Pursued by the Desert Prince (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Sauveterre Siblings, Book 1)

by Dani Collins

  Climax arrived as a wave of pleasure that had her tipping back her head to release her cry of joy toward the ceiling, body shuddering, hard hands on her hips the only way she remained standing.

  “Your guards might have heard that,” he said with smug lust, rising before her.

  Her heart lurched.

  His command of her and the moment stung. Not so much the guards hearing, although that was hideously embarrassing. No, it bothered her more that Kasim was significantly less affected by what had just happened than she was. She ought to be feeling like the selfish one, but it felt quite a bit like he had benefited from her giving up her self-control so thoroughly.

  He guided her backward onto the sofa. She was so weak she fairly wilted onto it, body still shaking with aftershocks, but she was clearheaded enough to know she wanted him as carried away as she was.

  He opened his belt, unzipped his fly and brought a condom from his pocket, all the while studying her like he had every right.

  He covered himself and knelt between her knees, drawing her hips to the edge of the cushions and moving a pillow to the small of her back.

  “That’s very pretty,” he said in a lust-filled voice.

  The pillow arched her back so her breasts came up a few inches and he bent to suck her nipples again. It was proving to be her greatest weakness, making her close her thighs on his hips and urge him to soothe the ache he incited.

  “Do you want me, Angelique?” He kissed her throat. “I want to hear it. Tell me.”

  “I do,” she admitted on a helpless sob, not caring about propriety or modesty. But she did care that she not be alone in her abandonment to passion. She grasped the hot shape of him, feeling the muscle leap under her cautious caress, so hard and promising.

  With a determination to make him as wild as she felt, she guided him to where she wanted him and caressed her folds with his tip.

  He reared back, stole a look into her I-dare-you expression, and something untamed flashed in his gaze. He hooked his arms beneath her knees and nudged her for entry, pretty much daring her right back. Take me, then, he seemed to challenge.

  She was very aroused and arched to accept him, but the press of him stretching her made her instinctively flinch. It had been a long time.

  His grip on her legs prevented her from closing them, but he felt her reaction. He paused. “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t stop,” she gasped, grabbing at his neck and pulling herself upward against him, angling her hips to take him in and releasing a stifled groan as he filled her.

  He made a feral noise and shuddered.

  “Gently,” he ordered, moving in small, abbreviated strokes, testing her body’s arousal and willingness to accept his intrusion.

  She lolled back on the cushion, smiling at him in a way she had never imagined smiling at any man, inviting him to have his way with her. Thoroughly. Completely.

  “Let them hear both of us this time,” she taunted, and ran her hands over her breasts, cupping them, letting her nipples poke from between her splayed fingers. “Unless you can’t wait for me.”

  He muttered something that was probably an accusation of insolence, but he began moving with powerful strokes, deliberate and measured, watching her to ensure she liked it. She did, unable to help moaning and arching, hands stroking up his arms. She caught at his shoulders and pulled him down while bringing herself up, so they were chest to chest. She lifted her mouth to catch at his in soft, biting kisses.

  Soon it became uninhibited and wild. Sweaty and earthy and abandoned. It was incredible. She would have laughed in triumph, but her breaths were nothing but jagged gasps and cries of pleasure. She received him with joy, basked in being his vessel, and told him how good he made her feel.

  “Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

  The tension built to impossible levels, both of them digging fingernails into the other as they mated, the enjoyment of the act no longer enough. They sought the culmination. It was coming. They were almost there. So close. Tense. Tight.

  The world exploded and he covered her mouth with his own, so they were the only two who heard the sounds of ecstasy they made together.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  KASIM SHOULD HAVE been fast asleep. He was utterly relaxed. Sexually replete. He certainly didn’t want to move. The bedsheets were smooth beneath his back, the warmth of Angelique draped over him the only blanket he needed. Her hair felt pleasantly extravagant, spilled across his chest and neck in cool ribbons.

  She was falling asleep, twitching lightly as she drifted into slumber, growing heavier against him. Equally sated.

  The things they had done to one another. He closed his eyes and a banquet of remembered sensation washed over him. Smooth, soft hands. A wet, lavish mouth. Legs like silk slithering against his own. Her ripples of climax squeezing him again and again.

  Not that they’d been particularly adventurous. He generally left the level of exploit to his lover, never needing fancy positions or toys to enjoy himself so long as he had an eager partner. But the sofa hadn’t been enough. They had come in here to the bedroom and consumed one another all over again.

  It hadn’t been mere enthusiasm between them. It had been immersion. For a woman who “didn’t do this,” Angelique was tremendously willing to throw herself into the fire of passion. He couldn’t help but burn right alongside her.

  Which was such a disturbing loss of self-governance, part of him was thinking he should rise and take her home right now.

  His body reacted to the thought with an involuntary tightening of his arm around her. A fierce urge rocked through him to roll atop her and have her again.

  One night was not enough.

  Sleep, he ordered himself. Sleep and think clearly in the morning.

  His eyes wouldn’t stay closed, preferring to stare at the decorative ceiling tiles, textured with shadows in the mellow light slanting like sunset from the lounge.

