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It was the last letter Addan had sent her – signed ‘Rex’, her pet name for him. She’d read all his letters so many times they were burned into her brain now – which was quite the accomplishment, given there were hundreds of the things.

But how else could she keep Addan alive, than to invoke his words at every opportunity she got?

While he lived, she’d stored them carelessly, tossed into a drawer in her room. Now, with the knowledge that the collection was complete, that no more would be added to its number, she’d had a box made. Gold and pearl, for grief and royalty, it was lined in purple velvet, and had a padlock at its centre. She wore the key on a small chain around her wrist – it was dainty and delicate and to the untrained eye would pass simply as a charm bracelet of sorts.

Wearing it made her feel close to Addan – wearing it was a way back to him.

She sat up straighter, her heart racing, her body feeling oddly alive, strangely heavy and light, and she blinked her eyes into the unfamiliar room. She reached for the key automatically, her fingertips stroking it lightly.

A noise beside her had her gaze shifting and then, it all came flooding back. Memories assaulted her from every direction and a small moan flew from her lips before she could stop it, a sound of remembered pleasure, and of disbelief at how completely entranced she’d been to this sensation, this need.

She couldn’t tell if Malik was naked or not, but his chest was exposed, a pale sheet wrapped over his waist. While he slept, she stared, unashamedly devouring his naked body with her eyes, hungrily chasing his flesh, drinking the sight of him up and committing it to her mind.

But looking was dangerous, because it flushed memories through her blood, reminding her of how his chest had felt pressed to her naked breasts, reminding her how his body had felt – heavy and strong above hers.

Looking was problematic because every second she allowed herself to stare was a second that heated her body and filled her with temptation. Looking was making her want to touch, to reach out and run a finger over his chest, to drop her mouth to his chest and kiss a trail from one of his nipples to the other, then all the way down to his navel and further down… her eyes moved in that direction and her breath hissed out of her.

The sheet was tented, pushed up as proof of his arousal, even in sleep, impossible to ignore. She clasped her fingers into her palms in an effort not to touch him.

In vain. And unnecessarily.

Because he moved – and quickly – pushing the sheet aside in the same movement that had him kneeling and then straddling her, his kiss pushing her back to the bed, pinning her to the mattress. His hand spread her thighs and then he pushed inside of her, wordlessly, fast, hungrily. She made not a noise, but the storm raged through her, a storm that was alive with a thousand lightning bolts, a storm that transformed her bloodstream and made heat and desire incinerate her cells.

Every possession was purposeful and intense, every beat of his body a mark against her soul, a mark of his possession of her.

Just like he’d coloured the skin of her shoulder, he was marking her invisibly now, inside, leaving little scars of him deep in her being.

But she couldn’t care. She couldn’t feel anything except abject relief as pleasure spun like a whirlpool and sucked her through its centre. She bit his shoulder as she came, and he drove into her harder, his body so incredibly powerful, her desire like another person in the room.

Even as she came, she felt her needs rising again, she felt an insatiable desire for this and him.

She also felt shock at how unexpected this was, at how little she’d anticipated she might want this.

But, that was a lie, wasn’t it?

Her heart twisted as she remembered the second time she’d met Malik. The first had been when she was still a child, too young to be anything but intimidated by the older, powerful prince, the young man, as he’d been then, who’d already been so obviously scathing of the rules, of authority, and of the trappings of royalty.

Then, she’d been in awe of him.

But when, years ago, he’d returned to Abu Faya unexpectedly, and arrived unannounced while Addan was instructing her in the ancient form of Abu Fayan martial arts – Al antaya – he’d looked at her in a way that had burned the soles of her feet. He’d looked at her and she’d had the strangest sense that he was undressing her with his eyes, but not just physically. She’d felt like he was stripping away her skin, her muscles and her blood and bones until only the essence of who she was remained. She’d felt more naked in that moment than she ever had before.

He’d been dismissive – no, he’d been downright rude. He’d spoken to Addan in Abu Fayan, perhaps not realizing she could speak it fluently.

“So this is your foreign bride, brother?”

“Her name is Sophia,” Addan had responded calmly, in that way he had – with strength and softness all at once. “And you will treat her with respect.”

“She is pretty, I suppose, but no more so than any number of princesses you could have wed. Why this woman?”

Sophia had felt her insides fill with ice and she’d sworn to dislike this man from that moment onwards.

“Because I love her,” Addan had answered in English, turning to face Sophia with a slow wink. “And because there is no one on earth, princess or otherwise, who will make a better queen for our people.”

Malik had left, and while Addan’s words had buoyed her, Malik’s judgment had sat within her like a stone. Each time she’d seen him after that, she’d remembered his disappointment and derision. While he’d paid lip service to respecting her, his manner had always reeked of disapproval, leaving her in little doubt that his first assessment hadn’t altered with time.

He couldn’t understand why Addan was marrying her – and now it was even worse, for he’d had to endure that fate personally.

He thrust into her again and she crashed back to the present, to the windswept coastline of their desire, her eyes wide when they met his. Sleepiness surrounded them, still whispering in the night air, and the ancient tower was filled with the tang of salt and heat, the humidity and spices for which this country was famed.


Tags: Clare Connelly Billionaire Romance