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‘With my brother gone, I was the Crown Prince. I inherited everything—his title, his lands—his fiancée.’
‘His...You would have married the woman who had been engaged to your brother? She would have become your wife?’
Why ever not? What else would I do? He didn’t have to say the words; they were there in the cold-eyed look he turned on her.
‘The marriage was arranged between the Princess of Salahara and the Crown Prince of Markhazad. It didn’t matter who held the title.’
‘So you...’ Was this behind the way he had behaved in the cottage? Why he had held back, pushed her aside as if she was contaminating him. ‘You’re married?’
If his expression had been cold before, it was positively glacial now. She’d trampled in unawares, and the glare he turned on her sent a damp shiver crawling down her spine.
‘I am not married. She would not have me.’
Was the woman mad? Clemmie had no idea what his brother had been like, but given the chance of having Karim as her husband—arranged marriage or not—what woman would be crazy enough to turn down the idea?
‘I don’t believe you. There had to be more to it than that.’
‘There was.’
Well, she’d pushed for that answer, but did she really want to hear the rest of what he had to say? Her throat felt so tight and horribly dry that she couldn’t have asked him to stop if she’d tried.
Karim stalked away from her, the beautiful white robe swirling around his taut frame, his dark gaze fixed on a point some distance beyond the window. A point that she was convinced he was not actually seeing.
‘Meleya was promised to my brother almost from birth. Then, when she was eighteen, she came to live in the palace, to get to know him. Their marriage was arranged—a date fixed, but my brother was out of the palace a lot. He was restless, unsettled. One day I followed him. I saw him with another woman.’
Cold, stiff, deeply disapproving of the way his brother had behaved. Did this man have no gentler streak in him, no understanding of what the softer feelings might mean? Was there only duty and honour in his make-up?
‘That was the day that Razi crashed his car,’ he said.
Did Karim know how his hand had moved to his chest, to rub at the spot where the scars, barely healed by time, ridged his skin under the fine material of his robe? Clemmie didn’t need reminding just how he had got the damage to his body.
‘You tried to save him.’ And, of course, to save the honour of his family.
‘I tried to get them both out. I failed.’
Did he even realise who he was speaking to? His eyes still had that unfocused stare into the distance.
‘She was a married woman—married to someone else.’
Clemmie’s throat closed up, shutting off her breath so that she thought she was going to choke. No wonder he felt so strongly about these things. It was no surprise after seeing his brother die in such circumstances. The pain of loss must be like the scars on his body. Healed over but still there, still needing to be lived around.
‘Meleya’s father refused to let her marry anyone from my brother’s family.’
And that would have been the final insult, the final realisation that his brother had damaged the honour of his family, so that even his arranged bride would turn away. Clemmie felt that she could see why Karim had felt obliged to come and fetch her, to fulfil the debt his father owed, to restore his family’s honour in the eyes of his world.
Impulsively she moved forward, laid a hand on his arm.
‘I’m sorry.’
Polished jet eyes dropped to where her hand rested against his, her fingers manicured now, nails polished and groomed in a way they had never been before. Then he lifted his gaze again, clashed with hers, and held.
She should move away, Clemmie told herself. Should take her hand from his arm and step back as far away as possible. If she was wise—if she was sensible...
But she didn’t feel sensible. She didn’t want to move away. Even when she saw his head move, angling slightly so that she knew what was coming. His eyes were fixed on her lips, so intent that she could almost taste him already, know the pressure of his mouth on hers. And she wanted it. Needed it like breathing.
It was her last chance. The last time. He had said that he had come here to say goodbye and she knew that nothing could possibly change that. How could the man who valued honour so much—and now she knew why—ever do anything else? This was the last time she would see him. The last time she would touch him. The last time she would...
She didn’t know if she moved first or if it was Karim. She only knew that at some place, halfway between them, their lips met and clung, breath mingling, eyes closing the better to experience the sensations that were flaring through every nerve, every cell.
