LITMIR.BIZ

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let out a hard breath, and she could feel his relief resonating inside her. “I have not caused a war,” he said. “Yet.”

      She heard the click of cameras, knew this moment was being captured on film. It would be a headline tomorrow. Her, and her peacock-blue gown, holding on to his face. It would look like love. It would at least look like lust.

      Honestly, it was the second. On her end, at least.

      Either way, it would make for a good headline. The kind of headline they wanted. Now, though, it was time for them to make the rounds. Time to be social. She had promised she wouldn’t expect him to dance, but that meant that he didn’t have a good chance at escaping social responsibilities.

      Over the course of the next two hours she did her best to provide balance to Tarek’s rather sullen version of conversation. She knew he didn’t come across as humorless on purpose; rather, it was just who he was. She wasn’t certain he was humorless per se, just that he didn’t know how to express his humor with any effusiveness. Still, he came across as quite deadpan, and by the end of the evening she was exhausted trying to add some buoyancy.

      And she felt even more determined to tear down that wall. It was almost as though he was operating on a separate plane. Possibly the plane he had been actively existing in the night she had seen him in the hall, naked and fighting imaginary enemies. There was strength there, vibrancy. Passion. She was hungry for it. To release it.

      He had admitted to feeling off balance because she seemed so comfortable in her role. But he made her feel even more off balance. Because he was untouchable. And she, most certainly, was not. He had reached inside her early on, and she had not felt right since.

      She knew that the party would go on for a while yet, and yet she also sensed that Tarek wouldn’t want to linger. They had done their rounds, done their duties, as far as she was concerned. And the press would be appeased. It made no sense to keep him in the ballroom past the expiration date of his social skills.

      She sensed he would only become more impenetrable as the evening passed.

      “Let us retire,” she said.

      “Is it the appropriate time?”

      “It’s fine. You’re very busy. No one will expect you to stay until the room clears.”

      He leaned in, his lips close to her ear. “Am I very busy?”

      Her body immediately applied a dual meaning to his words, sending a shaft of heat down low. “I could ensure that you are.”

      She could think of a great many ways the two of them could stay busy for a few solitary hours. Ways that would finally force him to meet her in the present. Ways that might show her the man beneath the control. Something raw, something elemental. Rather than all of this guarded, protected, manufactured civility.

      She’d had too much of that. Enough to last a lifetime. Too much isolation. She was so tired of being lonely. So tired of being alone.

      Suddenly she was tired down to her bones. Careful smiles; careful words. Nothing upsetting. Nothing too loud. No questions asked. No answers given. On either side. Her entire growing-up years had been spent that way, and then her marriage. She was so desperately sick of it.

      He made no response to her offer, allowing her to lead him quickly and quietly from the ballroom. The early exit would spark innuendo for the article about the evening. And that, she imagined, would be a good thing, too. Giving the press, the public, a love story rather than a cold alliance to offer a throne to a displaced queen and help to a barely civilized sheikh. Already she would add humanity to him. Already her presence was a help.

      Though at the moment she did not intend to let the published innuendo stand as fiction. She fully intended to reach this man once and for all. To forge a connection between the two of them.

      She could feel the palace security staying in line with them. Likely ensuring they weren’t followed or disturbed. The people around them sensed it as well, for they cleared a path, making their exit easy.

      Once they were out of the ballroom, she began to slowly move her fingertips along his forearm, her way of signaling intent.

      She felt a slight tensing in his muscles, the barest hint of a response. Coming from him, it might as well have been an emphatic yes.

      “Are you headed back to your quarters?” she asked, staring straight ahead.

      “Yes,” he answered.

      Her heart thundered in her head. “Okay.”

      She walked with him, not releasing her hold on him, and he did not release his hold on her. She took that as a significant development. They were, of course, headed to the same wing of the palace. And he might not realize it yet, but she intended to head to the same room. To smash that wall. And maybe, just maybe, one inside herself, too.

      She felt as if she was suffocating. Had the feeling both of them were. Drowning on land.

      If she could just touch him. If they could touch each other.

      They reached the door of his chamber and she paused with him. “Do you need any help with your suit?”

      “I don’t think so.”

      It didn’t surprise her that he didn’t immediately grab hold of the invitation. Subtlety was not his strength. She found that charming in a strange way. More and more as the days passed.

      “Perhaps we can discuss your speech.”

      He gazed down at her, the expression in his eyes unknowable. “If you wish.” He pushed the door open and she followed him in.

      He took a seat on a lush divan that was placed against the back wall of his chamber, assuming that same arrogant posture she’d seen during their first meeting in his throne room. With his black tie, black jacket, crisp white shirt and tailored trousers, he was very close to looking civilized. She didn’t like it. She didn’t want him civilized. Didn’t want him hidden by yet more trappings.

      That need, the need to have him, became a living beast inside her, growled, urged her forward. She began to walk toward him, watched as his dark eyes assessed her, attempted to anticipate her next move. She lowered her hands to her sides, curling her fingers around the silken fabric of her skirt, tugging it upward, exposing her legs, her thighs, as she continued to close the distance between them.

      Then she saw it. A black flame burning in the depths of his eyes, so close to their natural color it would’ve been easy to miss. But it was there, glimmering like an oil slick. He was not untouched. He was not unmoved.

      She approached, still clutching her skirt, placing one knee on the edge of the divan next to his before leaning forward, raising her hand on the wall behind him. He remained motionless, his expression fathomless. But of course it was. That was what he did. In a room full of people, he remained untouched. When applause thundered around him, he reacted like a deaf man.

      He didn’t play the game. No subtle push and pull. And so this time she wouldn’t stop until she had destroyed his defenses, because that was what it would take. She realized that now, with certainty.

      She rested her other knee on the divan, astride him now, sliding forward so that his big body was between her thighs, his heat teasing her, tempting her. He was motionless, as he had been the other times she had touched him. Except for the day he had pressed her palm against his chest. But then he had pushed her away, and she had allowed it. She had stopped.

      But this time, she wasn’t going to stop at touching.

      She lowered her head, angling slightly, pausing just before her mouth met his. Enjoying the moment. The pause before fantasy became reality.

      He smelled like clean skin, the intimacy of the scent hitting her like a punch in the chest. It made her heart beat faster, made her ache. And it stole her last bit of restraint. She closed the remaining bit of distance, fusing her lips to his.

      Heat exploded behind her eyelids, burst in her stomach.

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