Sheikh's Royal Baby Revelation

by Annie West

  The realisation made her freeze in his embrace.

  Instantly he lifted his head, eyes glinting like black gems as they searched her face.

  Tori heard the stertorous rasp of heavy breathing, felt her lungs heave and the push of his chest against her breasts as he too hauled in oxygen. Reaction juddered down her backbone and quivered across her skin. Being so close to him, touching him, undid her carefully cultivated caution. It allowed something wild inside her to take hold.

  The air was smoky with desire, thick and scented with arousal. Yet the unspoken question was clear in Ashraf’s expression. Did she want to stop?

  She was bent back over his arm, plastered to him, so she felt the uneven catch of his breathing and his waiting stillness. They were on the brink of far more than a kiss. It was there in the taut awareness singing between them. But even now Ashraf would release her if she wanted.

  Emotion swelled. As strong as the desire emblazoned in her bones. Tenderness for this man who put her needs before his own. It struck her how remarkable that was, given that Ashraf literally had all the power in this kingdom of his.

  Now her earlier doubts about him seemed absurd. She’d never met anyone with such innate integrity.

  Tori shivered at the enormity of her feelings. Yet still she shied away from investigating them too closely.

  Ashraf straightened and pulled away. He’d misread her.

  ‘No!’ She fastened both hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into fine cotton, pads of muscle and beneath that implacable bone. ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Don’t kiss you or—?’

  ‘Don’t stop.’

  Yet instead of closing the gap Ashraf surveyed her as if he felt none of her urgency. Only the flare of his nostrils betrayed that he’d been affected too.

  ‘So there’s at least one thing about me you approve of.’

  He wanted to talk? Frustration surged—and suspicion. ‘Are you fishing for compliments?’

  She spied a flicker of movement at the corner of his mouth and a tingle of delight teased her.

  ‘No. But I’ll take any you want to throw my way.’ His lips firmed. ‘You’re not a woman easily swept off her feet, Victoria Miranda Nilsson.’

  Tori shook her head, a snort of bitter laughter escaping. ‘Really? Don’t forget I’m the woman who had sex with a stranger in a prison cell after just a couple of hours’ acquaintance.’

  She shivered, remembering her father’s disgust even at the airbrushed version she’d recounted to him.

  In the desert what she and Ashraf had done had felt utterly right—a blessing rather than anything else. But after her father’s talk of hushing up a dirty secret and Ashraf’s talk of illegitimacy—

  ‘And I’m the man who found solace and hope in sharing my body with a stranger in that same prison cell.’ Firm fingers cupped her chin, easing it up. ‘You’re not ashamed of us, are you?’ He didn’t wait for her answer. ‘I’m not. You gave me a precious gift that night. Not just your body but your kindness, your passion and strength. Believe me...’ his mouth rucked up in a wry smile ‘...to a man on Death Row they were a gift from Heaven.’

  His words sank deep, warming her. Despite her determination not to relive the past, sometimes she couldn’t quite believe she’d had sex with a man she didn’t know. A wounded stranger she should have been nursing instead of seducing.

  Yet memories of that night held magic as well as trauma.

  Tori surveyed him intently. ‘You’re not on Death Row now.’

  Every sense told her he shared the passion she felt. But could she trust her instincts? Was it possible that Ashraf’s kiss had been motivated by pique at her questions and her refusal to accept marriage?

  Her uncertainty surprised her. Surely the attraction between them was self-evident? Yet adrift from the world she knew, plonked into a fairy-tale palace with a handsome, powerful prince and experiencing an ardour she’d only known once before, it was easy to feel this wasn’t real.

  Maybe it was wishful thinking.

  Her experience of sex was pretty limited. She might work in an industry dominated by men, but that just meant she’d got into the habit of shutting down attempts to engage her interest. Having a relationship with a co-worker was a complication she didn’t need.

  At her lower back one large hand splayed wide then pulled her close. Closer. Till she felt his arousal. A hot shiver raced through her and internal muscles warmed and softened.

