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CHAPTER THREE

SHE made it to Zahir’s room without further incident. Then she stood in front of the lever that would swing an ancient wardrobe within the room open like a door, and gathered her courage. This was it. The moment she’d craved far longer than anyone else would ever know.

She reached out to pull the lever, but the “door” was already opening. It swung inward to a room lit by numerous candles.

Clad in the traditional wedding garments of the Zohra royal family, Zahir looked at her with an expression so serious, it made her breath catch. “I began to think you had changed your mind.”

Unable to speak, she shook her head.

“Your wedding night awaits.” He stepped back.

“Come.”

Her heart hammering, she followed him into the candlelit room, but jerked when he reached behind her, and then blushed at her jumpiness.

“Be at peace. I am only closing the access to the corridor.”

“Can just anyone come in through it?” she asked, another worry finding its place in her maelstrom of emotions.

“Only the family knows of its existence, and a select few of our security detail, those whose families have served the royal house for generations.”

“But still.” What if his brother, or father, or something, decided to make a late night visit?

“I have locked it from this side. The lever on the other side of the wall will not move.”

Relief washed over her. “Amir and Grace were in the corridor.”

Zahir’s entire body tensed. “Did they see you?”

“No.”

He nodded, relaxing a little. “It would not have been a total tragedy, but I would prefer you not to be made the object of speculation.”

She begged to differ. If she’d been seen, dressed as she was, it would have been both humiliating and a huge and total tragedy. Nothing would stop her uncle from forcing the marriage if she were caught in such a circumstance.

Thank goodness, only the royal family of Zohra knew of the passages. And her.

“How did you know I was in the corridor? Is there some kind of alarm?”

Zahir merely shrugged, but there was an odd expression in his eyes, the soft light of the candles giving his angular cheeks a burnished glow that almost looked like a blush.

He reached out and cupped her cheek. “You look beautiful.”

“You didn’t like my dress earlier?” “You know I did.” “Do I?”

“Oh, yes.” His hand slipped around her head and settled against her nape. He used the hold to gently tug her forward until their bodies were a mere breath apart. “You are a minx. How did I not realize this before?”

“Minx is such an old-fashioned word.”

“I am an old-fashioned guy.”

“You think?”

“In some ways, I am very traditional.”

Then, before she could answer, he lowered his head and she finally got the kiss she’d always wanted.

And it was every bit as tender and romantic as she could ever have hoped. Letting out a little sigh of pleasure, she let her lips part slightly.

Zahir’s tongue swept inside, claiming her mouth with unhesitating, if gentle, demand. Her arms moved of their own volition, her hands clasping behind his neck as she melted into him. His big body shuddered at the full-on contact and she could feel the evidence of a tightly leashed desire pressing impressively against her stomach.

The evidence that he did indeed want her made her bold and she tangled her tongue with his, responding to his kiss with an abandon she’d never known she was capable of.

She’d spent so many years repressing her sexual desires, they rushed through her now with the power of a California wildfire.

She moaned, moving against him, needing more than the kiss, but too involved in it to do anything about that.

As if he could read her mind, Zahir’s hands began exploring her body through the thin silk of the wedding

galabeya. He traced the embroidery along her spine, sending raptures through her body.

When his hands cupped her bottom, she could not suppress a needy whimper. An approving growl came from deep in his chest as he lifted her to press the apex of her thighs against his hardness.

Her legs spread of their own volition, but the skirt of the long Arabic gown constricted how far she could do so. He didn’t seem to mind, making another sound of approval as he intimately thrust against her. The contact between them, even through the layers of silk of their clothing, sent electric sparks exploding along her nerve endings. His thrusts became more urgent as she felt warm moisture develop between her legs.

How could this feel so good? How could she feel so out of control already? They weren’t even naked yet.

He tilted her pelvis just so and suddenly sensation unlike anything she’d ever known was making her womb clench. She mashed her mouth against his, needing to be closer.

He gave her what she needed, taking their kiss into something wildly carnal.

