by Lucy Monroe
She was never anything less than pleasant, but she was also never anything more than pleasant. She might refute the title of princess because she could not claim it by birth and could not yet claim it by marriage, but she had the attitude down. Her aura of serenity could rival his mother’s at dinner of State.
The problem was, that unlike his mother, Angele did not drop the serene little smiles and even tones when she was in the private company of family.
The vulnerable, sweet princess he had always known was now hidden behind the politically polished princess who had made her apologies to their people despite his willingness to take full responsibility for their estrangement.
Right now, although they were supposed to be spending time cementing their bond, her attention was firmly on those around them rather than him. Angele nodded and smiled to the Zohranians while managing to ignore the paparazzi yelling questions and taking their picture. And he had no reason to believe it would be any different once they were inside the restaurant, where she would no doubt maintain this infuriating distance.
Suddenly she dropped to her knees. He leaped forward, his body hovering over hers protectively while he looked around for some threat, even as he put his hand out to help her back to her feet. Which she ignored. It was only then that he realized a small child had managed to get away from his parents and through the small throng of reporters.
In her designer original gown, her face and hair perfectly coiffed, Angele opened her arms to the clearly frightened child. The little boy threw himself at what he obviously saw as safety.
She scooped him up, whispering something to the child that made him respond with a nod. All the while cameras flashed and Zahir had no problem imagining the front cover story of the social pages tomorrow.
Standing, Angele turned to him. “It appears we’ve made a friend.”
Zahir smiled at the child giving him a shy sideways glance. “Hello, little man. Where are your parents?”
“Wanted to see the princess,” the boy said instead of answering.
“I see. She is very special, is she not?”
The little boy nodded and Angele gave the child the first genuine smile he’d seen from her in days. “What is your name?”
Zahir didn’t catch the muffled answer over a commotion going on to his right. The young girl his bodyguards allowed to come forward looking two parts terrified and one part awed, resembled the boy too much to be anything other than an older sister.
She confirmed Zahir’s guess with her first words. “My brother didn’t mean anything. I’m supposed to be watching him in the car while our parents run an errand, but we wanted to see the new princess.”
“Please don’t be upset.” Angele gave another one of her genuine smiles to the girl. “He hasn’t caused any trouble.”
The girl did not look appreciably mollified. “My parents are going to be very angry.”
“Perhaps they will not be so upset if they join us for dinner,” Angele said.
The young girl stared as if she could not believe what Angele had said. The maître d’, who had joined them outside, was looking at Angele with much the same expression on his usually unflappable face.
It was a politically brilliant move that would do much to shore up his princess’ popularity with his people. And considering the lack of success of Zahir’s attempts to romantically woo his bride-to-be, he didn’t mind the extra company tonight.
Angele gave him a pleading look that had nothing in common with her new persona of serenity ice princess, and there was no chance he would kibosh the invitation. He turned to his bodyguard with instructions to find the parents and have them join the royal couple and their children in the restaurant for dinner.
He would have done far more for the genuine and warm gratitude now glowing in Angele’s espresso-brown gaze.
Angele stood outside the secret passageway door to Zahir’s rooms. Her hands were clammy and the nausea that had for the most part abated, was back in response to her jumping nerves.
This evening, she and Zahir had connected in a way they had not since she’d first seen the hurtful photos. She hoped they could connect in other ways tonight as well.
Before she could allow herself to change her mind, she lifted her hand and knocked on the panel. Then, without waiting for an answer, she pulled on the lever. It wasn’t locked from the other side and the door swung inward.
A quick glance revealed that Zahir wasn’t in the bedroom, so she crossed to the sitting room. His expression inquiring, he was standing up from a desk with an open laptop on its surface when she came in.
He’d discarded his robes of State and his suit jacket, as well as his tie. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, giving her a glimpse of the dark hair that covered his chest and the sleeves were rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms.
It was an intimate look, few would be privileged to see.
His eyes widened fractionally as they focused on her. “Princess, what are you doing here?”
“I wanted to thank you for allowing that family to have dinner with us.” Angele had other plans as well, but she had enough diplomacy not to mention them right off the start.
“It was surprisingly enjoyable.” He bent down and pressed a button on the laptop, sending it into hibernate.
So, he wasn’t going to try to rush her out of there. Good. “Surprisingly?” she asked.
“I do not usually enjoy dining with strangers.”
“You do it often enough in your official capacity.”
“Exactly.”
“Yet, you didn’t hesitate to extend the invitation for them to join us when I asked.” And that made her feel warm and gooey inside.
Was that pathetic? Did it matter? It was her life, after all. Not someone else’s. She needed to live it for her happiness, or what she could grasp of it.
