by Dani Collins
He groaned and backed her into the wall again. Her foot caught again, and she would have stumbled, but he was right there, so steady, anchoring her to this world even as she spun off to a new one. Their mouths parted and crashed together again and again in a mindless gluttony that was pure hedonism.
She forgot where they were, who they were. All that mattered was his mouth and the silken scrape of his beard against her chin, the scent of him drugging her senses and the feel of his hair between her fingers as she got under his kaffiyeh, dislodging the cord that held the headdress in place, so the square of cotton slid away.
Her scarf was long gone, brushed away by busy hands that roamed from her hair to her shoulder, down to her ribs and her backside and up to her waist and splayed over her breasts so she danced and twisted into his touch every which way, thinking, more. More.
When his mouth trailed into her neck and his clever fingers drew down the zip of her abaya, she only sighed in relief at the rush of cool air that wafted into her cleavage.
“What the hell are you wearing?” He pushed it open to reveal her sport bra and yoga shorts topped by a loose tank.
“I’ve been going to the gym after visiting your mother.” There was an all-women Zumba class she liked. She had thought to bide her time in the library today, rather than go all the way back to her chambers. Sometimes abayas were superconvenient since no one knew what she wore underneath, but what she was wearing right now, that Akin was seeing, made her feel really self-conscious of the fact she was showing a lot of skin. “I still have baby weight.” On curves that had been pretty curvy in the first place.
“In all the right places.” He gave her thigh a gentle squeeze, then sent his palm on a slow circle over her butt cheek before grabbing a handful and making a noise of satisfaction. “You’re incredibly sexy, Hannah.”
She wasn’t. He was being kind, but she would take it. Although she said, “We probably shouldn’t do this here.”
“Do what?” His mouth was nipping and nibbling along her jaw while his fingertips traced along the edge of her tight shorts, teasing the exposed skin of her upper thighs. “This is your happy place, isn’t it? Let me make you happy.”
She choked on a laugh since his hand was traveling up the inside of her thigh to cup her mound.
“I—I couldn’t,” she gasped as his lips found a spot on her neck that weakened her knees.
“No? Let’s try.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.” She unconsciously tried to squeeze her thighs together, mostly in reaction because she had never been very comfortable with being touched so intimately. This was different, though. This was Akin and, if anything, she was trying to slow him down so she could think, but he was taking his time anyway.
“Hannah.” Sometimes the way he said her name made it sound pure and divine. “Accept this gracefully.” He drew a light touch with his fingertips, up and down. The tightness of her shorts accentuated the sensation so hot tingles rushed into the flesh he caressed.
She quivered and a sob sounded in her throat.
“Where are my earrings, ya amar?” He sucked on her earlobe and cupped her again, this time firm as he began to rock his hand.
“W-what?”
“You’re so hot here. Move with me. Show me how you like it.” His mouth came back to hers and he kissed her passionately, encouraging her to rock against his firm hand.
It wouldn’t work, but it felt good and she wanted to keep doing it. She’d only had about a million fantasies that involved being seduced in a library, so she kept moving, but it wouldn’t work because she was too repressed to give herself over to anyone.
Still, when Akin abruptly stopped, she could have screamed in panicked frustration. He slid his hand upward, though, under the edge of her tank to caress the skin of her midriff, then he slid his fingers under the tight waistband of her shorts. He struggled to work his hand back down within the confines of the spandex.
She caught her breath, thinking she should tell him not to bother, but she held very still, paralyzed by the glitter of heat in his dark eyes. When his fingertips found her slippery folds, she jolted.
“So hot,” he breathed against her lips as his fingertips did wicked, magical things, moving incrementally against the constrictive fabric, but with untold power. “I keep thinking of the way you looked when you had your mouth on me. I want to do that to you. Make you orgasm so hard you pass out.”
“I—I—” She had no words. Don’t watch me, she wanted to plead, because despite how flagrant this was, she was thinking now about how he had hardened in her mouth—
Two firm fingers right there. Like he was pushing a button. She had her hand over his, trapping his hand in her shorts as she lifted her hips into his touch and closed her eyes, moving against his fingertips as she succumbed to a sharp orgasm that rocked her loins. It was so strong it made her breasts hurt and her womb contract while luscious waves of pleasure engulfed her.
She knew she was making noises of abandonment that echoed to the high ceiling and she didn’t care because it felt so good.
His voice rumbled words she couldn’t understand, and his lips were teasing her ear and neck and stealing kisses while she shuddered and gasped and very slowly came down from standing on her toes.
They kissed passionately, but even though she gave him her tongue, he began to withdraw. His hand left her shorts and he made a noise of reluctance as he steered her touch from the firm shape she found through the layers of his clothes.
“I would say we are even now, but you still owe me one,” he teased to soften his rebuff. “We’ll revisit this later. I’ll dine with you.”
And that was it, she realized. All the cards were falling.
She was a fool. A bigger fool than she’d ever been with any other man. Those past crushes of hers had been experiments and attempts to find a like-minded companion and accept sex in place of the sincere regard she longed for.
