Scandal: His Majesty's Love-Child

That was all the encouragement he needed. Moments later she was on her back, her hair a glossy fan beneath her as he took her slowly, tenderly and thoroughly.

This time he kissed her all the while, swallowed her small mews of pleasure and surprise, cupped her face in his hands as she gasped her completion. Mere seconds later the fire rose in him, spreading from his groin to his belly, sending incendiary flares through his whole body and setting a blaze in his lungs that made him gasp for breath.

He burned for her till the explosion blew him apart.

Yet even then the fire kept burning inside, a permanent unquenchable glow.

Tahir slid into oblivion, basking in its warmth, his arms locked about her.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘WHAT are these scars?’ A gentle finger traced across the small of his back. ‘Was it an accident?’

Tahir stilled in mid-stretch, tensing instinctively. In the past when women had asked that he’d brushed off the query, pretending the marks didn’t matter. Yet each time the truth had burned his soul like red-hot coals.

The reminder of his father’s ‘loving’ touch. Though Tahir couldn’t see the scar tissue, it was a permanent brand of who he was and what his past had been.

It would be easy to demur now, to hide the shame of his past. But he didn’t want to lie to Annalisa. For the first time he wanted to unburden himself. To share just a little. The realisation made his stomach clench in fear.

His reprobate reputation hadn’t scared Annalisa. Nor had his position. She’d stood up to him time and again. She didn’t act like any other woman he knew.

She acted as if she cared.

His mind shied from the notion even as its allure drew him. After a lifetime of believing himself unlovable, the idea of someone caring about him was too foreign.

Yet she’d been right about his mother.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.’

‘No.’ He cut off her hurried apologies. ‘It’s all right.’ He turned, and her gentle smile filled him with such pleasure it gave him the impetus to continue.

‘It’s a mark from a lash.’

‘A lash?’ Her brow furrowed in confusion, her eyes clouding, and Tahir was assailed by doubt.

He couldn’t taint her with knowledge of his sordid past. The desire to talk about it was mere selfish weakness.

He rose quickly from the bed, only to feel her hand on his arm, stopping him.

Looking down, he met her questioning gaze head-on. Her expression was clear, open.

It reminded him of her extraordinary inner strength. The strength she’d needed to nurse him with no assistance in the desert. The strength to stand up to the man who was her sovereign and refuse to comply with his wishes.

For all her innocence, Annalisa was a strong woman.

‘Tell me. Please?’

Finally he sank back onto the rumpled sheets and let her slip her arms about him. She leaned her head on his shoulder and her long hair blanketed him. He loved the feel of her near. It filled him with emotions he’d never felt and gave him strength to admit what he’d never told a soul.

‘It’s from my father’s whip. He used to beat me regularly.’

So it hadn’t been just Tahir’s delirium. The beatings had been real. She’d wondered, but hadn’t wanted to believe.

Her pulse pounded sickeningly. Not one beating but regularly. Not just with fists, but a whip. What sort of sadist behaved so?

Annalisa choked on rising bile.

Suddenly Rihana’s comment about Tahir contributing to charities for abused children made perfect, horrible sense. Had he tried to save others from what he’d suffered?

Annalisa clasped him tight. She wished she’d been able to protect the boy who’d grown into this reserved man. Was it any wonder he hid his inner self? Or that he was difficult to know?

Fiercely she hugged him, sensing his unwillingness to talk.

‘Don’t cry, habibti.’ He brushed her wet cheek where it pressed into his shoulder. ‘It was a long time ago.’

‘But you still remember it, all these years later. You still bear the scars.’ They both knew she wasn’t talking about the marks on his back. ‘In the desert you dreamed about it every night.’

He wrapped an arm around her and she snuggled in, grateful for his acceptance. Tahir was unused to sharing anything more than his body. He was the sort of man to keep confidences to himself.

Had he ever talked of this before?

‘I survived.’ His tone was flat and uncompromising.

‘You did more than survive,’ she whispered urgently. ‘You put it behind you. Look at you now.’

‘Don’t glamorise me, Annalisa.’ His tone was sharp. ‘Just because I’m Sheikh of my people it doesn’t make me a good man.’