Royal Weddings

Samira read the stern glint in his eyes and the clamped austerity of his jaw. She’d touched him on the raw.

‘I don’t know what to think,’ she admitted. ‘I thought I knew you but I was wrong. You made that clear last night.’

‘You knew the boy, not the man.’

He stood proud, unashamed of the man he’d become, the man who’d duped her into believing she was safe with him when all the time he had his own plans. He’d tricked her into believing he’d married on her terms and yet remarkably at this moment she wanted to trust him.

Samira stared up at Tariq. Was he the man she’d known or a stranger? How much had he altered in the years since she’d felt she could trust him with her life?

There’d even been a time, in the distant past, when she’d thought she loved him. He’d been her first romantic crush, the one she’d spent hours daydreaming over with all the fervour of her teenage soul.

Long fingers smoothed her forehead and shivery heat tightened her skin. ‘Don’t fret about it, Samira.’ He paused. ‘I have a gift for you. That’s all.’

‘A gift?’ Another one? He’d already presented her with a wealth of exquisite jewellery. Even for a princess born to the opulence of the Jazeeri royal court, her breath had been taken away by his gifts. ‘You’ve given me enough.’ She felt overwhelmed by his generosity. Her own gifts, though carefully chosen, weren’t nearly as lavish.

‘This is something from me, not an heirloom.’

There it was again, that glint in his eye that made her shiver. Mentally Samira shook herself. She refused to live her life walking on eggshells.

‘That sounds intriguing.’

Tariq’s swift, approving smile made her breath catch. He really was stunningly charismatic.

He led her deep into the heart of the palace’s private apartments. Samira busied herself admiring the furnishings and the occasional glimpses across the city to the blue smudge of the mountains beyond. Anything to distract her from the intimacy of Tariq’s hand enfolding hers, his tall frame imposing yet somehow reassuring as he shortened his stride to match her pace. Being close to him took some getting used to.

Finally they stopped before a wide door. ‘After you.’

She pushed it open, only to freeze on the threshold. Slowly, disbelieving, she took in the large, airy space lit by extra-wide, full-length windows.

Samira swallowed, her throat tight, her eyes glazing at the unexpected perfection of it.

‘It’s wonderful,’ she whispered.

‘You can go in, you know.’

She hardly heard him. Already she was moving across the hardwood floor to the massive table in the centre of the room set under powerful lamps. Her fingers trailed the edge of the work surface before moving across to the drawing board, tilted at an angle to catch the natural light. Then to the set of built-in cupboards. The custom-made drawers. The specially designed containers that held bolts of fabric: velvets, silks, lace, satin and chiffon. There was even a mannequin on a podium, again set under brilliant lighting.

Everywhere she looked, in every drawer and corner, was something that pleased her.

Slowly she turned, taking in the careful thought and attention to detail that had gone into making this the ideal work room.

She blinked hard as she recognised the ancient, slightly saggy lounge chair she’d used for the past four years when she’d wanted to curl up and sketch. Beside it was a small wooden table inlaid with mother-of-pearl. It held a sketch pad like the one she always used and a variety of crayons and pencils.

‘Your sister-in-law helped me with the details. She sent through photos of your workshop in Jazeer.’

‘But this is...’ The words stuck in Samira’s throat. ‘This is far, far better. It’s perfect.’ She’d never had a custom-made studio. Despite her growing success she’d worked out of a large room she’d adapted in her brother’s palace. But this—it was amazing. And it had been created especially for her.

A wave of excitement crashed over her, making her blood tingle. She itched to get to work here.

Samira pivoted to find Tariq just behind her. She grabbed his hand in both of hers, enthusiasm buoying her.

‘I don’t know how to thank you.’ She shook her head, brim-full of emotion. He’d done this for her. No gift had ever been so special, so very right. ‘Words don’t seem enough.’

‘Then don’t use words.’ His glinting eyes challenged her, as if he knew she felt over-full, needing an outlet for the surge of elation and wonder she felt.

Samira’s breath hitched in automatic denial, the shutters she’d so carefully built instantly coming up to guard her from this over-emotional response.

She saw the moment he read the change in her. The moment his gaze altered from challenging to disappointed.

The moment he realised she didn’t have the guts to follow through.

When he saw how scared she was.

