He stood so close, their bodies were touching. Just lightly, but enough, and even when Daisy knew she should move, or say something, she couldn’t. She could only stare at him. His face was like thunder, but his eyes were all flame. She could feel the war being raged within him, a battle to control his desire, and she didn’t want him to. This was madness. It was sheer, uncontrollable madness—and she had a billion reasons to resist. Max was the main one—her experience with him had warned her off tempestuous affairs for life. But she’d married Max, she’d pledged to love him and trust him, to spend the rest of her life with him. That had been her mistake. The Sheikh was only in New York for two more nights, including this one.
But he was a guest in the hotel! A seriously important guest, and she couldn’t afford to have anything go wrong. She swallowed, taking a step backwards, except she forgot there was a piece of furniture there and her hip jabbed into it, shunting her sideways, so she might have fallen if he hadn’t pushed a hand out, confidently, easily righting her. Her eyes were alarmed as they lifted to his and stuck there like glue, and when he took a step towards her, she couldn’t look away.
Her heart was hammering against her ribs so hard and fast that she was surprised he couldn’t see its frantic movements against her breasts. If she pushed up onto the tips of her toes, if she lifted her face, oh, God, she wanted to kiss him. The realisation was like fire, even when she knew it should have doused her desire, that it should have dragged her back to reality and put a halt to this foolishness.
But was it so foolish? Daisy had played it safe for so long and, suddenly, she was sick of it. Sick of playing it safe, of being careful with whom she trusted. It was as though she second-guessed her instincts so often that they’d grown blunt.
‘Your Highness...’ She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, only that they were standing so close, staring at one another, sensual heat heavy in the air around them, and she wanted to act on it. She wanted him.
But he frowned, his eyes darkening, even as he dropped his head closer. ‘I asked you here to show you something.’
Neither of them moved.
‘What is it?’
He lifted a hand, as though he couldn’t resist, pressing his thumb and forefinger to her chin so he could hold her face where it was, lifted towards him. The contact was so personal, it felt as though they’d crossed a line they couldn’t uncross. They could no longer pretend this wasn’t happening. They were acknowledging the pull that ran between them.
‘I wasn’t going to do this.’
‘Do what?’
With his body in the door frame, he dropped his head by a matter of degrees, so there was ample time for her to move, to say something, to stop this. She didn’t. She stayed where she was, her face held in his fingers, her body swaying a little closer to his so her breasts brushed his chest and, through the fine fabric of his shirt and her blouse, she was sure he must feel the hardening of her nipples, the way they strained against her lace bra.
‘I swore I wouldn’t.’ And then, his mouth claimed hers, his kiss fierce, filled with all the passion of having fought this, of having felt desire and resisted it for as long as he was able.
It was a kiss born of need and it surged inside her, his lips pushing hers apart, his tongue driving into her mouth, his other hand lifting and pushing into her hair, his fingers cradling her head, holding her against him so he could plunder her mouth, tasting her, his body so big and broad compared to hers that she felt utterly enveloped by him, swallowed by his strength and power, her senses subsumed completely by this.
It was a kiss of oblivion, so consuming that she didn’t hear the dinging of the lift doors. She was lost completely in this moment but he wasn’t. He broke the kiss swiftly, his body in the door frame concealing her. ‘Go to my room.’ His eyes held a warning that she heeded even when nothing made sense and her body could scarcely move. She’d been in the suite enough times to know where the master bedroom was. She ran there, pushing the door shut except for an inch, so she could peer out.
She saw members of the kitchen team walk into the apartment, each pausing to bow for the Sheikh, before moving to the table and setting it. Sariq’s eyes chased hers, down the corridor, so she moved away from the door, pressing her back against a wall and closing her eyes, needing her heart to slow down, her breathing to return to normal. She lifted her fingers to her lips; they were sensitive to the touch.
She was grateful beyond belief for his quick thinking. If it had been up to her, she would have stayed where she was, and someone from the staff would have seen her and rumours would have been flying. His quick response had saved her from that embarrassment. What would Henry say? Mortified, she fanned her face and tucked her shirt in more tightly—it had become loose at her waist, and she paced the room as she waited. It didn’t take long. A few minutes and then she heard the click of a door, the turning of a lock, and they were alone once more.
She pulled the door to his bedroom open, moving into the lounge area to find him uncorking a bottle of wine and pouring two glasses. His eyes, when they met hers, were loaded with speculation.
‘I ordered us dinner.’
Her eyes moved to the table. Surprise usurped whatever she’d been feeling a moment ago. ‘You did? Why?’
His smile was without humour. ‘Because we have to eat.’
She sighed heavily. ‘I don’t have to eat with you, though, Your Highness.’
‘I can taste your kiss in my mouth,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t you think it’s time you called me something else?’
His words were so evocative but she shook her head. ‘You’re my client. That should never have happened...’
He paced across the room, handing her the wine glass. She took it without taking a drink. He stayed close to her, his body’s contact intimate and loaded with promise. ‘It shouldn’t,’ he agreed, after a moment. ‘But it did, and I think we both know it will happen again. And again. So let’s stop pretending we don’t want this.’
