Lost to the Desert Warrior

‘You have a right to ask, and you’ve spoiled nothing.’

‘I have no rights, Your Highness. We both know that.’

Sadness shadowed the dark depths of her eyes and Raz pulled her to her feet and took her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him.

‘You are still calling me Your Highness after everything we have shared? Have we not moved further on than that?’

‘You married me because it was the right thing to do for your people, and in doing so you ignored your personal wishes.’

‘Maybe that was true at the time of the wedding, but it isn’t true now. Do you think I was ignoring my personal wishes last night? Do you think what we do together has anything to do with my responsibilities?’

‘Raz—’

Her hand was on his chest, her eyes on his, and he lowered his head, his mouth hovering above hers.

‘Do you think this isn’t personal? Does this not feel personal, habibti?’

* * *

Layla felt everything inside her tighten and spin out of control. Staring into his dangerous black eyes, she felt the world around them fade to nothing. The distant sound of chatter was replaced by the pounding of blood in her ears and her vision was filled with nothing but him.

She felt the roughness of his cheek against the softness of hers, the warmth of his breath and the bite of his strong fingers in her hair as he held her head for his kiss. But he didn’t kiss her. Not quite. And the anticipation was electrifying. She felt his tension as powerfully as he evidently felt hers.

‘Do we have to stay?’ She almost whispered the words. ‘Would it be possible to leave?’

His dark brows met in a concerned frown. ‘You’re not happy? Then we will leave.’ Without pressing for further explanation he took her hand and led her towards some steps that led past a cascade of fountains to the rear entrance of the Old Palace. ‘We can reach our rooms from here.’

She walked with him through an arched entrance, up spiral stairs, along opulent corridors with gilded mirrors and ornate tapestries, past uniformed staff and the odd exotically clad guest until they reached their private suite.

‘I should not have taken you this evening,’ he breathed. ‘Forgive me.’

‘Why do you say that? I had fun. Such fun.’

‘You wanted to leave.’

‘But not because I wasn’t enjoying myself.’

‘Then why?’

Layla hesitated, and then stepped forward and placed her hands on his chest. ‘Because of this. Because of what I want to do.’ She felt him tense. Saw the shock in his eyes as he realised her reasons for abandoning the party were not the ones he’d assumed they were.

‘Layla—’

‘Don’t speak.’ She wanted the illusion. No matter what lay between them, tonight it was all about the chemistry and she didn’t want to shatter that with words. Whatever emotional hurdles they faced, physically there were none.

This time her fingers were swift and sure as she undressed him. Within seconds he was naked from the waist up, his trousers riding low on his waist, revealing a gloriously masculine chest, every line of muscle clearly delineated as he stood in front of her. Her fingers slid up his chest to his shoulders and then lingered on the hard swell of his biceps. His physical strength fascinated her, and she traced the shape of his muscles with the tips of her fingers, hearing his breathing change, feeling the tension in him as he held himself still and let her explore. She took her time because she wanted to discover and memorise every inch of him. After her fingers she used her lips, her tongue retracing the line her fingers had taken. And still he stood still, although she sensed the effort it took him to do so.

Candles flickered in all corners of the room, sending shafts of shimmering light across them, turning his chest from bronze to gold.

Without hesitation she undid his trousers and dropped to her knees in front of him, her hair falling in a sweep of dark silk over her shoulders.

She glanced up at him and his gaze clashed with hers and held.

Then slowly, gently, she took him in her mouth and saw his eyes close, his jaw clench. She felt the thickness of him in her mouth, tasted the silky, salty heat of him, until he groaned deep in his throat and closed his hands in her hair, easing her away from him.

‘Give me a minute—’

His voice was thickened, his eyes dark with something she hadn’t seen before, and then he pulled her to her feet and their mouths came together at the same time. This time there was nothing gentle about the kiss, no tentative exploration or patient instruction, just raw, undiluted passion. His hands were locked in her hair and then ripping at her dress as they kissed, so hungry for each other they staggered slightly and sent a lamp flying from its place on a table.