by Jane Porter
With an arm beneath her breasts, he held her to him, and stroked her with the other hand, first over the delicate damp silk, and then when she was clenching her jaw, groaning at the pleasure, beneath the edge of silk, his fingers tracing the delicate folds and inner folds and then the tight highly sensitized bud between. One flick of his finger there and she bucked wildly. Another stroke and she felt her eyes burn, her body dancing for him to touch her, take her, possess her.
By the time he slipped a finger inside her she was desperate for him, all of him. Reaching backward she grabbed his hips, and ground down onto his lap. “You better finish what you started,” she panted, “and quickly, before I lose it completely.”
With a rumble in his chest he shifted her off him, dispensed with his shoes, socks, shirt and pants in no time and then she was back down on his lap, but facing him. Rou panicked, though, pushing her hands against his chest. “I can’t do it this way,” she said, “can’t be on top—”
“Yes, you can. And you can look at me, because you need to see what you do to me.” And then, cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her, deeply, fiercely, taking her mouth and tongue as though they were his, and in a way, they were. She knew somewhere inside her that a very real part of her belonged to him, had always belonged to him and that was why she’d been so afraid. She was afraid of this power he had over her, and he did have a power. Just look at her. She was putty in his hands.
And, kissing her, he lifted her up, and drew her slowly, so very slowly down on his hard, thick length. Rou exhaled in a quick puff, shocked by his size and the sense of fullness and invasion. He was stretching her, opening her and it stunned her body as much as it stung her heart. She wasn’t used to being shared, wasn’t used to being part of anyone else.
“Easy, baby,” he murmured against her mouth, hands beneath her bottom, supporting her weight until she could relax again and better accommodate him.
But she shook her head and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face against him. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. I don’t know how to do this, don’t know how to feel this.”
“It’s just me, laeela.”
She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“You’re afraid of me?”
Despite her panic she heard the hesitation in his voice, and the shadow of sadness. Tears seeped from beneath her lashes. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him. “Not of you. Just afraid to love you.”
He didn’t move. She wasn’t even sure he was breathing.
“Someone has to love me,” he said after an endless moment.
Rou’s heart convulsed and the tears she’d been fighting fell. Lifting her head she looked into his eyes. He was so beautiful, and the expression in his eyes was so alone, so alone and lonely, and yet here they were, naked, pressed flesh to flesh.
Her lower lip trembled. “Let me try then,” she said, fresh tears falling. “Let me be the one to try.” And then she clasped his face in her hands and kissed him, kissing him the way he’d kissed her, deeply, hungrily, desperately.
He, this beautiful man, needed her, and she needed him and her heart cracked open to let him all the way in, to allow her to feel something other than fear. And as her heart opened, her body opened for him, too, taking him inside her, joining them, making them one.
She didn’t ride him, but instead they moved together, his hands on her hips, her lips clinging to his. She buried her fingers into his hair, her breasts crushed to his chest as the friction became a bittersweet sensation and then a maddening tension. The pleasure grew, intensified, the sensation of their bodies became everything. She felt her heart drumming, felt her body glow hot, felt every nerve ending from her toes to her head tighten. Her nerves and senses focused, and her mind closed to everything but the intense pressure building, ruthless, relentless, until there was nothing she could do but explode in a firestorm of feeling.
Dimly she was aware of Zayed’s body tensing and thrusting hard and deep into her. Dimly she felt his release. Dimly, because she’d never felt anything like this orgasm before, had never even climaxed before, and it was unbelievable, indescribable.
Exhausted, she leaned weakly against him, their bodies warm and damp, hers still quivering with aftershocks.
They sat there like that for several minutes, until Zayed lifted her off and into his arms and carried her into the bedroom where he pulled back the covers and put her down in the cool, smooth sheets and then lay down beside her.
“What now?” she asked.
He wrapped an arm around her and drew her against him. “Sleep,” he answered gruffly. He did, and after several minutes, she did, too.
Rou didn’t know how long she slept in the cool, dark room, but when she finally woke, she was alone.
Padding to the door, she peeked into the living room. It was empty, their clothes now folded and neatly stacked on the table between the couches. She then headed for the ensuite bath to see if he was there.
The bathroom was empty, but she could still feel the humid warmth and smell a whiff of lingering aftershave. It was subtle but spicy, and it filled her with the strangest feeling—tenderness mixed with lust. She glanced around, noting the used towels hanging from a hook on the door, and the wet mat in front of the large marble-and-glass shower. He’d showered, shaved and gone.
Duty fulfilled, she thought sardonically, he was now free to become king.
And even though she knew she was being petty, it still hurt inside her. She’d enjoyed what had happened between them, and yet she was also a little shocked by it. By her. She’d wanted him, wanted it all, and he’d answered her need beyond a doubt.
But now, alone, she felt empty. And scared. When they’d made love, she’d given him more than her body, she’d given him her heart.
He could hurt her now. It’d be so easy to hurt her now.
