by Mel Teshco
His voice was so deep and sexy and persuasive it took her a couple of seconds to comprehend his meaning.
Was he suggesting that once—if—they had a child, she’d be willing to leave the baby in Tariq’s tender care? Or, more accurately, a succession of royal nannies who’d have no interest in ensuring her child learned anything of its rich foreign heritage?
Don’t say anything. But she could just as soon stop breathing. “As if I’d leave my own child behind while I continued my education.”
He smiled once again but it looked suspiciously close to a smirk, and her temper roused. She leaned toward him, and didn’t miss the interest flare in his eyes. Don’t get distracted.
“I would, of course, take my child with me. That goes without saying.”
They were so close his warm breath feathered her lips. She swallowed, her mouth dry, as every nerve she possessed vibrated with anticipation.
Is he going to kiss me? Did she want him to? If she had any sense she’d pull back but it seemed her good sense had left along with her escape options.
“Our child will be a prince of Zanzar.” His meaning was clear but she couldn’t speak if her life depended on it. Where had all the oxygen gone? “He will be brought up in the country of his birth.”
The promise—threat?—hung between them for a heartbeat before his lips claimed hers, stealing whatever remained of her reason.
***
The kiss was meant to show her who was in control, to let her know he wouldn’t be dictated to by his own bride. But the thread of annoyance at her insistence that she’d leave him at the earliest opportunity evaporated as her lips parted on a gasp, and he forgot about everything but the feel of her soft flesh beneath his.
His tongue slid between her lips, a teasing caress; the barrier of her teeth a strangely erotic challenge. He cradled her warm cheek, his thumb brushing over her delicate bone structure, and through the heat pumping through his mind a tangled thought surfaced.
She kisses like an untouched virgin.
But by her own admission she wasn’t a virgin, which meant he didn’t need to pull back, didn’t need to send her to her own suite before he forgot himself and ravished her on the floor of his bedroom.
He groaned and slid his hand around her throat. Her pulse fluttered against his fingers like a trapped butterfly, and her mouth opened for his penetration.
So fucking sweet. She gripped his shirt, the heat from her hand arrowing straight to his cock. The image of her on her hands and knees, while he fucked her from behind, flooded his mind.
Was she into that? He liked it rough, but had never imagined taking his bride in such a way.
Not on their wedding night, anyway.
His fingers glided along the column of her vulnerable throat and over the tantalizing swell of her breast. She gasped and stiffened, as though no man had ever touched her there before, and he wrenched his mouth from hers, panting into her flushed face.
Her eyes were dark with need and her lips pink and swollen from his possession, and he’d never seen anything more captivating in his life.
Slowly he tugged her t-shirt up, bunching the material in his fist, his gaze never leaving hers. She untangled her fingers from his shirt and wrapped her small hand over his.
“What’re you doing?” Her voice was breathless and so damn sexy his balls ached with need.
“Stripping you naked.” Lust burned through every word as he abandoned her t-shirt and palmed her silky smooth waist. “I want to see your beautiful body open and willing for me, Sofia.”
An enchanting blush suffused her cheeks. Had no one ever spoken to her like that before? Raw possessiveness blazed through him at how innocent she looked, even if it was merely deceptive.
“That’s not happening, Tariq.”
Her voice was so seductive it took him a moment to realize she wasn’t agreeing with him. He brushed his mouth against hers, and her ragged sigh told him everything he needed to know.
“There’s no need for false modesty between us. You want this as much as I do. Admit it, my princess.” He trailed kisses along her jaw to her ear, and flicked the tip of his tongue over her earlobe, where a diamond stud glittered.
A delicate shudder rippled through her and her head tilted, allowing him unfettered access to her throat. The primal urge to claim that silken flesh, to mark it as his thundered through him, but he’d do no such thing, of course.
Not where anyone else might see the brand of his possession. Such intimacies would be hidden from the public gaze, displayed only for the eyes of him and his bride.
“No…” Her voice was slurred and she didn’t push him away, but he lifted his head and frowned at her all the same. Women didn’t say no to him. Ever. Because when he and a woman were alone like this, there was only one thing she wanted and that was orgasmic sex.
“Sofia.” He breathed her name, liking the sound of it on his tongue. “This is our destiny. There’s no need to wait until we arrive in Zanzar. You’re already my wife in every way that matters.”
“No.” This time she pushed at him, and he straightened, even though every primitive urge demanded that he fuck her right now. “We’re not officially married until I sign the contract.”
It was a technicality; anachronistic traditions allowed for full marital rights once the contract had been sanctioned. Naturally he hadn’t intended to claim those rights until their official wedding night, but that was before he’d met her.
Why was she playing so hard to get?
He was a prince, and he’d never begged for a woman’s favor in his life. He wasn’t going to start now. Their joining was inevitable and it was obvious she desired him. But if she wanted to play games it was no great hardship. Hell, it could be fun.
It was damn uncomfortable with a hard-on threatening to burst through his pants at any second, but he certainly wasn’t going to adjust himself in front of her. With pained dignity he stood, only realizing he still held her hand when she rose from her chair, too.