Her eyes flared wide. Need punctured sense almost completely—but not quite. ‘I can’t afford to lose my job.’
She felt his naked speculation. ‘Do you think I’m going to jeopardise that?’
‘Socialising with clients is strictly forbidden. It’s actually in my contract. And what we just did goes way beyond socialising.’
‘I have my own reasons for requiring discretion,’ he said firmly. ‘Whatever happens between us, no one will know.’
Whatever happens between us. The words glowed with promise. Her insides quivered.
‘Nothing can happen.’
‘Why not?’
‘I told you, my job...’ but she wasn’t even convincing herself.
‘And I told you, no one will find out. Do you have a boyfriend?’
‘No.’ How long had it been since she’d been with a man? That was easy. Max. He was her only lover. He’d been her first, and when they’d divorced three years ago, she thought he’d be her last.
‘I think you want me.’ His words held a challenge. He took her wine glass from her, sipping from it and then placing it on the table to his left. His eyes glowed with the same challenge as he lifted his fingers to the top button of her blouse.
‘I am going to undo these buttons very slowly, giving you plenty of time to ask me to stop. If you say the word, then it’s over. You can go away again.’ He did as he’d promised, his fingers working deftly to undo the first button, so she felt a brush of air against her skin. Then the next, exposing the top of her lace bra. The next revealed the midsection of the bra and, with the next button, the shirt gaped enough to reveal it completely. At the last button, his fingers slowed.
‘You haven’t asked me to stop.’
Her eyes were awash with feelings. ‘I know that.’
‘I want to make love to you.’
‘I know that too.’
He turned towards the table. ‘Are you hungry?’
She shook her head.
‘You don’t want anything to eat?’
Another shift of her head to indicate ‘no’.
‘What do you want, Daisy?’
The final button was separated, so her shirt fell apart completely.
She opened her mouth, but found it hard to frame any words.
‘Do you want to know what I want?’ he murmured, dropping his head to whisper the words against the sensitive flesh at the base of her throat.
‘I think I can guess.’ And despite the heavy pulsing of emotion that was filling the room, she smiled, because it was easy to smile in that moment.
He smiled back, but it was dredged from deep within him, so it cut across his face, his lips like a blade.
His grief was palpable. It had been since the first moment they’d met and it was there now, tormenting him, so that this physical act of sensuality took on a new imperative. She understood the power sex held, the power to obliterate grief and pain, even if only for a moment.
Wasn’t it her own grief that had made her so vulnerable to Max? He’d promised respite from her sadness and she’d ignored all the warning signs to grab that respite. Was Sariq doing the same thing now?
Should she be putting a halt to this to save him from regret?
His fingers were on the straps of her bra, easing them down her arms so tiny goose bumps danced where his fingertips touched, and his eyes were on her breasts as he pushed aside the scrap of lace, so she felt a burning heat in her chest and a tingling in her nipples, an ache that begged him to touch her, to feel the weight of her breasts in his palms, to touch her nipples, to kiss them.
Her back swayed forward, the invitation silent but imperative, and he understood, lifting his hands to her hips first, bracing her waist as he drew his touch upwards, along her sides until his thumbs swept beneath her breasts and she tipped her head back a little on a plea, biting down on her lip to stop what she knew would be incoherent babbling, the kind of babbling brought on by a form of madness.
‘I need you to tell me you want this.’ He drew his kiss from her lips to her throat, flicking the pulse point there, dragging his stubbled jaw across her sensitive flesh. She pushed her body forward, her hips moving from side to side, her hands pushing his shirt up so her fingertips could run over his chest. God, his chiselled, firm chest. Her nails drew along the ridges of each muscular bump, running higher so her hands curved over his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his flesh and the beating of his heart against her forearm.
‘Daisy?’ It was a groan and a plea. His body was tense. He was waiting for her to say that she wanted this and something inside her trembled, because it was such a mark of respect and decency. It wasn’t that she hadn’t expected it from Sariq, it was that she hadn’t known to expect it from anybody. Max had been... She didn’t want to think about Max in that moment. He’d already taken so much from her, she wasn’t going to give him this moment too. It was hers, hers and Sariq’s.
‘I want this.’ The words blurted out of her. And then, more gently, but the same bone-melting urgency. ‘I want you.’ She couldn’t resist adding, with an impish smile: ‘Your Highness.’
He lifted a brow, his lips quirking in a smile that was impulsive and so sexy. But he swallowed and the smile disappeared, his expression serious once more. ‘I have to go back to the RKH as scheduled. I cannot offer more than this.’
Another sign of respect. Her heart felt all warm and gooey and her voice was husky. ‘I know that.’ She showed her acceptance by pushing up and kissing him, by wrapping her arms around his waist, holding him close to her body so she could feel the force of his urgent need through their clothing. ‘Take me to bed, sir.’
‘Take me to bed, sir.’
He didn’t need to be asked again. He lifted her up, cradling her against his chest as he carried her through the suite and into the master bedroom. He didn’t pause to turn on a light, though he would love to have revelled in her beauty, staring at her as he pleasured her: there’d be time for that. Having abandoned himself to this, he intended to enjoy her all night. He knew this would be the last time he acted on impulses such as this, the last time he allowed himself to be simply a man and not a king. Soon he would announce his engagement and he would be faithful to the bride of his choosing.
