The Royal House of Karedes: The Desert Throne: Tamed: The Barbarian King / Forbidden: The Sheikh's Virgin / Scandal: His Majesty's Love-Child

There was no need to hurry, he told himself. No need to rush. He had all the time in the world.

Pulling back, he slowly moved inside her. She arched her back with a gasp, whispering rapturous words he could not hear.

With iron self-control, he thrust inside her again, riding her with increasing depth and speed. Their bodies became sweaty, sliding against each other as he pushed inside her with increasing roughness and force, almost impaling her as his muscled chest slid against the soft bounce of her breasts.

He couldn’t hold back much longer…couldn’t—

He felt her start to tighten again around him. Saw her hold her breath, then gasp, slowly letting out the air in a hiss through her full, reddened, bruised lips.

Suddenly, her nails gripped into his naked back. Screaming incomprehensible words, she twisted her hips, thrashing back and forth beneath him and he could hold back no longer. She screamed out his name, and he finally lost all control.

With a groan, he thrust inside her so deeply that almost at once, the orgasm hit him like a blow, with joy so intense he blacked out for several seconds.

It could have been minutes or hours later when he finally resurfaced. Kareef found himself naked on the bed, still holding her to his chest, with a sheet twisted haphazardly around them.

His heartbeat still hadn’t returned to normal as he looked down at her beautiful, exhausted face. Tenderly, he bent his head to kiss her dirty, smudged forehead.

Her eyelashes fluttered open, and she looked up at him without speaking. He heard the ragged pant of her breath. For a moment, he just cradled her in his arms and they looked at each other silently in the roseate glow of twilight.

Then he heard a knock, heard the door push open.

“Sire, forgive me, I was assisting at a difficult labor, but now I’m ready to see the—Oh.”

His trusted personal doctor, an elderly Qusani who’d been loyal to the Al’Ramiz family for generations, had peeked his head around the door, and clearly he’d had a shock. The physician’s cheeks burned red as he backed away. “Er—I’ll wait outside ’til you’re ready, and until then, leave the patient in your…er…capable hands.”

The man left, discreetly closing the door behind him.

Kareef and Jasmine looked at each other, still naked and sprawled across the bed, with only the twisted sheet like a rope over them.

And to his surprise, she burst into laughter.

“So much for discretion,” she said, wiping her eyes.

Kareef’s eyes couldn’t look away from her face as she laughed. Her sparkling eyes, her white teeth, the sound of her laugh. “He will never tell,” he promised. But he couldn’t stop smiling at her.

He’d never heard anything more beautiful in his life than her laugh. He’d never thought he’d hear it again.

Many hours later, after the doctor had given her scalp two stitches, bandaged her other cuts and pronounced her well, they made love several times more before they lay sleeping in each other’s arms. Or rather, Kareef held her as she slept.

He couldn’t stop looking at her.

Now, outside the window of his bedroom, he could see dawn rising over the desert, and his stomach growled. Time for breakfast, his body insisted. He realized he hadn’t eaten at all yesterday. He smiled down at Jasmine sleeping in his arms and softly caressed her cheek. He’d been distracted.

He could hardly believe he already wanted her again. They’d barely slept at all last night. They’d made love at least four times, possibly four and a half, depending on what counted and what did not.

He should just hold her and sleep. He closed his eyes. Jasmine was the only woman he’d ever wanted close like this. He suddenly realized she was the only woman he’d ever slept with, in any sense of the word.

His arms tightened around her. Then his stomach growled again, louder this time. He glanced at her, surprised the sound hadn’t startled her.

Kareef gave a resigned sigh. Careful not to wake her, he moved his arm from beneath her head and quietly dressed before he left her.

When she woke, he would surprise her. First with breakfast. He allowed himself a wicked smile. Then with dessert.

He went down the hallway to his modern kitchen and turned on the gas stove. Pulling pans off their hooks, he prepared eggs scrambled with meat, then toast and fruit. He got two plates from a cupboard and arranged them on a tray. As an afterthought, he went outside and picked a flower from the small pot of roses beside the front door.

When he came back into the house, he found Jasmine standing in the middle of the gleaming kitchen, wearing only an oversized T-shirt emblazoned with the name of some 1980s rock band.

“I couldn’t find you,” she said accusingly.

Leaning forward, he placed the rose in her hair, tucking it behind her ear as he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I was hungry.”

She smiled, looking somehow like a fairy princess in the large T-shirt with the flower in her mussed hair. “You’re hungry an awful lot,” she murmured.

Giving her a sensual grin, Kareef lifted a dark eyebrow. “You bring it out in me.”

Her forehead furrowed as she searched his gaze. Then with an intake of breath she looked down at the tray. Her voice was soft, almost impossible to hear. “It looks delicious. Who made it?”

“I did.”

She laughed, looking around the kitchen as if she expected to find three sous chefs hidden behind the huge refrigerator. “No. Really. Who made it?”

“I have no live-in staff here, Jasmine,” he said. “I told you. I don’t like being fussed over.”

She looked at him skeptically, wrinkling her nose. “You mean to tell me—” she indicated the spotless, sparkling tile floor “—you mopped that yourself?”

“I’m independent—not insane,” he said with a laugh. “I do have a housekeeper, as well as gardeners and my veterinary staff and stable workers. But they have their own cottages on the edge of my land. I live in this house alone. I prefer it that way.”

“Oh.”

“Let’s go outside.” Taking two cups of steaming Turkish coffee, he placed them on the tray beside the breakfast plates. Holding the patio door open with his shoulder, he carried the tray in one hand. “We can watch the sun rise.”

She followed him out to the wooden deck behind the kitchen. Leaning against the railing, she looked out at the vast expanse of desert stretching beyond the valley.

“You said you someday wanted to build a house out here,” she whispered. “But I never imagined anything so beautiful as this.”

Setting the tray down on the table, he looked at the dark, curvy silhouette of her body in front of the vast wide desert now glowing pink in the sunrise.

“Beautiful indeed,” he said quietly.

She turned to face him. “It must be hard for you to leave this all behind.”

A dull throb went through his head, in the back of his skull. “Yes.”

He’d briefly forgotten the royal palace, forgotten the endless, unsatisfied crowds of people hemming him in, making demands of their king. Forgotten the fact that in just a few days, he would formally and forever renounce all right to be a private citizen with his own selfish desires. He would be king, sacrificing himself forever for the good of his people.

He took a deep breath. But today at least, he was home. He was free. He looked up at Jasmine, so impossibly beautiful in the old T-shirt that stretched over her breasts and barely covered her thighs. Today at least he was with her.

“Here, we can forget you are the king,” she said softly. She turned back to lean against the railing, watching the pink sun peeking slowly over the violet mountains. “And I can forget I will be soon married.”