Royal Families Vs. Historicals. Rebecca Winters

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      “It’s fine. You’re very busy. No one will expect you to stay until the room clears.”

      He leaned in, his lips close to her ear. “Am I very busy?”

      Her body immediately applied a dual meaning to his words, sending a shaft of heat down low. “I could ensure that you are.”

      She could think of a great many ways the two of them could stay busy for a few solitary hours. Ways that would finally force him to meet her in the present. Ways that might show her the man beneath the control. Something raw, something elemental. Rather than all of this guarded, protected, manufactured civility.

      She’d had too much of that. Enough to last a lifetime. Too much isolation. She was so tired of being lonely. So tired of being alone.

      Suddenly she was tired down to her bones. Careful smiles; careful words. Nothing upsetting. Nothing too loud. No questions asked. No answers given. On either side. Her entire growing-up years had been spent that way, and then her marriage. She was so desperately sick of it.

      He made no response to her offer, allowing her to lead him quickly and quietly from the ballroom. The early exit would spark innuendo for the article about the evening. And that, she imagined, would be a good thing, too. Giving the press, the public, a love story rather than a cold alliance to offer a throne to a displaced queen and help to a barely civilized sheikh. Already she would add humanity to him. Already her presence was a help.

      Though at the moment she did not intend to let the published innuendo stand as fiction. She fully intended to reach this man once and for all. To forge a connection between the two of them.

      She could feel the palace security staying in line with them. Likely ensuring they weren’t followed or disturbed. The people around them sensed it as well, for they cleared a path, making their exit easy.

      Once they were out of the ballroom, she began to slowly move her fingertips along his forearm, her way of signaling intent.

      She felt a slight tensing in his muscles, the barest hint of a response. Coming from him, it might as well have been an emphatic yes.

      “Are you headed back to your quarters?” she asked, staring straight ahead.

      “Yes,” he answered.

      Her heart thundered in her head. “Okay.”

      She walked with him, not releasing her hold on him, and he did not release his hold on her. She took that as a significant development. They were, of course, headed to the same wing of the palace. And he might not realize it yet, but she intended to head to the same room. To smash that wall. And maybe, just maybe, one inside herself, too.

      She felt as if she was suffocating. Had the feeling both of them were. Drowning on land.

      If she could just touch him. If they could touch each other.

      They reached the door of his chamber and she paused with him. “Do you need any help with your suit?”

      “I don’t think so.”

      It didn’t surprise her that he didn’t immediately grab hold of the invitation. Subtlety was not his strength. She found that charming in a strange way. More and more as the days passed.

      “Perhaps we can discuss your speech.”

      He gazed down at her, the expression in his eyes unknowable. “If you wish.” He pushed the door open and she followed him in.

      He took a seat on a lush divan that was placed against the back wall of his chamber, assuming that same arrogant posture she’d seen during their first meeting in his throne room. With his black tie, black jacket, crisp white shirt and tailored trousers, he was very close to looking civilized. She didn’t like it. She didn’t want him civilized. Didn’t want him hidden by yet more trappings.

      That need, the need to have him, became a living beast inside her, growled, urged her forward. She began to walk toward him, watched as his dark eyes assessed her, attempted to anticipate her next move. She lowered her hands to her sides, curling her fingers around the silken fabric of her skirt, tugging it upward, exposing her legs, her thighs, as she continued to close the distance between them.

      Then she saw it. A black flame burning in the depths of his eyes, so close to their natural color it would’ve been easy to miss. But it was there, glimmering like an oil slick. He was not untouched. He was not unmoved.

      She approached, still clutching her skirt, placing one knee on the edge of the divan next to his before leaning forward, raising her hand on the wall behind him. He remained motionless, his expression fathomless. But of course it was. That was what he did. In a room full of people, he remained untouched. When applause thundered around him, he reacted like a deaf man.

      He didn’t play the game. No subtle push and pull. And so this time she wouldn’t stop until she had destroyed his defenses, because that was what it would take. She realized that now, with certainty.

      She rested her other knee on the divan, astride him now, sliding forward so that his big body was between her thighs, his heat teasing her, tempting her. He was motionless, as he had been the other times she had touched him. Except for the day he had pressed her palm against his chest. But then he had pushed her away, and she had allowed it. She had stopped.

      But this time, she wasn’t going to stop at touching.

      She lowered her head, angling slightly, pausing just before her mouth met his. Enjoying the moment. The pause before fantasy became reality.

      He smelled like clean skin, the intimacy of the scent hitting her like a punch in the chest. It made her heart beat faster, made her ache. And it stole her last bit of restraint. She closed the remaining bit of distance, fusing her lips to his.

      Heat exploded behind her eyelids, burst in her stomach. She hadn’t expected this. Not this instant firestorm that rocked her down deep. She was supposed to be seducing him, but she felt as if the tables had flipped, and there would be no coming back.

      His lips were firm, hot, and only just now did she realize, immobile.

      She moved her hand, gripped the back of his head and deepened the kiss, tracing the seam of his mouth with her tongue, requesting entry.

      Her only warning of his next actions came in the form of a feral growl that rumbled in his chest, vibrating against her lips before she found herself being moved, Tarek’s arm was like an iron band around her waist as he stood, bringing her with him. He moved his hand, fingers buried deep in her hair, his grip so hard it was painful, pinpricks dotting her scalp as he tugged her head back.

      With two long strides, he had her pressed against the wall, his hold still tight in her hair and around her waist, his body hard and hot against hers. His breathing was ragged, the look in his eyes that of a hunted animal. Desperate. Intense.

      Her hands were trapped between their bodies, her palms against his chest. And she could feel his heart raging out of control.

      He wasn’t unreachable now. Not untouchable or protected. It was terrifying. And it was everything she’d been craving.

      He lowered his head slowly, his nose brushing hers, the movement deliberate, unpracticed. She let her eyes flutter closed, waiting. СКАЧАТЬ