This was completely different. This man now had a hold on her in a thousand subtle ways. She didn’t just want him to like her and be friends with her. She wanted to deserve him. She wanted to make him happy. She wanted to gift herself over to him and yearned for him to do the same for her.
She was falling in love with him and he had just told her he was afraid to let her matter. He had trained himself not to want anything.
He might not be like those men who had hurt her in the past, but he could definitely hurt her in the future, and she had no defenses left against him.
CHAPTER NINE
WHEN AKIN DECIDED to take bold steps, he took them in bounding strides that left Hannah breathless, trying to keep up.
He dined with her that day and held his nephew, kissed the hell out of her and apologized when phone calls forced him to disappear for the rest of the evening.
She had half expected to be ignored again, but first thing next morning, while she was still eating her grapefruit and slice of toast, she received a message that she should meet him at his offices across the palace.
Nura, bless her, put Hannah in a flowing pantsuit that was trendy and smart, yet demure enough that she was perfectly attired for her meet and greets with armies of staff.
Akin was by her side through all of it, keeping things short and on task, reminding everyone she had a new baby so would only work a few hours a day, but he made it clear Hannah would gradually take on all of the Queen’s previous duties.
“I don’t actually know how to be a queen—you know that, right?” Hannah said when she finally had him alone in her office.
It was a stunning space with an adorable neoclassical French decor, built-in shelves she could pack with books, and abundant natural light from the doors to the balcony that overlooked the palace gardens.
“Did you know how to be a mother before you became one?”
“Oh. Same level of life-and-death stakes if I screw
up, I presume?”
“See, you’re a natural.”
“Please don’t make light. I’m terrified.” She opened a door and interrupted a half dozen worker bees setting up workstations for her new battalion of assistants. They froze and looked expectantly at her. “Sorry,” she muttered and closed it again. At least she would only be taking meetings in the palace at first and mostly in organizational capacities. “When do I have to, like, be in public with you?”
“How do you define ‘public’? We’re hosting a dinner tonight.”
“Tonight! No, we’re not. For whom?”
“Neighboring royalty. Kings who are allies and have a lot of influence, as do their wives. You’ll like them.”
Wives. Oh, dear God. How could he be so smart, yet so dumb?
“Your maid will show you to the harem once they’ve arrived—”
“You have a harem?”
“What do you think a harem is, Hannah? Sex slaves in a genie bottle? It’s a set of rooms for female visitors so they have as much privacy as they desire. Their husbands have accommodation in the same wing if they’d rather sleep with them, but there is space for servants and children if they bring them. It’s convenience and culture, not dictate. Greeting them there will allow you to visit in a casual setting before dinner. I’ll do the same with the husbands in my private lounge.”
She shoved her fists under her elbows. “Can I take Qaswar?”
“As a human shield?”
“People like babies.”
“Hannah.”
“Don’t tell me I’m not a coward.” She jerked her chin away from the light hand that tried to force her to look at him. “You be the girl in middle school with acne and the wrong label on her jeans, then tell me how brave you would be, walking into a room full of queens. This was never part of our deal, Akin.”
He took hold of her fists and unbent her arms, trying to lever her closer.
“No. You don’t get a kiss.” She turned her face away. “I’m mad at you. You sprang this on me without any warning.”
“This is your warning. I didn’t invite them until yesterday, after our talk in the library.” His mouth twitched on the word “talk.” She gave her fists a shake, trying to get him to release her, but he only slid his hands up her arms, keeping her before him. “They confirmed this morning and now I’m telling you we have an engagement. Take Qaswar if you want to, but you won’t need him.”
He drew her close, but she stayed stiff as a board, determined to convey her displeasure, but he ran his magic hands over her, and she began to melt.
“You can sleep with your husband, you know. Come to my room. We don’t have to meet like teenagers sneaking out at night.”
“You’re never there. Are you?”
“I haven’t had a reason to make getting to bed a priority. Have I?” he countered.
She would have her post-childbirth checkup in a couple of days and be ready for what he seemed to have in mind, but she ducked her head, not prepared to contemplate how thoroughly he could destroy her with an all-night seduction.
“This is a lot of performance anxiety to put on me all at once.”
“Yesterday was a ‘performance’? Let’s have an encore.” He started to back her toward a desk where his mother had sat for decades, signing checks for charities and answering letters.
Thankfully, there was a ping from her new tablet.
“The other man in my life needs me.” She patted his chest and made her escape.
Hannah very miserably put on a floral dress that would be awful to nurse in and a pair of heeled shoes that rubbed her ankle. Nura did her makeup and draped a light scarf over hair that had grown out to midway between pixie and bob.
At least her son was pretty. He took after his father, with his dark eyes and black hair and thick, curling lashes that belonged on a supermodel. Which made him resemble his uncle, not that Hannah had spent much time mooning over that.
Nura accompanied her along with a nanny to a section of the palace Hannah had never been. A handful of bodyguards stood outside an unassuming door but let her pass after briefly checking their screens to ensure she was who she claimed to be.