Unfamiliar tension built inside her, pleasure tinged by almost panic at the unfamiliarity of it, made her body shake even as she pressed against him in wanton need for something she couldn’t give name to.

And then it came, that nameless something, a supernova of sensation that made her body go rigid as she cried out against his mouth. A sob built in her throat as the pleasure burst, and ebbed, and burst again.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She could only feel and that was too much. Too intense and yet she never wanted it to end.

But something this immense had to end, or kill her. She was sure of it.

Her heart felt ready to explode from her chest. If this is what he could do to her with a kiss, she was never going to survive what was to come.

The jolts of pleasure grew farther apart as her body ebbed toward relaxation more and more until she was completely limp against him. Her grasp on his neck nothing more than a caress, really, as her muscles certainly weren’t supporting her.

Finally, breaking the kiss, he swung her high against his chest and smiled down at her. “You are amazing.”

She could not speak to respond, merely shook her head. He was the incredible one, playing her boldly like a sitar’s strings.

“Making love to you will be my greatest pleasure.” She forgave him the smug tones edging his voice.

They were well-earned. Besides, his words weren’t smug at all. He could have said it would be her greatest pleasure, and they both knew that would be the case.

She was a virgin after all.

Making the other claim was a sop to her feelings that she could not help loving him for. Tonight would definitely not be the beginning of her learning to suppress that love like she always had her feminine sensuality.

That would come later, when she was not in his arms, experiencing feelings and emotions beyond comprehension.

Even so, she wanted to ask if he meant it, but knew that would be a very stupid thing to do in the circumstances. A negative answer was so not what she wanted to hear right now. Still, she could not help giving him a doubtful look.

His expression turned intensely serious as he carefully laid her on the huge bed. “You are the only woman I have ever touched that has been mine alone. You cannot know what satisfaction that gives me.”

She wanted to call him a chauvinist. Tell him he was arrogant beyond belief. But most of all, she wanted to ask what he meant. Of course, Elsa would not have been untouched when Zahir began seeing her; his former mistress would have had liaisons with other men.

Angele didn’t do any of that, though, because for the first time in all the years she had known this man, a glimmer of vulnerability showed through his super-controlled exterior.

“All yours.” For tonight.

His teeth flashed in another sensual smile. “All mine.”

If he sounded like he was making a permanent claim, she convinced herself it was simply her ears hearing what they craved. Not a truth that resonated in her heart.

“You will make love to me now?” she asked softly. “I have been making love to you since you stepped into my room.”

She did not question it. She certainly could not deny it.

He began to undress, pulling back the layers that named him crown sheikh of his people until he stood before her in the soft glow of a hundred candles, his perfect body completely open to her gaze.

Skin a shade darker than hers covered bulging muscles she would not have expected in a man who spent his days playing politician. She’d always known he was strong, but now she believed the rumors that none of the security force in the palace could best him on the sparring mat.

“You look like an ancient Bedouin warrior.”

“A man cannot be weak and lead his people.”

“I have never questioned your mental stamina.”

“You mean you have questioned my physical prowess?” he asked and then laughed, the sound free and full of genuine amusement.

That laugh was as much a gift as the pleasure he drew so unnervingly from her body.

She choked on her own amusement. “Of course not, I just …”

Her eyes could not help devouring him with hungry need. He was so incredibly masculine, his hardened sex standing out from his body in impressive splendor.

“I think you like looking.”

“I think I do, too.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I don’t make it a habit of looking at naked men.”

There was that laughter again and she could not even mind it was at her expense. “I should hope not.”

“It suddenly occurs to me that I’m debilitatingly naive for a woman from my adopted country.” She doubted there was a single woman who worked on the fashion magazine that employed her as an editorial assistant that was as innocent to sexual things as Angele.

“You are exactly as you should be.”

She knew he meant it, but she could not help thinking that if she’d been a bit more experienced, perhaps he would not have found Elsa such a fascination.

She dismissed the thought as unnecessary and destructive. Elsa Bosch was not here, was not even in Zahir’s life any longer. Angele was. For now. And at this moment in time, that was all that mattered.

