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ELON RAN HIS FINGERS through his thick, dark hair, a frown on his face. The day had been long and busy. From the minute his security detail had converged on the helicopter at first light, he’d had to swing into action, moving the pieces around to protect Ella from the gossip that was inevitable, given the obvious fact they’d spent the night together in a secluded cabin. While his security detail contained only his most trusted men, he knew secrecy couldn’t be guaranteed.

Timing was imperative.

He’d commanded his Chief of Security to call a meeting of senior government ministers as soon as he returned to the Palace, and he’d entrusted Ella to the care of another member of his staff. He’d seen the fear in her eyes, the anxiety, and he’d wanted to push everyone away from her, to draw her into his arms and kiss her until she collapsed against him, her heart raging, a smile on those full, pink lips of hers.

But he couldn’t indulge those desires easily – not yet. A woman with her reputation – unwarranted, as it turned out – needed an air of propriety, and it was up to him to ensure she had that. For this reason, he had her installed in a suite of rooms reserved for visiting dignitaries, far from his own bedroom. It was better for gossip to be kept to a minimum, but he resented the necessity of that. He would have preferred to have her warm, responsive, naked body in his bed immediately.

Between the fallout from the terrorist attack, the necessary police interviews, the investigation between the various attendant countries, and the shock from his marriage announcement, he felt as though he’d been putting out fires all day. One of the most surprising of all had been Tasim’s reaction. Far from being relieved that Ella was finally settling down, Tasim had been furious with Elon, practically threatening all-out war if he dared hurt his half-sister.

But Elon didn’t want to hurt her.

Guilt and recriminations swam through him. He thought of the way she’d looked when they’d arrived at the palace, the square set of her shoulders as though she were trying, desperately, to convince everyone she was completely fine. Only he could see the thundering of the pulse point at the base of her throat, the panic deep in her beautiful, feline eyes.

With a muttered oath, he stood from behind his desk, striding to the door before he could second-guess his intentions. Close to midnight, the palace was empty except for a light security presence. He moved without noticing the guards who stood periodically through the hallways, his long robes billowing behind him as he moved from the wing he used for official state business into the area of the palace more commonly used by guests. He didn’t stop to question his intention until he reached the door to her suite, and even then, Elon refused to give in to doubts.

He knocked once on the door then pushed it inwards without waiting for a response, his obsidian gaze scanning the room quickly. She wasn’t asleep, and he was glad. He watched as she spun around, indignation giving way to surprise, before she tamped down on her expressive face, arranging her features into a cool mask of polite calm.

“Your Highness.”

He locked the door behind himself, crossing his arms over his chest. “I suspect you use my title to put distance between us, but I should tell you, I find it incredibly sexy.”

Her lips parted and he grew hard, his body responding with instant, powerful recognition.

“How do you feel?”

She bit down on her lip, apparently surprised by the question. “Why?”

He frowned, moving deeper into the room, drawn to her by some ancient, primal need. “You were caught in an explosion yesterday, and a lot has happened since then.”

“You mean your bullying me into marriage?” She responded tartly, then dropped her eyes as if regretting her outburst.

He smiled though, fully aware she understood the necessity of this marriage as much as he did.

“Has there been any further word on the explosion? What caused it?”

Elon compressed his lips. The detailed intelligence report had confirmed his suspicions. “Rogue operatives,” he said, lips grim. “A band of three insurgents, who have already been caught.”

Her lips parted. “But why?”

“Peace does not benefit everybody,” he said with a shrug. “Enough about these men – they will pay for their deeds for the rest of their lives. It is done.”

He saw the way she shivered, her slender body quivering as though she couldn’t contemplate the evil of these men, nor the length of their prison sentences.

He pushed the insurgents from his mind, focussing instead on Ella, and the damage they’d wrought to her beautiful body.

“The doctor said your wounds are minor, your head injury mild.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “He said the same thing to me. Prescribed rest and lots of water.”

He closed the distance between them completely, his body only an inch or so from hers. She tilted her face up to his, so her warm breath fanned his chin.

“I would like to be sure of your health myself.”

Her eyes scanned his, as though unsure of his meaning. He lifted his fingers to the buttons of her dress, silently daring her to stop him as he undid the top button then proceeded to the next, and the next. All she did was hold her breath for several seconds before releasing it on a long, juddery wave, then held it again, over and over, until he’d reached the last button and he could push the shirt off her completely. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

His arousal jerked in his pants, and now he pushed his body to hers, pressing her back against the wall. He ran his hand over the small marks at her side, feeling the indentations there, watching as she winced a little.

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