The Desert King's Captive Bride. Annie West

was like wrestling a boulder. A huge, warm boulder scented not just with the stables but with an enticing, unfamiliar tang that she suspected was essence of Huseyn al Rasheed.

      Teeth nipped her earlobe and she jumped, horrified at the fiery trail zapping from the spot straight to her womb, as if he’d jerked a string and she, like a puppet, responded. Her nipples budded hard and achy against her bra. Did he feel that as his big body pressed against her?

      ‘Stop it, you lout!’

      Hands braced on his chest, she leaned back, trying to escape, but he was taller and stronger. In one swift movement he clamped both her hands against that brawny, powerful chest. His other hand grabbed the back of her head, inexorably turning her face towards him.

      Ghizlan saw a flash of smoky blue beneath straight dark brows, then his mouth was on hers.

      Heat, power, the rich, zesty scent of male skin. The soft prickle of his whiskers against her flesh contrasted with the sheer force of his mouth grinding down on hers. It was a predictably ruthless assault on her senses by a man determined to dominate.

      Fear filtered into her stunned brain. Until she realised, astonished, that despite the power in that massive, muscled body, he’d pulled back a fraction. Even as the thought formed, the pressure on her lips eased and his hand in her hair gentled, cradling and massaging.

      Ghizlan stared, trying to focus on the blue of his eyes, but he was too close. He shifted his stance, drawing her lower body in against him until there was no mistaking the monumental evidence of his arousal.

      She gasped, stunned, and too late realised her mistake. For Huseyn al Rasheed took the opportunity to invade her mouth.

      Not to ravage this time but to seduce. His movements were sure but gentle as his tongue swiped hers, learning the feel and taste of her, just as she discovered he tasted like almonds and something else impossibly, horrifyingly delicious.

      Her chest cramped as she realised she enjoyed the sensation of his tongue tangling with hers.

      Foggily she fought the drugging pleasure of those slow, sure, sensual movements of lips and tongue, no longer forcing but inviting.

      A shiver passed from the back of her skull where his fingers caressed her, down to her curling toes.

      She’d been kissed before. Perfectly pleasant kisses from perfectly nice men. Sweet kisses, even eager kisses. But none like this. None that demanded so imperiously then gentled to seduce her into feelings that surely were more dangerous than anything else he could unleash on her.

      His kiss invited her to relax and follow the unfamiliar lure of pleasure. To be selfish, just once. His hand cupping her head supported but also caressed, sending whorls of languid delight through her.

      And his hard body against hers—that was a totally new, electrifying experience. Ghizlan had kissed, and dated while a student, but, ever conscious of the high expectations placed on her, and the possibility for scandal if caught out publicly in a love affair, she’d never progressed beyond that.

      No man had ever made her feel this potent longing for more.

      Ghizlan tried to be strong, tried not to respond. Until she heard, and tasted, Huseyn’s low humming growl of satisfaction. It was a sensual assault, as real as his hand in her hair or his tongue stroking hers. The way it vibrated through her, sparking an answering excitement, was unlike anything she’d known.

      His kiss slowed, deepened, became positively languorous, and Ghizlan’s bones began to soften. Her hands twitched against that powerful chest and before she knew it they’d slid up, over hard shoulders to tangle in tousled locks, tunnelling and tugging then clamping tight on his skull.

      She shifted, angling her mouth to kiss him back and losing her breath as his erection aligned provocatively against her.

      Another growl from the back of his throat and he roped one muscled arm around her, lifting her against him so the contact became even more blatantly sexual.

      And devastatingly delicious.

      Ghizlan gasped, her mind, like her body, running on overdrive. One part of her was aware of curving in, inviting more of that heavy, outrageously improper contact. Another revelled in the strength of a man who could lift her with one arm as if she were made of gossamer. But mainly she was focused on the provocative, delicious kiss she didn’t want to end.

      Except this was wrong. On so many levels she couldn’t begin to count them.

      The part of her consciousness that had been trained from birth to focus on duty, to be a good example, to do the right thing always, suddenly burst awake and screamed in horror.

      Ghizlan dropped her hands to his shoulders and shoved with all her might. She tried to tear her mouth away and only succeeded in inviting him to nuzzle her neck.

      Her body trembled and flushed with delight at the sensations bombarding her from his mouth and his hands and that huge body moving deliberately against her pelvis.

      ‘I don’t want this. Do you hear me? I don’t want it!’ Her voice was a raw whiplash, ragged and desperate. ‘Let me go.’ She gave up pushing and thumped her fists on his shoulders.

      Finally, slowly, his head lifted. His eyes pinioned her as effectively as that heavy arm lashing her to him. His gaze was the colour of the sky after sunset, that fleeting blue when the first stars appeared before the sky turned indigo.

      He blinked. Once. Twice. His gaze dropped to her lips, throbbing and heavy from that devastating kiss. To Ghizlan’s horror she felt that stare like a stroking caress.

      ‘Let me go.’ This time her voice was subdued. How she managed to look him in the eye, Ghizlan couldn’t fathom. They both knew that despite her anger she’d responded, lost to everything but the magic of his kiss.

      Heat roared in her veins. Shame filled her that she should surrender so easily to such a man!

      She told herself she’d responded because of her inexperience. If she’d known what to expect she could have prepared herself. She’d known he fancied himself as a lover—that smugness had been unmistakable. Clearly he’d played his greater expertise to advantage.

      ‘Well, that was interesting.’ His voice held a husky note that drove a shaft of heat right to her belly.

      ‘You can let me go now.’

      His lips curved slowly into a smile Ghizlan wanted to hate because it was prompted by masculine pride. He was pleased with himself because she hadn’t been able to resist him. But strangely his smile made her heart thud faster.

      ‘Are you sure you can stand?’

      Of all the complacent, self-satisfied...

      Ghizlan’s knee-jerk reaction, straight for the soft spot where that monumental male ego was centred, should have crippled him. But his reactions were faster than hers. Her knee grazed his cotton trousers but he’d already whipped back out of reach with the lightning reflexes of a man used to fighting. And fighting dirty.

      His hands dropped, leaving her free, panting for breath and propped against the desk.

      At least that wiped the grin off his insufferable face.

      Ghizlan summoned her strength, standing tall, her hands going automatically to her hair and swiftly pinning what he’d turned into a mare’s nest. Fortunately she could tidy her hair without thinking about it, like she could descend a grand staircase in a full-length dress without looking down or tripping. Or converse with ambassadors in several languages at the same time. Years of practice made some things easy.

      What she found difficult was the realisation her own body had betrayed her.

      ‘You’ve had your fun at my expense.’ She kept her voice even, only because letting him glimpse the depth of her despair at her weakness was untenable. ‘Now, I’d like the see the Captain of the Guard, and my bodyguards and then my sister.’

      ‘After we’ve concluded our business.’