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“No. I’m an adult child of addicts. I have other issues. Lack of trust. Problems with boundaries. Serious need for control.” Her lips curved, self-mocking. “I’m sure none of this is news to you, though. You’ve spent enough time studying me.”
“You never talk about your parents.”
Her chin lifted. “I just did.”
“Your parents were very famous.”
“And famous for their lack of control.” She took another long sip from her champagne, her flute now half-empty, and then resolutely set the glass on the low table between them.
His gaze never left her face. “Why do you hide your beauty? You’re as beautiful, if not more beautiful, than your mother, and she was one of the great beauties of her time.”
It was all Rou could do to stay seated. She longed to leap up and move. Pace. Walk. Run.
Run away.
Instead she swallowed the panic rushing through her, panic stirred by memory and painful emotions, and forced herself to answer calmly, “Beauty means nothing if it’s selfish. Hurtful.”
“You are neither.”
“Because I’ve chosen not to focus on the externals. I’ve committed my life to finding true beauty, inner beauty. It’s why I work to help people find true companionability, relationships built on shared values and needs.”
He said nothing for a moment, intent on listening, watching. Finally, “If I had gone through your matchmaking system, what would have happened, after the first meet?”
She shrugged. “Second dates, third dates … eventually love.”
“Pippa told me you had rules for the dates, including rules about sex.”
“I think you have sex on the brain,” she said tartly, pressing her hands together to keep from making wild, nervous gestures.
He laughed, creases fanning from his eyes. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. You are incredibly beautiful, as well as intriguing. Does it bother you that I look forward to being with you?”
Rou swallowed hard and, crossing her legs, turned the conversation back to her matchmaking rules. “Pippa was right. I do discourage my clients from sleeping together for the first five meets. After that, it’s up to them.”
“But why five dates, and why the need for any rules at all?”
“Sex changes the relationship, particularly for women. The majority of women feel emotionally involved from the point they make love. Men don’t internalize sex the same way. Abstinence levels the playing field.”
She thought he’d laugh, but instead his expression sobered. “Do you think sex will change the way you feel about me?” he asked quietly.
She opened her mouth, then shut it. “I … I don’t know. I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“I haven’t ever felt close to a man after sex.” There, she’d said it. She shrugged a little to hide her discomfort and waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. He just regarded her with those intense gold eyes.
“I’m probably not the most experienced woman alive,” she continued, “but at the same time, I know enough to know how I respond … and …” Suddenly her courage was gone. She couldn’t find the words to say that she didn’t respond, that in bed, she didn’t feel. It was her own failure as a woman, and one she’d decided not to focus on as there were so many things she could do. But now that failing loomed large, and she was terrified of not just disappointing herself, again, but of disappointing him.
“Do you always sleep with a woman on a first date?” she asked abruptly.
“Do I always?” He appeared puzzled. “I rarely sleep with a woman on a first date. It’s not my thing.”
“Why? Men want sex—”
“And so do women, but it’s almost always better when you know someone a little bit, don’t you think?” He rose from his couch and crossed to where she sat. He surprised her by lifting her from her chair, taking her seat on the chair and then drawing her down onto his lap.
“There, that’s better,” he said. “It’s hard to talk about sex across the room from you.”
Rou stiffened, giving him her profile as she stared uncomfortably across the handsome room. His lap was hard beneath her thighs, and his body’s warmth penetrated the thin, silver organza skirt.
He laughed softly at her expression. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s—” she glanced at him from beneath her lashes “—awfully close.”
She felt rather than heard the laughter rumbling in his chest.
“It’s going to get closer, laeela,” he answered gravely, and yet she saw the warm gleam in his eyes, that look he gave her when he was fully aware and fully engaged.
He was enjoying himself. Her heart gave a lurch, and she knotted her hands into fists to try to stop them from shaking. “Perhaps we should just do it quickly,” she suggested breathlessly. “Get it over with so we can get on with the day.”
She felt the laughter rumble through him again, up through his broad chest and into his eyes and mouth. He was always gorgeous, so beautifully put together, but with the laughter warming his eyes and playing on his lips, he looked like an angel among mortals. How was a woman to resist such a man? Rou couldn’t tear her eyes from his face. It wasn’t fair that any man had such a face. It was a face that left even her weak. Her fingers itched to explore the striking planes and hollows. Those cheekbones, the straight slash of nose, and that mouth of his with the upper lip that curved so wickedly, so sensually promising, promising …
“Your expression is priceless,” he murmured as she continued her slow study.