  He likened his sleeplessness to those few times in his life when a day had been so perfect, he couldn’t make himself go to bed and end it. A day in the desert with his father as a child, when the king relaxed and they only concerned themselves with basic needs. Or his last day with his brother, knowing he would never see him again...

  His heart gave a wrenching twist and he tensed, restraining himself from rolling into Angelique and seeking more than escape into physical pleasure. Comfort?

  No. He refused to be that needy.

  She drew a long inhale, disturbed by the tension that kept taking a grip on him. She repositioned herself, sighed and relaxed, but he could tell she was awake. He could feel her lashes blinking against his skin.

  “I’m thirsty, but I don’t want to move,” she said in a husk of a voice.

  He was starving, but only moved his hand to her head and caressed her scalp through the thick waves of her silky hair.

  With a beleaguered sigh, she pulled away and climbed from the bed to go into the bathroom.

  Kasim tucked his arm behind his head, listening to the tap run. When she came out of the bathroom in a robe, he rose onto his elbow.

  “Come back to bed,” he ordered, voice graveled by sexual excess.

  “It’s already been a very long dinner,” she said wryly. “I don’t want to give the press more fodder than they might already have.” She walked out to the lounge.

  * * *

  Angelique was trembling on the inside, reacting to something so intense it had left her dismantled and exposed.

  She gathered her few pieces of clothing and dressed, aware of Kasim coming into the lounge behind her, but she didn’t turn to look at him. If she met his gaze, if he was naked, she feared she would find herself back in his bed in a matter of seconds.

  With a practiced wriggle, she got the zip fastened up her back, then swept her loo
se hair back and behind her shoulders. The silk liner on the dress was cool and the beadwork made it feel heavy and stiff. Her sensitive, sensual soul was firmly tucked away behind walls and guards again.

  Searching out her pocketbook, she glanced at her phone and saw her brother wanted her to text when she arrived home safely. She rolled her eyes and plucked her lipstick from the velvet interior of her purse. She had already tidied the rest of her face in the bathroom and was determined to look like she had not been rolling around with the prince all evening if she happened to be photographed leaving the hotel.

  “You don’t have to go.”

  “I should let you sleep,” she said, sending him a sly look in the mirror near the door. “You’ve worked hard.”

  “That tongue,” he said on a breath of laughter, stalking close to catch at her and turn her, drawing her in front of his naked frame. “If you hadn’t used it to pleasure every inch of me, I would curse it completely.”

  Oh, he did not just say that. She blushed. Hard. And she would not look to see if he was laughing. Or hardening. She stared at the flex of tendons in his neck.

  He chuckled and bent his head to nuzzle against her mouth with his own, murmuring, “I’m rather fond of it, now. Let me say hello again.”

  He meant “good night,” didn’t he?

  Their lips parted and sealed in a mutual coming together, like polar opposites aligning and locking. His tongue found hers and caressed, making showers of pleasure tingle down her front. She hummed a pleasured noise and pressed into him, trying to assuage the instant rush of greedy desire.

  She found him hard and famished. He clutched her with increasing passion, threatening Trella’s beautiful beadwork.

  She drew back as far as he would let her and had to stifle a pant of pure need. His eyes were like midnight, his desire for her undisguised, from the flush of excitement across his cheekbones to the thrust of flesh pressing into her abdomen.

  “Come back to bed.” Implacable determination was stamped into his face.

  Her heart turned over with helpless yearning.

  Defensive, flippant remarks like, I had a nice time, threatened to come to her lips, but she found herself speaking more earnestly. Almost begging for clemency. Her stupid eyes grew wet with the conflict inside her.

  “I would prefer to keep tonight private, if at all possible.” Her voice reflected the arousal he incited and the powerlessness she felt in the face of it. If he pressed, she would stay the night. “If I get caught doing the walk of shame tomorrow morning, it will cheapen something that was actually very nice.” She couldn’t bear that. She really couldn’t.

  His eyes narrowed in a brief flinch. His mouth tightened and she thought he was about to demand she stay anyway.

  “I’m going to London tomorrow. Come with me.”

  She blinked, thrown. She had geared herself up for this to be one night. A rush of hope flooded her. Yes. More.

  Just as quickly, she thought, No. How?

  Her mind splintered at the complexity of it. Obligation to Trella rushed in to make anything but these few hours impossible.

  “I thought... You seemed pretty clear about there being no future.” She searched his gaze.

  His expression grew shuttered. “One more night, that’s all I’m talking about.”

  Ouch. Right. She smiled her regret, hoping he’d take it as regret at refusing, not the very real regret that this was such a dead-end road.

  “The more we see each other, the more likely we are to become a sensation.”

  “Still trying to scare me off? It is unrealistic to think we won’t be found out, that’s true. So what? If that’s the only obstacle, there is none.”

  “It’s not,” she murmured with genuine reluctance, and tried to step away. Maybe when she went to Berlin next week? She would have to think about it. She was never impetuous, least of all about men and allowing them to impact her life.