In that instant the truth blasted her. She had all the emotions of other women. She felt pain and hope and delight but she’d spent years bottling them up, hiding them from the world and herself. Because she was scared they’d make her weak.

She’d let Jackson Brent do that to her.

No, she corrected. She’d done it to herself.

Her nostrils flared in disgust and inadvertently she drew in the heady spicy aroma of Tariq. It sent a trickle of feminine pleasure coursing through her.

She’d even learned to repress that in the last few years, hadn’t she? She hadn’t been interested in a man, much less turned on by one, in four years. She hadn’t let herself.

Suddenly Samira saw herself as Tariq must—wary to the point of being pathetic.

Was she? Or was she merely cautious? Sensible to protect herself?

But there was a difference between being cautious and being a coward. Last night she’d been a coward and the knowledge was bitter on her tongue. All this time she’d told herself she was being strong. But in reality...

Samira let go of Tariq’s hand, instead planting a steadying palm on his hard chest, the other on his shoulder as she rose on tiptoe.

Light flared in those cool eyes but he didn’t move, merely stood stock-still, waiting.

She realised she’d stopped breathing and exhaled, then drew in a deep breath redolent of desert spice and hot man. Tariq. His scent enticed. Could he possibly taste as good? Suddenly she had to know.

Samira slipped her hand from his shoulder up to the back of his head, pulling till his mouth was a whisper from hers.

Atavistic warning clawed through her, screaming that she was about to cross a point of no return.

For once, need overrode caution. The need to trust herself, just a little. The need for a man’s touch.

Her eyes closed as she pressed her mouth to his. His lips were warm and inviting. She angled her head a little, kissing him again, enjoying his hard body against her, the pleasure of his mouth touching hers.

Samira’s other hand snaked up to wrap around his neck, holding him tight as she worked tiny kisses along the tantalising seam of his lips. She felt the exhale of his breath through his nostrils, harder than before, and licked where before she’d kissed. He felt so good. This felt so good. If only...

Delicious pleasure hit as he opened his mouth, sucking her tongue inside, drawing her into delight. It was so sudden, so powerfully erotic, that she crumpled at the knees, clinging to his tall frame as his arms wrapped her close.

His mouth worked hers, drawing her to him, delving her depths so she had no option but to surrender that last skerrick of caution.

Samira was captivated. Her whole body came alive in a way she’d never known. Surely no kiss had been like this—a slow kindling that burned bright and satisfying even as it demanded more and yet more?

She arched, moulding herself inch by inch to that strong body she hadn’t been able to put from her mind. Still her lips clung to his, hungrier now as his grew more urgent, and a new fire ignited low in her body. Her hands tightened on him. Ripples of heat traced her skin, eddying at her breasts, her pelvis. At her back and hip where he held her so securely.

Her heart was hammering as she tore her lips away, gasping for air. Yet it wasn’t lack of oxygen that made her withdraw, but shock at how a thank-you kiss had turned into something completely different. Gratitude and excitement had turned to curiosity, to pleasure and then, almost, to surrender.

She wanted nothing so much as to kiss him again, to lose herself in him.

Samira shivered, suddenly cold despite the hot pulse of blood under her skin. Fear warred with elation.

Tariq still held her, his gaze hooded, waiting, and her stomach churned.

She swallowed, trying to find her voice and not betray rising panic. ‘That was...’

His mouth tilted a little at one corner. ‘Delightful?’ he mused in a low murmur that trawled through her insides, tying her in knots.

‘Unexpected,’ she gasped.

‘A taste of things to come.’ His smile deepened, his hold tightening just a fraction.

Instantly Samira stiffened, shaking her head.

She broke from his embrace, staggering back till she came up against the huge work table, her breath coming quick and shallow. Her hands splayed on its edge as she tried to lock her knees. She felt too wobbly to stand alone.

‘No.’ Her voice was hoarse but she didn’t care. She had to make him understand.

She hated that he made her feel weak. She’d taught herself to be strong, hadn’t she? She’d taken him by surprise when she’d proposed marriage. She’d been strong then. She refused to cower now.

‘No.’ Samira locked her hands before her, meeting his eyes directly. ‘I told you I don’t want love or sex.’

