The Royal House of Karedes: The Desert Throne. Annie West
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Suddenly, Kareef’s worried face came into sharp focus.
“You’re awake,” he said in a low voice. “Do you know who I am?”
Jasmine discovered that she was lying on her back in a bedroom she didn’t recognize. Her head was pounding; her throat was dry.
She tried to sit up. “Where—where am I?”
“Don’t try to move,” he said, pushing her back gently on the bed. “My own doctor’s on the way.”
Her head was flat on the pillow as she looked slowly around the bedroom. It was large, rustic and comfortable, with a king-sized bed and spartan furnishings. It was very masculine, smelling of leather and wood. She looked at the small fireplace made out of hewn rock. “I’m in your bedroom?”
“So you know who I am,” Kareef said, sounding relieved.
Jasmine gave a derisive snort. “The illustrious king of Qusay, the adored and revered prince of Qais, the delight of all harem girls everywhere, the…”
“How hard did that glass hit your head?” he demanded, but his mouth quirked up into a smile. He’d been worried, she realized. Very worried.
“Did I faint?” She tried to sit up, to show them both she was all right.
“Don’t move!”
“I feel fine!”
“The doctor will be the judge of that.”
“You said I have a small cut on my scalp. That doesn’t require a team of specialists. Stick a bandage on my head.”
“And you fainted,” he reminded her.
Her cheeks went hot with embarrassment. She felt sure her fainting had nothing to do with the bump on her head and had been instead some kind of panic attack—but how could she explain that without bringing up the long-ago accident she absolutely, positively did not want to talk about?
She didn’t need to bring it up. His next words proved that.
“What is it about you and doctors?” he said softly, looking down at her. “Why do you refuse to let me take decent care of you?”
Their eyes locked, and she sucked in her breath. She knew what he was thinking about.
After the horse-riding accident, he’d pleaded to fetch a doctor. But she’d refused. She been desperate to keep her shame a secret, to protect her family. Please, Kareef, just hold me, I’ll be fine, she’d cried. But when she’d started shaking with fever, he’d broken his word. He’d returned with a doctor and two servants he thought he could trust.
One of the servants had been Marwan, who’d betrayed them the instant Kareef disappeared into the desert. Her family had been devastated, nearly destroyed. Because of her.
Blinking fast, she turned her head away.
Kareef leaned over the bed. With the prison of his arms on the mattress around her, she slowly looked up into his face.
Their faces was inches apart. Tension coiled between them.
“Here,” he muttered, looking away. “Let me fix this.”
He reached behind her and rearranged the pillows. He lifted her, and she closed her eyes, relishing the warmth and strength of his arms. Then he gently pushed her back against the pillows, into a sitting position. He stroked her hair.
“Better?” he said in a low voice.
His mouth was inches from her own. She felt the warmth of his breath against her skin. It made her shiver from her mouth to her earlobes to her nipples and neck. Even her supposedly injured scalp tingled with a feeling that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with—
She cut off the thought. With Kareef so close to her, she was having difficulty thinking straight. What question had he asked her? She licked her lips. “I’m much…much better…”
“The doctor will be here soon,” he said hoarsely. The hard muscles of his body seemed strained, almost shaking, as if he were struggling to hold himself in check. “Any moment, he will be here…”
He started to pull away. And suddenly Jasmine couldn’t bear to lose his arms around her. Not after she’d been so cold for so long. Not when they were this close, this man she’d tried to hate, this man she’d never stopped craving.
Leaning up, she pressed her mouth to his.
It was a short kiss. A peck. Just enough to feel the roughness of his lips, his masculine power and strength. But it caused a hot fever to spread through her body.
Kareef looked down at her in shock. She heard his hoarse, ragged breath as his hands gripped her shoulders.
Then, with a growl, he pushed her back against the pillow as the simmering conflagration exploded into fire. He kissed her, hard and deep. His kiss was hungry. Brutal.
He kissed her as if he’d been starving for her half his life.
His arms wrapped around her, pressing Jasmine back against the pillows. He enfolded her small body with his larger one. His mouth was rough and savage against hers, bruising her lips even as his hands caressed the back of her head, holding her like a fragile rose.
The hot demand of his kiss seared her, sending sparks down her body. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples tightening to painful intensity. An ache of longing coiled low in her belly, curling lower, lower still, between her thighs.
His mouth never left hers as he stroked down the front of her body, from the smooth curve of her collarbone to her flat belly, seeing her with his fingertips. His feather-light touch against the smooth pink silk of her blouson dress caused exquisite agony of sensation. His kiss deepened, became more demanding. He gripped her bare arms, her shoulders, holding her down.
How many nights had she dreamed of this? Of feeling his hands on her skin, of being in his bed?
She was dreaming. She had to be. And she prayed she would never wake.
His large hands splayed across her silken belly in the bright sunlight of the windows. He plundered her lips, spreading her mouth wide to accept his tongue.
A soft moan escaped her. She wrapped her hands around his neck to hold his body against her. Their tongues intertwined, mingled, fought. His lips bruised hers—or was it the other way around? She no longer knew. Neither of them could hold thirteen years of desire in check. They barely kept themselves from causing injury to the other beneath the weight of their mutual, insatiable hunger.
It was better than it had been at sixteen. Now, at twenty-nine, she knew how rare this fire truly was.
She reached her hands beneath his shirt and felt the heat of his skin, the hard knots of his muscles and taut belly. Felt the soft coarse hair between the hard nubs of his nipples. With an intake of breath, he pulled back, grabbing her wrists.
“Tonight, you are mine. Whatever the cost.” His voice was low and dark, as if ripped from the depths of his soul. “I will make you forget all the others.”
Their eyes locked in a moment that seemed to stretch out to infinity. She swallowed.
“There have been no others,” she whispered. “Only you. How could I give my body to another, when I am still your wife?”
Her cheeks went hot, and she couldn’t meet his eyes. Would he mock her pathetic fidelity? Would he laugh at her?
Then she heard his harsh intake of breath. “Jasmine.”
Suddenly, his hands were in her long tangled hair, his body pressed against hers. His blue eyes were dark and hungry as he tilted back her head, exposing her throat.
“Jasmine. My first,” he breathed. “My only.”
Her heartbeat tripled. Could he mean…?
No!