She looked up into his eyes. “Is it?”
“Mmm. You look as if you can’t decide if you love me or loathe me.”
Blood rushed to her face. “I can assure you, it’s loathe, Your Highness.”
He had the gall to laugh.
CHAPTER NINE
HIS laughter gave way to a smile he was trying very hard to suppress, and yet his eyes glinted, and his wicked mouth curved. “You say that with your lips, laeela, but your body says something else.”
She sat even straighter, trying to minimize the areas where their legs touched. “My body does?”
“Mmm.” He stroked down her back, once, and again. “Your body likes being near me, and I very much like your body near mine.”
“You’re mistaken.”
“Am I?” He turned her ever so slightly on his lap so that she faced him more fully, and more of her legs dangled over his, and now her shoulder pressed to his chest.
She felt the pulse at the base of her neck flutter. “Yes.”
He just smiled and, watching her face, he slid his hand along the curve of her jaw, toward her ear and up into her hair. Rou’s toes nearly curled with pleasure. It wasn’t the most sexual touch and yet it both stirred and soothed her, making her want to stretch and luxuriate beneath his touch. He rubbed her nape for a few moments, his fingers working against her scalp and this was pure pleasure. Eyes half closing, she was so tempted to give in to the sensation, so tempted to just lean against him and relax.
But Rou never leaned against anyone, never leaned on anyone, either. She meant what she’d said—she had issues with trust and control, and the last person she could trust was this man. Even if he was now her husband.
But Zayed was in no hurry, and he seemed to enjoy touching her as much as she enjoyed being touched. After a while he stroked down her neck and massaged a little at her shoulders, and then a little deeper so that her knotted muscles eased and her tension began to dissipate. If he noticed that she sat less rigidly in his arms, he gave no indication, focused as he was on making her relax.
And she was relaxing. A little voice in the back of her brain was lecturing her that she was practically purring, but Rou wasn’t very interested in listening to the little voice right now.
It felt so good to be touched. To be massaged like this. She felt spoiled, decadent, like a big cat soaking up the sun.
As one of his hands caressed the length of her spine, the other began plucking the pins from her hair, pulling the silver sticks out one by one until her hair fell free, tumbling to her shoulders.
He wasn’t content with that, though. He drew his hand through the smooth length, pulling it apart so that her pale hair tangled and spilled in wild disorder down her back. With her hair now loose, he drew back to look at her, his gaze traveling slowly, deliberately over her face, her eyes, her nose, her mouth. “You are a remarkably beautiful woman, Princess Fehr.”
She arched an eyebrow, her heart hammering like mad. “Princess?”
“You are my wife, my consort, and later tonight you will be my queen.”
She didn’t know if it was his body heat penetrating hers, or the slow caress of his hand, but she felt dazed, drugged, her thoughts slow. “I can’t think of anyone less royal than me.”
He dragged his hands through her hair, tugging her head back to expose her throat. “Then you should see yourself through my eyes.” He lowered his head to her throat and kissed her just beneath her jaw on skin that suddenly felt so very, very sensitive. He kissed farther back on the pulse leaping beneath her earlobe, and then tugged with his teeth on the lobe itself sending sparks of fire through her body. Rou bit the inside of her lip to keep from making a sound.
His hands circled the base of her exposed throat and caressed up to her chin, his thumbs discovering nerve endings she didn’t even know she had. When he reversed direction to stroke down she nearly leaped out of her skin at how exquisitely sensitive she’d become. It was as if each stroke of his fingers was heightening the tension, and the pleasure.
“You’re awfully good at this,” she choked, as his mouth pressed fleeting kisses to little invisible nerves along her neck and jaw. Yet those nerves were definitely tied to nerves elsewhere as her spine arched and her belly ached, hot and tight and throbbing for something she knew not.
“You have a deliciously responsive body,” he answered before gently biting at the muscle that ran along her shoulder.
Rou gasped, shivered.
He blew on the hair at her nape and she jerked in his arms, her body no longer under her control but his. “You’re sure?” she gasped again.
She could feel his smile against her neck. “Mmm, quite sure,” he answered, his voice deep, husky. And then as he kissed the back of her neck, his hands were on the small buttons at the back of her top, and one by one he undid the little pearls until he could slide the snug fabric from her shoulders and down onto her arms before pulling it from her body.
She felt naked in her bra and she turned against his chest, hiding her face in the hollow between his shoulder and neck.
“Don’t be shy,” he murmured.
“I can’t help it.”