Turning, she caught movement in the mirror and stared at the woman in the mirror, perplexed. Who was that blonde? Who looked like that? All lips and blue eyes, all softness and passion, fire and need?
She looked at herself long and hard and then with a sinking heart, whispered, “It’s me.”
But her vulnerability scared her; her softness threatened her, and, climbing into the shower, Rou turned the water on full force, as cold as she could take it, and washed her hair, and ruthlessly washed her body, particularly the tender skin between her legs. Her teeth chattered by the time she’d finished showering but she’d done the job. She’d chased away the warmth and tenderness, chilled the passion and need.
Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped a towel snugly around her body, and with hair dripping wet down her back, she looked at herself in the mirror again.
Shuttered eyes, firm lips, serene expression. No fire, no desire, nothing that could be used against her. Good. This was the woman she knew, this was the woman she had to be.
Still wrapped in a towel, she went to the living room to retrieve her clothes and then noted a garment bag from her closet resting on the back of a chair.
Clothes had been sent to her here. Was she supposed to wait here for Zayed then?
The idea of sitting around his suite and waiting brought back the vulnerable feeling with a vengeance. Rou went through the garment bag and grabbed a pink-and-white cotton dress with a wide, white belt and smocked neckline. She didn’t like pink, but it’d cover her while she made the trip back to her wing.
It was late when Zayed came looking for her. She barely glanced up as he descended the steps into the living room, too engrossed with answering her e-mail.
“You’re angry,” he said, walking toward her.
She kept her eyes glued to the screen. “Not angry, just busy. I’ve neglected my clients while I’ve been here.”
“I heard you refused dinner.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“I can’t believe that.”
She finally looked up at him. “Maybe I didn’t feel like another m
eal on a tray.”
“Feeling neglected, my love?”
“Not neglected, just trapped.”
With his stealthy grace, he sat down on the couch next to her. Rou wasn’t having any of it. She scooted as far away as she could, but even then she could see his legs, those sinewy thighs, from beneath her lashes, and she flashed back to this afternoon when she’d sat astride those muscular thighs, and how it’d felt, skin on skin, their bodies joined.
The erotic memories flooded back, and she reached for her computer and set it between them. There would not be a repeat of this afternoon.
“Is the computer supposed to intimidate me?”
She glared at him. “Maybe I should throw it at your head instead.”
He gave her a long, considering look. “You don’t seem like the sort to throw things.”
“I don’t think you know me.”
“I think I do.”
She didn’t want to do this, she really didn’t. It was late, and she was hungry and she was hurt and angry, too. This afternoon might have meant nothing to him, but it’d been earth-shattering for her.
“Are you going to make this a guessing game, or are you going to tell me why you’re angry?” he asked, picking up her computer, closing it and setting it on the table out of her reach.
“You just left me.”
“You were sleeping.”
“You just left.”
“I had the coronation.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “You couldn’t wake me to say goodbye, or even leave a note?”
“I was coming back.”
“You were gone for over seven hours.”
“I had the coronation.”
“I know!” She grabbed a pillow and squished it between her hands. “I know. You’re set. You’ve got it made. Wedded, marriage consummated, and now king. A big day for you.”
His expression shifted subtly, gold gaze shuttering, jaw hardening. “Yes, it’s been a big day, and a long day. Is all this drama necessary? It’s something my mother would do.”
Drama.
Something his mother would do. The mother he’d had nothing to do with for years.
She closed her eyes, turned her face away, as stunned as if he’d thrown a punch. The words hurt as much as a physical blow, and it took her a moment to catch her breath and then another moment to get her emotions under control. “I apologize for the drama,” she said when she was sure her voice was even. She even forced herself to look at him. “As you say, it’s been a long day.”
“Let’s just get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a new day.”
She forced a smile. “You’re right.”
He stood, held out a hand to her. “Come.”
She looked at his hand and then up into his face. “I think I’d like to sleep here, in my own room.”
His black lashes dropped, concealing the gold of his eyes. “Alone.”
“Yes.” She swallowed hard. “If you please.”
He took a step away, made a rough sound. “If I please,” he repeated, his tone strange, almost mocking. “If I please.” He looked down at her, brow furrowed, lines etched at his mouth and eyes. “It’s our wedding night, Rou.”
A lump filled her throat and her eyes scratched and burned. She prayed that she could keep the tears from forming. “I know.”
“Then what? Are we not to be together? Are we already going to live apart?”
“But we’re not together. We’ve never been together. We’ve had sex, but we have no relationship. I don’t even know why you’d want me to sleep in your room. What am I to you, Zayed?”
His shoulders shifted. “My wife.”
“In name only,” she answered, her voice barely audible.
“But it’s not name only. I have vowed to protect you, I have vowed to honor you. I have vowed to put you before all women for the rest of my life. What more could I give you than that?”
Love, she wanted to say.
Friendship.
Respect.
