a distance. His presence had brought real hope to the villagers.
‘They’re my people. Where else would I have been?’
He led the way into the first of their private sitting rooms but, instead of halting by the cluster of comfortable chairs, Tariq closed the door behind them, then strode on.
‘Didn’t you want to talk?’ There was a breathless catch in her voice as she scurried to match his pace.
‘Is that what I said?’ The look he slanted her sizzled all the way to her toes.
Swiftly he turned. In her traditional flat slippers she felt tiny against his towering bulk. His shoulders blocked out the room and she had to tilt her neck to hold his gaze as a thrill of anticipation shot through her. She’d never felt so overwhelmingly feminine as with Tariq.
‘What I want...’ the rough texture of his voice weakened her knees ‘...is to be alone with you as soon as possible.’
His hands were on her, lifting her against a pillared archway. Shocked, she opened her mouth to speak but instead her breath came out in a gasp of satisfaction as he pressed close, his torso to her breasts, his powerful thighs hard and insistent, pushing hers apart.
Samira roped her arms around his neck, holding tight, reeling as a wave of desire crashed over her, threatening to drag her under. His solid heat inflamed her. An urgent throb of need pulsed at the spot where he wedged himself close, taking her from zero to boiling point in mere seconds. Even the tang of desert heat and male spice tickling her nose was arousing.
‘The bedroom is just there,’ she whispered, shimmying higher in his arms, pushing against his hard shaft, unmistakeable through the fine silk of her dress. Tariq’s unashamed arousal and his urgent passion were a continual revelation.
As was her inevitable response.
It struck her anew how very controlled Jackson’s love-making had been. Surely she shouldn’t feel so driven by the need to have Tariq right here, right now, as if nothing mattered except having him inside her?
When had she become so wanton?
‘You think I can last till the bedroom?’ Tariq groaned and bent his head to bite her neck. Samira shuddered as pleasure ripped through her, turning her body molten.
Everything in her softened. Breasts, belly, womb all hummed with the need for more. Her hands tightened, grabbing handfuls of his thick hair, holding him hard as he kissed the sensitive skin of her throat.
‘Hold on.’ He moved, pressing her up against the wall. She heard the chink of his belt buckle, felt him fumble between them. Then he was fighting his way past her long skirts, shoving the silk up her legs till she felt a waft of air on her bare thighs.
She almost slipped but big hands hoisted her higher, guiding her legs till they encircled his waist. And all the time his eyes held hers. It was as if she hovered on the brink of diving into a fathomless mountain pool.
Except it was heat she felt as he ripped her panties away and she gasped with horrified delight. Pure fire she touched as with one sure thrust Tariq embedded himself deep within her.
She was so incredibly full, as if he stretched her to the limit. As if they’d become one, she thought hazily as he retreated, then thrust hard again, creating ripples of delight that took her straight to the edge. She grabbed tight, needing this oneness with him.
‘Samira.’ He ground the word, his jaw hard, his hands heavy on her body. She revelled in his touch and moved eagerly with him. He paused, then surged again, taking her to new heights. ‘You have no idea how I hunger for you.’
She tried to gulp in enough air to catch her breath. ‘I do.’ It made her desperate, this unquenchable need for her husband. But the more she gave, the more she trusted him, the stronger it grew. ‘I want you all the time,’ she gasped.
He stilled and she almost cried out in frustration. Till she registered his expression. She couldn’t interpret it, but those eyes gleamed more brightly than ever. As if they could burn right through her.
When he stroked again, he took her to heaven’s door. The world burst into fireworks. Through a haze of bliss she just caught his words.
‘I’ve always wanted you, Samira. Always. And now you’re mine.’
* * *
Samira lay sprawled across Tariq on the bed, her limbs dissolved, her head on his heaving chest. His heart hammered beneath her ear, rapid like hers. Her palm rested on his chest, fingers furrowed into the smattering of hair that she still found so intriguing.
‘I don’t think I can walk,’ she whispered.
She felt more than heard his huff of laughter. ‘Good. I don’t want you going anywhere.’ He pulled her closer, as if just the thought of her moving wasn’t to be considered.
Samira smiled sleepily. She’d lost her shoes when he carried her here and her dress was twisted around her hips but she didn’t have the strength to move. His breath was hot on her face and his hand played languidly with her hair, loose to her waist. She felt...replete. As if there was nowhere she’d rather be. Not in her work room. Not even with the twins.
‘I like that you’re so strong.’ She rubbed her face against his skin, inhaling that delicious scent: essence of Tariq. ‘The way you held me back there...’ Just thinking about it made her inner muscles clench in remembered pleasure. Samira adored it when Tariq’s loving was slow and thorough but hard and fast definitely had a lot to recommend it.
‘I like that you’re so eager for me.’ She heard the smile in his voice and imagined his smug grin. No wonder. He’d overturned her ‘no sex’ rule in mere days and now she couldn’t get enough of him.
It was just sex, of course. Sex and liking. A marriage with benefits.
Yet his earlier words lingered in her mind, teasing her.
‘What did you mean—you’ve always wanted me? Since the day I came to you in Paris?’
Tariq said nothing. His fingers dragged through her hair, making her head tilt up. From here she saw his solidly hewn jaw and the strong column of his throat as he swallowed.
‘Tariq?’
‘Since then too. When you came to the hotel in that tight skirt and jacket I wanted to rip them right off you.’ His fingers strayed across to her hip, distracting her as he traced delicate whorls of pleasure on her flesh.
Samira wriggled and clamped her hand on his, making him stop.
‘Since then too? What does that mean?’
He sighed. ‘You always were tenacious, weren’t you?’
She’d had to be. If she’d waited for her parents to give her guidance she’d have waited all her life. She’d had to cling to her dreams, forging her career despite the roadblocks: disbelief that a princess actually wanted to learn to sew; prejudice from peers, teachers and the public who thought she wasn’t serious or that she’d pulled strings to get her sought-after training place.
‘It’s not a trick question, Tariq. What did
