Page 18 of Destined for the Desert King

She was nothing but a blur behind the damned veil. Dark hair, dark pools of eyes. But then those were what he recalled from the hazy memories of all those years ago. She had to have changed...

Who the hell would have thought that cuddly, sweet-natured Aziza would have turned into a subtle sex kitten in the years since he had seen her last?

He wanted to touch, let the fingers that had lifted the side of the veil brush against the downy silk of her skin. But as he leaned forward and she turned towards him his senses were suddenly assailed by a waft of scent that reached out to him.

Hauntingly familiar.

Shockingly familiar.

It made his whole body freeze, realisation kicking him hard in the gut. He knew that perfume. Sandalwood and jasmine. It was a scent he associated with one woman only. Zia.

Since when did a maid wear the same perfume as her mistress?

Unless...

Had all the lights been turned out or could he really not see even if he blinked hard? Her face was hidden, just a blur behind the veil, but even if that obstacle had been tossed aside he would still be fighting to clear his vision. Had he walked into the same trap as before? Married into the same set-up as with Sharmila? Had he really been deceived once more by a pretty face, a seductive body?

Who the hell was she?

Nabil had suddenly gone so still that Aziza felt as if everything and everyone else had evaporated, leaving them in an intense vacuum where there was only the two of them, and the shimmering haze of awareness that was building with every breath she took. Her senses swam in sensual overload as she caught the scent of his skin so close to her nostrils. The hand that held up the veil on the other side was warm and gentle, long fingers slightly calloused from the controlling grip on the reins of the wild Arabian stallions he loved to ride. Once again the thought of those hands on her body, removing her djbella, dropping it to the floor, those tiny calluses catching on the smoothness of her skin, made her burn between her legs, her mouth drying in the rush of heated awareness. So much so that she snatched at the second half of the grape he was offering her, misjudging the action so that her mouth closed around not just the fruit but also the warm, tanned fingers that were holding it to her mouth.

Oh, dear lord! The words of panic pounded inside her head as she waited to see the way he would snatch his hand away in anger at her clumsiness.

It didn’t happen. Only that total silent, shocking stillness.

All she wanted was to bring him out of it. To make him move, speak—smile if she could.

Emboldened by the fizz of excitement that bubbled through her veins, she let her tongue slip against his fingers, tasting his clean skin and the slightly musky tang that turned her insides molten.

‘Aziza...’

She had heard that note, half-groan, half-laughter, in his voice before. On the balcony. Then he had rejected her, turned and walked away from her. But today there was no room for rejection or dismissal here. She was his. She was his Queen and her head spun in the delirium that combined with the heated rush of excitement and purely feminine need she was experiencing, turning her head.

She wanted to see that response again. But more than that she wanted the taste of him on her tongue again. Hunger made her bolder, slicking away the sugary taste of the grapes and replacing it with the stronger, more basic taste of warm male skin as she swirled her tongue around those strong fingers, resting her cheek against the warmth and hardness of his other hand as she did so.

‘Aziza!’ This time it was a very different sound. The groan might still be there but every trace of the laughter had vanished, leaving his voice hard and clipped even though it was never raised above the level of a whisper. ‘Enough, lady!’

It was like being slapped in the face, jolted back into reality with a nerve-jangling rush. He pulled his hands away from her face, letting her head drop to one side as he snatched his fingers away from her mouth, the heavy gold ring he wore on his finger—his wedding finger—catching on the fine gauze of her veil so that it tugged sharply against the points where it was fastened into the ornate style of her hair, bringing tears to her eyes.

Nabil had slammed to his feet, silencing everyone around them. All conversation stopped, every head turned their way, and the hushed atmosphere suddenly felt cold and oppressive, a sensation that was made worse by the way that Nabil now towered over her, his tall, powerful frame blocking out the light from the candles.

‘Enough,’ he said again and her mind was whirling too hard, too fearfully to be able to put any interpretation on his tone this time. She had overstepped some invisible line that she hadn’t even known was drawn between them, and she didn’t know which way to react.

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