Tariq’s teeth bared in a smile she could only describe as hungry. It made her wonder how the graze of his teeth on her skin would feel. ‘You say that but your body tells a different story.’

He stepped forward but her outstretched hand stopped him. It took too long for her to realise her fingers had curled into his crisp cotton clothing. She tugged her hand back as if burned.

‘Please, Tariq. Believe me when I tell you love is the last thing I want.’ Except for the warm, sustaining love between a mother and her children. She’d imagined a special caring too, respect, trust and friendship between husband and wife, but shied from calling it love.

‘You made that clear when you proposed. That was one of the reasons I agreed to marry you.’

‘It was?’ Her eyes widened.

‘Definitely.’ His gaze shifted, lifting to look past her towards the distant mountains. Instantly Samira felt some of her tension suck away, like a tide suddenly turning. ‘The last thing I want is a wife who thinks she’s in love with me.’ His voice held a honed edge that made her shiver.

Because Tariq was thinking of Jasmin?

Obviously he was. Samira watched his dead gaze as he stared into the distance. She sensed he didn’t see the view. It was his first wife he saw. Everyone spoke of how devoted they’d been, how her death had devastated him.

Samira’s heart wrenched.

He looked as if a cold wall of steel had crashed down, cutting him off from her. Was his grief still so all-consuming?

Samira wanted to comfort him, except she guessed the last thing he wanted was a reminder that his beloved wife was gone, replaced by a woman he hadn’t really wanted.

Suddenly she felt small and unreasonably...hurt.

That was ridiculous. She’d never expected more from him.

Of course Tariq didn’t want love. He’d had that from Jasmin and now he couldn’t love again. He was a one-woman man. Samira told herself she respected him for that.

He turned and eyes of crystalline green snared her. ‘But there’s no reason,’ he murmured in a low voice of pure temptation, ‘why we can’t enjoy sex.’

Heat pounded into her. His stare didn’t trail suggestively over her body. It didn’t need to. It was potent, alight with a desire that made the blood sing in her veins. She struggled to cope with a barrage of sensations as her body responded to that sultry, knowing look. Her emotions jack-knifed from distress to forbidden excitement.

‘No. We agreed.’

‘You agreed, Samira. I didn’t.’

Panic rose anew as she tried and failed to ignore the heat in his eyes and, worse, the answering blaze of hunger in her belly.

It was an aberration.

She threaded her fingers together. ‘I told you I don’t trust myself with sex and love. I don’t—’

‘You think sex and love are the same?’ His brows crunched together.

‘I...’ She tilted her chin up. She mightn’t have Tariq’s vast experience but she had enough. ‘For me they are. I never slept with a man I didn’t love.’ Which meant she’d had one lover and he’d been the biggest mistake of her life. ‘Sexual attraction makes you vulnerable. It blinds you to the truth, so you see only what you want to see.’ It had been her mother’s great weakness and her own. But she’d learned her lesson.

‘Oh, Samira.’ Tariq shook his head, his hand touching her chin in a fleeting caress that sent shock waves zinging through her. ‘You’re so inexperienced.’

She huffed out a gasp of mirthless laughter. ‘You’re the only one to think so.’ There was an element of the press, and the public, that insisted on wondering whether she’d been to bed with every man ever photographed with her.

‘Believe me, you don’t need to be in love to enjoy sex.’

Samira supposed he was thinking of the many beauties who’d warmed his bed before his first marriage and, if rumour was right, in the period since his first wife’s death. None had lasted long enough to make a claim on him.

‘I know that.’ She wasn’t a complete innocent. ‘But it was like that for me and I can’t afford for it to happen again.’ She couldn’t survive such disillusionment a second time.

‘You don’t love me, do you?’

‘No.’ She clenched her jaw.

‘Yet you feel this?’ This was the graze of his knuckles across her breast, lingering at her nipple, making it harden. Her breasts seemed to swell and an arrow of fierce heat shot directly to her womb.

Samira jerked back against the table, shock skittering through her.

‘Don’t touch me like that!’

‘Why not, when you enjoy it?’

She opened her mouth to deny it but he continued. ‘I can see the flush of arousal at your throat so don’t pretend I’m not right.’ His gaze dipped from her neck. ‘Your breasts are burning up, aren’t they? Is there heat lower too? Deep inside, do you feel empty? Needy?’

