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‘These men will not harm you.’
Her eyes flashed with fear. ‘What did you do?’
His laugh was gruff. ‘Not what I wished, believe me. They will spend a long time in prison for this though.’
‘So if the threat is gone...’
‘There are always madmen, Daisy, with political agendas.’
‘You can’t protect me from everything for ever.’
‘No.’ A muscle jerked in his jaw. ‘But I can try.’
She thought of his mother then, who was murdered by madmen such as those apprehended this evening. His mother who had been pregnant with another child, and whose death had caused the beginning of the end for Sariq’s relationship with his father. And a part of Daisy wanted, more than anything, to console Sariq. It was a selfish need though, because she also needed consoling. She needed distracting. She wanted to feel alive and safe, and present in the moment.
Reaching to her face, she pulled his hands away, stepping back from him to give them a little space. Then, slowly, deliberately, she reached for the straps of the dress, guiding them down her arms slowly, her eyes on his the whole time.
‘What are you doing?’ There was an expression of panic on his features, as though he knew that if she started this, he wouldn’t be able to stop it.
‘What does it look like?’
His eyes closed for a moment, then pierced her with their intensity. ‘Daisy...’
She shook her head then, and the desert breeze lifted some of her fair blonde hair, blowing it across her cheeks.
‘I don’t want to think right now. I don’t want to think about plots to kill me, threats, nothing. I don’t want to think about dangers and politics.’ The dress dropped to the floor at her feet. She stepped out of it, mindful of the beautiful silk lingerie she wore, grateful Zahrah had presented her with the set that evening.
‘I just want to feel.’ She stood where she was, her eyes fixed to his, her lips parted a little. ‘Will you make me feel, Your Highness?’
Invoking that formal title made his eyes flare wider. He released a low, growling sound, then shook his head, but it was obvious he was holding on by a thread. ‘You’ll regret this.’
‘Perhaps.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘But that doesn’t mean I don’t want it to happen right now.’
He took a step towards her and her breath hissed from between her teeth, sharp and intense. ‘You don’t know what you’re asking of me.’
She lifted a brow. ‘Really? Do you need me to spell it out?’
He didn’t react to her attempt at humour.
‘Make love to me, Sariq. Please.’
He cursed every word he knew in all the languages he spoke, but nothing helped. His wife—his beautiful, pregnant, desirable wife—was asking him to sleep with her and, despite the promise he’d made on the plane, he felt his resolve weakening.
He wanted her every bit as much as always. There was no absolving himself of this desire even when he knew it was fraught with potential dangers. They we
re married, true, but not for any reason other than this child. Becoming lovers could complicate that.
He needed to be clear.
He was a man of honour, and he had no intention of misleading his wife. ‘Just sex.’ He lifted a finger to her lips, pressing there gently. ‘And just tonight.’
Her eyes flared wide and he held his breath, needing her to agree to his terms. He couldn’t confuse what they were with physical desire. It had no part in this.
‘If you say so.’ Her eyelids fluttered and then she was pushing towards him, so he caught her in his hands, holding her to his body as he dropped his mouth and did what he’d been craving since the moment she’d walked into his embassy.
He kissed her, hard, hungrily, and it was like coming home.
Her eyes were heavy, her body too. She was warm, safe. Cradled against Sariq’s chest, his heart beating beneath her ear. Steps, marble, kerosene. A door. She nuzzled closer. Something warm was wrapped around her, a robe? His robe? She inhaled. Yes, it smelled of him. Another door, footsteps. She closed her eyes. His heartbeat was steady, loud.
