Royal Weddings: The Sheikh's Princess Bride / The Doctor Takes a Princess / Crown Prince's Chosen Bride

‘Hold on.’ He moved, pressing her up against the wall. She heard the chink of his belt buckle, felt him fumble between them. Then he was fighting his way past her long skirts, shoving the silk up her legs till she felt a waft of air on her bare thighs.

She almost slipped but big hands hoisted her higher, guiding her legs till they encircled his waist. And all the time his eyes held hers. It was as if she hovered on the brink of diving into a fathomless mountain pool.

Except it was heat she felt as he ripped her panties away and she gasped with horrified delight. Pure fire she touched as with one sure thrust Tariq embedded himself deep within her.

She was so incredibly full, as if he stretched her to the limit. As if they’d become one, she thought hazily as he retreated, then thrust hard again, creating ripples of delight that took her straight to the edge. She grabbed tight, needing this oneness with him.

‘Samira.’ He ground the word, his jaw hard, his hands heavy on her body. She revelled in his touch and moved eagerly with him. He paused, then surged again, taking her to new heights. ‘You have no idea how I hunger for you.’

She tried to gulp in enough air to catch her breath. ‘I do.’ It made her desperate, this unquenchable need for her husband. But the more she gave, the more she trusted him, the stronger it grew. ‘I want you all the time,’ she gasped.

He stilled and she almost cried out in frustration. Till she registered his expression. She couldn’t interpret it, but those eyes gleamed more brightly than ever. As if they could burn right through her.

When he stroked again, he took her to heaven’s door. The world burst into fireworks. Through a haze of bliss she just caught his words.

‘I’ve always wanted you, Samira. Always. And now you’re mine.’

* * *

Samira lay sprawled across Tariq on the bed, her limbs dissolved, her head on his heaving chest. His heart hammered beneath her ear, rapid like hers. Her palm rested on his chest, fingers furrowed into the smattering of hair that she still found so intriguing.

‘I don’t think I can walk,’ she whispered.

She felt more than heard his huff of laughter. ‘Good. I don’t want you going anywhere.’ He pulled her closer, as if just the thought of her moving wasn’t to be considered.

Samira smiled sleepily. She’d lost her shoes when he carried her here and her dress was twisted around her hips but she didn’t have the strength to move. His breath was hot on her face and his hand played languidly with her hair, loose to her waist. She felt...replete. As if there was nowhere she’d rather be. Not in her work room. Not even with the twins.

‘I like that you’re so strong.’ She rubbed her face against his skin, inhaling that delicious scent: essence of Tariq. ‘The way you held me back there...’ Just thinking about it made her inner muscles clench in remembered pleasure. Samira adored it when Tariq’s loving was slow and thorough but hard and fast definitely had a lot to recommend it.

‘I like that you’re so eager for me.’ She heard the smile in his voice and imagined his smug grin. No wonder. He’d overturned her ‘no sex’ rule in mere days and now she couldn’t get enough of him.

It was just sex, of course. Sex and liking. A marriage with benefits.

Yet his earlier words lingered in her mind, teasing her.

‘What did you mean—you’ve always wanted me? Since the day I came to you in Paris?’

Tariq said nothing. His fingers dragged through her hair, making her head tilt up. From here she saw his solidly hewn jaw and the strong column of his throat as he swallowed.

‘Tariq?’

‘Since then too. When you came to the hotel in that tight skirt and jacket I wanted to rip them right off you.’ His fingers strayed across to her hip, distracting her as he traced delicate whorls of pleasure on her flesh.

Samira wriggled and clamped her hand on his, making him stop.

‘Since then too? What does that mean?’

He sighed. ‘You always were tenacious, weren’t you?’

She’d had to be. If she’d waited for her parents to give her guidance she’d have waited all her life. She’d had to cling to her dreams, forging her career despite the roadblocks: disbelief that a princess actually wanted to learn to sew; prejudice from peers, teachers and the public who thought she wasn’t serious or that she’d pulled strings to get her sought-after training place.

‘It’s not a trick question, Tariq. What did you mean?’

‘What I said. I’ve always wanted you.’

The words shimmered in the air, simple yet devastating. Samira blinked, trying to get her head around them.

‘Define “always”.’

‘You’re not going to let it go, are you?’ He lifted his head and fixed her with a stern eye. She stared back. He might be the Sheikh of Al Sarath but she was his wife. She had a right to know.

Tariq let his head drop back on the pillow. Beneath her hand his fingers resumed their leisurely exploration of her hip.

‘I’ve wanted you for years. Since you were seventeen, to be precise,’ he said at last, effectively stealing her voice. Samira’s heart fluttered.

‘I remember coming to Jazeer that winter as usual. My uncle encouraged me to learn as much as possible about our neighbouring states.’ Silently Samira nodded. Tariq’s stern uncle had been his guardian till Tariq had come of age. He’d raised his orphaned nephew along with his own much younger sons. She’d often thought that was why Tariq had been so patient with her. How many boys and young men put up with their best friend’s kid sister following wherever they went?

But wanting her since she was seventeen? She felt like someone had upended her world, leaving it altered for ever.

At seventeen Samira had been increasingly aware of Tariq, not just as her brother’s friend but as the sort of man a teenage girl could hang her dreams on: those dreamy eyes; the deep, smooth voice that did strange things to her insides and still did. That tough, lean body.

Her younger self had been embarrassed and excited by the new daydreams she’d begun to have about him. She’d even wondered if she’d given herself away and that was why he’d left so abruptly, never to return.

‘I never suspected,’ she said at last.

‘Of course not. That would have been unforgivable. You were my best friend’s sister. And you were far too young. You weren’t meant to know.’

Samira frowned. ‘Never?’

What if she’d known years ago that Tariq had been attracted to her? She’d spent long enough mulling over her mistakes to know her infatuation with Jackson Brent had stemmed as much from self-doubt and her need for love, as from his attractiveness and his efforts to charm her.

Despite her looks, perhaps because of them, Samira had always harboured a fear she was fatally flawed, all show and no substance. Maybe because her parents had never really cared for her, she’d always secretly believed she was unlovable. Hence her reckless leap into a relationship with the first man to sweep her off her feet.

Knowing that a man she respected, like Tariq, was attracted to her... Could that have changed her attitude and given her a little more confidence?

Or was that wishful thinking?

‘You were untouchable, Samira. It wouldn’t have been right. That’s why I left.’

Had he really wanted so badly to touch her? There was something in his voice, an echo of regret that resonated deep.

Samira twisted, lifting her head to look at his face. His forehead was corrugated, his mouth set in a firm line.

‘You left because of me?’ A flurry of emotion hit her—regret, dismay and delight.

Tariq raised one arm, slipping his hand beneath his head. His biceps bulged, a reminder of his latent power. Heat streamed through her all over again. She blinked, distracted by the urgent flutter of response in her belly.

‘What else could I do? I felt guilty, lusting after a kid who looked on me as a big brother.’ His tone was hard.