The Defiant Princess (19 page)

He'd craved love and never received it from his mother. Then, as a young man at Oxford he'd fallen heavily for one of his older female tutors. He'd thought they had something special and began to believe love existed—only to find his illusions crushed when he discovered he was only one of a number of young students she used to satisfy her insatiable lust. He'd vowed never to expose himself to the weakness of loving a woman again.

But children needed love.

Would Inaya have loved their children? He felt his brows draw together in a frown. His father had been right when he'd said that Khalid's choice of wife had been an academic one. Last night, he'd visited Inaya to explain that his choice of bride had been taken out of his hands. He needn't have been feeling badly that his father had already taken it upon himself to tell Inaya. Whilst Khalid's former lover had always hinted about their future together, she was nonplussed when he made his apologies. She'd been cool and controlled—the very characteristics which had convinced him that she'd make a good queen. In retrospect, he realised that their interludes in the bedroom had also been rather controlled.

His eyes were drawn back to his fiancée—a woman who was more hot than cold, and who he quite possibly didn't have a hope of controlling. Sabihah would love their children. He was sure of it. Her behaviour with the sick children had been spontaneous and natural demonstrating both an ability to empathise with others and her inherent desire to support those she came in contact with.

Marriage to the Princess of Rhajia was becoming increasingly appealing. An unfamiliar excitement stirred in him when he acknowledged that their marriage would be a reality in the next twenty-four hours.

Khalid took Sabihah's hand as they made their goodbyes, but the slight contact with her was unsatisfying. He had to resist the urge to lift her up into his arms and stride out of the building. His patience strained on a tight leash as they followed the head of security at an annoyingly sedate pace through the corridors. He wanted to be far away from the smell of hospital disinfectant. Khalid knew a strong need to spirit Sabihah away into the desert where there would be just the spicy scent of the desert and the unique scent of her.

“Good luck tomorrow!”

“Congratulations!”

Good wishes were called out by a crowd who had gathered in front of the hospital.

“One more photo, please?” a photographer requested as the royal couple reached the waiting limousine.

“Why not?” Khalid agreed.

He caught Sabihah off-guard as he blocked her way into the vehicle. Pulling her into his arms and against his body, he took advantage of the way her mouth opened in surprise. She'd broken countless royal protocols that afternoon. Be damned if he wasn't entitled to do the same thing.

In the end, he knew he had no choice. He couldn't wait one more second to claim her lush lips with his own. And what shouldn't even have been a momentary meeting of mouths in front of the paparazzi, escalated instantly into a raging, all-consuming inferno, fanned by the fuel of their need for each other.

He captured her head in his hands and slanted his lips over hers, losing himself in the moist sweetness of her mouth. Her instant response and the flutter of her long eyelashes splintered the last shredded remnants of his control. Hunger gnawed at his belly and arrows of hormone-driven need shot to his groin. His arousal spiked and strained for completion.

Satisfaction roared through him as she raised her hands to his shoulders and softened against him. There was no mistaking the answering tremors of need that ran through her, nor her little mews of frustrated wanting. As he deepened the kiss, he only just heard her satisfied sigh over the rush and pounding of his blood in his ears.

All awareness of the paparazzi receded. His entire world and existence centred on his potent, all-consuming need to possess this woman and to fully explore the maelstrom of passion that engulfed them.

Just as he would've probed the warm interior of her mouth with his tongue, a piercing wolf-whistle broke through to his consciousness. Sabrina stiffened against him then began pulling away.

Shock at his own blatant public possession paralysed him for a few seconds. As soon as his hold on her slackened, she bolted. He stood and watched her trim figure make a frantic dive into the privacy of the limousine.

Only years of public training enabled him to face the paparazzi with dignity. “The union of Turastan and Rhajia is something that King Hassan and King Akram planned many years ago. It's indeed a blessing that this arrangement between our fathers is something Princess Sabihah and I are able to embrace on both a political and personal level,” he claimed with confidence. “We're looking forward to our marriage and our years together.”

Ice-blue daggers shot from her eyes as he entered the limousine. As soon as the door closed behind him, she erupted in anger.

“Years? Ha!” Her voice was blistering in its outrage. “Our marriage won't last a month, and there was absolutely no need to kiss me.”

“There was every need to kiss you.”

“Why? So the world would buy this marriage as being real and welcome instead of staged and short-lived?”

“No.” He regarded her steadily, admiring the magnificence of her elemental anger rather than being cowed by it. She was a truly passionate woman. His heartbeat quickened as he thought of all that passion unleashed in his bed.

“Then what the devil was that all about?”

Her breasts rose and fell with each agitated breath. They were pure temptation, luring him to reach out and caress them. He clasped his hands together in an effort to restrain himself.

“That, Princess, was about our mutual need to kiss.”

Her lips parted, most likely in readiness to deny his claim. But he would have none of that. “The chemistry between us is stronger than anything I've ever experienced.”

“You were more likely worked up after being with the beautiful Dr Namir and you grabbed me because I was the first female available.”

He felt his eyes narrow. “You insult us both when you speak that way.”

“Dr Namir's behaviour was insulting. It would be brazen for a Westerner to act that way, especially to royalty. I can't believe she did that here in Turastan.”

“Don't stereotype the Middle-Eastern nations. This is a very modern country.” He pointed outside to the bustling city where glass buildings reached to the sky and many women were casually clad. “Women are free to adopt Western dress if they choose to do so. Many women receive tertiary education and hold high-ranking positions in corporations and the civil service. Don't forget that your own country is about to have a female ruler.”

“Well
that
woman back there was the epitome of both modern and brazen. She was obviously making a play for you and you did nothing to discourage her.”

“Were you jealous?”

“Of course not,” she said, but would not meet his eyes.

