would be made ready for the expectant mother of the royal child. Lucy and her baby would want for nothing. Name it, and she could have it. If she preferred a different consultant—a different nursing team—anything—everything—too much of everything—was hers for the asking, while the one thing she wanted and longed for so badly, which was a normal family life, could never be hers. But as her emotions welled, so did her longing for Razi—one more night of pretending they could be together and she could cope with anything. One night of love to last a lifetime didn’t seem so greedy. One more night of knowing how it felt to be loved …
With his senses so keenly tuned to Lucy he knew almost before she did when she surrendered her ideas to his. He was still coming to terms with the miracle of new life and the fact that Lucy was carrying his child and felt a great sense of wonder. There was also the urge to stake his claim again.
‘This is crazy,’ she murmured, shivering with desire as his lips brushed her mouth.
‘That’s the weakest protest I ever heard,’ he observed, slowly backing her towards the entrance to the pavilion.
‘I must be crazy,’ she protested, reaching up to rest her hands on his shoulders.
‘A little crazy goes a long way with me,’ he murmured, giving her waist a reassuring squeeze.
Razi lowered her onto cushions that supported her frame and yet moulded themselves to her body in the most comfortable way. The curtain over the entrance was still drawn back to allow streamers of moonlight to decorate their cushioned bed. The interior of the pavilion was shaded and lit by two brass oil lamps and an incense burner. She was surrounded in a haze of delicious scent and refreshing night-time breezes kept her cool, but even in Razi’s arms she was restless. There was so much to be decided yet and maybe this was a mistake. ‘This is wrong.’
‘Wrong?’ Razi murmured against her mouth. Removing her ugly robe, he tossed it aside. ‘There’s nothing wrong with this,’ he said, shooting a wicked glance down the length of her body.
Just one more night …
It was as if all the humour and worldliness that had once drawn her to him was back. There were no divisions between them now, just the gasping, pleading sounds she was making as Razi rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip. Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her slowly, deeply, until her anxiety subsided and all thoughts of tomorrow disappeared.
‘I’m almost frightened to touch you now you’re carrying my child,’ he murmured, kissing the tender place on her neck and then her collarbone, before travelling down to tug and tease her painfully engorged nipples, before moving on to lave her belly with his tongue. ‘Almost,’ he added in a wry murmur when she groaned in complaint. He proved this by working his magic on her swollen lips with delicate raids of his tongue. ‘You taste different—fuller, richer, sweeter …’
And she was almost frantic with desire. How she longed to be full of him, stretched by him … loved by him. Where she had hungered for sensation, Lucy realised, now what she hungered for was closeness, reassurance and love.
Springing to his feet, Razi kicked off his boots and unfastened his jeans and as he eased them over his lean hips she realised she had forgotten how beautiful he was—how magnificent. And when he tugged his top over his head, exposing his naked, hard-muscled torso with the rampant lion tattooed in black ink whorls on hard bronze flesh, she wondered if ever a man had been born who was quite so perfect … perfect for her.
She reached for him as he lay beside her, caressing his face, loving the sharp black stubble that could bring her so much pleasure and so much pain, and dropping kisses on his mouth as his erection, huge and hard, pulsed impatiently against her thighs.
‘Slowly, carefully,’ he murmured, moving on top of her.
How to tell him that pregnancy had made her hungrier for him than ever and that thanks to the riot of hormones in her body every nerve ending seemed to have received a super-charge of sensation and appetite? Or that some basic need—the need to claim her mate, perhaps—had made her leave her inhibitions at the door? That, together with her need for reassurance, meant there wasn’t a moment to lose—she didn’t want him carefully and slowly; she wanted him fiercely and now.
She should have remembered Razi’s self-control. She might want to remember Razi’s resolve and self-control in all future dealings with him, was her last thought before he made all rational thought impossible.
He claimed her slowly and carefully, resisting Lucy’s best efforts to urge him on. This was different—she was different, she felt different, just as she had tasted different. Her body was ripe, unique, welcoming, adding both to his desire and to his sense of privilege. He felt possessive too, and with so much sensation going on, his mind went into freefall. He reined back, wanting to please her. Pleasing Lucy was his only goal. She was carrying his child and this was his way of saying thank you.
She had never felt closer to another human being than she felt to Razi that night as they lay, limbs entwined, in the middle of the night. Would they ever get enough of each other? It seemed unlikely. So what was she saying? What was he saying? Would she stay on in Isla de Sinnebar as his mistress and the mother of his child? Could Razi accept her terms? Did she have any right to state them? Her wish to live simply and out of the public eye—was that even possible here? Knowing Razi’s intention to run his country like a business beyond blame, would the world’s media seize on the new ruler’s peccadillo and flaunt their child, leading to endless problems for her baby in the future?
Leaning on her elbow, Lucy fretted as she watched Razi sleeping. If only this were a fantasy she could make every part of it right. He was sprawled on his back with his long, muscular limbs taking up every inch of available space. He looked so beautiful and so peaceful … She traced the line of his lips with her fingertip, pulling her hand away when he turned his head slightly. Now she could see the sweep of jet-black eyelashes casting a blue-black shadow on his sculpted cheeks, and eyebrows that swept upwards like a fiery tartar, or a pirate king …
Razi was a stunning-looking man, but she could never forget he was a king. She traced the tattoo, the symbol of his country, which he had chosen to have indelibly inscribed over his heart. Was there room left in that heart for anyone, woman or child? A shiver gripped her as she thought about it and all her contentment flew away. Razi wasn’t just a man she had fallen deeply in love with, he was the ruler of a country. And she was a cook—shortly to become the mother of his child, and, though she might fight with everything in her for her child’s right to live free from any taint of shame she could bring it, could any royal child be truly free? Privilege was a poor return for freedom, at least in Lucy’s value structure.
Now there was no hope of sleeping. Settling back on the cushions, she turned one last time to drink him in. ‘I love you.’ How she wished there were more meaningful words to express her feelings for Razi. ‘I adore you,’ she whispered, and even that didn’t come close.
He stirred in his sleep, and, realising her restlessness was disturbing him, Lucy gently disentangled herself and crept silently away.
He stirred and realised Lucy was gone. He was on his feet in an instant, instinct telling him she was swimming in the lagoon, and while swimming at dusk with him when there was light was one thing, swimming in the dead of night when a cloud might cover the moon and she could misjudge the depth—
The thought that anything could happen propelled him out of the pavilion with one thing on his mind: Lucy—to hold her safely in his arms; to make love to her.
The water was like iced silk on her burning skin, and it was sweet and clear.