Her hands twisted in his, turning, clutching, clinging. Time evaporated, their surroundings disappearing into a buzzing haze. There was only her and this man who just by existing had taught her what it meant to be a woman. How it meant to feel as a woman. To know the wild and carnal force that was sexual need, sexual hunger. She didn’t care what might come between them, what Karim might put between them, she only knew that what she wanted was right here and now, in this place and—her breath escaped in a choking cry as his arms closed round her, hauling her tight up against him.
Swinging her round, he almost slammed her up against the wall, the marble hard and cold against her spine, the turquoise silk little to no protection against its cold smoothness. She welcomed it. She needed it to keep her in reality, her feet on this planet. Everywhere else in her was fire and heat, a conflagration that pulsed with every beat of her heart.
She was crushed between him and the wall, feeling the hardness of his need pressed against her and, with an instinct as old as time, she moved, adjusted her position so that his erection was held in the cradle of her pelvis, as close as she could get to the hungry pulse low down in her own body.
‘Clemen...’ Karim began but because she feared what he might say in spite of the evidence of his body against hers, she reached up, laced her fingers in the dark, crisp hair and pulled his head down to meet hers, her mouth opening to his.
He tasted wonderful. He felt wonderful. The jet-black hair slid under her fingers, the strong bones of his skull hard against their tips. He smelt wonderful, the scent of his body enclosing her like incense, making her senses spin. She couldn’t believe that it had only been a couple of days since she had been close to him like this. It felt like a lifetime since he had been in the cocoon of blankets and had held her close.
But she had wanted more then and she wanted more now. In fact, she’d had more then. She’d had the real closeness of skin on skin, the touch of his hands on her flesh.
And it still hadn’t been enough.
It could never be enough. The hunger that had started then had only grown in the time in between. The yearning that had built with the thought that Karim had left, that he had gone out of her life was overwhelming, taking her over. He’d come to say goodbye and she couldn’t let him go, couldn’t end it now without knowing, without experiencing more. It was obvious that Nabil wasn’t interested in her. He might be bound to her by law, by diplomacy, but he had yet to show any interest in her as a person.
Her future might be mapped out for her by others, dictated by treaties and politics, but there were still a few days before those treaties came into being, before she was actually twenty-three. And for the first time in her life she was in the arms of a man who made her heart pound, who heated her blood, and drove all rational thought from her mind. She wanted this. She wanted Karim. No one else could ever create this feeling inside her. This need. This hunger. She wasn’t going to waste this excitement, this magic on anyone else.
His mouth was at the base of her throat, his teeth grazing the fine skin over her racing pulse, his lips hot on her skin as he muttered her name, thick and raw. But it was when his hand skimmed up over her body, making her breasts burn, her nipples sting, that she moaned her hunger aloud, wild and unrestrained. The fire between her legs was making her writhe against Karim’s hard powerful form, heat and moisture flooding her with every touch, every kiss. He was tugging at the turquoise silk, wrenching it aside, ripping the fine fabric as he did so, the tearing sound telling her that his own control was lost as much as hers. He was oblivious to where he was, to the fact that there was only the door between them and the rest of the palace.
Between them and total exposure.
‘We can’t do this here...’
She pulled his head up again, muttered the words roughly against his lips, terrified not so much that anyone might hear but that he might try to speak, to deny what was between them. They only had today. Just a few short hours. Surely he would not deny her... He couldn’t...
She wasn’t going to give him the chance as she clamped her mouth against his, met the invasion of his tongue with the welcome of her own. Somehow, awkwardly, sideways, she edged him towards the secret inner stairway she had discovered only the previous day. The small staircase that was used by the royal family only, hidden from public view. With Karim’s back against the wall this time, she urged him onwards, upwards, holding his head prisoner against hers with one hand while she let her other hand stroke over his straining body, touching, caressing, teasing, deliberately tormenting him so that he wouldn’t be able to think, to have any hesitation. She caught his moans of response in her own mouth, tasting his breath and the hunger on it as she urged him up towards the door to her room, each step a near stumble of need and yearning as they climbed blind, somehow making it to the landing without mishap.