Which was why she was here, instead of chewing on all sorts of unpleasant possibilities for the future in her lonely bed.
He reached out and touched the corner of her softly curved lips, an unreadable expression on his face. “I will always try to give you what you desire, when I can.”
“I appreciate that.” Did she need his love when she had his commitment?
She’d certainly felt cherished over the past weeks, even if his actions had not been driven by more tender feelings.
“We will be content together.” He winced as if unhappy with his own choice of words.
“Contentment is not bad.”
“No, there are far worse fates.”
That there were better possible fates hung between them, unsaid, but not unappreciated. By them both, she felt. And she was not sure that meant what it once did.
Hope sparked a tiny light deep in her heart.
Taking her courage in her hands, she stepped firmly into his personal space. “You said you would always give me what I want.”
“If it is within my power.”
She nodded, pretty confident that what she wanted was definitely within his power. Reaching out, she laid her hands on his biceps and then curled her fingers around the hard muscles there. She smoothed her thumbs along his arms and he made no move to stop her. The knowledge she was allowed to do this shuddered through her.
He was hers, as she was his.
One day this man would be King of all Zohra, but from the day she had agreed to marry him, he had been her man. And always would be. All man, all hers. Even if his birthright made him larger than life in every other way.
“Angele?” he asked in a strangled voice.
He wanted her. And it wasn’t just his voice that gave him away. All sorts of little indicators showed she affected him powerfully, if she was looking for them. And she was looking. His nostrils flared, his pupils were dilated and the muscles beneath her fingers were rigid with tension.
The passion was not gone, merely banked. Relief strengthened her resolve. “You want me.”
“Yes.”
“Make love to me.”
�
��I cannot.”
She let her gaze drift down the front of him. His tailored suit trousers did nothing to hide the rigid length behind his placket.
She smiled, her nerves settling just a bit. “I think, in fact, that you can.”
He laughed, the sound warm and filled with real humor. “Physically I am more than able. I am aching, Aziz.”
Her breath caught. Did he realize he’d called her beloved? But then, men in this part of the world often called their wives such. It did not mean that he loved her.
Still, it did mean he saw her as his to treasure.
“Then, let me assuage that ache.”
“I would like nothing more.”
“What is stopping you?”
“I gave my word to your father that I would not take advantage of you prior to our official wedding.”
She latched onto the word official. She’d suspected something since that night, now she would confirm it. “You already consider me your wife.”
He said nothing.
She challenged him with her gaze. “Tell the truth.”
“I do,” he gritted out. “You are my wife.”
It was romantic really, though she wasn’t about to admit it. “Possessive.”
“Yes.”
“I came to you in a wedding gown and you made me promises you never spoke out loud,” she guessed. “It was the only way you would accept the gift of my virginity.”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
He growled. “I am an old-fashioned man, but I am not naff.”
Angele suppressed the desire to giggle. He sounded so put-upon. “No, I’d never accuse you of being sappy.” But she couldn’t deny the old-fashioned label.
Even Elsa had been an example of that. Zahir had been a man in his sexual prime when he signed the agreement for their eventual marriage. He needed a sexual outlet and he’d looked for one.
Angele had no doubt he hadn’t expected to feel anything real for Elsa, or for the affair to last as long as it did. Knowing he had cared so much, that Elsa had been able to hurt him, hurt Angele. However, it was over and he was truly hers now, in every way.
“Does the future king of Zahir allow another man to determine the parameters of his life?” she challenged.
“I made a promise.”
“Not to take advantage, but how is it taking advantage when in your heart, I’m already your wife?”
“And in your heart?” it was his turn to challenge.
She could give him nothing less than the truth. “I’m yours, Zahir. I always have been.”
“That’s not what you said in your letter, or that press release.”
“I wanted to give you your freedom.”
“So I could find true love.”
She was sure he meant to say the words true love with more sarcasm, but his tone carried more confusion than cynicism.
And suddenly, she realized something very important. Just because he was not in love with her did not mean Zahir did not need her love. In fact, she was no longer fully convinced he did not love her, either. After some fashion anyway. There was something there, something she did not yet understand, but she was determined to.
“You hold yourself back from me,” she said, not as an accusation but as bait.
She needed to understand this complicated man. Angele would be the first to admit, she’d been so blinded by her own emotions, she had all but ignored his.
One thing had remained true for ten years, though. This man had always intended to marry her and by his own admission, he had intended to bring his formidable honor to bear in remaining faithful to her.
“I would say you are the one that has put up walls between us.” He frowned, though he did not move away from her.
If she didn’t know better, she would think he was no more capable of doing so than she was.
“You think?” she asked, wanting…maybe even needing to hear this from his mouth.
“You used to love me.”