“I think I could stand here and let you look and you would come from that alone.”

“Arrogant.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps, but you cannot know what a pleasure it is to have those doe-soft brown eyes eating me up like the tastiest dessert at the feast.”

“I doubt there is another man alive who I would find more appealing.” She didn’t mind telling him the truth.

Tonight was not for self-protection. That started tomorrow. When she flew back to the States, no longer a virgin and no longer the promised future bride to the heir to the throne of Zohra.

“Naturally.”

She laughed again, her heart tripping in her chest at his obvious desire to be seen as the best in her eyes. “Naturally.”

“No other woman can compare to you lying on my bed as you are.”

Wearing his grandmother’s galabeya, he meant, looking like the bride she would never be. But surprisingly the thought did not make her sad, but rather brought a smile to her face. “You’ve never brought another woman in here, have you?”

“Of course not.”

“You’re living out your teen fantasies, aren’t you?” she teased.

He shook his head. “They’re much more recent than that.”

She opened her mouth to say something else, but he reached down and caressed his shaft with a sure hand. She gasped. She wanted to be doing that.

“All in good time,” he said as if reading her mind.

Then he stepped forward until he stood against the bed. “It’s time to undress my bride.”

It wasn’t a real wedding night, but he was going to make it as close to one as possible for her. And she was going to let him.

She wasn’t surprised when his first action was to remove the slippers on her feet, but it shocked her speechless when he leaned down to take each foot into his hand and place a soft, sensuous kiss on the arch. He didn’t stop there, either, but caressed her feet, pressing points that seemed directly linked to the empty ache inside her.

She was moaning and clenching her thighs by the time he’d moved his attention to her calves.

“Such soft, silky skin, but I know a place you will be softer.”

Her breath came in harsh pants and she shook her head.

“I assure you, you are. Soft, delicious and wet.”

Delicious? Did he mean … but her thoughts splintered as he pushed her gown up to expose her thighs to his gaze and that talented mouth.

Words gasped out of her without meanings as she discovered that her inner thighs were far more sensitive than she’d ever realized.

He chuckled, the sound wicked and delicious. “Are you sure it is the right time to be praying, ya habibti?”

“I … what? It …”

That smile that told her he was about to do something naughty creased his sensual mouth. Then, he pushed her galabeya higher and suddenly stopped, letting out a deep sigh of clear approval. “Oh, this is nice.” “You like my panties.”

“Oh, yes, ya habibti, very much.” He stroked a single finger right over her clitoris and pressed down into the silk.

She jolted, arching her body toward that teasing touch.

“I do like these, but I am going to adore what is underneath them.”

“You are so much earthier than I ever expected.” “I told you, I am a traditional man of my people. We celebrate the delight of pleasure.” “Your Bedouin tribes, perhaps.” “You would be surprised.” Maybe she would be. Like Jawhar, Zohra was one of the few Arabic countries whose outlook and culture had always suffered less religious oppressions than their surrounding neighbors or the rest of Eastern Europe. “I’ll take your word for it.” “You should not have to.” It was the first time he had outright criticized her upbringing in America rather than Jawhar.

“So, show me now.” She wasn’t about to get into a discussion on that particular topic right now.

“Oh, I fully intend to.” And he did, caressing her until she was in a fever pitch of desire.

She wasn’t sure how it happened, but she lost the galabeya. Finally. He took a moment to admire her in her lacy bra before removing it. He paid the kind of homage to her breasts that felt almost spiritual, but at the same time was very, very carnal.

Her nipples were aching and her panties literally soaked before he pulled back to ask, “Are you ready for me?”

“I’ve been ready.” She’d meant to yell it out, but her voice was gone it was a barely there croak. “I also.”

But still, he took his time removing her wet panties. And then, instead of covering her with his body like she expected, he pressed her thighs wide apart and began to touch her with careful, knowing fingers.

“Zahir,” she pleaded.

“It will be easier for you if I deal with your maidenhead with my fingers.”