  ‘No.’ His voice was rich and low, eddying deep within her. ‘And you’re not in prison here. You understand that, don’t you? You’re free to make your own choices.’

  Ashraf regarded her steadily. She nodded. The claustrophobia she’d felt in this beautiful building was of her own making. Everyone here had been friendly and helpful. She’d been the one imagining she was confined to this part of the citadel. She’d found it easier to stay cloistered in this gorgeous apartment than to learn more about Ashraf’s home.

  Was she intimidated by his royal status, or by the fact she was being forced to share Oliver?

  If Bram hadn’t introduced her to Azia she’d probably never even have left this courtyard apartment. She’d have blamed it on tiredness. Or the need to protect her son from possible prejudice. When had she become so timid?

  ‘And so...?’

  His hands went to her hips. Tori loved his touch. Pleasure shimmered through her.

  She tilted her head. ‘And so...?’ She refused to admit she’d lost the thread of the conversation.

  The gleam in Ashraf’s eyes told her he’d guessed, but for once she didn’t mind that he found her easy to read.

  ‘And so what would you like now? You’re my honoured guest. It’s my responsibility to see that your wishes are met.’

  ‘My wish is your command?’ Tori couldn’t prevent the laugh bursting from her lips. It sounded like an Arabian Nights fantasy. Yet Ashraf’s hard hands on her bare flesh turned her thoughts away from storybooks into an earthier direction.

  ‘Something like that,’ he murmured.

  This time there was gravel mixed with the thick treacle of his voice. Tori shivered as it scraped her nerve-endings, drawing shuddery awareness in its wake. This, she realised, was the mesmerising voice of a man with the sexual experience of a playboy and the single-minded determination of the warrior Prince she’d come to know.

  Was it any wonder her defences lay in splinters?

  What was she defending herself against?

  Ash... Ashraf...sought only what she longed to give.

  Tori slipped her hands down over his cream robe. Her palms lingered on the swell of defined pectoral muscles and her belly clenched. Ever since that night she’d found him half-naked, cradling Oliver in those strong arms...

  ‘There must be something you want.’ His grip on her hips firmed and his warm breath trailed across her brow.

  She nodded and licked dry lips. Then sucked in a fortifying breath as she saw the flare in his eyes. That look sent need quaking through her. She’d spent ages grieving this man’s death and now he was here, so very alive. Contrary to what she’d told herself, absence hadn’t exaggerated her reaction to him.

  ‘I want you, Ash.’

  It really was that simple.

  Just as well that he held her, for his sudden smile undid her at the knees. She swayed and clutched his shoulders, her pulse sprinting at the sheer glory that was Ashraf’s smile.

  He leaned so close that Tori thought he was going to kiss her, but he stopped a tantalising breath away.

  ‘Your wish...’ his words caressed her face ‘...is my command.’

  Then he swept her up in his arms as easily as if she weighed no more than Oliver. He made her feel small, something she’d never experienced before, being on the tall side of average. And he made her feel treasured which, she realised in a flash of revelation,
no man except Ash, her desert lover, had made her feel.

  Tori wrapped her hands around his neck and smiled. ‘You do that very well. I think you’ve had practice.’

  It was a sign of her infatuation that she didn’t care. He might have been a love-them-and-leave-them playboy once. But for this moment he was all hers. She’d given up fighting the inevitable.

  * * *

  Ashraf stared down into eyes the colour of heaven and thanked all his lucky stars that he hadn’t died that day fifteen months ago. One brief taste of this amazing woman was far too little.

  Did she realise she’d called him Ash? As if time had peeled away and they’d just met?

  In what he thought of as his exile years, deliberately courting scandal, he’d answered to Ash just to fit in more easily with the westerners with whom he partied. He’d automatically used the short form of his name when he met Tori.

  But the way she said it, her voice soft with longing, was unique.

  No other woman had made his name sound like that.

  No other woman had made him feel this way.

  He hauled Tori closer, losing himself in her bright smile and inviting eyes. In her scent, alluring and fresh as spring itself. In the sense of utter freedom, of triumph, that was his body’s response to her invitation.

