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He began to undress, pulling back the layers that named him crown sheikh of his people until he stood before her in the soft glow of a hundred candles, his perfect body completely open to her gaze.
Skin a shade darker than hers covered bulging muscles she would not have expected in a man who spent his days playing politician. She’d always known he was strong, but now she believed the rumors that none of the security force in the palace could best him on the sparring mat.
“You look like an ancient Bedouin warrior.”
“A man cannot be weak and lead his people.”
“I have never questioned your mental stamina.”
“You mean you have questioned my physical prowess?” he asked and then laughed, the sound free and full of genuine amusement.
That laugh was as much a gift as the pleasure he drew so unnervingly from her body.
She choked on her own amusement. “Of course not, I just…”
Her eyes could not help devouring him with hungry need. He was so incredibly masculine, his hardened sex standing out from his body in impressive splendor.
“I think you like looking.”
“I think I do, too.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I don’t make it a habit of looking at naked men.”
There was that laughter again and she could not even mind it was at her expense. “I should hope not.”
“It suddenly occurs to me that I’m debilitatingly naive for a woman from my adopted country.” She doubted there was a single woman who worked on the fashion magazine that employed her as an editorial assistant that was as innocent to sexual things as Angele.
“You are exactly as you should be.”
She knew he meant it, but she could not help thinking that if she’d been a bit more experienced, perhaps he would not have found Elsa such a fascination.
She dismissed the thought as unnecessary and destructive. Elsa Bosch was not here, was not even in Zahir’s life any longer. Angele was. For now. And at this moment in time, that was all that mattered.
“I think I could stand here and let you look and you would come from that alone.”
“Arrogant.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps, but you cannot know what a pleasure it is to have those doe-soft brown eyes eating me up like the tastiest dessert at the feast.”
“I doubt there is another man alive who I would find more appealing.” She didn’t mind telling him the truth.
Tonight was not for self-protection. That started tomorrow. When she flew back to the States, no longer a virgin and no longer the promised future bride to the heir to the throne of Zohra. “Naturally.”
She laughed again, her heart tripping in her chest at his obvious desire to be seen as the best in her eyes.
“Naturally.”
“No other woman can compare to you lying on my bed as you are.”
Wearing his grandmother’s galabeya, he meant, looking like the bride she would never be. But surprisingly the thought did not make her sad, but rather brought a smile to her face. “You’ve never brought another woman in here, have you?”
“Of course not.”
“You’re living out your teen fantasies, aren’t you?” she teased.
He shook his head. “They’re much more recent than that.”
