‘Ah, yes, your work. Of course, someone like you would consider sitting down with a bunch of homeless kids and reading them fairy stories to be work. Very valuable work, no doubt. Makes for a few good photo opportunities, I dare say.’
Her eyes glinted, the smile wiped clean from her face. ‘I teach them our language! I teach them how to read and write!’
‘And nobody else in Jemeya can do that? Face facts, Princess.’ He kicked himself away from the column. ‘You are needed by Jemeya as much as a finger needs a wart.’
‘How dare you?’
‘I dare because someone needs to tell you. Jemeya does not need you, and the sooner you face facts the better. You have two older brothers, one of whom will inherit the throne, the other a spare if he cannot. So what good are you to Jemeya? Don’t you see? You are surplus to requirements. You’re a redundant princess. So you might as well be of some use to your country by marrying me.’
Her eyes were still glinting but now it was with ice-cold hatred.
‘I have told you—I will not marry you and my father will not make me. Why would anyone in their right mind want to marry you? You led me to believe I had been rescued from one mad man when all along you were planning captivity of the same kind with another.
‘Maybe it’s time you faced facts yourself—you’re arrogant beyond belief, you’re a bully and you’re so anxious to be Al-Jirad’s next king that you would stop at nothing to get on that throne. I won’t marry you now and I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man left on earth!’
Blood pounded in his temples, pounding out a drum-beat of fury, sounding out a call to war. What must he have done wrong in some former life that he would be lumbered with this selfish little princess for a wife? What gods had he somewhere and at some time insulted that they would visit upon him this poisoned shrew? For if he had a choice right now, if he didn’t know Mustafa would otherwise get the crown, he would take her back and dump her back in that desert camp and be finished with her.
‘Do you actually believe that I want to be king? Do you actually think that even if I wanted a wife I would want to marry someone who does not know when she is being offered the better end of the deal? Do you really think I want to marry such a spoilt, selfish little shrew?’
‘Bastard!’ He heard the crack, felt the sting of her hand hard across his cheek, and the blood in his pounding veins turned molten.
He seized her wrist as it flashed by, wrenching her to him. ‘You’ll pay for that!’ She tried to pull her arm free and when he did not let go she pounded his chest with her free hand, twisting her shoulders from side to side.
‘Let me go.’
Like hell.
He grabbed her other wrist, and she shrieked and tugged so hard against his restraint until she shook the hair loose behind her head and sent it tumbling down in disarray. ‘Let me go!’
‘Why?’ he ground out between clenched teeth. ‘So you can slap me again?’
But she twisted one arm right around, her wrist somehow slipped free and she raised it to lash at him again. He caught it this time before she could strike and pulled her in close to his body, trapping her arm under his and bringing her face within inches of his own. She was breathing hard, as if she’d just sprinted a mile, her chest rising and falling fast and furiously against his, her eyes spitting fire at him, her lips parted, gasping for air and showing those neat, sharp teeth, whose bite he could still feel on his hand.
He looked at her mouth and wondered how she would taste—something spicy and sweet with a chili bite. He looked at those wide, lush lips, parted like an invitation, looked at the teeth again and decided it might even be worth the risk.
And then he shifted his gaze and realised she was watching him watching her, her eyes wide, her pupils so dilated they were turning her eyes black.
‘I hate you!’ she spat, twisting her body against his, friction turning to heat, heat turning to desire.
Desire combusting to need.
‘I know,’ he said, breathing just as hard and fast. ‘I hate you too.’ Before his mouth crashed down hard on hers.
And even as she turned rigid beneath him, even though shock stilled her muscles, he felt the warmth of her blossoming heat beneath his kiss, tasted the honey and spice he knew he’d find there, tasted the chili heat— and there, in the midst of the honey, cinnamon and chili, he tasted the promise of a woman beneath the princess.
And he wanted more.
CHAPTER FOUR
SHOCK punched the air from her lungs, sent all thoughts scattering from her mind. But God, she could still feel!
He seemed to be everywhere, the strong wall of his chest pressed hard against her, the steel bands of his arms surrounding her, the rough of his whiskered cheek against her skin and the press of his lips against her own.