Hannah walked into what looked like a boutique hotel. There was a desk where one of the palace assistants sat to greet them. Beyond it, there was a hallway with a half dozen doors and stairs and an elevator. On the other side was a small dining lounge with doors that opened onto a private courtyard smaller than her own, but similar.
Through the glass, Hannah saw three women sitting at a table. Nura had coached her that the one with typical Arab coloring was Galila, Queen of Zyria. The ivory-skinned redhead was Fern, an Englishwoman who had become Queen of Q’Amara, and the brunette was Angelique, Queen of Zhamair.
They were talking over each other and laughing, clearly familiar and comfortable with one another. They all wore casual western day dresses like Hannah’s but somehow looked incredibly beautiful and relaxed while Hannah felt like a prickly frump.
She wanted to cry, she really did, but the wretched greeter hurried to announced her.
“May I present to you the Crown Prince of Baaqi and his mother, Princess Hannah?”
All the women stopped talking and stood up with an air of expectation as she came outside. Hannah forced a smile.
“Welcome to Baaqi. I hope you’ve settled in? Please call me Hannah.”
They introduced themselves. Galila was pregnant and made it look effortless. All of them cooed over the baby and begged to hold him.
No, he’s mine, Hannah wanted to growl but had to say a gracious “Of course.”
Fern had two older sons who were elsewhere, but her four-month-old daughter came out moments later, having freshly woken. She had black hair and two small teeth and came to Hannah with a big smile.
Babies, Hannah discovered, made for very good icebreakers. And great equalizers. They all had questions for one another and stories of their misadventures as new moms.
When Angelique talked about all the twins in her family, Hannah realized she hadn’t recognized her famous guest—the first of what she assumed would be her many faux pas for the evening.
“Forgive me. I didn’t make the connection. You’re one of the Sauveterre twins! You and your sister had the design house. You must think me an idiot for not putting it together.”
“We still own it. We just don’t get to do as much of the actual work as we used to. It turns out motherhood is a full-time job. Who knew?” she said with facetious humor.
Somehow an hour passed, and Hannah discovered she was as comfortable as if she had joined a handful of librarians to talk shop in the break room. She had forgotten she wasn’t one of them, but as Galila excused herself to lie down before dinner, Hannah realized she still had an entire evening—the rest of her life, in fact—to get through.
“May I ask you both something?” Hannah ventured after Galila left. “I know you’ve spent a lot of your life in the public eye, and I wondered if you’ve struggled with all the publicity?”
“You mean when my husband got his nieces’ governess pregnant out of wedlock? It was a cake walk,” Fern said in her dry British accent. “Karim’s mother was terrified for my life, so that helped.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry. I’m not facing that, I don’t think. I’m just worried about online haters. They’ve already had a go at me, but it died down while I was out of the spotlight. Now Akin wants me to start making appearances and...” She hated admitting she was a target. It felt too much like admitting she deserved it, but she had to voice her need. “I wondered if you had any advice on coping. I dread what they might say.”
“You know what they say about haters,” Angelique remarked. “Nothing.”
Fern’s laughter bubbled up and Hannah snickered, as well.
“I can’t take credit for that,” Angelique confided. “
It’s my sister’s, but she was treated horribly for years.” Angelique’s gaze dimmed with introspection and her jaw set. Her phone buzzed and she smiled. “There she is, wondering what’s wrong.” She tapped a heart and set the phone aside. “It’s awful that people think they can behave that way. All you can do is remind yourself that the things they say aren’t true.”
“But what if they are?” Hannah asked faintly.
“What do you mean?” Angelique had the most compassionate eyes Hannah had ever seen. She was so beautiful it was intimidating, yet there was an incredible softness to her that made it possible for Hannah to reveal her darkest hurt.
“I’m...” She stopped short of saying ugly. “Not pretty.”
“Hannah.” Angelique turned in her chair and picked up her hands. “I’m going to say to you what I’ve said to my own sister. If you feel down on yourself, if you feel bloated or you have a spot or some other thing that makes you feel less than beautiful, that’s okay. Your feelings are yours and I’m not going to tell you not to feel them. And if a stranger says something that hurts you, your hurt is valid. But they’re trying to hurt you. That’s not honesty. It’s cruelty. Believing what they say is like believing you would deserve it if they hit you. They’re not the type of people you would admire or respect if you met them, so please don’t give more weight to their remarks than the things said by people who care about you.”
“I—” Hannah had to take back one of her hands to press her trembling lips. She’d been struggling to believe she had anyone who cared about her here. What she really feared, deep down, was that Akin would believe those remarks and realize what a mistake he’d made. “I know I shouldn’t let their opinions matter so much, but it feels so much like the truth. I’ve never felt pretty,” she confessed with wet eyes.
“Angelique made me cry the first time we met, too,” Fern said, rubbing her shoulder.
“I know in my head it shouldn’t matter how I look,” Hannah continued. “I’m never going to be tall and skinny, but when I look in the mirror, I don’t see ‘pretty’ and that makes it feel as though what people say is true.”