For a reason he couldn’t fathom he didn’t release her.
“If that’s your wish, I shall honor it.” Since she didn’t snatch her hand from his, he tugged her toward him until her elusive scent of roses ensnared him. “I’ll order a bath to be drawn for you before we dine.”
The tip of her tongue slid across her lips in an oddly innocent gesture that was conversely so arousing it took all of his considerable will power not to drag her into his arms for a brutal, plundering kiss.
If he played her game right, she would be the one begging him not to leave her alone tonight.
“I’m capable of giving my own orders.” Her voice was husky and she cleared her throat. “Actually, I’m capable of running my own bath.”
He shrugged. The issue wasn’t worth arguing over. “Allow me to escort you to your suite.” Still holding her hand he led her to the double doors on the far side of his bedroom, which led into the adjoining penthouse’s Queen bedroom suite.
Her soft gasp and the way she came to an abrupt halt was all he needed to know that she wasn’t impressed by the arrangement. “I hope I can lock these doors tonight.”
“Of course,” he said agreeably, even though there was no way she would ever lock a door against him. “Your lady’s maid and staff should be arriving shortly. In the meantime, if you need anything simply pick up the phone and ask.”
“Thank you.” Her voice was stiff and he released her hand and watched her enter her suite and shut the doors in his face.
Chapter Five
The spa was heaven. Sofia closed her eyes and sank further into the scented bubbles, enjoying the jets that massaged her body and helped ease her fractured mind.
Somehow, Tariq had ensured his order had been carried out, and by the time she’d explored the suite and found the bathroom with its massive circular spa, it had already been filled.
She sighed and tried to push him from her mind. Like that was going to happen. Even when he wasn’t right in front
of her, ordering her life around, she couldn’t get his face out of her head.
Or his body.
Heat washed through her. He was gorgeous and virile, the kind of guy it was impossible not to fall for. Except she couldn’t fall for him, because all he wanted from her was an heir.
It was barbaric and ridiculous and belonged in the Middle Ages, but here she was. Surrounded by luxury, trapped in a golden web; the sacrificial virgin of her nightmares.
Sure, she was half-Italian and she could find some way to contact the Embassy. But what good would it do? She loved her father, despite his old fashioned views, and she couldn’t leave her homeland vulnerable, could she?
Mamma, I wish you were here…
Tears prickled the back of her eyes. Her mother had always known what to do when the culture of her husband clashed with her own relaxed upbringing in Italy. But she had died three years ago, and Sofia missed her as much as ever.
One of the double doors to the bathroom opened and she sucked in a shocked breath as Tariq, dressed in a royal blue bathrobe and possibly nothing else, strolled in carrying a silver tray. He kicked the door shut behind him and smiled at her, as though he had every right to be there.
While I’m naked. In the bath. She sunk down a few more inches, until her nose rested just above the bubbles. Except now she couldn’t speak, and she wasn’t going to let him get away with this invasion of privacy. It was bad enough there were no locks on any of the doors, but she’d foolishly believed him when he’d said if that’s your wish, I shall honor it.
“Good evening,” he said, sitting on the edge of the spa and placing the tray on a conveniently placed ottoman. “Would you care for an aperitivo?”
For a second she was distracted by his use of the Italian word, and glanced at the tray where two glasses glinting with ice and garnished with orange peel stood beside a selection of nuts and olives.
It was kind of surreal.
She bobbed up, just enough so her mouth was above water. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
“Such language from a princess.” He grinned at her, and the haughty prince vanished, replaced by an equally gorgeous guy she might easily have met through mutual friends. Stop drooling. It was embarrassing how profoundly he affected her. Surreptitiously she pressed her thighs together, but it didn’t stop the strange, pleasurable throb in her lady parts. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“Such behavior from a prince,” she shot back. “You promised you wouldn’t pressure me.” Okay, he hadn’t exactly promised that, but close enough.
“I wouldn’t dream of pressuring you, my sweet.” He handed her a glass and she very nearly ignored it, except perversely she didn’t want him thinking her bad mannered.
Pressing her lips together she took the glass from him, and bubbles from her fingers slid over his hand. There was no way in the world that was sexy, so why did illicit little shivers race over her at the sight?
He didn’t wipe them away, just picked up his own glass and clinked hers. “To our future.”
She took a sip of the sunset hued cocktail. “I hope you don’t think you’re going to get me drunk so you can have your wicked way.” Did I really say that out loud? She resisted the urge to sink right under the bubbles and vanish.
His warm smile didn’t help at all. “I don’t want you drunk, Sofia. What fun would that be for either of us?”
Since she couldn’t think of an immediate retort to that, she took another sip of the cocktail, but his evident self-satisfaction grated on her nerves.
Turns me on, is what I really mean. She ignored her pathetic libido and balanced the glass on the edge of the spa.
“Fun for you perhaps. I’m not inspired by the prospect of being nothing but an incubator for your issue.”
