But Talitha looked incandescent with excitement. “I can teach you to draw.” Her enthusiasm even seemed to brighten the candles. “If I can teach your son how to swim, then I can give you sketching lessons. Come to my easel.”
“Now?”
“Are you busy?” She winked at him, already standing at the easel. “Come over here, Hamid. Learn how to draw.” While he went to her Talitha flipped to a new page in her sketchbook, setting the fresh expanse of white paper jauntily on the easel. Then she arranged Hamid as well, pushing lightly at his shoulders to get him to stand in front of it. “There,” she murmured. “Now, take this pencil.” He did. “No, not like that.” Talitha put her hand fully over his, the gesture radiating confidence. It stole Hamid’s breath. When was the last time someone had touched him like this? Had it ever happened? People did not just assume a king—or even a prince—needed this kind of intimate help with anything.
Talitha guided his hand across the page, softly giving him instructions on what to look for. A curve there. A line here. What flowed out of his fingertips was not like the complex city view she’d been working on before—they focused on one building with a curved roof. She was so close, smelling faintly of garden flowers and an aloe lotion and something else that was all Talitha. The hem of her dress brushed against his pants in a whisper that spoke of her nearness to him. It had felt disorienting to admit he couldn’t draw, such a simple thing, but then again when did a king have time to draw? The most he did was scrawl notes on the papers that came across his desk and sign his name over and over.
But there, under their hands, the building came to life. The moonlight spilled down it like it did in real life. Talitha’s touch transformed it into something real, something shimmering and beautiful. Ha! And it was only a sketch. She was doing things to him, he could admit that in the privacy of his own mind, though not quite out loud. For once in his life Hamid was the student. It had never happened before, not like this, not even in school, where every teacher knew he would be king, and then he was king—
“There.” Talitha cocked her head to the side, giving the drawing a once-over. Hamid’s heart sank. He didn’t want this moment to end, any more than he’d wanted her to get out of the car after the fashion show and leave him behind to go to his own suite. “That’s good. With some practice and a little more help, you’ll be sketching anything you can dream of.”
He waited for Talitha to take her hand away, but a heartbeat passed, then another, and she didn’t move.
In fact, in fact, he felt her breathing quicken. With her lips parted like that, her eyes on the drawing they’d created together, she looked ravishing. Take her to bed, a wicked voice in his mind said. Take her there now.
No, of course not, of course he wouldn’t. But that didn’t change the way he felt, like something momentous had occurred between them. Hamid tried to wrestle that feeling into a smaller package that could be explained away by the late hour or the delicious food or the excitement of the fashion show, but it resisted him, taking over his chest and his heart. It would not let go.
Talitha let her hand slide away from his, and the two of them stood close at the easel, her face turned up toward his. He could see it in her expression—this had affected her, too. She’d played it off so well. She was a good teacher, and she hadn’t let it show while she took him through the drawing. Now?
It showed.
“Hamid...”
His name on her lips sounded so illicit, so forbidden. He craved it. And he craved it in spite of the fact that Hamid knew how bad an idea this moonlit dinner had been. Not just bad. Dangerous. Dangerous to take her to the show, dangerous to ask her to be his pretend fiancée, and dangerous to ask her to stay in exchange for forgiving her father’s debt. The danger bristled over his skin.
He ignored it. He let it flow, just like Tali had let that pencil flow over the paper. Like water. Like it was unstoppable.
In the silence under the stars Talitha started to move away, shifting her body back toward the table—or maybe she was headed for the door. Hamid couldn’t possibly bear it. He caught her hand, making her gasp. Talitha’s skin against his was so warm and soft, and he rubbed the pad of his thumb over her delicate knuckles.
“Talitha,” he said, and in his mouth her name had the shape of a prayer.
12
Tali had never seen Hamid’s eyes burn quite like this before. Yes, energy had crackled between them beside the pool, and yes, there had been that kiss, but here in the moonlight, with nobody watching and nobody close, she felt like the two of them were the last people on Earth.
She was surprised to find him pressing the pencil back into her fingers as his own fingertips stroked down the side of her cheek. “Maybe the expert should draw,” he said.
“Draw what?” Her heart seemed to pound at the surface of her skin. Could he see her pulse beating in the side of her neck? “Draw you?”
“I want to see how you’d do it.”
“Mmm.” The request activated her artist’s brain, and through the haze of wanting him, her mind picked out the hard lines of his face and the angle of his beard and the way the starlight shone on his hair. But that wasn’t enough. “If I were to draw you, I’d want to see your musculature. It’s as much a part of you as your face. To capture all of you...” She traced a finger down the front of his shirt, her fingernail hitching on the buttons one by one. “But that might be indecorous,” she mused. “Maybe I should ask the captain of the guard to stand in as a body double.”
Hamid’s hand moved down to her shoulder, then to her wrist, and when had her skin gotten so sensitive? When had she become so thirsty for his touch that it made goosebumps burst into being all down the back of her neck?
“You’re provoking me,” Hamid murmured.
So what if I am? “On second thought, if I need a male chest, I have the best in the kingdom right here.”
Hamid lifted his chin. “Prove it.”
