“Yes! He’s so… big and he never smiles.”
“People who feel deepest are often the slowest to open up. He doesn’t smile – that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. And it certainly doesn’t mean you should be afraid of him. My brother is a good man, Sophia. A better man than I am, and he would have made a far better Sheikh too, except in one vital way.”
“What’s that?” She’d whispered, even though they were alone.
“He will never do what he’s told – and sometimes, as King, you have to.”
She’d been thirteen. The conversation was so clear that for a moment she felt like she was slipping down a slope, with nothing to grab onto.
“How come you married me?” She asked, her heart skidding to a stop in her chest.
Malik stiffened beside her. “Because I inherited the throne.”
“And me,” she nodded, pushing that aside. “But you didn’t want this.”
“No.” He spat the word with such vehemence she was surprised it didn’t hurt more.
“Marriage to anyone? Or me, in particular?”
He turned to look at her, his dark eyes swirling with emotions she couldn’t comprehend. “You were my brother’s fiancé,” he said, after a long pause. “He loved you to the ends of the earth. How could I ever want this?”
Her stomach squeezed. They’d been married a little over a fortnight and the idea of him not wanting her, made her feel as though her lungs were filling with sand. She bit down on her lower lip and looked forward.
“I didn’t want to marry anyone,” he said, after a moment, “But my brother’s death put the Kingdom in a dangerous position. Not having another living heir means the throne would pass, upon my death, to a distant cousin with ties to questionable organisations. The order of succession must be protected.” A muscle jerked in his jaw. “And you were here, legally mine, whether I wanted that or not.”
Pain shimmied inside of her. Desire, hot between her legs, was a traitor now, a sensation she didn’t want, something she didn’t relish. She drew in a gulp of air; it barely reached her lungs.
“I’m sorry you have to endure this, then,” she said coldly, looking away from him.
She heard his exhalation. “It is you who has to endure this. Marriage to a man you didn’t choose, this should never have been your fate.”
“I did choose this,” she said simply. “I chose all of this.”
They didn’t speak the rest of the way to the palace.
At the entrance to the family suites, he put a hand in her back, guiding her towards his room. She didn’t resist, and he was glad. There’d been a part of him that thought, despite the sexual heat buzzing between them, their conversation in the car might have killed her need for him.
It hadn’t.
He pushed his door open and as soon as they were inside, her hands found his chest, her fingers splayed wide as she pushed herself up onto the tips of her toes and kissed him.
It was a kiss of fire and anger, dark emotions making her lips mash his, her tongue move furiously. And he understood.
This was all darkness between them. No wonder she didn’t smile for him.
Even their passion was born of a dark place. It was possessive and resented.
Neither of them wanted to feel this, and yet they did – and it was overwhelming.
He swore in his own language, untying his robes with one hand, fumbling a little as he slipped them from his body, pushing out of his briefs at the same time so he was naked, and desperate to see her naked too. But he was more desperate for her. He needed her in a way that was like fire in his gut.
He grabbed her hips and lifted her, pushing at the layers of her skirt, finding the briefs he’d slipped aside so easily earlier that night.
“Hold this,” He grunted, pushing the layers of skirt into her hand. She took them from him and now he lifted her and kissed her, pushing her back against the cold, hard wall behind him. He spread her legs, his strength great, her body slender. He wrapped her legs around his waist, his eyes watching hers as he nudged the tip of his arousal at her sex.
“Do you want me?” He demanded, his eyes latched to hers.
She laughed, but it was a tortured, rasping sound. “What do you think?”