Instead of looking offended—and why on earth am I trying to offend him anyway?—Tariq appeared to be holding back a laugh. “I assure you, Sofia, when I look at you the last thing I see is an incubator.”
She grabbed her glass and took a long swallow. To hell with appearances, she needed the alcohol to get through this bizarre encounter.
“We need to agree on clearly defined boundaries in this relationship.” Like not walking in on me while I’m in the bath. Except even in her head that sounded silly and immature, and even though she was in the right to demand it, she didn’t want him thinking she was an unsophisticated prude.
It doesn’t matter what he thinks. Of course it didn’t. Unfortunately that fact didn’t change her mind.
“Boundaries?” He placed his glass on the tray and leaned a little closer to her. The deep V of his bathrobe drew her gaze like a magnet, where his bronzed chest gave more than a fleeting glimpse of toned pectorals.
Before she could stop herself, she tipped the remainder of her cocktail down her throat. She was doing a fabulous job of getting herself drunk without any help from him.
“Yes.” Maybe she should grab a handful of nuts to try and counteract the alcohol swimming in her empty stomach, except she had the awful vision of her choking on them and Tariq having to haul her naked, dripping body from the bath in order to give her mouth-to-mouth.
The image quivered before her eyes, far more enticing that it had any right to be.
“Can you be more specific?” He was laughing at her, damn him, and it was hard to put him in his place while she was languishing in a lake of bubbles.
To hell with it. It wasn’t going to be a real marriage and she was entitled to her space. “When I’m in my own suite of rooms I expect you to honor my privacy. I trust my apartment in your palace will have its own security in place.”
“If by security you mean the ability to lock the door against me, then no. But since I’m an advocate for equal opportunities you may be assured my doors will never be locked against you, either.”
“That’s…” she floundered for a moment, hating the way her body hungered for his touch, while her brain fought a losing battle against her treacherous hormones. Lay down the ground rules right now. “That’s unacceptable.”
“You would prefer I locked my doors, when I’ll have complete access to your rooms? That hardly seems fair.”
It was so hard to remain cool headed when her body burned with need. She shifted her rapidly numbing bottom, and a stream of tantalizing bubbles cascaded over her lady parts from a strategically placed jet.
What the hell are we talking about? She tried not to wiggle, and curled her toes against the ripples of pleasure consuming her. Focus.
“That isn’t what I meant.” She hitched in a ragged breath and didn’t miss the predatory gleam in Tariq’s eyes. He was clearly enjoying this power trip, showing her that she could protest all she liked, but ultimately she’d have no choice but to bend to his will.
“Sofia.” He plucked the empty glass from her fingers and placed it next to his. “Let’s forget the politics and enjoy our honeymoon like any other couple. Will that be so hard? We can work out the details when they arise. What do you say?”
She wanted to say get me out of here. But her tongue wouldn’t cooperate because her mind was all tangled up in the prospect of having a honeymoon with this impossibly irresistible man.
But she couldn’t let him trample over her rights. If she didn’t stand up for herself now, before the wedding, what hope did she have of him listening to her afterwards?
He’d asked her opinion and whether he expected her to respond or not was beside the point. She’d take his question at face value.
“How many children am I required to conceive?”
He blinked as though her words took him by surprise, his long thick lashes hiding his expression for a second. When he once again looked at her, the only emotion she saw was amusement. Did he think she wasn’t serious?
“An heir and a spare is the usual requirement. Not too arduous a task for the sake of maintaining peace.”
Well, that was low. And arduous was a matter of opinion. While she was painfully aware children were a requirement of
such political unions he wasn’t the one who’d have to go through pregnancy and childbirth, was he?
“I see.” She slid her bottom away from the jet. “And they would both have to be male, I presume?”
Of course they would. Females counted for nothing in his world. Nothing except as a means to beget the next generation. The inequality between the sexes in Bahmen was what had driven her to pursue a career in civil rights. She couldn’t simply stay silent without at least attempting to assert her rights.
But what rights will I have, once Tariq is my husband?
“Ah.” For the first time she saw something akin to discomfit flicker over his autocratic features, but it vanished so quickly she might have imagined it. “Sons are required to seal the union. But I wouldn’t be averse to a daughter.”
“And if, for argument’s sake, the heir and a spare were both girls, I’d be expected to continue to breed until a son was born?” She had no idea how she managed to sound so calm when inside she was seething.
A frown slashed his brow. Finally, she’d managed to wipe the amusement from him, but it was a hollow victory. This man was going to be her husband no matter what. Did she really want to alienate him with her Western ideals?
No. But that wasn’t even the issue. She couldn’t keep her mouth shut and accept her fate when it clashed so violently with the core beliefs her beloved mamma had instilled into her.
“Certainly not.” There was a strangely harsh note to his voice, as if her assumption had touched a raw nerve. “I’d never allow your health to be put in jeopardy simply to fulfill the finer details of the contract. Your wellbeing is of paramount importance.”
She certainly hadn’t expected that response. She wasn’t even sure where his vehemence came from, but she wasn’t about to contradict him. “So two children are required of this union, regardless of their sex?”
This conversation is insane…