“That you have the best chest? I think you already know you do.”
“Prove you know what you’ve got,” Hamid insisted. “Prove you want to use it. For your drawing.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” Tali’s face went hot, and she struggled to keep a light expression on her face. “I’ll prove it when I can sketch it,” she challenged. “Not before.”
His eyes narrowed, and Tali held her breath. Was this the moment he’d admit they’d crossed a line? That this was too far? She braced herself for the disappointment of a quick ending to the date and a traditional walk back to her own suite. He’d be the perfect gentleman.
But instead Hamid reached for the top button of his shirt. His eyes stayed on hers in a silent challenge. One button, then two, and then Hamid laughed. A quick, choked-off thing, but a laugh nonetheless.
“What?” Tali demanded. “Tell me.”
He answered by humming a line of jazzy, seductive music, swaying his hips like was doing a striptease.
A laugh burst from her, a firework of sound. “Do you know how you’re acting, Your Highness? So untraditional! What will people think?”
“It doesn’t matter what people think. I’m here with you, and I’m only like this with you.” His shirt was mostly unbuttoned now, his hands working on the third-to-last button. “I never relax like this with anyone else. I would never let them think for a moment I’d behave like this.” Hamid leaned in. “Thank you,” he whispered, and then his lips brushed against her cheek.
“Please, let me.” Tali reached for his hands and moved them out of the way. All of her tingled with the need to be part of this. Her hands shook as she undid the last buttons and smoothed the shirt from his shoulders. Tali folded it over the back of a chair, protecting it from the rooftop stones, and turned to find herself almost in Hamid’s arms. Then she was in Hamid’s arms, drawn close to the ridges of his muscles and the hard expanse of his chest. She spread her palms over his pecs, delighting in how firm they were.
Hamid wrapped one big hand around th
e back of her wrist. “I’ve been thinking about this. You, touching me.”
The raw admission took Tali off guard, and she held tighter to him, fingernails resting against his skin, not pushing in. “You have?”
“Yes. I wish you’d do it more. Find out what’s here. Isn’t that the best way to become accustomed to your subjects? By feeling them with your hands?”
Desire curled down low in her belly, blooming with every moment that passed. “I—I don’t know if I feel much like drawing anymore. It would mean I’d have to stand apart from you, and I can’t stand the thought.”
So much honesty, up here, on the roof.
Hamid sucked in a breath and pulled her closer, putting his fingers under her chin to tilt her face to his. This time, the kiss was slow and tender and long enough that Tali’s bones went to jelly and she sank her weight into the firm band of his arm. All of him was firm. All of him was deliberate, even the tongue parting her lips and exploring her with a kind of possession that made her eyelashes flutter closed and her heart sing. Who could breathe, being kissed like this? Did she even need air?
“I’ve been touching you every chance I get,” he murmured into her mouth, and she sucked in those words like they’d save her life.
“And do you like what you have in your hands?”
“Yes,” he growled. “I do. And I want more of it.” Hamid kissed her again, his lips fitting to hers with a certainty that sent a bolt of pleasure through her, right down between her legs. When they broke apart she was panting, aching for him.
Aching for something she’d never done.
“Tali.” The familiarity of the nickname on his lips struck her again with a wash of pleasure. “I need more.”
* * *
Her eyes were huge and dark, her honey-blonde hair shining golden in the moonlight, and Hamid swore he could see the red flush of her cheeks and the chocolate of her eyes. He could not stop touching her, stroking her hair, running the pad of his thumb over her lip.
“I need more, too.” Her voice had gone low and throaty, and he wanted to bottle the sound so he could listen to it long after their arrangement was done. “Where can we go?”
They went to her suite. It was only a quick walk down the staircase and through the garden. He kept his hands on her all the while, and he had never felt such relief as when he closed her door behind them and turned the lock. He had never been so hungry for another person. Tali pounced on him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply, her legs hitching up around his waist.
Somehow, he got them to the bedroom. Yes. That’s what they needed—a bed. He lowered her to the bedding and lifted the flowing white of her skirt, exposing underthings that were equally white and lacy. She could be a bride, he thought desperately. My bride. Tali stretched and arched under even this touch.
Hamid bent to worship her with kisses. He kissed the underside of her bra, then helped her remove it. Her belly button. The bottom of her ribs. All the intimate places he’d never been able to reach with everyone watching. He reveled in her moans and the way she grabbed for the pillow. Hamid marveled at this—he was only kissing her, not much more, but when he cupped a hand between her legs the evidence of her want was clear as day. Wet. She was wet.
“We need to get these off.” He hitched his fingers in the waistband of her panties, and Talitha tensed. He froze, too. “What is it?”
She lifted her head off the pillow, propping herself up on her elbows, and bit at her lip. He knew that look. She had something on her mind, and it was like a storm cloud about to break. What was it, what was it?
“Tell me.” He had become a king again, if only for this moment.
“I’m a virgin,” she whispered. “I’ve—I’ve never done this before.”
He let out a very un-kingly groan. “Oh, Tali. That’s all right. I’ll be gentle with you, I promise.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure it’s all right?”
