Royal Weddings. Annie West

      Now, holding Samira’s soft hair in his hand, feeling her touch on his arm, he wondered what the hell he’d done. How was he supposed to control this?

      What he felt was too big, too deep, too raw and unfamiliar. He resented it, despised the weakness it revealed in him. His whole upbringing had been designed to eradicate weakness. His guardian’s regimen of hard work, discipline and self-denial had honed Tariq into a man with the strength and single-mindedness to rule a nation, to lead in war if necessary, not to wallow in feelings or succumb to neediness.

      Yet his fingers were stiffly reluctant as he released Samira and stepped back. Warm water eddied around his calves. He wished it was deep and icy so he could douse the heat in his blood and his phenomenal erection.

      Abruptly he turned, wading out until the water reached his hips and then striking out for the other side of the oasis pool.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      TARIQ STOOD, ARM BRACED high against the open window as he stared at the winking stars. The desert night sky glittered, diamond-bright. A soft breeze feathered across his chest and rippled his loose cotton trousers against his thighs. But it did nothing to cool him. Even the plunge in the oasis and a cold shower later hadn’t brought relief from the heat simmering within.

      What he needed was a distraction, but the children were in bed and paperwork couldn’t hold his attention. Usually it was no effort to work through the evening. But he’d grown so used to Samira’s presence, he missed it now. This last week he’d spent most of his time with her, getting reacquainted over a game of chess or backgammon, or discussing the boys. But he’d decided an evening apart was a wise precaution.

      A mirthless laugh escaped. He’d planned to accustom her to his presence, use every moment of every day to remind her how good they’d be together and how foolish she was to try denying the inevitable.

      How that had backfired!

      He was the one so needy he all but climbed the walls with wanting. He was the one who couldn’t settle.

      He should have made her see reason that first night. Despite her haunted eyes it wouldn’t have taken much to seduce her. She was such a sensual woman he could have overcome her doubts in no time.

      Now he was paying the penalty for his scruples.

      Tariq shoved aside the half-formed suspicion that mere lust shouldn’t torture him so. After Jasmin, he knew he was incapable of feeling anything more profound for any woman.

      He swung away from the window, intending to dress for a night ride across the desert, when a figure emerged from the shadows near the door.

      ‘Samira!’ Even in the gloom she took his breath away. Her long, pale nightdress shimmered with the lustre of a thousand pearls as it shaped her voluptuous form. Her hair lay loosely plaited over one shoulder, trailing down past her breast, lifting with every breath she took.

      Tariq swallowed hard, his eyes travelling from her luscious breasts to her tiny waist and the smooth flare of her hips. She moved and a narrow slit revealed one leg all the way to her thigh. He breathed out gustily, trying to rein in his impulse to reach for her and slam her against his body.

      ‘Hello, Tariq.’

      ‘What are you doing here?’ He flexed his fingers, then linked them behind his back, away from temptation.

      ‘I want to talk with you.’

      Tariq shut his eyes, trying to conjure the willpower he needed. She came to his room dressed like that and expected to chat? More and more he wondered just how experienced his bride was in matters of passion.

      He’d reached the end of his tether.

      ‘We can talk tomorrow, Samira. It’s late.’ He strode to the wide bed and dragged back the covers. If that didn’t scare her away, nothing would.

      Yet she stood her ground. In the dim light he saw her chin jut.

      ‘This won’t take long. I know how disrupting a visitor can be just as you’re trying to get to sleep.’

      Tariq repressed a grunt of laughter. So this was payback for him walking into her room the night of the wedding? If so she had no idea how disruptive that had been for him. If she knew she wouldn’t have dared venture into the lion’s den.

      Deliberately he sat on the side of the bed and gestured for her to do the same, knowing she wouldn’t.

      ‘Thank you.’ To his amazement, she sat down. Not at the far end of the bed, either, but a prim arm’s length away.

      Tariq took one look at the toned thigh peeping out from her satiny gown and dragged his gaze up to her face. She was tense but more than that he couldn’t read in the gloom.

      ‘I wanted to ask you...’

      ‘Yes?’ It came out as a growl because inevitably his gaze had dropped again to where she fidgeted with the slit now gaping wide on her thigh. There was only so much temptation a man could withstand.

      When she didn’t respond immediately he looked up to see her biting her lip.

      ‘Yes?’ He managed to sound a little more encouraging.

      ‘How are you sure we can completely separate sex from...’ she shrugged and spread one arm wide ‘...from anything else? How do you know we can keep sex and love separate?’

      Tariq felt his pulse pound hard once, twice. He forced himself to sit back, planting his arms behind him on the bed. As if every cell of his being didn’t clamour for him to reach for her now. If she’d come this far...

      ‘Bitter experience.’

      Her gaze had settled on his chest but now it swung up. ‘Because of those other women? Because none of them have been able to fill the gap your wife left?’

      ‘Partly.’ The truth was far more difficult and painful. He had no intention of going there. ‘I assure you, Samira, love isn’t something you need fear from me.’ Tariq’s mouth twisted at the irony of his situation. If only she knew. ‘And your experiences have cured you of that too.’

      Slowly she nodded. ‘Absolutely.’

      ‘See? It’s simple when you think it through. You’ve already taken a step to build a better life without it. To think with your head not your heart.’ That was his strength, what he’d been trained to do from birth, eschewing anything that might cloud his judgement. He held out one hand, palm up, on the bed. ‘I admire your courage in learning from your mistake and reaching out for what you really want.’

      For long seconds she contemplated his outstretched hand. Then, just as his patience frayed, she laid her palm on his. It was delicate and soft, but not weak. He smiled as he folded his fingers around hers.

      She was his. Just as he’d planned.

      Victory tasted sweet in his mouth. But not as sweet as Samira would be. Already he was salivating, anticipating pleasures to come. He stroked his thumb from her palm up to the pulse point at her wrist and she shivered delicately, her nipples peaking against the clinging nightdress.

      ‘You expect a woman to reach out and take what she wants?’ There was a delightful breathless hitch to her voice that awoke a visceral possessiveness in Tariq.

      He’d wanted Samira so long. Since the year she’d turned seventeen. Instead of abating, his hunger had intensified with each passing year, torturing him. At first Samira had been untouchable because of her youth and innocence, because of who she was, because their paths lay in different directions. Yet now, against the odds, here she was, his wife.

      ‘Why not?’ His voice emerged as a low rumble. ‘It’s what I’d do.’

      His words hung in still air. Then a warm palm planted itself on his chest, fingers splaying