LITMIR.BIZ

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so well that, by the time they were alone, he was once more the totally in control desert prince who took only what he needed. It wasn’t until she’d dropped her act of purity, throwing herself at him, flaunting her body so brazenly that he knew he couldn’t live a lie, and that the rumours of her time in boarding school must have been true.

      What if he was like his father? Anger had surfaced, threatening to break out like a captured wild animal. Alarm bells had gone off. She’d already roused his passion with her dance and it had mixed potently with anger at her deception.

      The marriage had been a mistake—one he was certain his father was well aware of and had forced him into, testing his loyalty to family and country. All he’d been able to think of was that he didn’t want to be responsible for breaking such spirit. He didn’t want to replicate what he’d witnessed as a young boy.

      In a desperate attempt to make Amber see reason, Kazim’s words had been harsher than he’d intended. He had used her alluring dance and attempts to seduce him as an excuse. To make her believe that he was sending her back to her family because she wasn’t the meek and biddable bride he’d thought she had been.

      Amber hadn’t shown any shock as he’d told her their duty was done, that she must return to her homeland. In fact she hadn’t shown any emotion at all, had shut him out. Had she been relieved she didn’t have to stay in Barazbin?

      If he closed his eyes long enough, he could still picture her, seductively removing the silk that had clung so temptingly to her body, as if it was something she was used to doing. Didn’t her present job confirm that?

      He’d been unable to move, unable to stop her, telling himself that her actions would help. They had both needed the marriage as much as the other and consummation wasn’t optional. But still he hadn’t been able to touch her, let alone make her his. He was the son of a cruel, hard sheikh and he had no intention of crushing her beautiful spirit as savagely as his mother’s had been. It was why he would never allow himself to love or be loved.

      ‘You most definitely danced,’ Kazim said, his voice deep and husky with the memory of that night, but not completely caught up in the moment. ‘Piece by piece, you removed the silk that covered your body.’

      ‘It was not a dance, Kazim, merely a necessary smokescreen. I tried to be something I wasn’t. I tried to tempt you.’ She looked up into his eyes, her almond-shaped ones searching his, and he had the urge to touch her face, feel her skin beneath his fingertips. ‘But you made it clear that the idea of such an act repulsed you.’

      ‘Repulsed me?’ He lowered his hand before temptation got the better of him, and looked into her eyes. How on earth could she think that? Hanging onto his control that night had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, but necessary. He’d wanted her so much but was stunned to realise the palace gossips had been right. A virgin bride would never know how to act so enticingly. ‘I never expected such a show of...knowledge.’

      ‘I made one mistake, Kazim, and because of that you didn’t want me. You just wanted me for who I was, for the benefits to your kingdom the marriage brought.’ Her eyes held an accusing light as she narrowed them slightly. ‘Were you secretly glad you could banish me from your life?’

      If only she knew. He’d wanted her with a carnal need that had beat like a drum inside him, demanding satisfaction, but he’d restrained himself. To protect her.

      He could still see clearly the image of her slender body, almost naked, as she’d tossed the silks of her wedding veils across the floor. Transfixed, he’d watched while she’d pulled too hard at the final piece, the silk tearing. She’d thrown it aside, a teasing look on her face as their eyes met. He’d demanded she stop with a harshness he was unaccustomed to and, from the wounded look on her face, neither was she. He’d sounded cruel and hard, exactly like his father.

      She had disappeared into the bathroom. When she came out, her glorious body wrapped in a towelling robe, his passion, aroused by her dance, hadn’t needed any further invitation. Again he’d resisted, using his anger as a shield. Whatever the reason for her behaviour, he couldn’t take advantage of her. If they came together as man and wife, it would be because they both wanted to provide Barazbin with future heirs. Passion and desire didn’t have any place in their marriage.

      As dawn had crept across the sky he’d abandoned the idea of sleeping in the chair and stood beside the bed, watching the woman he’d married, one he’d wanted but couldn’t have. He’d savoured the soft sighs she’d made in her sleep, the sweetness of her face, because they would never be his. He’d done his duty. He’d married her, but he couldn’t stay with a woman who deceived him, hid her past. Not when she could provoke him so easily. For her sake, she must leave.

      ‘The validity of our marriage was never questioned, even after you left,’ he said, dragging his mind back. He stepped away from her before he gave into the urge to kiss her. He’d never tasted her lips, never felt them burn with passion beneath his and right now it was all he could think about. ‘What you did that night, your discarded clothes, it worked. Nobody has ever challenged the marriage.’

      ‘I wish it hadn’t.’ She tossed the words at him as she moved out of the kitchen, her arm brushing against his in the small space. In the dim light of the hallway he watched her take off her coat and hang it up, drawn to the way the denim of her jeans clung to her long legs. ‘I will admit what I did. Explain exactly what happened then you can annul the marriage.’

      He shook his head and followed her into the hallway. ‘It’s too late for that, Amber.’ He couldn’t allow her to bring their marriage into question. Ever.

      She turned to look at him, her face partly shadowed by the dim light in the hallway but her words defiantly clear. ‘I can’t go back to Barazbin. I don’t want to. I’m needed here.’

      Everything had changed so much and he was to blame. He was the only heir to the throne and his father was sick. For the sake of his country he didn’t have time to end one marriage and make another. He needed to be seen with his wife—the woman his people had witnessed him marry, the one they’d welcomed warmly. To annul the marriage now would make his people doubt him. If he couldn’t hold together a marriage, how could he rule a country?

      ‘People may not believe your claim if your profession is discovered. Do you really want that scandal exposed? Your father’s people, as well as mine, would turn their backs on you.’ He let the words sink in, watched as her lovely eyes widened in shock. ‘The only thing that can save your reputation now is me.’

      ‘You’re despicable,’ she whispered, every syllable full of contempt. With barely contained fury in every step, she walked a few paces to another door, opened it and peered into the near darkness.

      As she slipped into the darkened room he remembered the child and irrational anger consumed him once more. Why was she living here, sharing a cramped flat with a single mother who worked as a stripper? Was she trying to blacken her reputation beyond redemption?

      Kazim stood and composed himself, steeling himself against the irrational anger that raged inside. He clenched his fists and closed his eyes, willing control to return.

      Moments later, composure seeped through him and, unable to help himself, he pushed the door open a little wider to reveal Amber tucking a young boy into a tiny bed. The child murmured in his sleep and she ruffled his blond hair before pressing a kiss to his forehead. From the little he knew of children, he guessed the boy to be around two.

      When Amber looked up her eyes met Kazim’s and something akin to embarrassment briefly washed over him at having witnessed the tender moment. He’d intruded. The shock on her face told him that, but he wasn’t going to let her off so lightly. He stood and looked back at her, his stomach turning against the thought of what could have been if he’d succumbed to his desire, if they’d had a child as a result of their wedding night. He didn’t want to be a father, to expose a child to the same upset he’d known, but his position in life meant fatherhood was an obligation. He had to have a child—an heir to Barazbin.

      In the dim light of the room

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