Samira gasped as the muscles between her legs clenched greedily, responding to Tariq’s words. He knew her too well. Better than she knew herself.

‘I can fill that emptiness, Samira. I can make it good for you. For both of us.’

He could too. Instinctively she knew it. Certainty gleamed in those penetrating eyes. Her body was inching forward, eager for his expert touch.

Samira grabbed hard at the table behind her. ‘I don’t want that.’

Slowly he shook his head. ‘Of course you do. So do I.’ His face was taut with a hunger that should have dismayed her, yet instead intrigued her. She imagined them together, here in this room, his big, capable hands gentle yet demanding on her flesh. She wanted...

No! She’d made that mistake once.

‘I told you, Tariq, it’s not for me. Intimacy and love are bound up together. I won’t go there again.’

‘You speak with such experience. How many lovers have you had?’

‘One.’ She jutted her chin. ‘That was one too many.’

His gaze narrowed. His words, when they came, held a contained savagery she’d not heard from him before. ‘You had your heart broken by a bastard who shouldn’t have been allowed even to touch the hem of your dress.’

Samira blinked, taken aback by the depth of Tariq’s anger.

‘Take it from me, little one, sex can be quite, quite separate to love.’ He paused and she sensed he chose his words carefully. ‘That makes us an ideal match. I don’t want love from you and you don’t want it from me. We’re on a level playing field. Neither of us will fall for some grand romantic illusion about this marriage.’

Was that bitterness in his voice?

Samira bit her lip. No doubt he was thinking of Jasmin and the fact no other woman could take her place in his heart.

‘We have the marriage you wanted,’ he continued. ‘But we can have more. We can enjoy each other. It’s only natural, you know.’ This time his touch wasn’t at all sexual, a mere brush of fingertips against her hair, yet she felt it all the way to her toes.

‘Desire is a part of life. Why not enjoy it? After all, neither of us is in danger of falling in love.’

CHAPTER SIX

A SMILE CURVED Samira’s mouth at the way Risay’s small hand tucked confidingly into hers as they entered the stables. Shade engulfed them, with the scent of horses, hay and leather.

She paused, letting her eyes adjust, basking in the gentle pleasure of this outing with her new son.

Her son. The word shimmered like a vibration in the warm air, wrapping around her. How long before she grew accustomed to this wonderful new reality?

Her reverie was broken when Risay tugged her hand. Stiff-legged, he marched forward, gabbling in baby language to a man sitting amidst a selection of harnesses.

‘Your Highness.’ He rose and bowed, a bridle hanging from gnarled hands.

‘Please, don’t let me interrupt your work.’

With another bow he sat and picked up his polishing cloth. Light from a window caught the ornate silver decorations on the bridle. ‘The little prince admires the harness,’ he said as Risay strained forward, hand outstretched.

Samira smiled. Anything bright was sure to catch Risay’s eye. ‘We’re looking for the Sheikh. I believe he’s here somewhere.’

‘Just in the training ring.’ The stable hand gestured to the open space on the other side of the building.

The thud of hooves on dirt drew her attention and she turned to look out of the wide doors. Movement caught her eye.

‘I’ll look after the young prince if you wish to talk with His Majesty,’ the stable hand offered. ‘We’re old friends.’

Samira dragged her gaze away from the arena. Risay already half-sat on the man’s lap, obviously at home, plucking at an intricately wrought harness.

‘Thank you.’ She nodded and moved towards the open doors.

In a sunlit arena a man and horse faced each other—the horse skittish, its gait high as it pranced, eyes rolling. Her heart jumped as Tariq, unperturbed, approached it. His lips moved and the horse’s ears flicked.

Samira’s skin drew tight as she caught the delicious, low cadence of Tariq’s voice. That same voice had mesmerised her just yesterday.

Desire is a part of life.

Neither of us is in danger of falling in love.

The voice of temptation.

She’d told herself she was immune to such temptation. Yet her body betrayed her. Even here, now, when Tariq wasn’t aware of her presence.

Fire trawled her veins, stirred the feminine pulse point between her legs, scorched her breasts. She just had to look at Tariq’s powerful frame, hear his rich coffee voice, and she went weak at the knees.