“I still do.” And denying it to both of them was doing nothing but hurting the man she had no desire to hurt and herself.
She hadn’t shocked him with her request they make love, but her words of love made him jerk back as if struck. “No, you do not.”
She moved closer again, so their bodies were less than a breath apart. “I do.”
“You do not smile at me as you used to.”
“The last few weeks have been stressful.” And she’d thought they would be better off if she buried her deeper emotions, so they came to each other on a level playing field. But hiding her feelings was not natural to her, not like it was for him.
In order to do so, she’d had to cut off her emotions completely, hiding behind what she called her political female figure facade. She’d had plenty of examples growing up, but it was only tonight she’d realized how much the constant facade had been smothering her.
She needed to be herself sometimes, but most particularly with him.
“Love is not required in a marriage such as ours is to be, but both parties should like each other, I think.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as her.
Instead of allowing herself to get upset at this further evidence he didn’t love her, she listened to what he wasn’t saying. She heard his need, a need she doubted he allowed anyone else to glimpse.
“I do like you, Zahir, and I love you.” It was easier to admit now that she’d already said it. “I never stopped.”
He reversed their hold so that it was his hands holding her close, with no hope of moving away. “You are mine. I will never let you leave me again.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” She needed him and was coming to accept that on some very important level he needed her, too. “I want you to make love to me.”
“And my promise to your father?”
“Is nullified if making love is an act of caring rather than slaking mere physical desire.”
“Of course I care for you. You have always been as important to me as any of my family. That has not changed.”
It wasn’t the romantic declaration of the century, but for Zahir those words were a promise of commitment deeper than most men were even capable of making.
“I believe you.”
Then, it was if something inside him broke. Maybe it was his self-control, because he took her mouth like an invading army intent on total conquest.
CHAPTER TEN
SENSING he needed this as much as she did, she allowed her body to melt into him in a surrender powered by her own desire. And was that really surrender at all, or a victory?
She certainly felt like she was winning as his lips drew forth passion that even surpassed the single night they had shared together.
He swung her up in his arms and headed toward the bedroom, though his mouth never left hers. Part of her marveled that they didn’t bump into walls or door-jambs, but then this was Zahir. The man could navigate the minefield of world politics, his own rooms were no challenge.
They came down onto the bed together, his heavy body covering hers, proof of his desire pressed into her stomach. Taking the kiss to the next level, he thrust against her, his essence surrounding and grounding her, blocking out everything else.
Heated moisture soaked the scrap of fabric between her legs and she spread them, seeking more stimulation. But there were too many layers in the way, her own outfit preventing her from getting as close to him as she wanted to. She whimpered, wanting it and every other bit of clothing off her.
He made a sound of satisfaction as he continued to kiss her with a masterful passion that was far beyond what he had shown her before. It was as if that night he’d been treating her like she’d been made of spun-glass. And perhaps since it had been her first time, he’d been right to do so.
But now, there was an elemental, almost primal power radiating through every kiss, every caress.
And his hands were everywhere, clever fingers that knew how to draw forth urges and sensati
ons she hadn’t even known she was capable of. Her clothes came off and so did his, though she couldn’t remember the sequence or even who took off what.
But the moment when he pressed her hands upward and curled her fingers around the wrought-iron spindles on the big bed’s headboard and told her not to let go was seared into her mind like his passion seared her heart.
She stared at him. “Why?”
“I want to pleasure you.”
“And I need to keep my hands here for you to do that?”
“It will please me.”
She didn’t understand. She wanted to touch him, but she wanted to do what he asked, too. The idea of giving total control over to him both alarming and very, very alluring.
“You’re kinky!” she accused with equal parts shock and desire.
“I am a man who knows what he desires.” That was so not a denial.
“You like being in control.”
“This surprises you?”
“No.” Though maybe it should. Wouldn’t a man who had to control so much, want to give a little up?
His fierce, primal expression said, not this one.
Not her sheikh.
He arranged her legs so that they were bent at the knee and spread apart in a wanton display that would have embarrassed her if she wasn’t so excited.
“Will it always be like this?” she asked breathlessly. Would he always want this extra bit of control?
He looked up from his heated perusal of her most intimate flesh. “I do not know. I have never done this before, but it is something I have long wanted.”
She moaned, the words more effective than any touch. “I’m glad this is special between us.”
“Everything we share in our marriage bed is special. No woman has ever belonged to me as you do and I have never belonged to another woman as I do to you.”
“What do you mean?” He was far from a virgin.
“You own my future.” With that he touched her sweet spot, his fingers going on to thoroughly explore every bit of intimate flesh exposed so fully to his gaze. “You are so beautiful.”
“I don’t think women are beautiful there.”
“You know this because you have looked?” he asked teasingly.
