Sheikh's Forbidden Queen. Lynn Raye Harris
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Her hands wanted to claw into his hair to drag his head down to hers.
Her head fell back on her shoulders even as she felt the faint brush of his fingers against her spine. Cooler air washed her backbone and surprise gripped her as she registered that he had unzipped her dress without her even noticing. Her lashes flew up, her gaze connecting with scorching gold fringed with lush black lashes. He had such beautiful eyes, she acknowledged, and every other thought in her head evaporated simultaneously.
Zarif tugged the perfumed weight of her honey-blonde hair forward as he eased the dress down her arms. ‘I always loved your hair... It’s the most amazing colour when the sun catches it.’
‘No sun here,’ she framed nervously, feeling alarmingly shy at being stripped down to her bra and panties. He was coolly undressing her without a hint of passion and she was so unnerved by the experience that she could not even contemplate the much greater intimacy that surely still lay ahead of her.
Hard as a rock, Zarif studied the ripe mounds of her full breasts and swiftly removed the bra to cup the lush heavy globes in his appreciative hands. He stroked the quivering tips to aching sensitivity and only then did he kiss her.
Ella quivered, her whole body alight and tingling. Her hands dug into his shoulders as he took her rosy nipples between his fingers while claiming her mouth in a long drugging kiss. He skated his tongue across the sensitive roof of her mouth and she gasped, starting to moan as he let his tongue plunge deep in a much more primitive demand. The ache in her pelvis tightened like a knot being snapped tight, every atom of control wrested from her as mindless hunger took her in a shocking surge.
Zarif tugged her down flat on the bed, deft hands releasing her from the confines of the dress creased round her hips. He kept on kissing her and, oh, he was so good at it that she was on fire, pushing closer to his lean, hard body, wanting more, her entire body stimulated to a painful degree by responses more powerful than any she had previously experienced.
Zarif lifted his head to gaze down at her while he trailed his fingers through the damp tangle of curls at the apex of her thighs. ‘I want to watch you writhe and come, habibti,’ he husked. ‘I want to hear you scream with the pleasure I give you.’
‘Don’t want to scream,’ Ella framed with the greatest of difficulty, so hard was it for her to control her breathing and her voice enough to speak.
A fingertip found the swollen bud of her clitoris and dallied. He knew exactly what he was doing. He touched and she burned with every delicate caress. Her hips rose off the mattress in a movement as old and unstoppable as time. She struggled to breathe, actually sobbed out loud as he lowered his proud dark head and captured an engorged pink nipple between his lips and teased with his teeth. As he divided his attention between her straining, unbearably sensitive breasts and the tormentingly tender bud between her thighs, the twin assault became too much for her to bear. The hollow sensation at the heart of her was getting stronger while rhythmic waves were washing through her womb until suddenly the knot of tension there sprang free, plunging her into the grip of writhing convulsions of almost intolerable pleasure.
That shattering climax and the flood of ecstasy that followed took her by storm.
Zarif stared down at her, glittering tawny eyes alight with a new knowledge that made Ella cringe. She closed her eyes in self-protection, shamed by her complete loss of control. He pulled a sheet over her.
‘Get some rest,’ he advised smoothly. ‘Tomorrow’s festivities will last even longer than today’s and tonight I would prefer you wide awake.’
Hot with mortification and with her body still liquid as melting honey from his sensual attentions, Ella lay there long after the cabin door had closed behind him. It was only Zarif she could not resist, she tried to tell herself in consolation. Other men had tried and failed to seduce her into going further than she wanted to but Zarif did not even have to try. Why was that? How would she ever look him in the face again? At least, however, he would know what he was doing even she did not, she told herself soothingly, nervous tension pinching at her as she considered the night that still lay ahead.
THE AIRPORT LAY just outside the city of Qurzah. The jet landed to be greeted by a formal welcome in the form of a military band, a crowd of officials and a very cute little girl in a fancy frock, who curtsied and presented Ella with a bouquet. Ella was relieved that she had followed her mother’s advice and chosen a classy outfit to travel in because her mostly vintage wardrobe would not have met conservative expectations. Her blue shift dress, jacket and high heels, however, exactly fitted the bill.
Zarif watched his bride respond with beaming charm to the greetings and would have been more impressed had she once aimed those sparkling eyes and smiles in his direction. She was stubborn, capricious and paraded her moods too easily.
He marvelled that he had asked her to marry him for real only three years earlier. What had he been thinking of? Had he become obsessed by his overwhelming desire to make her his? Unlike him she had not been raised to respect the concept of duty or the rules and the restraint that went hand in hand with the exalted and privileged status of the al-Rastani dynasty. When the time came, he would be practical and he would seek a wife from one of the other Gulf royal families, one who knew exactly what he needed from her, he reflected grimly, wondering why the very prospect of that day should make his heart sink like a stone.
The limo wafted them through the crowded streets of Qurzah and he watched Ella look surprised when she saw the modern layout of the city as well as the shopping malls and the many parks adorned with fountains and sculptures. ‘It’s just like any city,’ she remarked in evident relief. ‘But rather more attractive than many I’ve visited.’
‘We are not a backward or primitive country,’ Zarif countered drily. ‘The oil wealth of decades and an education system and health service second to none have naturally made their mark.’
‘I didn’t think Vashir was backward...although you don’t let women drive here,’ Ella commented in a small aside redolent of her incredulity at such an embargo.
Zarif breathed in deep and slow and tried not to grit his teeth. He sometimes thought that his country was more famous for that restriction than for anything else and he would be changing that perverse law as soon as his uncle was no more. To do so beforehand had struck him as needlessly distressing for the old man, rousing as it would grievous memories that were better left buried.
The limo purred between lofty gates into a property surrounded by tall walls and turrets. Ella gazed in wonderment at the vast ancient building stretched out before her because with its Moorish arches, weathered and elaborate stonework and the glorious greenery softening the frontage it was very redolent of an Arabian nights fantasy dwelling. ‘I thought the palace was brand new.’
‘The new one is on the other side of the city and used for government council meetings, conferences and all official functions. This is where I grew up and I prefer to live here, certainly while my uncle is ill,’ Zarif proffered, his beautiful wilful mouth tightening as if he was waiting for her to argue.
Ella said nothing although she had pinned her confidence on staying at the new palace where she could be secure in the awareness that Zarif’s first wife could never have lived there. So much for that hope! And why should she be so oversensitive anyway? It was not as if she were in love with Zarif or jealous, she reasoned, exasperated by her odd thought train.
She slid from the car. Darkness was falling and the heat was already less oppressive than it had been at the airport where within minutes of being deprived of air-conditioning cool her dress had literally felt as though it were plastered to her damp, perspiring skin. ‘It looks like a fascinating building.’
‘Hamid will show you round.’ Zarif referred to his chief aide. ‘His father used to be in charge of running the old palace and he, too, grew up here. He knows everything about the palace’s history.’
Ella would have been more impressed had Zarif offered to conduct such a tour personally and