“You behaved as though you were jealous.” He was unable to keep the amusement from his voice.

Blue eyes flew to his once again. “How? By holding your arm? I thought you expected me to put on a show.”

“You were very possessive.”

“As far as the public know, I'm your fiancée. At your insistence, we're getting married tomorrow instead of waiting until I'm recognized as heir to the Rhajian throne. That woman was disrespectful to me in the way she looked at you, not to mention the way she pawed and spoke to you …
Prince Khalid
.” She adopted a coy look and did her best to imitate the sultry tones of Dr Namir.

Her attempt to imitate the doctor made him throw back his head against the plush leather headrest of the limousine and laugh.

“Don't laugh at me.” One hand shot forward and she slapped at his leg. “You know I'm right about her. Have you been lovers?”

Sobering, he sat forward. “Would it bother you if we had?”

“No!” Her denial came too quickly.

Her jealousy filled him with satisfaction and that was amazing in itself. The first sign of possessiveness from any of his mistresses had caused him to feel uneasy and he'd ended those relationships immediately. He was pleased she wasn't indifferent about the possibility of other women in his life.

“We share a past,” he told her simply, “but it was over between us a long time ago. Her uncle is a high-ranking advisor to my father and they're close friends. I believe he and my father may have recently discussed the suitability of Aanya as my wife.”

“No wonder she was hostile.” She crossed one leg and angled her body away from him, then busied herself by smoothing down the fabric of her skirt. It was classic defensive body language.

“Sabihah, although there have been many women in my life—”

“And in your bed,” she interjected.

“The reports by the press have been grossly exaggerated. Still, I don't mind you being possessive,
habiba
.”

She uncrossed her legs and sat straighter. “I'm not possessive and I'm not your darling.”

“I wouldn't tolerate another man flirting with you,” he observed with a warning note. “Nor would I tolerate you flirting with another man.”

“Except that I'm not your fiancée. Not really.”

He reached out and took her left hand in his to examine her engagement ring. “Make no mistakes, Sabihah. You are my real fiancée. By tomorrow night, you'll be my real wife.”

She snatched her hand out of his grasp. “Inaya should be your wife.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Things do not always go according to plan.”

“So you just make the best of a bad situation?
Me
being the bad situation?”

Khalid felt his eyebrows rise as she sought reassurance. She was jealous and uncertain of herself. As his future wife, she had no reason to be. He was captivated by both her beauty and spirit to a degree he'd never experienced. In time, once he'd taken her as his lover, this level of interest in her would no doubt wane. Despite that inevitability, he fully intended to honour his wedding vows. Faithfulness in marriage was part of his duty both to his country and to his brother's memory. It was also part of his moral code. He may not understand the savage force of his attraction to this princess, but he understood his duty and his conscience.

“Don't underestimate yourself, Sabihah. You have a lot to recommend you. You already know I desire you.”

“Yes. Even when you were planning on marrying Inaya. From what I already know and have read about you, that isn't much of a compliment.” Her arms crossed across her chest in the perfect picture of huffiness. “You desire just about anyone in a skirt.”

“That is far from the truth.” He tried to keep a serious expression in the face of her petulance. “I've never been attracted to any of the Scotsmen I've met.”

He watched as she seemed to battle the smile which threatened to disrupt the perfect study of condemnation she'd arranged on her features. Iron-clad control won. Her expression remained stony.

“Fine,” she conceded. “I'll amend that. You desire anything in a skirt that doesn't have hairy legs. And just for the record, Scotsmen wear kilts—not skirts.”

***

Sabrina was determined not to bend to his practised charm. He was far too dangerous to her peace of mind. His masculinity held lethal appeal to all her feminine desires.

Without warning, he reached out and stroked her leg with his palm. Quivers of hot delight ran from where his hand touched right up to the core of her. She jolted and uncrossed her arms as a deep, inner contraction of need shook her.

“Unlike a Scot, your legs are silky smooth. I'm looking forward to exploring every inch of you with my hands and my mouth.”

“No.” The word was choked out but her traitorous body stayed still. She did nothing to move away from the contact of his hand as he moved the hem of her skirt up her thigh. It was all she could do not to press into the heat of his palm. Grasping for detachment, she ordered herself not to move her knees apart to offer him greater access.

“Admit it, Sabihah. You crave my touch.” His hand slid to the inside of her leg. Long, confident fingers caressed upward, his hand pushing up her skirt even higher. His other hand captured her right hand. “You want me to touch you and you want to reach out and touch me just as badly.”

Automatic denial made her shake her head but she could only focus on the path of his hand while she perpetuated the lie. She closed her eyes to block the vision but the action only increased the sharp awareness of her other senses.

His touch caused her to shiver with need. She inhaled deeply in appreciation of his sandalwood cologne. Combined with the pure essence of powerful male, it was a heady blend.

“Don't try to deny it, Sabihah. We were both in flames just minutes ago despite the presence of the paparazzi. Now your body is telling me again how much you want me. I feel you trembling. I sense the battle you're waging as you try to hold yourself stiff when you want to yield to me.”

His body was close. His marauding fingers reached her bikini line and trailed over the silk of her panties. Her eyes flew open and she cried out as he stopped to linger over and circle the nub of sensitive nerve endings beneath the silk.

“You're so ready for me,” he told her. “Even the scent of your arousal betrays your desire.”

Oh my God. That was just too mortifying.

She jerked away from him, catapulting to the corner of the limousine. “No!” Her knees snapped together. “As hard as it is for you to believe you're irresistible to any woman, I don't want you.”

“Tomorrow you will be my wife.” He sighed and leaned back against the sumptuous leather seat of the limousine, looking far cooler than she was feeling. “There will be many words tripping from your tongue, but none of them will include the word
no
.”