And beneath it all rose the far richer fragrance of her arousal.
The only thing he’d ever wanted more, in all his life, was the throne he’d won back through his own fierce determination. He’d found the darkness within him; he’d become it. He’d used it to do what was necessary. He’d been raised on vengeance and he’d finally taken his when he was barely twenty. And even that—the achievement of his life—seemed far off just now, with Amaya naked and obedient before him, her gaze fixed to his.
This is the way back to reality, he assured himself. Conquer her here, now, and you will never need to risk the throne for her again.
He’d known that he wanted Amaya from the moment he saw that video of her. And he’d known precisely how he would take her, and how she would thrill to it, the moment he met her in her brother’s palace. He’d suspected then that she would fit him perfectly.
Now he knew it as well as he knew his own name.
Six months ago, the wild passion between them had been a burst of flame, unexpected and all consuming. They’d met for the first time when Kavian arrived with his entourage at the Bakrian Royal Palace to claim her as his betrothed and begin the official alliance between their two countries. It had been a formal and very public greeting of political allies, an elegant affair in a majestic salon, surrounded on all sides by ministers and aides, ambassadors and carefully selected palace reporters who could be relied upon to trumpet the appropriate information into all the correct ears.
There had been all those contracts to sign, all those oaths to take, and this woman he’d agreed to marry had been dressed in a fine, formal gown that made her look every inch the untouchable desert princess. They’d talked with excruciating politeness while surrounded and closely observed on all sides. They’d been feted at a long, formal dinner ripe with too many speeches from what seemed like every Bakrian noble in the whole of the kingdom. And for all that they’d sat next to each other during the endless evening, they’d never been out of that too-public fishbowl for even a moment. There had been no real conversation, no chance of anything but the loosest connection.
Then they’d had their betrothal ceremony the following day, in the grand ballroom of the palace that had been draped in every shade of gold in the glare of too many cameras to count. Cameras and gossips and a parade of aristocrats to comment on every last bit of it. Like carrion crows, pecking away at them.
“In my country,” Kavian had told her as they’d made their formal entrance together, touching only in that stiffly appropriate manner that befitted their respective ranks on such an occasion and before so many judgmental eyes, “there is no need for a wedding ceremony. It is the claiming that matters, not the legalities that follow. A wedding is all but redundant.”
“My brother’s kingdom may not sit at the forefront of the modern age, exactly,” Amaya had replied, and he’d been lost in the bittersweet chocolate gleam in her eyes, the sweet lushness of her lips, that kick of deep, dark need that had haunted him since the moment he saw her face. To say nothing of the unscripted, less than perfectly polite thing she was saying then and that flashed in her gaze, giving him a hint of the woman beneath the high-gloss Bakrian princess adorning his arm. A glimpse of that defiance of hers that sang to him. “But he does prefer that any royal marriages be legalized. As do I, I will admit.”
“As you wish,” Kavian had murmured. In that moment, he’d thought he’d give her anything she asked for another glimpse beneath her surface. His name, his protection, that went without saying. His kingdom, his wealth, his lands, certainly. His blood. His flesh. His life. Whatever she desired.
But she’d kept her gaze trained on the ceremony, not on him.
He’d hated it.
They’d exchanged their initial vows, there before the kings of the surrounding realms, sheikhs and rulers and sultans galore. Officials and ministers, the ranks of Bakrian aristocrats and the high-placed members of his own cabinet. Her brother. His men.
And then, once it had been finished and all the rest of the formal speeches about unity and family had been made for the benefit of their enemies in the region, Kavian took his betrothed aside so they could finally, finally, have a moment to themselves.
Merely a moment, he’d thought. He hadn’t had anything planned. He’d only wanted a little bit of privacy with her, with no eyes on them and nothing but their real faces. He’d wanted to see what was between them then, when there was no one but the two of them to judge it, pick over it, analyze it.