difficult for them both when they returned to Tamir and she left him. Nor had she made any move toward making love, as if she, too, knew it would only make the inevitable more painful.

  He took another sip of his drink, returning her steady gaze. "Surely you can't find that much interesting to look at in this face," he said dryly.

  "On the contrary, I find your features very fascinating." To his surprise she reached out and placed her palm on his cheek, her fingers cool from the glass they'd been holding.

  It was the first time she'd consciously touched him since the night they had made love and it electrified him with immediate want.

  "Your features are filled with such strength," she said softly. Her fingers warmed as they lingered on his skin. "You radiate determination and authority, and a confidence that is not only admirable, but appealing."

  Again her cheeks reddened slightly, but she didn't remove her hand from him. Instead she trailed her fingertips down his cheek, across the line of his jaw, then lightly brushed them across his mouth.

  It was the most seductive, provocative thing she'd ever done and he grabbed her fingers and kissed them. "If you continue to look at me that way, to touch me, then we'll be in bed before the day is over and I'm not talking about sleeping."

  She laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that he'd never heard before. It infused him with heat and accelerated his pulse. Once again she placed her fingers against his lips.

  She leaned so close to him he was surrounded by her scent and could see his own reflection in the shiny depths of her dark-brown eyes. "And your problem with that would be?"

  Before he had an opportunity to reply, motion out of the corner of his eye drew his attention. At a nearby table, the familiar blond-haired man stood, a camera up to his face.

  Farid sprang into action, his stomach knotted with rage. In four long strides he was before the man. He grabbed the camera.

  "Hey! What in the hell do you think you're doing?" the man demanded as Farid ripped open the back of the camera to expose the film.

  "I'm helping you with your processing," he said tersely as he pulled the film completely out.

  The camera was a professional one, and he spied the notepad and pen peeking out of the man's breast pocket. A reporter. He should have known. Dammit, he should have paid more attention when he'd first had a bad feeling about the man.

  "You can't do that," the man exclaimed in obvious outrage.

  "I just did." Farid set the camera on the table, then turned and walked back to Samira, who had risen from the table with a hand across her mouth.

  "The public has a right to know about Princess Samira's activities," the man yelled to them. "Princess … how about an interview? What are you doing here in Montebello and who is the creep who just screwed up my pictures?"

  "Come on, let's get out of here," Farid said, aware that they had drawn the interested gazes of the people around them. He grabbed her by the arm and together they left the patio area.

  "What was that all about?" she asked.

  "I'm pretty sure the man was a paparazzi. I saw him snapping a picture of us together."

  She shot him a worried glance. "He recognized me."

  "Yes, apparently he did."

  Her frown deepened. "I can just see the headline that might have accompanied our photo in one of the tabloids. Bodyguard or Lover?" She sighed miserably.

  He squeezed her arm. "Don't worry, there won't be a photograph from that particular roll of film."

  She nodded and they walked for a little while in silence. "I wonder how many other photos he might have taken of us over the last week or so?"

  "I don't know." Anger coursed through him once again. He should have confronted the man that day on the beach, when he'd had the feeling that he was following them. "It's my fault," he said, his anger evident in his voice. "I should have been paying more attention."

  "It's not your fault," she protested. "And in any case, there wasn't much you could do about it.

  "It's time to go home, isn't it Farid?" she finally asked in a small voice.

  "Yes, Princess. I think it's time we go home." Farid felt the weight of depression settling over his shoulders.

  He knew their return to Tamir would, in all probability, mark the end of his duty where Samira was concerned. And he also knew that their return to Tamir would mark the beginning of the end of their marriage.

  * * *

  Desmond stroked a hand up Ursula's naked hip, fighting the anger that had grown with each day that had passed. They had just indulged in a rowdy bout of lovemaking, and more than once during the act Desmond had had to stifle his impulse to wrap his hands around her slender neck and squeeze until she breathed no more.

  For over two weeks she'd been dangling her secret before him like a coveted carrot. He'd wined and dined her, played the role of besotted lover and now his patience had reached an end.

  He had also leaned only that morning that Samira w
as here in Montebello, staying in one of the guest cottages, but he had yet to find a minute to himself in order to see her. Ursula had been like his shadow, constantly in his face since the moment she'd arrived. If he could escape Ursula's presence for just a few minutes, he intended to find Samira and hedge his bet with the lovely princess.

  As if she sensed his restlessness, she raised her head from his chest and looked at him. She didn't look so attractive now, with her eye makeup smeared beneath her eyes and her lipstick gone altogether.

  "That was wonderful, lover," she said, her voice throaty like a contented cat's purr. "Was it good for you?"

  "You know it was," he said dryly. Sex with Ursula was always good. She was an adventurous, uninhibited lover who knew how to please a man.

  She smiled at him, then sat up. "I'll be right back." With the unselfconsciousness of a very young child, she got up from the bed and padded naked into the bathroom. As she closed the door behind her, Desmond got out of the bed and pulled on a pair of boxers.

  Resentment clawed at him as he went to the nearby portable bar and poured himself a healthy dose of scotch. He took a drink and returned to the bed with glass in hand.

  Things were getting worse as far as Desmond's position in the royal family. Too many meetings were taking place behind closed doors, meetings between key players of power.

  Since Prince Lucas's return to Montebello, Desmond had felt himself being systematically squeezed out of all palace affairs, and he didn't like it. He didn't like it one damn bit.

  And the bitch in the bathroom had played him long enough. If she didn't spill her secret tonight, then he was done with her. He still had his ace in the hole … the lovely Princess Samira, although he was beginning to become concerned because he hadn't been able to get in touch with her for almost three weeks.

  Still, if things didn't go well here and he found himself completely on the outs, he would marry Samira and move to Tamir. In that small country he would find a way to ingratiate himself with the Kamal family.

  He took another drink of his scotch and settled back against the thick pillows as Ursula came out of the bathroom. She was now clad in his white terry robe and she'd washed her face and applied fresh makeup.