Page 15 of Desert King's Forbidden Temptation

‘Oh, my God,’ she whispered, eyes clenched shut, not on a wave of pleasure now but one of comprehension. ‘Your Highness, that was—’ She turned her back on him, her slim shoulders shaking. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Her soft apology tore at something inside him.

‘What for?’ He moved to her, so they were toe to toe once more. His own desire had not abated.

‘For letting that happen. For wanting it to happen. For standing here and basically begging you to make love to me.’ She grimaced, her face paler than paper. ‘That was a terrible, terrible mistake.’

It was the very last thing he wanted to hear. ‘A mistake? Hardly.’

‘You think not?’

‘It’s...inconvenient,’ he said, choosing his words with care.

‘Elana is my best friend,’ she groaned. ‘And I’m here to see if you’re a good match for her. What am I meant to say? That you’re a very smart, handsome guy who hits on any woman in his proximity?’

‘That’s not what this was,’ he said quickly.

‘Oh? Then what was it?’ she demanded.

‘I haven’t been with a woman in months,’ he clarified.

‘That’s even worse! So you would have had sex with me just because it’s “been a while”?’ All formality was, for the moment, lost. ‘Even though my best friend is your future wife?’

His eyes narrowed, and just like that, his desire faded, leaving something hollow in its place. Tariq was known for many things, his black-and-white morality amongst them. ‘She is not yet my future wife,’ he reminded her, aware it was really only a technicality. ‘Neither of us has officially agreed to the marriage.’

‘But youintendto marry her,’ Eloise muttered. ‘If she’ll have you, which she will, if I recommend it. Don’t you understand? She trusts me! She’s relying on me. I can’t—I can’t go back and tell her to marry someone that I’ve—if we’ve—’

He understood perfectly. Everything she was saying made perfect sense, he just didn’t particularly like hearing it.

‘Fine, it was a mistake,’ he agreed with her first summation. ‘It won’t happen again.’

Disappointment that dulled her eyes. ‘Good,’ she whispered, running her hands down her dress, straightening it, pulling away from him. ‘Itcan’thappen again, Your Highness.’

‘Then please, call me Tariq,’ he said after a pause. ‘You keep using my title and I have to tell you it leads me to want to rip every shred of fabric from your body and make you shout it from the rooftops.’

Her gasp was loud enough to split the room in two, the imagery as evocative to Tariq as it was to Eloise.

‘Duly warned,’ she said quietly. ‘That can never happen again... Tariq.’

It was impossible not to envy him, and to marvel at his prowess, for not ten minutes after making her see stars, she was watching the Sheikh of Savisia speak to his mother as though nothing earth-shattering had taken place, whatsoever.

‘I’ve always loved Ras Sarat,’ the Sheikha murmured, her greying hair pulled up into a loose bun, intelligent eyes focused on Eloise, so it took all of her concentration not to blush. Surely her face showed exactly what had just happened? Damn it, she wished they hadn’t met like this, but it had been unavoidable.

Tariq had insisted on walking Eloise back to her suite, where she’d intended to hide out for at least the next century, only the older regent had been sitting in a dappled courtyard they happened to cross through, and when she offered tea, Eloise knew it would have been very poor form to demur. Despite the fact tea was the last thing she wanted. Despite the fact she could barely think straight. Despite the fact her knees were wobbling and her breath rushing and her breasts tingling and her stomach in knots.

She plastered a smile to her face, forcing herself to sit demurely, to remember all of the etiquette lessons she and Elana had joked about over the years. Hands clasped in her lap, shoulders relaxed, feet crossed at the ankles.

‘Do you travel there often?’

‘Yes, in fact. It’s where we took our honeymoon.’ Something wistful crossed the older woman’s expression and belatedly, Eloise recalled the recent passing of the Sheikh.

‘I was sorry to hear about His Highness,’ she murmured, aware of Tariq’s eyes on her. Aware of them? Hyper-aware, more like. They burned her, lingering on her skin, tantalising her, mocking her, reminding her of what they could be doing, if only she hadn’t panicked.

‘It was a great loss.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Did you ever meet him?’ the Sheikha prompted.

‘No, Your Highness. I didn’t have that good fortune.’

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