‘Just as promised.’ He spoke with reverence. Their eyes met and something shifted inside her heart.
His dark head dipped down, his tongue stirring her to a fever pitch of longing, making her ache for him, reminding her of the maze, of everything they’d shared together since, of everything they were. Pleasure, passion, power; her blood was exploding with needs, her pulse too fast to be contained. She pushed up, needing him, wanting more than he could offer, craving the satisfaction she knew it was within his grasp to give. His mouth moved faster and she shattered, her fingertips driving through his hair, her mouth capable of shaping only two syllables: Am and Ir. Over and over and over she cried his name, as though it were an invocation that could ward off what they both knew was coming.
But she refused to think of the future, about what would happen in two days’ time, when her tour was at an end and the flight took her back over the mountains to Taquul, and the future that was waiting for her.
She couldn’t think about that. Not when there was this pleasure to be relished and enjoyed.
He knew they needed to move, to leave this sanctuary. He was Sheikh and, despite the fact he answered to no one, he couldn’t simply disappear for hours at a time without arousing suspicion. His absence would be noticed. So too, he imagined, would hers.
But the weight of her head on his chest was so pleasant. Just for a little while longer, he wanted to keep the doors to this room shut, to lie as they were: naked on the scatter pillows, the heady fragrance of trees and flowers and the sound of flowing water creating their own world and atmosphere. It was a masjid first and foremost and here he felt that he was worshipping Johara as she deserved to be worshipped.
‘Will you come to my room tonight?’
The question surprised him—he hadn’t intended to ask it, but he didn’t regret it.
‘Sure.’ Her voice, though, was teasing. ‘I’ll just let your guards know I’m popping in for a quick roll in your bed. That won’t raise any eyebrows whatsoever.’
He laughed, shifting so he could see her face. ‘There’s a secret way.’
She met his gaze. ‘Into your room?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’ And then, realisation dawned. ‘For exactly this purpose.’
Another laugh. ‘Yes.’
‘So you...sneak lovers in...regularly?’
He heard her hurt and wondered at his body’s response to it. He wanted to draw her into his arms and tell her she had nothing to be jealous of. He’d never been with a woman like her. He doubted he ever would be again.
‘No, Johara. Never.’
‘Oh. Then why...?’
‘Because my room has been the Sheikh’s room for many hundreds of years.’ He lifted his broad shoulders. ‘And whichever palace concubine my predecessors decided to amuse themselves with would arrive via a secret tunnel.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘You’re not serious.’
Her innocence made it impossible not to smile. ‘Perfectly.’
‘But...’
‘But?’
‘Well, it’s a security risk, for one,’ she huffed.
‘It is not a corridor anyone knows about.’
‘Want to bet?’
He arched a brow, waiting for her to continue.
‘It seems to me like the kind of thing your enemies would pay a lot of money to learn about.’
‘The palace is guarded like a fortress.’
‘I know that.’