“Then let me help.” And he turned her on his lap, so that she faced away from him. And with her back before him, he lifted her hair, and kissed his way down her spine, kissing each vertebra until he reached her bra and then deftly he unhooked that, too, pushing the straps over her shoulders and off her arms so that the air rushed at her bare skin, puckering her breasts that already felt strangely heavy, strangely not hers.
She wanted something from him, something that would answer the drumming in her veins, but she didn’t know what it was. More kisses? More touch? More what?
And then his hands slid round to cup her breasts, and she closed her eyes, shocked by the sensation. Her body didn’t feel like her body. Her body didn’t feel like anything she’d ever known before, and with eyes closed, she focused on the new, seductive pleasure. He stroked beneath her breasts, stroked the soft, full sides, and, lips parting, she found herself arching into his hands, arching into what he could give her.
And he gave to her, alternately stroking and tugging on the heavy ripeness, drawing heat and fire from deep inside to every inch of exposed skin. Her hard nipples tightened again into taut, aching peaks, and she gritted her teeth helplessly, wanting more of everything, especially pressure, friction, sensation.
Lifting from beneath her breasts, thumbs pinching her nipples, he arched her the other way, back toward him, her body helplessly curving to his will, his arousal hard between her thighs.
His powerful thighs shifted, knees widening to part her legs so that she rested more fully on his erection. He was hard, so hard and warm, and the heat and friction were a new torment.
Ruthlessly Rou bit into her lower lip as he rocked her against him, the tip of his thick shaft sliding back and forth against the sensitive area between her thighs. It was wanton, it was shocking, it was maddening, and she couldn’t have asked him to stop even if she wanted him to. This was pleasure beyond anything she’d ever known, and somehow it was right with him, somehow she’d known it would be this way—darkly sensual, mind-blowingly erotic.
His hands slid down to her hips where he found the zipper of her skirt and with a quick unzip, a tug and a lift, the skirt was off her legs and he was resettling her on his lap, but parting her thighs wider, bringing her even lower, harder on his erection so that she could feel the length of him. There was a lot of him to feel. Her scrap of silk panties were of no use as she just grew hotter, wetter, more aroused.
With an arm beneath her breasts, he held her to him, and stroked her with the other hand, first over the delicate damp silk, and then when she was clenching her jaw, groaning at the pleasure, beneath the edge of silk, his fingers tracing the delicate folds and inner folds and then the tight highly sensitized bud between. One flick of his finger there and she bucked wildly. Another stroke and she felt her eyes burn, her body dancing for him to touch her, take her, possess her.
By the time he slipped a finger inside her she was desperate for him, all of him. Reaching backward she grabbed his hips, and ground down onto his lap. “You better finish what you started,” she panted, “and quickly, before I lose it completely.”
With a rumble in his chest he shifted her off him, dispensed with his shoes, socks, shirt and pants in no time and then she was back down on his lap, but facing him. Rou panicked, though, pushing her hands against his chest. “I can’t do it this way,” she said, “can’t be on top—”
“Yes, you can. And you can look at me, because you need to see what you do to me.” And then, cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her, deeply, fiercely, taking her mouth and tongue as though they were his, and in a way, they were. She knew somewhere inside her that a very real part of her belonged to him, had always belonged to him and that was why she’d been so afraid. She was afraid of this power he had over her, and he did have a power. Just look at her. She was putty in his hands.
And, kissing her, he lifted her up, and drew her slowly, so very slowly down on his hard, thick length. Rou exhaled in a quick puff, shocked by his size and the sense of fullness and invasion. He was stretching her, opening her and it stunned her body as much as it stung her heart. She wasn’t used to being shared, wasn’t used to being part of anyone else.
“Easy, baby,” he murmured against her mouth, hands beneath her bottom, supporting her weight until she could relax again and better accommodate him.
But she shook her head and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face against him. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. I don’t know how to do this, don’t know how to feel this.”
“It’s just me, laeela.”
She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“You’re afraid of me?”
Despite her panic she heard the hesitation in his voice, and the shadow of sadness. Tears seeped from beneath her lashes. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him. “Not of you. Just afraid to love you.”
He didn’t move. She wasn’t even sure he was breathing.
“Someone has to love me,” he said after an endless moment.
Rou’s heart convulsed and the tears she’d been fighting fell. Lifting her head she looked into his eyes. He was so beautiful, and the expression in his eyes was so alone, so alone and lonely, and yet here they were, naked, pressed flesh to flesh.
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