The Royal Collection. Rebecca Winters

stomach turned over. “I am sorry. It is nothing good to think about.”

      “Maybe it isn’t. But it happened. I was thinking also about the vows you made to me during the ceremony.”

      “I know it was not what was written. But all of those things spoke of love, of clinging to one another. And I do not understand those things. But I understand protection. Possession. Perhaps neither are very romantic concepts, but they are real in my heart.”

      She nodded slowly. “I know. It made them meaningful. I understood. But it made me feel that I owed you something of the same. Not just words that were written for me by someone else. Not a traditional sentiment about marriage when nothing about this is traditional. When nothing about the two of us is traditional.”

      “And have you decided what they are?”

      “I haven’t rehearsed them. But... Yes. I have never been tortured, Tarek. I have never been alone the way that you have. I haven’t known loss as you have done. I promise that when we touch my hands will bring you nothing but pleasure. I promise that I will never send you away. I promise that no matter how long it takes, I will make you see that you are not what he made you. You are a man. And I will do everything I can do to ensure you feel like one.”

      As she spoke the final words, her hands went to the belt on her dress, nimble fingers unhooking the tiny catches there, letting it fall free. Then she moved to the tiny buttons at the front of the gown, undoing each one with a kind of purpose that carried great weight.

      She parted the fabric, opening the dress at the front and letting it slide from her shoulders, a silken river at her feet.

      She was bare beneath the gown. And he couldn’t breathe.

      He had never in his life seen a naked woman in the flesh. Drawings, statues, paintings were useless renderings. They did not and could not capture the majesty of what he saw before him. He had to grit his teeth to try to maintain a grip on his control.

      She was bathed in golden light, the soft halo provided by the candles in the room conforming to each curve and contour of her figure. He was transfixed by every part of her. The shadow of her collarbone, her round, full breasts, tipped with dusky, pale nipples. The slope of her waist that narrowed then widened again for lush hips and thighs. The dark shadow at the center holding his focus above all else.

      She was, now and forever, the epitome of a woman to him. And for all of his days, this was the image he would see when the word was spoken.

      Everything else, everyone else, was a pale shade in comparison with her.

      “I think now we’re past time for discussion,” she said, luminous eyes meeting his. “Perhaps it’s time we do something other than talk.”

      The book had not mentioned this. That he would scarcely be able to breathe. That he would be so hard it would be a physical pain. That his hands would shake. That he would be nearly immobilized with his desire, while also fighting the urge to pull her hard against his body, to lay her down and push deep inside her with no preliminaries whatsoever while he chased a release that was sure to surpass anything he had ever known before.

      He thought that he had learned more than the mechanics. But he saw now that there was more still. And that theory would scarce be helpful here.

      Because he had not taken into account what she might do. And what it might make him feel. He had made it all about her. Her pleasure. Meeting her expectations of the husband so that he would not be remiss in his responsibilities.

      He had fancied his own control so iron that he needn’t consider it.

      He had been a fool. And now he was a fool standing before a naked woman.

      She began to walk toward him, each step creating a slight wave through her soft body, her breasts keeping rhythm with each movement. She looked down, her eyes clearly following his own line of sight, then looked up at him, a slight smile curving her lips. “I’m glad you’re pleased.”

      “Go to the bed,” he said, his voice barely recognizable to his own ears. Though that wasn’t unusual. Sometimes, out in the desert, he had gone long enough without speaking that when he did so again, it was a surprise.

      Her shoulders stiffened, one pale brow arching. “I didn’t realize you were one to give commands.”

      “Neither did I. Go to the bed.”

      He had to seize control here. There was no other option.

      She turned away from him slowly, and he allowed himself a long moment to admire the view of her from behind. The enticing dimples low on her back just above the rounded curve of her bottom. The gentle sway of her hips as she walked away from him, complying with his demands.

      Fire shot through his veins with a crack. This beautiful, fierce creature was obeying his commands. Soft, naked, lovelier than anything. Following his instruction. She had been the aggressor when it came to physical interaction between the two of them in the past. Tonight, the control would be his.

      It was how it must be.

      She sat on the edge of the mattress, her eyes watchful.

      “Lie back.”

      Her expression held many unspoken questions, but she complied. She breathed in deep, her breasts rising and falling. She was the picture of supplication, and yet he knew better. Because he knew Olivia.

      “Raise your arms above your head,” he said.

      She complied with that, as well. He admired her ease with her body. Her lack of nerves. She had confidence in him. Of course, she didn’t know the truth.

      If things went well, she never would. It would be unnecessary.

      He moved to the end of the bed, to a vantage point that provided him with an optimum view. Her legs hung over the edge of the bed, her knees pressed together, her eyes still on his. He took a step toward her, each step increasing the tightness in his chest, his difficulty in breathing. He paused at the edge of the mattress, leaning forward, pressing his hand into the soft bedding. Then he raised his other hand, tracing her cheekbone, the lovely curve of her upper lip, down to her chin. Her lids fluttered closed, her mouth relaxing, a sweet sigh escaping.

      So his touch hadn’t harmed her. Wasn’t too rough.

      He moved his fingertips across her throat and down lower between the valley of her perfect breasts. He watched as her nipples grew tighter, watched until the temptation to touch became too great. He let his fingers drift over her, brushing his fingertips over her sensitized skin. Satisfaction rocked him as she shivered, as he fulfilled that fantasy of his. She was softer than he had dared imagine. Softer than he had believed anything could be.

      He let his exploration continue downward, stopping at the patch of curls between her thighs. He was shaking. From the inside out. Faced now with the full brunt of the desire he had spent fifteen years suppressing.

      He was not stone. He was a man. A man who greatly desired the woman before him. Desire such as this had been stripped from him, a necessity for his survival he had told himself. A necessity for his mission.

      Protection. Against corruption, against distraction.

      But now, with Olivia before him, all he could think was that he had been missing a part of himself, and it had been returned to him.

      He almost feared touching her. Fear that he could not meet the need within her. That the need within her did not match his own. That he lacked the skill to bring her to satisfaction.

      He knew he lacked skill. All he had was desire.

      So he would give her that. All of it. Everything within him.

      He pushed his fingers lower, and she gasped as he met with slick flesh. Her knees fell open, allowing him greater access. Heat rose in his face, his breath coming in hard, short bursts, his heart beating so hard he feared it might burst from his chest. He fought to maintain his control, to ignore the ache building between his own thighs.

      He