Royal Weddings. Annie West

behind her. She grabbed his hand in both of hers, enthusiasm buoying her.

      ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’ She shook her head, brim-full of emotion. He’d done this for her. No gift had ever been so special, so very right. ‘Words don’t seem enough.’

      ‘Then don’t use words.’ His glinting eyes challenged her, as if he knew she felt over-full, needing an outlet for the surge of elation and wonder she felt.

      Samira’s breath hitched in automatic denial, the shutters she’d so carefully built instantly coming up to guard her from this over-emotional response.

      She saw the moment he read the change in her. The moment his gaze altered from challenging to disappointed.

      The moment he realised she didn’t have the guts to follow through.

      When he saw how scared she was.

      In that instant the truth blasted her. She had all the emotions of other women. She felt pain and hope and delight but she’d spent years bottling them up, hiding them from the world and herself. Because she was scared they’d make her weak.

      She’d let Jackson Brent do that to her.

      No, she corrected. She’d done it to herself.

      Her nostrils flared in disgust and inadvertently she drew in the heady spicy aroma of Tariq. It sent a trickle of feminine pleasure coursing through her.

      She’d even learned to repress that in the last few years, hadn’t she? She hadn’t been interested in a man, much less turned on by one, in four years. She hadn’t let herself.

      Suddenly Samira saw herself as Tariq must—wary to the point of being pathetic.

      Was she? Or was she merely cautious? Sensible to protect herself?

      But there was a difference between being cautious and being a coward. Last night she’d been a coward and the knowledge was bitter on her tongue. All this time she’d told herself she was being strong. But in reality...

      Samira let go of Tariq’s hand, instead planting a steadying palm on his hard chest, the other on his shoulder as she rose on tiptoe.

      Light flared in those cool eyes but he didn’t move, merely stood stock-still, waiting.

      She realised she’d stopped breathing and exhaled, then drew in a deep breath redolent of desert spice and hot man. Tariq. His scent enticed. Could he possibly taste as good? Suddenly she had to know.

      Samira slipped her hand from his shoulder up to the back of his head, pulling till his mouth was a whisper from hers.

      Atavistic warning clawed through her, screaming that she was about to cross a point of no return.

      For once, need overrode caution. The need to trust herself, just a little. The need for a man’s touch.

      Her eyes closed as she pressed her mouth to his. His lips were warm and inviting. She angled her head a little, kissing him again, enjoying his hard body against her, the pleasure of his mouth touching hers.

      Samira’s other hand snaked up to wrap around his neck, holding him tight as she worked tiny kisses along the tantalising seam of his lips. She felt the exhale of his breath through his nostrils, harder than before, and licked where before she’d kissed. He felt so good. This felt so good. If only...

      Delicious pleasure hit as he opened his mouth, sucking her tongue inside, drawing her into delight. It was so sudden, so powerfully erotic, that she crumpled at the knees, clinging to his tall frame as his arms wrapped her close.

      His mouth worked hers, drawing her to him, delving her depths so she had no option but to surrender that last skerrick of caution.

      Samira was captivated. Her whole body came alive in a way she’d never known. Surely no kiss had been like this—a slow kindling that burned bright and satisfying even as it demanded more and yet more?

      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