  His clothes clung to her wet body, but the dampness couldn’t douse the heat burning inside. He felt as if he’d waited for this moment half a lifetime.

  Dragging his gaze away, he strode into the sitting room. Pillar candles had been lit in ornate lanterns and more candles were clustered on the table, where a feast was spread. The room looked romantic. Had Bram noticed Ashraf’s frustration and decided to play Cupid?

  Ashraf gave the room one brief, curious glance but kept going. In the bedroom, he was about to kick the door shut when he remembered Oliver. They needed to be able to hear if he cried out.

  At the bed he slowly put her down, gratified when her hands stayed locked around his neck. She swayed, and satisfaction stirred at her neediness. It matched his.

  Lamps cast the room in a golden glow, yet Tori outshone it. She looked vibrant, delectable.

  Ashraf’s hands slid up from rounded hips, past the inward sweep of her waist and around to her back. One tug and the back of the bikini top loosened. Her breath hissed but she didn’t move, just stood, her fingers clasped at his neck. Her expression notched his ardour even higher.

  It was a moment’s work to undo the bikini top and drag it away. Now Tori’s hands at his neck shook and her breasts wobbled. He felt unsteady himself, his lungs cramping at the sight of the bounty of her pearly flesh. Some small part of him was surprised that he, once reviled by his father as a voluptuary, was undone by the sight of a woman’s breasts.

  Reverently, greedily, he cupped them, their plump softness perfect in his hands. The rose-pink nipples were hard and trembling under the swipe of his thumbs. Tori bit her lip and he was torn between the need to capture her mouth again, to plunder her breasts or strip off the rest of her bikini and thrust himself deep inside her.

  Ashraf bent to skim kisses around one breast. Tori’s weight on his shoulders grew as she sagged closer. With one arm he caught her around the waist, pulling her to him. Her breathing roughened, hoarse and aroused, as he closed his lips around her nipple and sucked.

  ‘Ash!’

  It was a protest and a plea, possibly even a prayer. And it shot all the blood in his body to his groin. He was buried in her scent, her flesh, her yearning. Needy fingers clamped his skull, pressing him closer as if she feared he might stop.

  He did stop, but only to lavish attention on her other breast, drawing a groan from her that tightened his belly. Ashraf’s need grew urgent, especially when Tori spread her legs around his and pressed close.

  It was an invitation he couldn’t resist.

  Ashraf pulled back, ignoring her protest, and dropped to his knees. He smelled damp flesh, sweet woman and the musky, smoky scent of arousal.

  His gaze fastened on her belly, which had once cradled his son. Pride, wonder and possessiveness gave added depth to carnal arousal. He stroked the tiny striations running across her skin.

  ‘Stretch marks...’ Her voice was breathless.

  Wondering, he shook his head. ‘You’re amazing.’

  Tori’s laugh was uneven, as if she didn’t believe him, but he was lost in wonder at the miracle her body had made and in sheer, blistering lust. He was afraid that if he wasn’t careful he’d push her onto the floor and take her with the finesse of a rutting stallion.

  Ashraf forced himself to slow, watching the contrast of his dark olive-skinned hand on her pale, satiny skin. But despite his best intentions his patience was negligible. Seconds later his fingers had insinuated beneath the narrow sides of her bikini bottom, sliding it down.

  She was blonde there too, the damp V between her legs pale gold.

  ‘I’ve found treasure,’ he murmured, running his hands down her thighs and then back up and around to anchor in her buttocks. Her muscles squeezed beneath his touch.

  Tori’s hands were in his hair. He grabbed one, nipped the fleshy part of her palm with his teeth, then kissed the spot, feeling a voluptuous shiver race through her. She was deliciously responsive. So responsive that he couldn’t resist leaning in and nuzzling the pale golden hair that pointed the way to Paradise.

  ‘Ash!’ Her voice was reedy and weak, but her grip spoke of robust feminine need as she tilted her pelvis forward.

  Ashraf explored with his tongue in thorough strokes that turned her shivers to deep shudders. Her gasps were the most satisfying music and the perfume of her arousal was heady, beckoning him to delight.

