Desert Prince's Stolen Bride

His mouth was hard and soft, the kiss sweet and strong at the same time, both sexy and sacred. Wonderful. Olivia returned the kiss with all that she had, unable to stop from giving him her everything. Zayed backed her across the room and her bottom came up against a desk. He growled against her mouth as he hoisted her on top of it, papers and books spilling onto the floor with a clatter.

No sweet seduction now; the force of their desire swept them along, caught up in its tidal wave as it dragged them under. Zayed nudged her legs apart with his own and then stood between her thighs as he plundered her mouth, his hands roving possessively over her body, demanding even more from her. And she gave it. Her mind a frenzied blur of sensation, she gave it willingly, joyfully, because, no matter how impossible their situation was, this man called to something in her that she hadn’t even known she had—and she called to him. That alone was a miracle, a wonderful, incredible miracle.

She felt Zayed’s fingers on the edge of her underwear, pulling it down. She moaned aloud, squirming against the feel of his hand, unable to wait even a second longer for the satiation they both craved, needing it with every fibre of their beings. This. Again this.

Zayed fumbled with his trousers, and with one swift stroke he was inside her. Olivia’s muscles clenched around him and she wrapped her legs around his waist, uniting their bodies as closely and completely as she could, glorying in the feeling of it, the pleasure as well as the unity. She felt complete again, as if everything in her had been waiting to feel this way since the last time.

Zayed began to move, each strong, sure stroke sending Olivia higher to that dizzying peak. She matched his movements, learning the rhythm, finding it naturally, as if this had always been a part of her. As if he had.

And then she reached that glittering pinnacle, a cry bursting from her like a song of joy. She buried her head against Zayed’s shoulder as the spasms of pleasure shuddered through her body before receding in a lazy tide, leaving her feeling boneless and sated.

Seconds and then minutes ticked by, slowly, and then ominously. Dimly Olivia realised they’d just had unprotected sex again. And, if she wasn’t already pregnant, she could be now.

Another few seconds ticked by, each one tenser than the last, then Zayed withdrew from her, cleaning himself up quickly before adjusting his trousers. His face looked as if it had been hewn from stone, his eyes dark and fathomless.

Olivia pulled her sundress down over her hips, smoothing the crumpled material, unable to look him in the eye. The wonderful, lazy feeling of sated desire was leaving her and only trepidation remained. What now?

‘It seems,’ Zayed said in a tight voice, ‘I cannot control myself around you.’

Olivia moistened her lips with her tongue. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You’re sorry? I am the one who should be sorry. I am the one who should be thinking of my kingdom, my people, my duty.’ His voice broke and he whirled away from her, scrubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands as if he could obliterate the memory of what they’d just done.

With a jolt Olivia realised how much of Zayed’s anger was directed at himself, rooted in guilt. He’d hinted as much, but she hadn’t really believed it. Now she saw a depth of pain in the tense lines of his body, in the torment so clearly written on his face.

‘Zayed,’ she whispered, a plea, although for what she could not say. She just wanted to offer him comfort, even though she feared she had none to give him. None he would take, except what he already had, and now they were both living with the aftermath of regret.

‘You have no idea,’ Zayed said in a low voice of anguish. ‘No idea—and how could you? No idea of what is at stake.’

‘I know your marriage to Princess Halina is very important,’ Olivia offered, wanting to show him she understood. Even now, she understood.

‘Important?’ Zayed choked out the word. ‘It isn’t important. It’s essential. To finally have a political leader publicly recognise and fight for my rightful claim...’ He closed his eyes. ‘But it’s not even that. It’s what I see every night before I go to sleep. Every time I close my eyes.’

Olivia drew a short, shocked breath. ‘What did you see, Zayed?’ she asked softly. ‘Tell me what you see.’

* * *

Zayed knew he shouldn’t say anything more. He shouldn’t tell her anything. Heaven knew, he’d told her enough, done enough, already. Even now the aftershocks of their explosive lovemaking were rippling through him, reminding him how sizzlingly potent their attraction was. It frightened him, the intensity of what he felt. When she was near him it was as if he was swallowed up by a vortex of need. He forgot everything.

‘Zayed.’ Olivia touched his arm, her fingers as light as the wings of a butterfly. ‘Please. Tell me what haunts you so much.’

He resisted, because to tell was to admit his weakness, his shame. He didn’t talk of the loss of his family to anyone. Everyone knew the facts, of course; it was a matter of national history. But no one knew about his nightmares, his helplessness. Yet some contrary, shameful part of him wanted to tell Olivia. Wanted to share the burden which, considering everything he’d already put her through, seemed more than unfair.

‘Tell me.’ Her voice was soft, a soothing balm to his fractured spirit. Her fingers stroked his arm.

Zayed let out a shuddering sigh. ‘I see my father and older brother in the helicopter. Going down. I always see them.’

‘Oh, Zayed.’ Olivia gave a sorrowful little gasp. ‘Of course. I’m so sorry.’

She knew the facts, he realised, just as everyone else did. The bare facts—the bomb that had exploded in the helicopter, the attempt on his mother’s life, his cowardly scurry to freedom. Not that anyone would say so to his face, but he knew. He knew.

‘I didn’t realise you’d seen it,’ Olivia said quietly after a moment, her hand still on his arm, as if she could imbue him with the strength he was just beginning to realise she had. The incredible strength. ‘I didn’t think you were there.’

‘I was. I was in the palace, watching them take off. My father and his heir.’ His lips twisted. They’d been going to do their civic duty, to speak at the opening of a hospital in another city, a landmark of Kalidar’s recent transition to national healthcare. Of course Malouf had taken that away. He’d taken away so much. ‘Perhaps you’re wondering why I didn’t go with them,’ he said, his voice harsh, his breathing ragged. Olivia’s fingers tensed on his arm.

‘No,’ she said carefully. ‘But perhaps you want to tell me?’

He didn’t, but he would, because she deserved to know. After everything, he owed her that much. The truth he’d kept from everyone else. ‘I was bored by the idea,’ he said flatly. ‘I’d just got back from Cambridge and I found the desert so very tedious. My father asked me to accompany them and I said no. Minutes later I watched them go down in flames.’