But she couldn’t say any of it, feeling horrifyingly like her mother when her parents used to fight. Her emotionally fragile mother with all those needs her father had ridiculed. Needy, clingy, pathetic, weak.
Weak.
Rou blinked, trying to clear the gritty sensation in her eyes, but it wouldn’t go away.
She wasn’t weak, and emotions weren’t bad, and she had to find a way to reach him, had to find the words she could use, words he’d understand, words he’d relate to because so far she was just alienating him more.
Think, think. But her chest burned and her head ached and everything swirled inside her wild and chaotic. It was impossible to think clearly when she felt like this. If only he’d give her time. If only he’d sit back down, she’d try hard to calm down. If only he’d realize that this wasn’t just hysterics but genuine fear. She’d never allowed anyone close to her, was never open, never struggled to communicate emotion.
But she could see he didn’t understand. She could see his anger and disgust, and how he was drawing away.
Rou lifted a hand, reaching toward him, willing him to come back and take her hand or at least return so they could calm down and make themselves understood.
Zayed looked at her face and then her hand and slowly shook his head. “I wanted a strong woman, a confident woman for a reason, Rou. I don’t do drama. I don’t do scenes. I can’t.” He headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Panic and despair crashed through her. Ask him to stay. Ask him. Ask him!
Beg him.
Beg like Mother used to do. Beg. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes Dad stopped walking out the door when she fell to her knees and begged.
But Rou couldn’t beg, and couldn’t speak, and Zayed paused at the top of the stairs to look down at her. “Maybe we’ll try again tomorrow,” he said, perfectly cold, perfectly controlled, perfectly played, as if he were her actor father, Oscar winner Max Tornell.
She nodded, tears blinding her eyes.
“Good night, Rou.”
And then he was gone, and she grabbed the pillow closest to her and, hugging it against her chest, she cried great soundless tears, her body wrenched with sobs.
This is exactly what she didn’t want, exactly the scenario she feared. Men walking away. Women crying. Men long-suffering. Women breaking.
Oh God, to have him just leave like that. To have him go as though nothing mattered.
It was her father and mother all over again.
This is how it’d always played out with them. The fights. The tears. The walking out.
Rou cried as if her heart was breaking, and maybe it was, because she just understood that she was no better than her parents, and if she weren’t careful she’d end up with nothing, just as they had.
CHAPTER TEN
SHE waited all morning for Zayed and he didn’t come or send for her, and the more time that passed, the harder it became to wait. She wasn’t good at turmoil, didn’t like tension, hated that sick, nervous feeling in her stomach.
After a sleepless night she knew that she’d behaved badly. Yes, he’d left her alone for seven hours. Yes, he’d left her without saying goodbye or leaving a note, but in his defense, he did have a great many things on his mind, and daunting new responsibilities. She, of all people, should be more understanding. She, of all people, should know how stressful his life was at the moment.
Rou just wanted to apologize. She wanted to go back to the moment yesterday when she’d opened her heart to him and try again. He wasn’t a bad man, he wasn’t dishonest. He’d never promised her anything he didn’t feel able to give.
Another hour passed and it was early afternoon now, lunch having come and gone without a word. But then just as she resolved to go to him, he appeared in her living room in his now-familiar white robe. He looked as tired as she felt.
“Hello,” she said, rising from her desk, where she’d been answering e-mail, e-mail that had included responses from all of the women she
’d contacted on Zayed’s behalf. Three of the four women she’d e-mailed were interested in meeting him, and two were quite anxious to set up the first meet. How ironic.
“Am I interrupting?” he asked, gesturing to her computer.
“No. I’m just wrapping up.” She smiled, ignoring the flutter of nerves inside her. “How is your day going?”
“It’s been busy. I’ve been closeted with my new cabinet all morning, and then I’ve spent the last hour with Jesslyn and Khalid discussing Sharif’s funeral.”
No wonder he looked strained.
“I’m sorry about last night,” she said. “I was wrong.” She colored, feeling the shame of last night return. “I was selfish and thoughtless—”
“You were a new bride and you were left alone for hours on your wedding day. That couldn’t have felt good.”
She recognized he was trying to meet her halfway, and relief rushed through her, relief so sweet that she exhaled, letting the tension leave her tight shoulders. “I was more upset about missing the coronation. I really wanted to be there. I know it’s a male-only event, but still, I care about you and I wanted to be part of it somehow.”
His forehead creased. “I hadn’t realized the ceremony would be followed by a formal dinner. I should have. I was there for Sharif’s coronation. The dinner went on for hours.” He exhaled and shook his head. “I should have at least sent word to you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she answered, finding that she could breathe properly for the first time since she woke up in Zayed’s bed yesterday. “All this is new to both of us, and you must be as overwhelmed as I am.”
“But this is my home, and my family, and my customs. I forget how little you know of our ways. However, I’d like to make it up to you. Let’s go out to dinner tonight. There’s a small, discreet place here in the capital city that I like very much, and it would get us out of the palace for the evening, something I think we could both use.”
