The Sheikh's Princess Bride

She arched, moulding herself inch by inch to that strong body she hadn’t been able to put from her mind. Still her lips clung to his, hungrier now as his grew more urgent, and a new fire ignited low in her body. Her hands tightened on him. Ripples of heat traced her skin, eddying at her breasts, her pelvis. At her back and hip where he held her so securely.

Her heart was hammering as she tore her lips away, gasping for air. Yet it wasn’t lack of oxygen that made her withdraw, but shock at how a thank-you kiss had turned into something completely different. Gratitude and excitement had turned to curiosity, to pleasure and then, almost, to surrender.

She wanted nothing so much as to kiss him again, to lose herself in him.

Samira shivered, suddenly cold despite the hot pulse of blood under her skin. Fear warred with elation.

Tariq still held her, his gaze hooded, waiting, and her stomach churned.

She swallowed, trying to find her voice and not betray rising panic. ‘That was...’

His mouth tilted a little at one corner. ‘Delightful?’ he mused in a low murmur that trawled through her insides, tying her in knots.

‘Unexpected,’ she gasped.

‘A taste of things to come.’ His smile deepened, his hold tightening just a fraction.

Instantly Samira stiffened, shaking her head.

She broke from his embrace, staggering back till she came up against the huge work table, her breath coming quick and shallow. Her hands splayed on its edge as she tried to lock her knees. She felt too wobbly to stand alone.

‘No.’ Her voice was hoarse but she didn’t care. She had to make him understand.

She hated that he made her feel weak. She’d taught herself to be strong, hadn’t she? She’d taken him by surprise when she’d proposed marriage. She’d been strong then. She refused to cower now.

‘No.’ Samira locked her hands before her, meeting his eyes directly. ‘I told you I don’t want love or sex.’

Tariq’s teeth bared in a smile she could only describe as hungry. It made her wonder how the graze of his teeth on her skin would feel. ‘You say that but your body tells a different story.’

He stepped forward but her outstretched hand stopped him. It took too long for her to realise her fingers had curled into his crisp cotton clothing. She tugged her hand back as if burned.

‘Please, Tariq. Believe me when I tell you love is the last thing I want.’ Except for the warm, sustaining love between a mother and her children. She’d imagined a special caring too, respect, trust and friendship between husband and wife, but shied from calling it love.

‘You made that clear when you proposed. That was one of the reasons I agreed to marry you.’

‘It was?’ Her eyes widened.

‘Definitely.’ His gaze shifted, lifting to look past her towards the distant mountains. Instantly Samira felt some of her tension suck away, like a tide suddenly turning. ‘The last thing I want is a wife who thinks she’s in love with me.’ His voice held a honed edge that made her shiver.

Because Tariq was thinking of Jasmin?

Obviously he was. Samira watched his dead gaze as he stared into the distance. She sensed he didn’t see the view. It was his first wife he saw. Everyone spoke of how devoted they’d been, how her death had devastated him.

Samira’s heart wrenched.

He looked as if a cold wall of steel had crashed down, cutting him off from her. Was his grief still so all-consuming?

Samira wanted to comfort him, except she guessed the last thing he wanted was a reminder that his beloved wife was gone, replaced by a woman he hadn’t really wanted.

Suddenly she felt small and unreasonably...hurt.

That was ridiculous. She’d never expected more from him.

Of course Tariq didn’t want love. He’d had that from Jasmin and now he couldn’t love again. He was a one-woman man. Samira told herself she respected him for that.

He turned and eyes of crystalline green snared her. ‘But there’s no reason,’ he murmured in a low voice of pure temptation, ‘why we can’t enjoy sex.’

Heat pounded into her. His stare didn’t trail suggestively over her body. It didn’t need to. It was potent, alight with a desire that made the blood sing in her veins. She struggled to cope with a barrage of sensations as her body responded to that sultry, knowing look. Her emotions jack-knifed from distress to forbidden excitement.

‘No. We agreed.’

‘You agreed, Samira. I didn’t.’

Panic rose anew as she tried and failed to ignore the heat in his eyes and, worse, the answering blaze of hunger in her belly.