Until then though, there was this, and he was going to enjoy it. He disposed of her clothes quickly, no longer able to pace himself; he needed to feel every inch of her beneath him. Her legs were smooth and slender. He ran his palms over her flesh as he stripped her of the uniform she wore, acknowledging to himself he’d wanted to do exactly that from the first moment he’d seen her. His own clothes followed next so he stood above her naked. The room was dark but he could make out her silhouette against the bed, her blonde hair shimmering gold in the darkness. He brought the full weight of his body down on hers, his arousal pressing between her legs so, for the briefest moment, he fantasised about taking her like that. No protection, no preamble, just white-hot possession.
She arched her back and lifted her legs around his waist, drawing him towards her, as though she wanted that too. He kissed her, hard, his tongue doing to her mouth what his body wished it could do in that moment, and she met his kiss with every stroke, pushing her body up onto her elbows, wanting more of him, needing him in the way he needed her. Her feet at his back were insistent, pushing him towards her, so he let just his tip press to her sex, her hot, wet body welcoming him in a way he knew he had to control. He swore in his own language, pulling away from her with effort, his breathing ragged.
‘Wait.’ He stood up and her cry was an animalistic sound of disbelief, her need reaching out and wrapping around him. ‘One moment,’ he reassured her, moving to the adjoining bathroom and pulling a condom out of a travel bag. He didn’t make a habit of this—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept with a woman he’d just met—but he was always prepared, regardless.
Striding back into the room, he pushed the rubber over his length as he went, inviting no further delay to this. Her eyes were difficult to make out in this darkness but he thought he saw a hint of apology in the light thrown from the bathroom.
‘I forgot,’ she explained, reaching for him.
‘I almost did too.’
‘Thank you. For remembering.’
He kissed her more gently, reassuringly, parting her thighs with his palm and locking himself against her, as he had been before. She lifted her hips and this time, he didn’t hold himself back. He drove his cock into her, his hands digging into her hips to hold her steady as he took control of her body and made her, completely, his.
CHAPTER FOUR
IT WAS A pleasure unlike any she’d ever known. Her breathing was heavy as she lay on his bed, waiting for sanity, normality, reason to intrude. Her orgasm—no, her orgasms, because he’d driven her over the edge of pleasure several times in a row—was still dissipating, her body felt heavy and weak at the same time as strong beyond belief, and his body, spent at last, was heavy on hers, his own breathing torn from him with silent torment. She ran her fingernails down his back, his skin warm and smooth, curving over his buttocks, and she smiled like the cat that’d got the cream.
Professionally, this had the potential to be a complete disaster, but in that moment, she didn’t care. She pushed up and kissed his shoulder, tasting salt there and moaning softly. He was still inside her and she felt him respond, his beautiful cock jerking at her kiss. A sense of power swelled inside her, because he was as much of a slave to this as she was.
‘I...didn’t think that would happen when I came here tonight,’ she said, when finally her breathing had slowed sufficiently to enable her to speak.
He pushed up on one elbow, so she could make out the features of his face against the darkness of the room. ‘Do you regret it?’
‘Nope
.’
His teeth were white, so she could see them in his smile. ‘Me neither.’ He dropped a kiss to one of her temples and then pushed away from her, standing and striding towards the bathroom. When he opened the door, more light flooded the room. She was so familiar with its décor but now she saw it through new eyes—and always would. He would leave soon, and someone else would occupy this suite of rooms, but the rooms would be overlaid with ghosts of her time with the Sheikh of the RKH for ever.
‘I’ve never done this before,’ she blurted out, hating the thought of him believing this was a regular occurrence for her. He reappeared, a towel wrapped around his waist, and now he reached for the wall and flicked a light on, so she was stark naked against the crisp white hotel sheets. She reached for the quilt, at the foot of the bed, pulling it up to cover herself.
‘Don’t.’ And he was imperious, a ruler of a country, his command used to being obeyed. She stilled, her eyes lifting to his. ‘I want to see you.’
Her mouth went dry, her throat completely thick, as he stood where he was but let his eyes feast upon her body. And she let him, remaining where she was, naked and exposed, her flesh marked with patches of red from where his stubbled jaw had grated against her, or where his mouth had kissed and sucked her flesh until it grew pink. Her cheeks were warm but still she stayed where she was, grateful there was no mirror within eye line that could show her the picture she made, or self-consciousness might have dictated that she ignore him and seek cover.
But she wouldn’t have anyway, because the look in his face was so loaded with admiration and pleasure, with need and desire, that she could do nothing but lie there and watch him enjoy her. It was ridiculous, given how completely he’d satisfied her, but desire began to roll through her like an unrelenting wave, so she was full of want for him all over again.
It was so different from how she’d felt about Max. When they’d made love it had been...nice, at best. He hadn’t ever driven her to orgasm, and he sure as heck hadn’t seemed to care. But the closeness had been welcome, and she’d been too caught up in his lies by then to question whether it was enough for her.
The Secret Kept From The King (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 4