“What?” she gasped in a shocked whisper. And then shook her head frantically. “No. I … That’s …”

But his forefinger and middle finger were already pressing inside, pushing against the barrier that stood between her virginity and their ultimate connection. He rubbed gently, making circles with his fingertips, pressing, pressing … always pressing.

It was a dull ache, not a stabbing sting. The small pain helped bring her to a more alert awareness as Zahir started his preparation of her body for his penetration.

“You are so careful with me,” she breathed.

He gave her that smug half smile that she found more endearing than annoying. “Naturally.”

“Is it a learned trait, or bred into you, I wonder?”

“What?” he asked, but his knowing gray gaze said he had the answer already.

“Your arrogance.”

“You have met my father. It is genetic.”

Yes, she knew the king of Zohra as well as the King of her father’s country, Jawhar, and she would have to concede the point. Supreme confidence was definitely a family trait.

“Khalil and Amir do not seem quite so over the top with it.”

“I am not sure Grace or Jade would agree with you but, aziz, you should not be thinking of other men while I am doing this.” He pressed against her clitoris with his thumb and all thoughts of arrogance and his family flew from her brain.

A long, low moan snaked out of her throat as pleasure intensified in that one spot and then radiated outward. He continued the pressure massage against the thin barrier while caressing her sweet spot with his thumb in a way guaranteed to make her forget her own name.

She felt the stunning ecstasy begin to build again, this time all the more intense for knowing what it would lead to. Her body went rigid with tension, the dull ache inside her drowned in the hurricane of desire.

As the pleasure exploded he pressed through the barrier, her pleasure muting the sting of pain. She still felt it, but somehow it was natural, a moment meant only for them.

He looked into her eyes, his own so dark they appeared black. “Now, I make you mine.”

She didn’t reply. Could not form words to deny the claim and refused to face the truth of its temporary nature.

There was no need for her to respond as he moved between her legs, his engorged, steel-like hardness pushing inside her.

She could feel the stretch as her most intimate flesh strained to accommodate his. His member was much thicker than his fingers had been inside her. The sensation of not only being joined to him, but completely filled by him washed over her.

Neither spoke as he rocked gently with his hips, pressing deeper with each small thrust. Their gazes remained locked, the connection something so much more than physical. But then, she’d never expected anything else.

She loved this man with her whole heart and sharing her body with him was both spiritual and highly emotional.

Despite the obvious need making his muscles bulge from the tension of holding back, Zahir leaned down and placed the gentlest of kisses on her lips.

Tears washed her eyes, but she wasn’t ashamed of them. They seemed an appropriate reaction to this moment. He did not seemed fazed by them, either, merely tilting his lips at one corner as he brushed the moisture away with his thumb. “Are you ready?”

She almost asked for what, but he shifted just that much and she felt a new type of pleasure. Something so intimate and primal that she could do nothing but nod.

He did not smile, though she could sense his satisfaction at her agreement. He did begin to move, starting a careful, steady rhythm that was at once wonderful and not enough.

“More, please, Zahir.”

He shook his head; the strain around his eyes the only indication that holding back was taking its toll on him. “Not this time. You are too new to this. You will have nothing but pleasure from me this night.”

“It does feel good,” she said somewhere between pleading and affirmation.

And they didn’t have a some other time between them.

Rather than answer, he kissed her again, but this time with an unrestrained carnality that revealed how close to losing his control he really was. She responded, losing herself in the joy of their connection.

His movements grew jerky, though he did not let himself go as she was craving. A small voice in the back of her head told her she would thank him for his control later, but right now, she was once again reaching for the pinnacle of pleasure.

When it came, it washed over her in a warm wave unlike the frantic convulsions of the first time. However, his body seized, muscles straining, his neck corded as he threw his head back and let out a primal shout of completion.

A sense of accomplishment washed over her, adding to her happiness. She had given him this, just as he had given her unimaginable pleasure.

“It is done.” His voice held a profundity that touched her deeply.

No matter the cause, she and Zahir had been one for this moment in time.

She wanted to say something, but tiredness overtook her and she felt the room fading even as Zahir whispered words of praise next to her ear, their bodies still joined.