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That stone thing in him sank deeper. Grew harder. And he hated it all the more.
Kavian was finished talking. He hooked a hand around her neck and jerked her to him, noting with a fierce surge of satisfaction that her nipples were already stiff when they came into contact with his chest.
And then he bent his head and devoured her.
He kissed her with all the roughness within him. That wild thing that battered at him. That uncivilized creature that would have locked her away if it could have, that still thought it might. That great stone, that vast weight, that exploded into hunger the more he tasted of her. The man he could not be for her burst from him and into that kiss. He took her mouth like a storm, a great dark invasion, holding nothing back—
And she met him.
More than met him.
It was wild. Raw. Elemental.
He didn’t know if she tore his clothing or he did. He knew he ripped open the bodice of her gown to get at her breasts, to worship them. He knew he sank his hands in the concoction of her hair, the great glory of it.
And God, the taste of her. It blocked out the world.
Then they were down on the floor, right there in his office, rolling and tearing at each other and wild. A hunger unlike any other roared in him, and in her, too. He could feel it as well as his own intense passion.
He thrust into her with more need than finesse. She screamed out his name, and he dug his fists into the thick rug beneath them, holding himself still while she clenched and shook around him and rode out her pleasure, her fingers digging hard into his back.
“Thank you,” she whispered again, like the blessing he didn’t deserve.
And that was when Kavian began to move.
* * *
The banquet the night before the wedding that was being fancifully billed in all the papers as East Meets West at Last—a rather theatrical name for what was, at the end of the day, a rehearsal dinner—seemed to drag on forever, Amaya thought. Dignitaries and aristocrats, many of whom had come in days before, lined the tables in the vast ballroom. A band played. Servants outdid themselves, a brace of belly dancers performed during one of the early courses and Kavian lounged there at the head of the high table with his slate-gray eyes fixed on her as if he expected her to bolt at any moment.
As if he could read her mind, even as she smiled and laughed and played her part for the assembled throng.
The meal ended after what seemed like several excruciating lifetimes and the worst part was, Amaya thought as she stood and dispensed her thanks to the guests, this was all her fault. There was something wrong inside her. Twisted. Not right. There was no other explanation. How else could she come to terms with the fact that she simply could not resist this man? Because if she’d had any kind of backbone, as he’d pointed out to her himself, she’d have attempted to escape him. She’d have done it, come to that. And she wouldn’t have found herself standing here, poised to do the only thing worse than what she’d done to him six months back.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” Her mother’s voice sliced into her, but Amaya only smiled harder, hoping no one was paying too close attention as the crowd moved from the tables to the great room beyond, where desserts were to be passed instead of served, the better for the politicians to wield their trade as they moved from group to group.
Was she ready? How could Amaya still not know?
“Yes,” she said, because she didn’t want to second-guess herself. She didn’t want to keep ripping herself apart.
“It’s the right thing, darling. You’ll see.” But what Amaya heard was that thread of triumph in her mother’s voice. That hint of smugness. “Men like him can only be the way they are. It never changes.”
“Mother.” She had to check her tone, remind herself where they were. “You don’t actually know him. You know his title.”
“I know men.”
“You know what you want to know, and nothing more.” Amaya glanced around, afraid someone might have overheard that tense tone in her voice, but most of the guests had moved toward the other side of the great hall and on toward the waiting courtyard. She and Elizaveta were as alone as it was possible to be in such a great crowd.
Her mother’s gaze was as cool as her smile was polished. “I don’t know what you mean, Amaya.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Amaya’s smile felt welded to her face. “This isn’t the place to discuss it.”
They would have all their lonely lives for that, she thought—and she felt hollow. Utterly empty and dark. But that was to be expected. She wouldn’t be leaving Daar Talaas unscathed. She’d be surprised if she even recognized herself.