  He locked his arms, not holding her more tightly, but turning his muscles to steel so she was forced to stand quietly and look up at him. She did not hide her disapproval at being manhandled.

  “What then?” he queried.

  “Trella is coming to Paris.”

  “So?”

  “We have to finish your sister’s trousseau.”

  “Hasna will not be wearing everything you’re giving her on her first day of marriage. I will personally take responsibility for anything that arrives late.”

  “That’s not the point.” She tried again to pivot away from him.

  He kept her in place, not allowing her to screen her emotions or remove herself from his thought-scattering touch. Infuriating.

  “I never leave Trella alone when she’s here.” She’d never even considered it because she’d never been tempted. She set her hands on his wrists where he gripped her hips, trying to extricate herself from the lure of him. “Most especially not overnight.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-four. And don’t pass judgment.” She could see opinions forming behind his eyes and it was true that they all babied Trella, but there were reasons.

  Trella was traveling on her own tomorrow, though. Did that mean she was ready for other acts of independence?

  Angelique found herself standing acquiescent in Kasim’s embrace, considering her own arguments to her brothers about allowing Trella room to find her own confidence.

  What if she had a rebound crash as a result, though? She was trying to justify deserting her sister. What was wrong with her?

  Berlin, she thought again, because it was further into the future and gave her time to think. This man moved way too fast for her.

  “Is security the issue? Your detail can travel with us,” he said.

  “No. I mean, yes, they would have to. And Henri keeps a flat in London that is completely secure. No, it’s Trella. I could ask her...”

  “I do not ask permission from strangers to go away with my lover.”

  “That’s not—You don’t understand.” Lover. Her heart pounded with excitement at the sound of that.

  “Enlighten me.”

  “No,” she said bluntly. She never talked about Trella’s experience. It was hers and nearly killed Angelique every time she revisited it. Her nostrils stung with unshed tears just thinking about it.

  His fingertips dug in just a little against the soft flesh of her hips, insisting on possessing her full attention.

  “Am I sleeping with you or your sister, Angelique?”

  “That’s the problem, Kasim. That is exactly the problem,” she said as her eyes filled.

  * * *

  Kasim had begun to think she was playing coy, attempting a manipulation as some women were inclined, but the anguish in her beautiful features was real. It caused such a twist of protectiveness in him, he instinctively tightened his arms to draw her nearer.

  The old habit of standing between Jamal and the constant threat of harm rose in him, mentally pushing him between Angelique and her sister, making him even more determined to separate her from something that was obviously harming her in some way.

  She resisted his attempt to enfold her, bottom lip caught in her teeth, brow pulled into a wrinkle of angst.

  With a flex of agitation at the stiffness of her, he pulled away and sought out his pants from the floor where he’d shed them.

  “Explain,” he commanded as he stepped into them and zipped. He reached for his shirt, slipping it on but leaving it unbuttoned.

  “It’s hard,” she said in a small voice, one hand lifting helplessly. “It doesn’t even make sense, really. But it’s how I feel.” She sighed heavily. “And I am the sensitive one, ruled by my emotions.”

  She sounded so forlorn.

  He folded his arms, trying not to let that niggle at him. He h
ad learned to shield himself against expressions of deep emotion. Too many times in his childhood he’d been bombarded by the pain of others—his mother and Fatina, the king’s warring wives, trying to draw him to their side. Jamal’s inner torture then Hasna’s unrelenting grief...

  There was no way to fix the emotional pain of others. He could only protect himself from becoming wound up in it.

  Seeing Angelique had demons warned him to cut short whatever this was, but he found himself rooted, willing her to speak. He wanted to understand why she was resisting him. He wanted to help her.

  “It was supposed to be me,” she said, gaze naked and filled with guilty torment. “The kidnapping. I was the quiet one. The shy one. The one who was bad at math and needed a tutor. It was end of semester and our chauffeur was coming. Trella was already outside. She was the extrovert who wanted to say goodbye to everyone. My tutor called out to her. He thought she was me. She went over to tell him I would be out soon and he grabbed her.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that. Ramon came out in time to see it happen and chased the van as far as he could, but they’d plotted their getaway very well...”

  Her lips were white. Her hand shook as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

  “Was she...?” He didn’t want to finish the question. What kind of person assaulted a nine-year-old child?

  “What happened in those five days is Trella’s to tell or not,” Angelique said in a voice that quavered. She knew, though. The answer was in her eyes. Hell. Whatever it was, it had been hell.

  Kasim moved to take her cold hands in his, trying to rub warmth into them.

  “You’re suffering survivor’s guilt,” he said quietly. “I understand that.” He did. Jamal should be living the life Kasim enjoyed. They were both sons of the king. There was no difference between them except those small characteristics that made every person unique unto themselves.

  “The guilt is only part of it. We were already legendary, not that we ever wanted that sort of notoriety, but that’s why we were targeted. The Sauveterre Twins, one of Europe’s treasures, right? Of course payment would be made for Trella’s return. Of course the press went mad at the sensationalism of it.”