Hot Arabian Nights. Marguerite Kaye

will be our last night together. Tomorrow, on the eve of the coronation, there are many rituals I must endure, and after that...’

      ‘I will watch the ceremony and then I will leave with my escort,’ Julia said. ‘The arrangements you have made are faultless, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk them over again. As you say, this will be our last night...’

      Her throat clogged with tears. She stared out over the desert defying them to fall. She would not cry. She had promised herself she would not cry. She did not want to mar the perfection of this last night.

      ‘Julia, have I upset you? Is it too much?’

      ‘No,’ she said, ‘on the contrary, it is not enough, but it is all we will ever have.’

      Azhar flinched at the raw emotion in her voice. He had deduced that she cared too much, and was reluctant to acknowledge it, she knew that. This morning she had allowed him to prevent her speaking out, but she had been wrong to do so. So close to the beginning of her new life, she would not allow Azhar to smother her feelings.

      She smiled up at him. She fluttered her fingers over his hair, his cheek, let her hand rest on his shoulder. She had thought it would take courage, but it was actually straightforward. ‘I love you,’ Julia said. ‘I love you with all my heart.’

      He did not flinch this time, he froze.

      ‘I know you can’t love me or won’t love me or don’t love me, but I love you. I love you, Azhar, and if I allowed you to prevent me telling you that, I would have left Qaryma feeling I had been untrue to myself.’

      ‘Julia.’

      He tried to pull her into his arms, but she resisted. ‘I know it doesn’t change a thing,’ she said gently. ‘Even if you did love me, I know that it would be impossible for us to make a life together. Your duty is to Qaryma. Your kingdom requires all of you. Aside from the fact that I would never be considered an acceptable wife, I don’t want to be a wife who will be second best. I don’t know what my life will be but it is mine, Azhar, as you said last night. I am not offering you my heart, but I want you to know that I carry you in it, and always will. So you see,’ she whispered, brushing his lips with hers, ‘you have nothing to fear from my love, and nothing to feel guilty about.’

      He was silent for a long moment, staring out at the desert, the pulse beating in his throat the only indication of the strength of whatever emotion held him in its grip. ‘You are right,’ he said finally, slowly. ‘I cannot love you, Julia, I have not that right, but nor do I have the right to deny you your feelings. I am...’ He stopped to clear his throat, his hands clenching and unclenching. ‘I was about to say that I am honoured, but in fact I am humbled by your courage and your honesty. I can say without any doubt at all that I will never meet another woman like you.’

      His crooked smile, his trembling voice, melted her heart. ‘And I can say without any doubt at all that I will never meet another man like you,’ Julia said. ‘I know you can’t love me, but you can make love to me, one last time.’

      This time when he swept her into his arms she did not resist. ‘And that I will do, my brave desert rose,’ Azhar said, kissing her fervently.

      * * *

      Julia loved him. Julia, brave Julia, had told him that she loved him because she wanted him to know, and for no other reason. She loved him, and she was right, it changed nothing, though what she said could feel momentous if he allowed it to. His feelings for her ran far, far deeper than they should. He could not articulate them, but he could show her. He could do as she asked, and make love to her. He could be hers tonight, for all of tonight, and in the morning—he would deal with that when the sun rose.

      ‘Julia,’ he said, simply for the pleasure of saying her name. ‘Julia.’ She tasted so sweet, he could never tire of kissing her. Their mouths were formed perfectly for each other. The soft little sigh she made when he stroked the curve of her breast through her tunic stirred his blood.

      The marble rooftop bath, no longer in regular use, had once been part of the hamam bath complex below. Julia’s face lit up with surprised pleasure when he led her round the side of the tent to show her it. He undressed her slowly, covering every new inch of skin with kisses as it was revealed. The hollow of her shoulder fascinated him. The valley between her breasts. The curve of her spine. The soft flesh of her belly and her thighs. In the moonlight, her skin gleamed like porcelain. Her eyes gleamed with desire for him. Though she waited, taking her cue from him tonight, he knew there would be a moment when her passion would be unleashed, and that moment would be his undoing.

      Azhar quickly stripped himself of his clothes. She watched him, supremely confident now in her own nakedness, her eyes devouring him unashamedly. She fluttered her fingers over his skin, shoulder, chest, flank, before languidly stroking his manhood, making him shudder involuntarily. She smiled that slow, sensuous smile that never failed to make his pulse quicken.

      He led her down the shallow steps which led into the huge bath. The water was warm, the bath deep enough for it to lap just above his knees. She twined her arms around him, pressing her breasts against his chest, and kissed him deeply. His erection pressed insistently between her legs.

      He angled her against the side of the bath and dropped to his knees before her, easing her legs apart. The scent of her arousal made his senses spin. He tilted her towards him, his hands on her bottom, his favourite of her curves, and kissed her between the thighs. So wet and so sweet she tasted. Her hands clutched at his shoulders. Her breathing quickened, making her belly contract. He licked his way over her, around her, into her, relishing the way each touch of his tongue made her tighter, wetter, made him harder. He knew her intimately now, knew how to take her to the brink and keep her there, before sending her over the edge at a moment of his choosing. That moment had arrived.

      She came fiercely. He pulled her into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. Then Julia kissed him. Holding him tight inside her, Julia whispered in his ear, a guttural command that should have shocked him to the core, but instead elicited a much more primal reaction.

      He set her down on the shallow steps and thrust deeply into her, just as she had demanded. She cried out and arched up against him, taking him higher. He thrust again, harder. She wrapped her legs around his waist. The steps were slippery. Her hair was trailing in the water, her breasts thrust upwards by her arched back. He had never seen such an arousing image. He thrust again. Julia moaned and tightened around him. ‘Harder,’ she urged, but by then Azhar needed no urging, losing himself inside her, feasting his eyes on her, the combination of heat and wet skin and lapping water and the scent of her, and that cry she gave as she came again, tightening around him, sending him over the edge so quickly that he barely had time to pull himself from her, could do nothing but cling to her helplessly as he came, feeling as if he was being torn asunder.

      * * *

      Afterwards, they sat on cushions in the doorway of the tent watching the stars, a blanket draped loosely over them. There was food, but neither of them had eaten much. Nor did they have much to say, speaking with their eyes and their hands. The desert stretched out below them, darker and more mysterious now that night had fully descended, the moon partially obscured by a cloud. The air had that distinctive salty taste to it that on some days cast a dew, prompting the most rare of desert flowers to push their petals through the sands’ surface and bask in the sun for a few precious hours.

      As she and Azhar had done, basking in the sun for an all-too-fleeting period. ‘Salt and sand,’ Julia mused. ‘In Cornwall, the sand is every bit as golden as it is here, and the air is every bit as salty, and yet the effect is quite different.’

      ‘You prefer the Cornish version, naturally,’ Azhar teased. ‘Cornwall is the most beautiful county in England, after all.’

      ‘Did I say that? It’s true enough, but Qaryma is the most beautiful kingdom in Arabia.’

      ‘You have not seen them all.’

      ‘I don’t need to,’ Julia replied. ‘This is the most beautiful kingdom, and you are the most beautiful man.’