no time, should have no inclination, for any dalliance with a woman he had just met by chance.
The twist of Zia’s head, pulling away from his fingers, dragged Nabil back into the present, and he wasn’t any happier to be there. The bitterness of memory lingered, making him tighten his grip, holding her still for a moment.
‘You know nothing,’ he said, dark and dangerous. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘I saw...’
‘You saw what you wanted to see—what everyone wanted to see. And it has nothing to do with you.’
Her swiftly indrawn breath brought his eyes down to where her soft mouth was partly open, exposing sharp white teeth. As he watched he saw her pink tongue slip out and slick hastily over her dry lips, the tiny gesture making his pulse pound in primal response. Some change in the position of her head brought her face closer to his, the feel of her skin soft against his gripping fingertips.
How did she make him want her so much when he had felt only indifference for so long? The soft sheen of moisture that lingered where her tongue had touched her lips made his own mouth hunger for the taste of her.
One night...
Even as his body put the suggestion into his mind, rational thought was pushing it away again. He was not going down this path again, even if her slender body was pure temptation, the need to hold her close making him ache with the battle against carnal hunger that threatened to destroy rational thought.
‘You want me to kiss you, do you?’
He turned his own thoughts against her and felt a grim satisfaction as he saw the faint start of surprise that revealed the truth of the accusation he had flung at her.
‘Is that really what you want? You stupid little fool—you wouldn’t even know who you were kissing. What kind of man you wanted...’
A new wave of sound from inside the palace intruded into the dark, private world they had built for themselves out here on the balcony, reminding him once again of his royal duties. He had lingered too long out here, balanced precariously on the edge of self-indulgence. Duty called. The duty he could never escape. It was time he took some much-needed steps away from temptation.
But every male instinct in him rebelled at the thought of leaving her untouched.
‘I...’
Aziza had no idea how she could answer him. She had wanted his kiss. How could she deny it when it must have been written on her face, stamped into her eyes? But did she still want it?
Fool that she was, the answer was yes.
And, double fool that she was, he must have seen that truth in her eyes. That hand that was clamped about her chin tightened bruisingly. He pulled her face towards his with a strength she could not resist, and the next moment his mouth came down hard on hers, brutal, ruthless, demanding, but in the same moment shockingly sensual too. White heat flew through her veins, leaving her stunned that she actually didn’t go up in flames with the stunning, primitive nature of her unexpectedly wild response. Her legs seemed to melt in the heat, her head spinning in a stunned delirium. With no control over her actions, she opened her lips to his, let him plunder the soft interior of her mouth and met the invasion of his tongue with the dance of her own.
But it was as she gave herself up to his kiss that she felt the sudden change in him, the snatched in breath, the stiffening of his muscular body.
‘No...’
With a speed and ruthless determination that made the gesture one of brutal rejection, he snatched his hand away from her face.
‘Enough!’ he snapped. ‘You are dismissed.’
Dismissed?
Who did he think she was? Not Aziza El Afarim, that was for sure. Nabil would never have treated her father’s daughter in this way. But then of course this Nabil was not the boy she had known. In his eyes she was nothing more than the maid she had claimed to be, the one who had given her name as Zia. Not ‘the beautiful one’ but the second El Afarim daughter. The ‘spare’ to Jamalia’s heiress, the problematic one as her father so often reminded her.
So she knew who he was, but this wasn’t the Nabil she knew—had thought she knew. This was a harder man, a darker man. Someone she no longer recognised or even wanted to understand.
Someone she no longer wanted to spend any more time with, even if all the cells in her body still burned from the contact that had seared through her.
‘Sir.’
It was all she could manage through lips that were as stiff as wood. She’d turned it into a sort of acknowledgement of his command, but she couldn’t make her body move away from him, or force her rubbery legs to walk away, as the arrogant lift of his hand, the snap of his fingers, had indicated.
But she didn’t need to. Nabil, it seemed, had had enough of this situation. He had no intention of lingering any longer. Instead he had turned on his heel and was marching towards the doors away from the balcony, this time with her tossed from his mind without a second thought, his attention firmly on the gathering back inside the palace. He didn’t even spare her a single backward glance.
And for that she could only be thankful. She had fought to keep her composure and just about managed it, but now she didn’t want Nabil to see the other darker battle she was having with her innermost self.
Tears burned at the back of her eyes and clogged her throat, stinging brutally. But she would not let them fall. Not until Nabil had gone. Not until he had disappeared back into the lighted room in a swish of silken robes, letting the glazed doors swing to behind him as they closed against her.
Then at last she bowed her head and gave in to her feelings, acknowledging the moment of misery as she admitted the way she felt now. This was not the Nabil she had adored on sight. Now he was someone else entirely. Another man, a harder, colder being and one she could never imagine ever wanting to get close to. The bitter sense of loss was almost more than she could bear.
‘LET IT BE DONE.’
Nabil’s own words echoed inside his head as he acknowledged the sweeping bow that his chancellor made before him.
Just four short words and he had set in motion the process that would change his life—and hopefully his country’s future—for ever.
Things had moved faster than he had anticipated. He had never thought that he would be here today, ready to take the final step in selecting an arranged bride for himself, less than a month after the tenth anniversary celebrations for Karim and Clemmie. But of course, the traditions and procedures for such an event had been written into the constitution of Rhastaan since the beginnings of time, it seemed, and all he had to do was to speak those four formal words and the whole process swung into action, largely without his involvement.
Until now.
Now it seemed that everyone needed him and his part in the ceremony had suddenly become vital; his opinion, his choice, the only thing that was needed before the process of turning his bride of convenience into the Sheikha of Rhastaan was ready to be finalised.
To