  He’d intended to take his time, to seduce her so thoroughly that he’d overcome her scruples about marriage. But now he discovered a flaw in his plans. He wanted her too much to wait. This time, at least. He had never felt so strung out. It shouldn’t be possible, but he felt as if he’d spill himself here and now, bringing her to climax.

  After a lingering kiss he pulled back and rose to his feet. Unfocussed eyes met his and satisfaction warmed him. He liked her dazed with need for him.

  ‘Undress me, Victoria,’ he ordered, enjoying the sound of her full name, an intimacy they alone shared.

  His satisfaction cracked as she reached for his long robe and pulled it up his legs with clumsy hands. He liked her touch, but even the brush of her fingers tested his control, teasing him when he was already stretched to breaking point.

  He’d left his shoes at the door, so when she lifted his robe off he was bare but for silk boxers. This time Ashraf was the one to shudder as her gaze raked him. He felt it as if she’d stroked her slim fingers across his skin. He stood proud, lifting towards her, hardening still further.

  ‘Your scar healed well,’ she said finally.

  Her touch slid along his ribs, tracing the knife mark. Where she touched he burned, as if she trailed ice over searing flesh.

  ‘You haven’t finished,’ he gritted out, capturing her fingers and securing them in the waistband of his boxers.

  Amusement flickered in her eyes. ‘How remiss of me.’

  But instead of pulling the offending garment away she sank to her heels before him. Ashraf’s lungs atrophied at the sight of her there, naked and alluring, a carnal fantasy made flesh. His brain and lungs stopped when she tugged his underwear down and leaned in, taking him in her mouth.

  Ten thousand volts jolted through him. He felt soft lips, moist heat, the tease of silken hair and then incredible, sweet delight as she drew hard on his flesh.

  For a moment that lasted half a lifetime he gave himself up to carnal gratification. The feel of what she did to him, the sight of her there on her knees...it was too much.

  Ashraf grabbed her shoulders and gently pushed her away, almost relenting when he saw her heavy-lidded eyes and moist
lips.

  ‘Later...’ His voice cracked right down the middle.

  ‘You didn’t like—?’

  ‘Of course I liked.’ He sounded angry—probably from the effort it took not to pull her back. ‘But I want to be inside you. Now.’

  A flush crested her cheekbones. Amazing, given what she’d just been doing. And charming. Utterly charming.

  ‘Come.’ Ashraf drew her to her feet.

  They stood so close she swayed and he pulled her in against him, revelling in the slide of her body against his. Every part of his flesh was an erogenous zone. One more touch, one more look from this woman, might send him over the edge.

  How exactly they got onto the bed he wasn’t sure. And that was remarkable to a man used to taking the lead in sexual encounters.

  Their legs entwined as they lay facing each other. The way she looked at him made his chest swell. But there was no time to ponder unaccustomed feelings. His need was too strong. Especially with delicate feminine fingers urging him nearer.

  It was the work of a moment to roll her onto her back and settle between her splayed thighs. Ashraf’s mouth curved in a tense smile. He appreciated her complete lack of coyness now she’d decided to stop fighting.

  The only fight now was his own as he battled sensory overload—her silky skin, the beckoning heat teasing his groin, her piquant feminine perfume and the sight of her achingly beautiful breasts jiggling with each breath.

  Tori stroked his shoulders restlessly, her eyes brilliant as gems. Ashraf knew he should take his time, savour every second, but he also knew his limits.

  ‘Next time, habibti,’ he murmured as he captured one of her hands.

  ‘Next time what?’

  ‘Next time we’ll take it slow.’

  He caught her other wrist and lifted both hands above her head, holding them with firm fingers. He watched her eyebrows lift, but though she could have broken his grasp she didn’t try.

  ‘I don’t want slow.’

  Her words ignited the blaze he’d tried to bank down. She’d barely stopped speaking when he pushed her thighs wider, grinding himself against her core. His gaze fixed on her face and the arrested expression there. Her look, the feel of their bodies together, were delight and torture together. More than flesh and blood could withstand.