Seducing His Princess (Married by Royal Decree 3)

She sure did. Rigel meant foot, and Rigel was definitely a foot cat, the one who’d hurled himself at Mohab’s feet. Actually Rigel, the star, meant The Foot of the Great One, which was very apt for both cat and owner....

Hey...wait! “These are all star names, ones discovered by ancient astronomers from the region.”

Surprise flared in his eyes. “They are my little stars. Very observant...and knowledgeable of you.”

Pleasure revved inside her stomach. She’d once craved his praise, praise he’d lavished on her, that had made her feel like the most special person in the world. So even in that regard, nothing had changed.

“And this is Sette—my mistress and queen of my household.” The white cat jumped on his lap, curled up and rested her head on his thigh, eyes focused in the distance. Mohab swept her in strokes, making Jala feel his hand running down her back. “But you can be my human mistress and queen.”

Queen. She still couldn’t get her head around the fact that Mohab wasn’t just a prince anymore. Or just a major force in the world of extragovernmental crisis management. He would have his own throne. And if she married him, she’d be his queen.

Which couldn’t happen. He would have to look for someone else to...

The thought lodged into her brain like a red-hot ax.

How dog in the manger was that? She wouldn’t be his, and she couldn’t bear completing a thought where another woman was?

But that wasn’t new. She’d spent years shying away from any thoughts along these lines, always keeping her mind in a fever of preoccupation so she’d never focus on images of Mohab with other women, when he must have had scores....

“Won’t you proceed with our test?”

His soft question severed her oppressive musings. Feeling any sudden movement would collapse her to the ground, she started toward him. The moment she moved, all four cats seemed to suddenly take notice of her, ears pricking, bodies in attention mode, eyes fixing her with the same intensity as their daddy’s.

She came down on the far end of the couch, taking care not to touch any of the cats. Mizar was the first one who approached, sniffing her tentatively. She’d missed having a cat so much, all she wanted was to grab his robust body and bury her face in his thick fur.

Reeling back the urge, she gave Mizar her hand to sniff, cooing to him, “Ma ajmalak ya sugheeri...do you know how beautiful you are, my little one?” Mizar answered by bonking her hand with his head. Her heart trembled with this affection it only reserved for animals. “Oh, you do know exactly how delightful you are, you compact package of joy, you!”

The cat made his decision and climbed onto her lap, reaching up to bump his head into her chin.

She giggled, everything emptying from her mind but the delight cats always engendered in her. “Ya Ullah...you magical creature. I had a ginger boy like you once, but without your apron. He was as sweet as you and I miss him so very much....”

Hot needles pricked behind her eyes, dissolved in moist pain that she’d thought she’d expended so many years ago.

Needing to hide it from Mohab, she picked up Mizar and buried her face in his nape. A prod on her shoulder came from her side. It was Nihal, asking to be introduced. She turned to the cat, offering her hand. But Nihal, having seen Mizar already on her, dispensed with preliminaries and climbed down Jala’s arm to arch and rub against her side and then settle down against her thigh, a front leg draped over it. Rigel jumped from the couch, sniffed her feet first, then jumped up and joined the lap-warming party. At last, Sette rose regally from Mohab’s lap and sashayed over, pushing Mizar out of the way in the center of Jala’s lap and making the spot hers.

Distributing strokes, delighting in their softness and trust, heart dancing to the frequency of their purrs, Jala looked at Mohab, her smile unfettered for the first time since...her days with him. “This is the best way to die, drowning in cats!”

He didn’t smile back. Before her smile faltered, Mohab rose quietly, came to stand before her, his legs brushing hers as she sat covered in his cats. Then he came down on his knees before her.

Her breath left her in a choking gasp as he leaned forward, his hands brushing her heavy, aching breasts as his arms slid behind her. “You didn’t only pass, ya jameelati, you broke my cat’s fastidiousness and suspiciousness barrier in record time. They didn’t even take to me that fast. It’s official, they have marked you as a bona fide cat slave.”

Her smile broke out again, wavering this time. He bore down on her, this time making his cats vacate her lap and rearrange themselves around her. He pressed himself between her legs, making her open them for him, bringing him fully against her, the hard flesh of his bare chest burning through her dress, his harder arousal pressing into the junction of her thighs. She watched his face approaching hers with the same fatalism one would give an approaching train.

“How about living drowning in cats?” His lips landed on her jaw, nuzzled its way up to her ear. “I and my family are all yours for the taking, ya jameelati. So take us.”

This was so...incredible an offer it would have been everything she’d want from life if it had been real and only for her. If it had been in another life where the past and its losses hadn’t taken place. This way, it was just more pain.

Her useless arms pushed against him. “I said I will say I’ll marry you, not that I will.”

He gathered her closer again. “And I will take anything you’re willing to give. If you won’t marry me, even temporarily, you can still be with me. You can still have me.”

“You expect me to sweep everything under the rug and just fall into your arms again?”

“Under the rug is where all the irrelevant crap of the past belongs. And in my arms is where you do.”

Her senses leaped so hard she felt as if they’d tear out of the confines of her body. All they’d ever wanted was to smother themselves in his nearness, his pleasures. Damn them. And damn him. Pulling her strings, dangling himself, reminding her how it had felt to be mingled with his flesh, riding his need, drenched in pleasure, inundated with satisfaction.

“You and Al Shaitaan are closely related, aren’t you?” She exhaled. “Forget that. The devil must come to you for conniving lessons.” And temptation and seduction ones. “You must be his chief consultant.”

He just smiled. And why not? He felt her buckling.

She’d be damned if she did again, when he’d already condemned her to six years of misery. She wasn’t letting hormones run amok again, wouldn’t let them suppress her self-preservation.