The Last Prince of Dahaar
He quashed the thought before it could take form. This night, these stolen moments with her, this was his reality.
Even this was wrong. But for one night, he didn’t want to be honorable.
He wanted to be just Ayaan. Not the son of grieving parents, not a shadow left behind of a beloved brother, not the wrong man to have survived, not the crown prince who was choking under the joy of his people.
He pulled up her hand and placed the envelope in her palm. “This is more of a thank-you than a ritualistic gift.”
She took it with trembling hands, the envelope slipping from her grip. He held her fingers in a steadying grip and heard the slight catch in her breath. His own breathing balled up in his throat. She turned it over and over in her hands.
“After a few unsuccessful ideas, I called Saira,” he said, to puncture the seductive allure of the silence, to fight the intimacy the evening weaved upon them. “Luckily, she informed me you had no love for jewelry before I settled on a behemoth rock.”
Whatever lingered on her lips never found a voice. She opened the seal and the small slip of paper fluttered in her hands. She scanned it quickly, a frown knotting her brows. “What is this?”
“Your itinerary. Saira told me how much you’d always wanted to see Monaco.”
Shock widened her beautiful eyes. “My father refused to let me go and I didn’t have enough money to go on my own.”
“Maybe he was worried you wouldn’t come back.” Suddenly, he couldn’t imagine this world, his world, without her. Unease skittered up his spine.
“I turned eighteen six years ago and I have American citizenship. I have a little money to my name and an uncle who lives in Boston. If I had truly wanted to leave, I think I would have left by now.” She frowned, as if realizing the import of her own words.
“So....” she swallowed visibly, “this is a trip to Monaco?” A thread of hope whispered in those words. Utter satisfaction swept through him.
“In ten days, I am heading into the desert for the annual tribal conference.” He spoke the words almost without choking. That in itself was a victory. “You can leave for Monaco that same day in a private jet. A family friend will greet you there and take you to the resort we own. My parents have been informed. You will have a security detail. You have a week to yourself, Princess. Without obligations, duties or anything royalty related. The only condition—”
“I won’t bring shame upon Dahaar,” she whispered.
He turned her around, something in her tone tugging at him. She didn’t sound happy, or surprised. She sounded utterly crushed. “I know that it’s not exactly the lifetime of freedom that you want, but—”
She moved closer to him, and placed her finger on his mouth. The simple touch pinged along his nerve endings, making him aware of every inch of his own skin. “It’s the most thoughtful gift anyone’s ever given me.”
Her gaze shone with unshed tears, more beautiful than the precious gems he had perused last week. He clasped her face with his hands. “They why do you have tears in your eyes, Princess?”
She clasped his wrists, and smiled through the tears. It was filled with such bleakness, such heart-wrenching desolation that his heart constricted. He waited for an answer that never came.
He could handle the Zohra that was all fire and attitude but this...this hurting, vulnerable Zohra, this he couldn’t handle. He couldn’t bear to be near because he couldn’t not touch, not comfort. And the comfort he wanted to offer took only one form.
It shook him from within, this need to taste her mouth, to crush her against him.
He backed up against the wall just as she turned toward him, testing his will to the last frayed edge. Before he could blink, she was standing close, too close. He could see himself in her eyes, could see the blue shadows under them and worst of all, he could see the ache in her eyes. Her hands found purchase in his. Her body tilted forward and he was incapable of moving away.
He swallowed, assaulted by an avalanche of sensations and desires. The scent of her bound him to her effortlessly, the whisper of her body’s heat sparking an inferno in his. He closed his eyes, willing himself to do the right thing.
She rose up on tiptoes, curled her hands on his chest and kissed him on his cheek.
The touch of her soft lips, the accompanying murmur of thank you, the brush of her body against his, and he became unraveled. It was a moment he wouldn’t forget in ten lifetimes; a sensation that seeped into his very cells.
The hunger he had been denying himself roared into life with a vengeance. He gripped her nape with his fingers, dragged her against his body and found her mouth with his.