Yet suddenly the desire to connect was stronger than his innate desire to conceal. Was that because, as his potential wife, Jazz needed to know what kind of man he really was—so she didn’t foster any unrealistic fantasies which could never be met? ‘I didn’t fit in anywhere,’ he grated. ‘Not then. I was the forgotten son. The invisible son. There’s no need to look so shocked, Jazz. Don’t they say every mother has her favourite? Well, it wasn’t me. But I was well fed and well cared for and that was enough.’ He saw the pain in her eyes and reached out to tilt her chin with his finger. ‘Have I told you enough for one day? Don’t you find the discussion of dysfunction a little…tedious? Surely you can think of a more pleasurable way of passing the time other than talking about a past which is lost to us for ever?’
The air between them thrummed. The breath left her lungs. Glancing up into the inky gleam of his eyes, Jasmine felt an erratic quickening of her pulse. She wanted to know more but she sensed that now was not the time, just as she sensed that Zuhal needed her now in a way he hadn’t needed her before.
‘I can think of several things,’ she said huskily. ‘It depends which one you’re referring to.’
‘You know exactly what I’m talking about.’ He sprung to his feet to close the tent flaps, so that the interior instantly grew dim and mysterious. Now the cavernous space was lit only by the silvery brocade of the day-bed, the silky colours of the rugs and the bright sheen of metal lamps as he returned to join her on the floor and pulled her into his arms again. ‘This,’ he breathed. ‘I’m talking about this.’
Jasmine knew he was going to kiss her but underpinning her desire was an overwhelming rush of emotion as he put his arms around her, as she thought about the little boy who nobody had wanted. But then he sank her into the soft cushions and her thoughts were forgotten as their mouths met in a hard and hungry kiss which left them gasping for oxygen.
His fingers were unsteady as he unbuttoned her shirt and tugged it from her shoulders, so that she was lying there in just her jodhpurs, riding boots and a black lacy bra. ‘That’s better,’ he murmured.
‘Do you—?’
‘No. No more words, Jazz,’ he said, with a shake of his head as he bent to pull off her riding boots. The jodhpurs were next to go, each movement a sensual torture as he slowly stroked them down her thighs, his fingers whispering tantalisingly over the black lace wisp of her panties. She gasped as he unclipped her straining bra, so that her breasts spilled out—one nipple finding itself positioned perfectly for his waiting lips to suck on.
‘Oh!’ she gasped.
‘I thought I said no words.’
‘I couldn’t help myself.’
His eyes swept over her, as he swiftly removed his own clothes before taking her hand in his. ‘Is this what you want?’ he questioned, directing her fingertips to his groin. ‘I think it is. It’s certainly what I want.’
And Jasmine needed no further guidance as she wrapped her trembling fingers around his mighty shaft, enjoying the sound of his murmured pleasure as she began to slide them up and down the silken skin. Lying down beside her, he kissed her until she was quivering—touching every inch of her with a taunting skill, until she was making strangled little pleas. At last he positioned himself over her and she could feel the heaviness of his body and the hard brush of his erection between her thighs. And then he gave one hard, long thrust, to tunnel up deep inside her—and as he did so, another rush of emotion threatened to overwhelm her. Closing her eyes, Jasmine sank her lips against his sweat-sheened shoulder. Because this wasn’t some wham-bam bout up against the wall. This was heart-stoppingly intimate and terrifying in its implications. And only Zuhal could make her feel like this. Respond like this.
‘Zuhal,’ she said brokenly, but maybe he didn’t hear. Maybe he was so intent on giving her pleasure that he was oblivious to her turbulent feelings—or maybe he just preferred to ignore them. And then everything was forgotten as her body began to spasm helplessly around him.
She was dimly aware of the choked cry he gave as her back arched and the spurting rush as he filled her with his seed. When the world came back into focus at last, it was for her to find his dark head resting on her breast, one bent arm around her neck, his breath warm against her damp skin. And wasn’t it infuriating how stupidly mushy she felt? Wasn’t she in danger of falling for him all over again, despite his emotional distance and his obvious mistrust of anything to do with love? But then something occurred to her—something which drove all these thoughts clean from her mind.
‘That’s the second time we’ve omitted to use any protection,’ she said.
He stirred and yawned. ‘Doing it with you as nature intended just seems to come naturally to me,’ he admitted. ‘Do you mind?’
Jasmine hesitated, aware that something had shifted and changed between them. Say it, she urged herself. Don’t expect him to guess what you’re thinking and then be angry when he gets it wrong. ‘I think it’s better if we decide if and when to have another baby,’ she said carefully. ‘Rather than just leaving it to chance.’
‘Do you want another baby, Jazz?’
There was a long segment of silence. ‘If we’re to be married, then yes, I think I do,’ she answered eventually.
‘You mean the marriage you’ve been dragging your feet about?’
She didn’t deny his accusation, just shifted her weight a little as she looked up into his eyes. ‘Because up until now, we’ve seemed more like strangers than anything else.’
His black gaze burned into her. ‘But now we’re no longer “strangers”—you’re happy for it to go ahead?’
Happy? It seemed a strange word to use in the circumstances. It felt a long time since she’d experienced that particular emotion. When she’d found herself alone and pregnant, it had been independence which Jasmine had strived for and, against all the odds, she had achieved it. Even though it had been a bit of a struggle, she had forged a decent life for herself and Darius. She had been her own woman—in charge of her own destiny—and she recognised that her growing feelings for Zuhal threatened to destabilise everything she had achieved.
She met the dark gleam of his eyes. Yet today he had shown a chink in his armour and a vulnerability she hadn’t expected. He’d described the awful atmosphere in the palace when he’d been growing up. He’d described how his parents had made a mockery of love and how he despised and mistrusted the word and all it stood for as a consequence. She got that. But she could show him by example that it didn’t need to be like that, couldn’t she? She loved Darius and maybe Zuhal would come to realise that love wasn’t always a dirty word. And if that happened, then couldn’t they learn to love each other—or was that a wish too far?
‘Yes,’
she said gravely. ‘I am. And I’m prepared to give our marriage my very best shot.’
‘Good.’ He inclined his dark head. ‘Then it is agreed. We will wed as soon as possible. We will become husband and wife and have shared goals for a stable future, not just for the monarchy, but for Darius—and for any brothers and sisters he may have.’
She thought how business-like they both sounded—as if they were dealing with a business merger rather than a relationship. But his mouth was soft as he reached out for her and most of her misgivings melted away beneath the sensual onslaught of another heady kiss.
She kissed him back with a fervour which matched his own and his face was tight as he lifted her up and brought her down onto his aching shaft, groaning as she began to ride him. And suddenly it was all happening so fast. Indecently fast. She felt that first sweet clench which began to dominate her world as she began to come, aware that he was watching her closely. His fingers were tight on her breasts as her back arched and she threw her head back with a fierce shout which was quickly echoed by his own.