Seducing His Princess (Married by Royal Decree 3)

Ya Ullah—even now, he had her spontaneously combusting from a distance. Her body was readying itself, the clothes he’d asked her to remove were suddenly suffocating shackles, abrading aching flesh.

“I have company.”

“Get rid of them.” His command was terse, tense, uncompromising.

“I can’t,” she choked, smiling wanly at the two ladies who’d finished unpacking and were fidgeting, not knowing what to do. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Do that, and I’ll come over.”

“You don’t know where I am!”

“I can pinpoint your location via GPS. I was only asking as a courtesy, so you’d volunteer it willingly.”

“What do you think I can do now, huh?”

“Would you have done what I asked had you been alone?”

Carmen strode by her to usher in the ladies, who brought in more packages, looking relieved to stop pretending to be talking to Aliyah and not hearing everything Jala said.

Jala cast her a brittle smile, trying to sound neutral as she almost choked on her answer. “I would have considered it.”

“Liar.” This was crooned in the darkest, deepest tone he’d ever hit her with. “You would have made a protracted feast of tormenting me.”

That coming from the master of torment. Oh, the irony.

“Zain. If you can’t open your laptop, we’ll use the phone. I’ll show you myself, instead.”

Her legs gave out. She groped for the nearest chair, gesturing weakly at the ladies that she was okay, hoping they’d just leave. They didn’t. They continued to work until she almost screamed she wanted to be alone to deal with this nerve-racking man without having them witness her being seduced out of her mind by him.

Mohab droned on until she felt her brain sizzling. “Remember how you used to revel in exposing me? Taking each shred of clothes off me with fingers that shook with urgency, with teeth that chattered with arousal?”

“Mohab...”

As soon as his name moaned out of her, begging mercy, she could almost see Aliyah’s and Carmen’s ears pricking up. Now they knew for sure who’d been tormenting her all this time.

“But I’ll leave you to your visitors on one condition.”

“What?” she croaked.

“The moment they’re gone, you’ll come to me.”

* * *

To their credit, after Mohab released her from his long-distance torture, Aliyah and Carmen behaved as if they’d heard nothing as they concluded their business, which it turned out they had needed to stay to conclude. Before they disappeared, she thought she saw them exchanging furtive smiles.

Yeah. They were probably putting two and two together. And coming up with a thousand.

She took her time, showering, drying her hair, dressing in fresh clothes. Then she headed to the wing Mohab had been given. Aliyah had backhandedly provided its location.

At his door, she knocked, then stood back.

The door opened almost instantaneously. Across the threshold, there he was, looking fall-to-your-knees gorgeous—Mohab.

In a black-on-black suit and shirt, his skin simmered and his eyes glowed in the soft ambient light. Only the top section of his hair was held back now; the rest flowed like thick sheets of silk to sigh over his collar.

A wave of fierce hunger rolled over her. She bore its impact without any outward sign, looking up at him across the threshold. He only stepped aside. Knowing there’d be eyes documenting her entry into his chambers, she walked inside.

The wing looked much like the one she occupied, but it smelled different. His scent had already permeated the place. It coated her lungs, tingled on her tongue. His unique brand of virility and vigor, of scorching desert sun and flaying wind, of ruthless terrain and cleansing rain. Of cold-blooded termination and boiling-over passion.

His appreciation sizzled over her as his eyes swept her white-cotton-clad body, sensuality playing on his sculpted lips, humming from him like electricity from a high-voltage cable.

She bore the brunt of his silent, sensual onslaught, then, in utmost tranquillity and premeditation, she swung her arm and socked him in the jaw.

Six

Pain exploded in Jala’s hand.

She’d thrown punches before, but nothing had ever hurt that bad. Figured. Mortal beings’ jaws weren’t made of some indestructible amalgam like Arabian Nights refugee here.

She might have broken her hand. And wrist. And elbow.

But she wouldn’t obey the need to shake the agony out and howl. The unmovable bastard hadn’t even rocked under what she’d thought a very good punch. Only his smile had vanished, his expression becoming that of a predator who’d just encountered an unexpected opponent, exhilarated by the discovery, raring for an all-out tumble.

Then, oh, so slowly, he raised his hand and rubbed his jaw, softly scratching against his beard. It sent a frisson of stimulation through her, as if those fingers had scraped against her most sensitive spots. She managed not to shudder.

“Was that so hard?”

Huh? What?

“Giving me that first voluntary touch.” He rubbed his jaw again, this time moving it from side to side, as if making sure everything was still slotted in place and functioning. “Not bad at all, as first voluntary touches go.”

Wishing she could generate heat vision, she glared at him. “If only you’d told me you expected a first voluntary punch, I would have obliged you much faster.”

His grin turned into a wince and back to a grin. “Good thing I’m sporting a beard. I would have had a hard time explaining the bruise. That was a perfect jab. Or should I say, sucker punch?”

“Please. You saw it coming a light-year away. You could have blocked it if you wanted.”

“If you think I saw anything but you glowing like a golden goddess in that torture device of a dress, you give me too much credit. You reduce me to my basic beast and the most simpleminded and oblivious of men.”

Why was he doing this? Reengaging his seduction program? Was there something he still needed from her? Was he making sure she was hot enough for the required malleability?

“At least believe that if I’d seen this punch coming, I would have ducked so you wouldn’t hurt your hand.”

“Oh, sure. You care about the hand that just socked you.”

“I care about nothing but your every bone and pore and inch. All I want is to show you how much...I care. But wait...”

He suddenly turned and strode away, disappeared into the kitchenette. In moments, he came back with a bag of ice. Stopping before her, he took her hand, ran gentle fingers over the knuckles that throbbed with a dull ache, his eyebrows knotting as he examined the forming bruise. Placing the ice on her knuckles, he gritted his teeth, as if her gasp hurt him.