“What has brought you to this conclusion?” His accent was like cinnamon and rum on a desert breeze. Spicy and warm, deep and sexy.
She made a sound of frustration and stood, moving with the grace of a ballerina towards one of the windows. The lush greenery of Hyde Park was just beyond her. Olivia unconsciously ran a hand through her ponytail, playing with the ends over her shoulder. “That wasn’t me, last night. I don’t know what came over me.”
Tamir felt a strange prickle of sympathy; a desire to take away her obvious discomfort and reassure her that she had not been at all in the wrong. He did not act on it, of course. Though he was known to be a generous and kind ruler, when it came to the women he wanted to bed he played to win. Her discomfort gave him an advantage and he pushed it without shame. “Desire came over you.”
She coughed, her breath hitched in her throat making her feel as though she were choking. “It’s crazy.” She shook her head. “I don’t act like that.”
“Apparently you’re wrong.” He closed the distance between them and put a hand on her shoulder. “You would have made love to me in that room at the Royal Albert Hall if I hadn’t resisted.”
Her cheeks flushed prettily. “I know.”
He admired her honesty. It was a refreshing quality, and a point of difference between his usual choice of lover. Then again, integrity was not a quality he cared for in the women who temporarily warmed his bed. Nothing mattered to him beyond their desirability and enthusiasm. He ran his fingers down her arm, enjoying the way she shivered beneath his touch.
“You would make love to me now. If I kissed you, you would beg me not to stop.”
“No,” she whispered, but the way she quickly stepped away from him showed that she knew it was true. “Please don’t.”
He grinned. “You are so afraid of this.” He ran a hand through her hair. “Why?”
“Because,” she exhaled softly, pressing her fingertips to her temples. “How long are you in London for, Tamir?”
“I leave tomorrow.”
A pain, like a stitch, stamped across her chest. How was it possible that she cared so much about someone she didn’t know? He was leaving, and that would be the end of it. “In which case, we definitely have nothing left to discuss.”
“You will come with me.” He spoke as though she hadn’t, and his words echoed with a dark intensity that knocked her sideways.
“What?” Her heart was louder than a drum, hard and fast.
“You want me.”
She opened her mouth to deny it, but the word died on her tongue. She closed her eyes, her lashes long and dark against her cheek. “Yes. I do. But that doesn’t mean I can indulge that… feeling.”
Again, she showed her strength of character, by admitting to their attraction. “Why would you not indulge it? You can take a holiday from your job. Come and see Talidar again. Come and enjoy the many, many ancient jewels and tapestries and statues in my palace.”
Her eyes flew open. That was almost as tempting as what she really wanted. His face was unreadable, his dark eyes intent on her face.
“I can’t,” she insisted quietly. Though there was a part of her that was tempted, she had responsibilities in London. A life that required her in it.
“You have said that, but you are not explaining your hesitation.”
“This is a fantasy,” she muttered. “You are a prince who is used to getting what he wants. You’ve decided you want me, and I suspect that the more I prevaricate, the more determined you become. So let me ask you this, Tamir. Why do you want me?”
His eyes flared with an intention that she didn’t comprehend. His lips took possession of hers hungrily, with a passion that perfectly matched what they’d shared the night before. “Because your body dances to the same tune as mine.” He pulled at her hair elastic, freeing it from the confines of the neat style she’d slicked it into earlier that day. At a time when she had stupidly thought she could control this raw flame of lust.
She lifted her hands and tangled her fingers in his dark hair. It was thick and coarse. With her hands held aloft, her breasts were pressed firm against his chest, her body cleaved to his as though they were one. Tamir wanted to lift her shirt from the ridiculous sensible trousers she wore, and connect his fingertips with the warm, bare flesh of her body. But he did not. He wanted to savour Olivia.
“God!” She pushed away from him and stared at him as though he’d threatened to stab her mother. Her eyes were laced with accusation. She lifted her hands and pressed her palms to her cheeks. “What is going on?”
His smile carried a comprehension that she lacked. “Have you never felt desire before, Azeezi?”
“Of course I have.” Her cheeks flushed. Never like this.
“So why is this surprising to you?”
“Are you saying it’s normal to you?”
“No.”