He’d known then that she’d be breath-stopping, just like her mother, who’d been one of the world’s great beauties. But the sight of Samira in the flesh, after twelve years of seeing only photos, took his breath away.
He stiffened, forcibly rejecting his body’s response.
She sat there with her ankles primly crossed, her hands folded in her lap, saying she wanted to marry him! It was enough to drive a man crazy.
Tariq cupped the back of his neck, tilting his head and rubbing his skin to ease the tightness there.
‘I have no idea what foolishness prompted this, Samira.’ He paused, telling himself it was impossible that he tasted pleasure at her name on his tongue. ‘But you of all people know royal marriages are carefully arranged. You can’t just come in here and—’
‘Why not?’ She cut across his words and it struck Tariq that no one, not even Jasmin when she’d been alive, interrupted him. As Sheikh, his word was law, his status respected. Except, it seemed, by the Princess of Jazeer.
She stood and his eyes lingered on her delectable body in that figure-hugging suit. ‘Why can’t I arrange my own marriage? My brother didn’t wait for advisors to find him a wife. He found Jacqui by himself.’
‘That was different.’ Tariq gestured with one slashing hand. ‘That was a love match. They’re crazy for each other.’
Seeing his friend in the throes of love made Tariq uncomfortable. He’d thought Asim was like himself, too focused on the wellbeing of his nation to choose a partner because of emotion.
Tariq’s lips flattened. He didn’t do emotion. Not that sort. And especially not now. He had no interest in marrying for love.
The idea ate like acid in his belly.
‘If you want to get married, ask your brother to find you a suitable husband. He’ll do anything to make you happy.’
Tariq was one of the few who understood Asim’s fierce protectiveness of his sister. Their childhood, at the mercy of their parents’ volatile on-again, off-again relationship, had left them both reluctant to trust anyone.
Was that why Samira was still single at twenty-nine? Traditionally, Jazeeri princesses married much younger, but he suspected his friend Asim had been in no hurry to rush his sister into matrimony after those early experiences of a dysfunctional family.
‘I don’t want Asim to arrange a suitable match.’ She jutted her chin. In a woman less gorgeous, he’d call her expression mulish. ‘I know what I want. I want you.’
Again that sudden blast of blistering arousal low in his body. For an instant he was tempted to forget his duty, his dead wife and his self-control, and haul Samira close, teach her the danger of trifling with him.
Only for an instant.
Tariq reminded himself she wasn’t talking about sex. If she had been she’d have used a different approach—soft blandishments and seductive caresses. And she’d have worn something slinky and provocative. His nostrils flared as he sucked in air to tight lungs, imagining that soft mouth on him. Arousal weighted his lower body.
‘And you’re used to getting what you want?’
Abruptly she laughed, shaking her head, and his pulse faltered at the radiance of her smile. ‘Only sometimes.’
‘Yet you think you can have me for the asking?’ Indignation at her presumption clashed with raw, disconcerting lust at the thought of them together and shame at how easily she got under his skin.
She sobered. ‘I thought it couldn’t hurt to ask.’ She hesitated. ‘I know this is unconventional. But we’re old friends. I thought you’d at least hear me out.’
That was how she saw him? As an old friend? Why Tariq bridled at the idea, he refused to consider.
‘Very well. I’ll hear you out.’ He folded his arms across his chest and waited.
* * *
Samira looked at the imposing man before her. He wasn’t in a receptive mood. His crossed arms were all bunched muscles. The tendons in his neck were taut and his mouth a flat line. Even his eyes glittered a warning.
Yet still Tariq was the most breathtaking man she’d ever seen. Her stomach turned to treacle as the afternoon sun caught the solid plane of his jaw and the proud thrust of that impressive nose. She wondered how it would feel if, instead of shutting her out, he opened his arms and hauled her close into that broad chest. If he kissed her...
She blinked, suddenly light-headed.
That was not what she wanted. Sex had made a fool of her once. She refused to let that happen again. This, what she proposed now, was far more sensible.