“Of course it’s all right.” He lowered his face to the lace covering her most secret place and kissed her there, making her head fall back. “You’re so modern and independent that I thought you must have...” Her first. You are about to be her first. “It’s more than all right.”
He had gone painfully hard at her admission, his length battling with his undershorts, but he kept his pants on. This would be no hurried collision under the sheets. He had to take his time.
And so he did.
Hamid licked her through the lace of her panties, and Tali gasped, “That’s so dirty,” as if she loved how dirty it was. He licked again and again until the lace was soaked through, and only when she spread her legs wider and writhed against the bed did he move to take them off. But he wasn’t done tasting her. He was far from done spreading her open another inch and setting his tongue against the soft, pink folds of her. She opened for him with an unselfconscious groan and a whispered please.
He would not leave her unsatisfied. He traced his tongue around the bundle of nerves at the top of her and teased at her opening, slowly, slowly. Tali tasted so sweet, so slick. He buried his face into her and licked in long strokes, covering every possible inch of her. Finally she let out a strangled sound and dug her heels into the bed. “Please, Hamid, I can’t wait any longer.”
It was only then that he took his pants off, and his underthings, and let them all fall to the floor. Hamid crawled over Tali and kissed her shoulder. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Please.” She hooked her legs around him and rocked her hips so that his hard length parted her folds. Her breathing kicked up as he reached for a condom in one of the side drawers. They were always kept discreetly in the guest rooms, and Hamid was grateful he hadn’t ended that tradition. He rolled it on. Talitha looked into his eyes, expression dark with desire and a little bit of fear.
“We’ll go slowly.”
He rocked into her, only an inch, and she her eyes closed. “Oh, that’s not so bad,” she said into his ear. “Oh, that’s not bad at all.” Another inch. It was painfully slow, an agony not to take her fast and hard, but he found a rhythm that made her moan while he worked himself tenderly in, then out, then deeper in. Tali kissed the side of his neck, dug her teeth into his shoulder, and tensed around him again and again. Her desire rose, pulling them both down into it, and a cry came loose from her lips. “I need—”
Two words and then she pulled him down, pulled him so far in that he thought he might never find his way out again. She tensed, froze, as if not sure what to do now that he was there. Hamid wrapped one arm around her. “Breathe. Your body was made for this,” he told her urgently. “For me.”
Her face was suffused with pleasure. “Please, more.”
This was it—the greatest accomplishment of his life. Making love to Talitha in a blaze of heat and tenderness. She came to a shuddering release around him, and her tightened muscles’ pulsing made it impossible to resist. His own release followed, strong and hard, and the two of them tumbled apart and then back together. He should go back to his own rooms, not wrap an arm around her and pull her close. He would only rest his head on the pillow for a moment. Just a moment, and then he’d leave—
Something was tickling him. It brought him to full awareness in a minute. A spider? No—Tali’s hair. Spread out across his chest and shoulders. She slept peacefully on her side, her hair over the pillows and Hamid in a golden-bronze wave. Hamid moved a hand to brush it away and ended up stroking it instead. By all things holy, she was beautiful. The sheets obscured the perfect curves of her body, and a flash of regret lit up his consciousness. He shouldn’t have done this with her.
Tali stirred against him, mumbling something in her sleep, and he ran a reassuring hand over her side, tugging up the sheets and pulling her closer. Her eyes opened and he braced himself for the shock. For her to be appalled. The gasp, the run to the bathroom—but instead her dark eyes met his, and her cheeks went a little pinker.
“Hi,” she whispered, and tipped her
face up to kiss the hollow of his neck. “Can we do that again?”
13
The problem was that they had no future.
Hamid knew it the moment he stepped into the shower the next morning, and he knew it in his bones. They couldn’t be together in a real engagement, because Talitha was not a traditional bride. He needed a traditional bride. He needed a bride who respected the traditions as much as he did and didn’t spend all her time working to change them, push by little push.
What had he done?
He shoved his hand through his hair, washing out the shampoo with a ferocity normally reserved for battle. First things first: get his emotions in check. What they’d done the night before was unacceptable and couldn’t happen again. Second: He had to level with Talitha. He could not let her think the engagement was real and then hurt her when their time together ended. And it would end. That was the way of things that were so far outside the bounds of propriety. Hamid worked his knuckles against a pain in his chest. It would hurt him too, but not as much as letting the country down would.
Every piece of clothing he put on felt like armor. Let each one be a brick around his heart, so he never made this mistake again. Let it be a shield that would protect her, too. Once they were on firmer footing she would understand, wouldn’t she?
Hamid brought the book they’d been reading to breakfast and flipped through the pages as she sat, eating a piece of toast and watching him. “I thought we’d discuss chapter thirteen.”
Talitha didn’t have her copy of the book. “Remind me what that was about.”
He read the description and listed a few of the main highlights. “The arts district, then, was one of the first in the nation,” he said woodenly. “What are your thoughts on that?”
“You know,” Talitha said casually, “I’ll have to read the chapter over so I can contribute more to the discussion. In the meantime, we could talk about something else.”
The Sheikh’s Fake Engagement: The Blooming Desert Series Book One Page 8