cupped the back of his neck, tilting his head and rubbing his skin to ease the tightness there.
‘I have no idea what foolishness prompted this, Samira.’ He paused, telling himself it was impossible that he tasted pleasure at her name on his tongue. ‘But you of all people know royal marriages are carefully arranged. You can’t just come in here and—’
‘Why not?’ She cut across his words and it struck Tariq that no one, not even Jasmin when she’d been alive, interrupted him. As Sheikh, his word was law, his status respected. Except, it seemed, by the Princess of Jazeer.
She stood and his eyes lingered on her delectable body in that figure-hugging suit. ‘Why can’t I arrange my own marriage? My brother didn’t wait for advisors to find him a wife. He found Jacqui by himself.’
‘That was different.’ Tariq gestured with one slashing hand. ‘That was a love match. They’re crazy for each other.’
Seeing his friend in the throes of love made Tariq uncomfortable. He’d thought Asim was like himself, too focused on the wellbeing of his nation to choose a partner because of emotion.
Tariq’s lips flattened. He didn’t do emotion. Not that sort. And especially not now. He had no interest in marrying for love.
The idea ate like acid in his belly.
‘If you want to get married, ask your brother to find you a suitable husband. He’ll do anything to make you happy.’
Tariq was one of the few who understood Asim’s fierce protectiveness of his sister. Their childhood, at the mercy of their parents’ volatile on-again, off-again relationship, had left them both reluctant to trust anyone.
Was that why Samira was still single at twenty-nine? Traditionally, Jazeeri princesses married much younger, but he suspected his friend Asim had been in no hurry to rush his sister into matrimony after those early experiences of a dysfunctional family.
‘I don’t want Asim to arrange a suitable match.’ She jutted her chin. In a woman less gorgeous, he’d call her expression mulish. ‘I know what I want. I want you.’
Again that sudden blast of blistering arousal low in his body. For an instant he was tempted to forget his duty, his dead wife and his self-control, and haul Samira close, teach her the danger of trifling with him.
Only for an instant.
Tariq reminded himself she wasn’t talking about sex. If she had been she’d have used a different approach—soft blandishments and seductive caresses. And she’d have worn something slinky and provocative. His nostrils flared as he sucked in air to tight lungs, imagining that soft mouth on him. Arousal weighted his lower body.
‘And you’re used to getting what you want?’
Abruptly she laughed, shaking her head, and his pulse faltered at the radiance of her smile. ‘Only sometimes.’
‘Yet you think you can have me for the asking?’ Indignation at her presumption clashed with raw, disconcerting lust at the thought of them together and shame at how easily she got under his skin.
She sobered. ‘I thought it couldn’t hurt to ask.’ She hesitated. ‘I know this is unconventional. But we’re old friends. I thought you’d at least hear me out.’
That was how she saw him? As an old friend? Why Tariq bridled at the idea, he refused to consider.
‘Very well. I’ll hear you out.’ He folded his arms across his chest and waited.
* * *
Samira looked at the imposing man before her. He wasn’t in a receptive mood. His crossed arms were all bunched muscles. The tendons in his neck were taut and his mouth a flat line. Even his eyes glittered a warning.
Yet still Tariq was the most breathtaking man she’d ever seen. Her stomach turned to treacle as the afternoon sun caught the solid plane of his jaw and the proud thrust of that impressive nose. She wondered how it would feel if, instead of shutting her out, he opened his arms and hauled her close into that broad chest. If he kissed her...
She blinked, suddenly light-headed.
That was not what she wanted. Sex had made a fool of her once. She refused to let that happen again. This, what she proposed now, was far more sensible.
Planting her feet more solidly, wishing she weren’t quite so dwarfed by him, Samira cleared her throat, mentally flicking through the arguments she’d prepared.
‘It’s an excellent match,’ she began, gathering herself. ‘Our countries already have so much in common. I understand your customs and history. I’m not a complete outsider. And by marrying me you’d strengthen your ties with Jazeer.’
‘Our ties with Jazeer are already strong.’
Refusing to be deflated, she kept her chin up. ‘My background speaks for itself. I was born and bred to royal rank and responsibility. I understand what’s expected of a queen and I’ve got a lifetime’s experience of public functions and diplomacy. I understand royal duty and I won’t shirk it.’
Expectantly she looked at him. Finally he nodded. ‘All useful attributes.’ He paused. ‘But others could say the same. Your own sister-in-law has adapted well to her new role, and she wasn’t born royal.’
Samira exhaled slowly. Had she really expected Tariq to agree instantly? She told herself his wariness was to be expected. He’d adored his first wife and his choice of second wife would affect not only himself but his precious boys and his country. Of course he needed to consider this from all angles.
Yet a small part of her wailed in disappointment that he viewed her so sternly, almost disapprovingly, when her own wayward impulse urged her to close the gap between them. Her very skin felt sensitised, as if longing for his touch.
Did she want him to look at her and want her? Not for her pedigree or her social attributes but for herself? Her wayward body betrayed her. Her flesh tingled as his gaze raked her and a slow, telling spiral of heat eddied low in her belly.
Samira sucked in a stunned breath, sensing danger.
She told herself it was nerves. The shock of seeing him again after all this time. The disconcerting discovery of how very...male he was.
Once the novelty wore off he’d be just as he’d always been—a friend, someone she could trust. Without trust she couldn’t bind herself to any man. Trust had been so lacking in her life, she understood how rare and valuable it was.
The thought gave her renewed energy.
‘I’ll make a good queen,’ she said firmly, locking her hands together. ‘Building my business has given me a chance to step beyond royal boundaries and mix with a range of people, not just wealthy clients. It’s broadened my understanding of the world and improved my people skills.’ Now she was as at home buying a bagel on the streets of New York as she’d been at last night’s A-list gala.
Tariq didn’t say anything so she kept talking, the thread of tension wrapping tighter around her insides. ‘I’d like to continue working on a small scale, not enough to interfere with any royal duties.’ When he remained silent she angled her head
