“Get to know me better, and you’ll see why Addan trusted me.”
“I know you.”
A shiver ran down her spine then – not of fear but of comprehension, because nothing about Malik’s statement rang false. He looked to her and she felt something lock into place, because he did know her. He didn’t like her, necessarily, b
ut there was some kind of innate understanding between them, something that defied logic and sense. Perhaps it was their connection through Addan?
“And I know what you were to Addan, and how much he adored you. Do you think a single minute of this damned marriage passes without me remembering how he loved you?”
The window beyond Malik darkened – a sign that a guard was on the other side, poised to open the door, and the Sheikh reached for the frame and pressed the lock button down.
It was deftly done – for they were in privacy, with the windows shielded from the view of the crowds.
When he turned to face her, there was a tightness about his features, a look of absolute iron-like determination.
“Do you think a single minute of this marriage passes without me remembering that you were his fiancé?” The words were tortured, but his gaze locked to hers with clarity.
He bent forward and found the hem of her skirt, lifting it, bringing it higher up her body, his hand gliding over her calves, her knee, her thighs before brushing against her womanhood through the silk of her underwear.
She gasped and bit back a moan at his touch, her body breaking out with a feverish need. “But do not forget, Sharafaha, I am the only man who can make you feel like this.” And he slid a finger inside her moist core, swirling it around her tight, aching muscles and she bit down on her lip, lifting a hand to his robes and curving her fingers in the fabric there.
“You had his heart, I have no doubt,” he said, coldly, cynically, with very little emotion. “But your body is all mine, Sophia. Don’t forget that.”
It had all happened so quickly. One minute he was tormenting her with desire, pleasuring her in a way that made her soul sing, and the next, when she was frustratingly close to orgasm he pulled away, his expression constrained.
“Come to my room tonight, Sheikha.”
And he turned away, giving her a moment to straighten her skirt before knocking on the window and inviting the guard to open the doors.
Photographers were everywhere, and the adoring public here to catch a glimpse of their royal couple, out in droves. Thousands strong, lined on both sides of the street.
Sophia had walked the lines like an automaton, her knees shaking, her stomach in knots, her every thought on what had just happened.
Come to my room tonight, Sheikha.
Her stomach looped at the very idea that within hours they would be back at the palace and she could be in his arms once more, finishing what he’d just started.
And not finished, Sophia reminded herself forcefully, her lips compressing to form a grim line in her face. How dare he stir her up like that after two days of nothing and leave her without the big bang? She might be new to the whole sex thing but that smacked of bad etiquette.
She lifted her head, incensed, and across the street, where he was speaking with someone in the crowd, he turned to her at the same time. Their eyes met and Sophia would have sworn lightning struck from him to her. Localized and intense, it seared her nerve endings, but she couldn’t back away. She stared at him and he at her and then someone asked her a question, a child handed her a teddy bear, and she was jolted back to the present.
But her nerve endings were firing and her pulse was racing. She was humming with anticipation.
She needed … what?
She needed him.
The realization slammed against her sides and she hated it. She hated that for all his failings, all his faults, she needed this man with a visceral, undeniable ache.
It would have been so much easier if she’d married Addan. Darling Addan, who had been so kind and good, and uncomplicated; who had loved her like a sister. But that love had been just what Sophia had craved all her life. Dependable, steady, safe, not-going-anywhere love.
But he was gone. Nothing was safe, nothing was foolproof, least of all the future.
She forced a smile to her face as she moved down the line until she’d circled back and Malik was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs that led to parliament. It was a balmy evening, the sky tinged with purple and gold, and a red carpet was running down the steps all the way to the street. Candles were lit on the front of the building, enormous and flickering in the fading light.
At her side, he put a hand in the small of her back and shocks of desire arrowed through her veins, all the way to a heart that was beating far too fast.
She resisted the impulse to look at him, keeping a firm smile pinned to her face, lifting a hand and waving at their people. Huge signs were waving in the evening air, some with her photograph, others with her name. Whatever her husband might think of her suitability to be Sheikha, it was not – apparently – a sentiment the population of Abu Faya shared.