Despair gripped her. Maybe her critics were right. Perhaps she was tainted for ever since she’d once given in to a man’s blandishments. Perhaps desire had become an intrinsic weakness, no matter how hard she battled for a cool head.

Her eyes ate him up. He wore a collarless shirt that stuck to broad, muscled shoulders in the heat and pale trousers tucked into boots. Tall, confident and erect as a soldier, he was magnetic. His total lack of fear as the stallion sidestepped wickedly close made her gasp.

Heart in mouth, Samira moved nearer, watching the horse try to intimidate. A rider herself, she understood the stallion’s magnificence and the danger. One strike of his powerful hoof could seriously wound.

Yet, as she watched, something changed. That sharply nodding head lowered. Wide nostrils flared as it scented the man who stood, murmuring, keeping eye contact with the big beast.

Seconds strung out to minutes and, apart from quick checks to see Risay was happy, Samira’s gaze remained glued on the figure of her husband as he, by some magic, quieted the untamed horse. He didn’t even lift his hand, just communed with it in a way she didn’t understand.

Finally the horse stepped forward, its gait almost delicate, and blew gustily on his face.

A chuckle sounded in the still air, causing a ripple of sensation deep in Samira’s belly. She pressed her hand to the spot, trying to prevent that warm, melting sensation from spreading.

Tariq lifted his hand and the stallion snuffled it. When Tariq turned and moved away, to Samira’s amazement, the horse followed like a pet. It nudged his shoulder blade and he laughed, the sound carefree rather than triumphant.

Samira couldn’t drag her eyes away. Something inside squeezed tight and hard at the power and pleasure radiating from him. It made her want to reach out and—

‘Samira.’ He’d seen her. Sensation jolted her as their eyes met.

In swift strides Tariq crossed the arena to stand before her, only a fence separating them.

Despite the breathless clutch of attraction, Samira found herself smiling. ‘You have a shadow.’

He turned his head just as the stallion lipped at his shoulder. Tariq murmured something she couldn’t hear to the big animal, then, swift as quicksilver, he was through the fence to stand before her, his eyes keen beneath lazy lids.

Samira breathed him in hungrily, clean sweat and warm spice. Moisture sheened his forehead and the burnished skin of his collarbone. Her eyelids flickered as the pulse between her legs quickened.

‘How did you do that?’ she asked, needing words to fill the expectant silence.

‘Do what?’ His eyes were on her mouth and her nipples pebbled in anticipation. She shuffled back a step.

‘That.’ She nodded to the stallion. ‘The way you break in a horse.’

‘Ah.’ He drew the sound out as he followed her a pace. Heat beaded Samira’s brow. He was too close. ‘That’s the secret.’ He bent his head and his words feathered warm breath across her face. ‘I don’t break them. I gentle them.’

His eyes caressed her and she felt it like the graze of hard fingers along her throat and over her cheek.

She blinked. ‘Gentle?’ Was he some sort of horse whisperer?

‘It’s a matter of trust,’ he murmured in that low voice with just a hint of gravel. It trawled through her insides, furrowing pleasure in its wake. ‘Once they know I’m not going to hurt them, they learn to trust.’

The liquid heat in his eyes told her he was talking about more than horses.

She stiffened. ‘You won’t hurt them while they abide by your rules, you mean. You want to be master.’ Just as he wanted to be hers. Disillusionment was still fresh in her memory. Of how he’d duped her into believing he was safe.

No man had ever looked less safe.

Or more appealing. That was the problem. Her heart hammered her ribcage as if yearning for her submission.

‘You think it’s about power?’ Slowly he shook his head, his gaze never leaving hers. ‘You had the wrong teacher, Samira.’ Heat scorched her skin at his words. They both knew he was referring to her ex-lover. ‘It’s all about partnership, mutual understanding and enjoyment.’

‘Enjoyment?’ Instead of disbelief, the single word sounded...needy. She swallowed hard, unable to break away from the enchantment Tariq wove around her with his rich voice and those slumberous eyes that yet danced with anticipation.

‘Of course.’ He smiled and something hitched in her chest. ‘If we don’t both enjoy the partnership it won’t work.’

Tariq’s words hung in the air like a promise. Partnership, enjoyment...was that what he offered where she saw only capitulation and danger?