Reclaimed by the Powerful Sheikh

Noticing the grip he had on the glass, he placed it carefully back on the bar instead of hurling it against the wall as he wanted to. A mirthless laugh escaped his lips. Yes. He was a fool to think that opening up the hurt and the pain would somehow allow him his freedom. And for the first time he allowed a voice he hadn’t heard for years to suggest that perhaps he would never be free of Mason McAulty. That perhaps he didn’t want to be.

The door to the bathroom opened behind him and, coward that he was, he couldn’t turn, wouldn’t turn to look at her. Her high-heels clipped across the marble flooring, counting down the moments until she reached him. Anticipation raised the hairs on his arms, exposed to her presence now that he’d rolled back the Egyptian cotton cuffs of his shirtsleeves. Somehow he sensed a shiver run through her delicate body. As if the warmth he’d felt at his back had been cut with ice. Had he imagined the soft twinkling of crystal beads shimmering together over the soft tremors of her skin? Did she feel it too? That arc of sensation that had survived all these years? That invisible thread that bound them together?

* * *

He’d flinched. She’d seen it the same moment a shiver ran through her body. Staring at the breadth of his back, shadowed by the sun’s morning rays, she’d wanted to reach out to him. To feel the strength of him wrapped around her. The memorial he’d taken her to in the palace gardens had left her vulnerable, exposed. And, where once she’d hated that feeling, she knew he’d been right. Opening up her grief to them both had been cathartic. It had let both love and grief mix together, and find a way through the darkness into the light.

But Danyl had been wrong if he’d hoped that it would resolve the tension between them. Because now Mason felt it all. As if letting go of the hurts and embracing the love had somehow made her want him, need him even more.

It had always been there, she realised. From that first moment their eyes had met across the grand room in the Langsford. A burst of attraction that had rained down star-lights of need over them both. That was what sent the shiver across her skin now, that was what made her want to throw caution to the past, the present and the future.

A storm of need was building between them, a thing so powerful it was almost tangible. She raised her hand, feeling it against her palm, on the tips of her fingers. Danyl span round and caught her wrist, preventing her from reaching him. Her hand, hovering between them, inches above his heart.

‘Don’t,’ he commanded. The word cut through the haze of desire built so strongly between them only he could undo it. But she could tell that his usually ironclad control was fraying under the same weight of need and passion she felt. She could see it in the gold flecks that framed irises rounded with desire, feel it in the way he was yet to release her hand, taste it as the faint, familiar sweet scent of whisky fanned out over her.

‘I want this night,’ she said, surprised that her voice held none of the trembling her heart experienced.

‘You’re in no position to ask for anything, Mason. You were the one who left, you were the one who turned away.’

And she resisted the urge to do so again, the dark tones in his voice a warning as much as a castigation.

‘I had to. Can’t you see?’

* * *

And that was the worst of it for Danyl, because he could see. It had been self-protection. And had he not been protecting himself all these years? Wasn’t that why he’d embarked on the ridiculous search for the perfect, unemotionally engaged royal union?

‘But I’m here now,’ she whispered. A promise, an offering.

‘And for how long this time?’ he demanded.

But she didn’t need to answer. He could see it written in her eyes, across her face, and feel it in the pulse that flickered beneath his fingers still wrapped around her wrist. Her breathing was shallow, little puffs against his lips, and it wasn’t enough. He needed the feel of her against him, needed the touch of her fingers, the cries of her pleasure.

She was offering him a way to exorcise their demons once and for all. She was offering herself to him. And he wasn’t strong enough to resist.

He pulled her against his chest, unable to fight his need, his desire, himself any more. The moment his lips crashed against hers he feared that it might never be enough. Her lips opened beneath his tongue, allowing entrance to the soft, sweet promise of her mouth. Her free hand flew to his face, fingers threading through the dark swirls of his hair, pulling her to him, anchoring them together.

The crystal beads of her dress scratched against the cotton of his shirt through to his chest. A friction almost unbearable, but necessary. He pulled again on the hand he still held, relishing the feel of her chest against his, relishing the control he was barely able to leash. But as soon as he’d had the thought, he realised how wrong he’d been.

Mason walked him back to the chair in the corner of the room, her strength once again surprising him. The fingers of his free hand ran over an arm more toned and defined than the last time they’d touched. He wanted to feel more of her. Her legs, her thighs, the exquisite wet heat of her wrapped around him. He wanted it all.

Mason pushed him back into the chair, his legs bending the moment they hit the seat. Leanin

g over him, reluctant to break the kiss, she freed her hand from his grasp and grasped the heavy hem of her crystal-covered dress, pulling it up to her thighs, allowing her to place her knees either side of his legs as she lowered herself onto his lap.

For a heartbeat she wanted to lay her head on his shoulder, just to stay there, just to luxuriate in his strength, in his warmth. God, how she’d missed this.

But then his hands came around her hips, pulling her core deeply against the hard ridge of his arousal. The thin silken panties she wore met the wool of his trousers, but they might as well have been the emperor’s new clothes for what little protection they gave against the onslaught of their mutual desire.

The feel of his hardened length beneath her was incredible, familiar yet heartbreakingly new. She wanted to give them this. She wanted them both to have this moment, this last time so that when they parted ways, when they finally said goodbye, it would be the thing they remembered. A last act of love they both desperately needed and deserved.

His fingers threaded their way beneath her dress, the tightness of the body stopping the pathway his hands were following at her hips. His thumbs came round the top of her thighs and teased the edges of where she so desperately wanted him.

He held her there, teasing, taunting, commanding her body with a touch. He pulled back in the chair, breaking the torment of his punishing kiss, and she knew what he wanted. She felt the same thing. He wanted to see the need in her eyes, wanted to see the sparks of the intense feelings sweeping over her, the edges of hysteria that would make her beg. Make her plead. She knew because she wanted that of him too.

Oh, God, it had never been like this. Ten years before it had been innocent, and playful. Now it was an intoxicating drug that she needed both more of and needed to quit. One last hit—that was how she’d come to think of this. But all thoughts fled as his thumb dipped lower, deeper, between her legs, running over the scrap of ashamedly damp silk covering her. She sucked in a breath, unable to hide the effects he was wringing from her. She cursed as his other hand slipped behind her, pulling her against him even more. He slipped a finger beneath the back of her thong, bringing the silk firmly against her clitoris, and she cried out loud, only the crush of his lips, the power of his tongue in her mouth closing off the wanton sound.

Without warning incredible waves of ecstasy pounded through her body, pulsing within her and rippling shivers across her skin. Her body, as if trying to protect itself from the punishing tide of the most powerful orgasm she’d ever felt, wanted to curl in on itself, but strong, powerful hands held her in place.