Page 42 of Desert King's Forbidden Temptation

‘Need I remind you I’m the Sheikh of Savisia?’

‘Believe me, I’m well aware of that.’

The air crackled between them.

‘I’m not going to have this argument with you,’ he said, all regal hauteur.

‘Good. We don’t need to argue.’ To emphasise her point, she snuggled down on the sofa. It was small enough that her legs were bent up, but she closed her eyes and pretended contentment.

The swishing of his thobes told of his departure, and she celebrated the micro-victory, until a moment later he returned. ‘The bed’s fine. No spiders. You can go in there now.’

She sat up, staring at him and then she burst out laughing. ‘This is ridiculous,’ she said with a shake of her head, and then, he was laughing too, hands on his hips, eyes resting on her face. ‘I’m not even tired right now.’

‘You were asleep in the car.’

‘What can I tell you? I guess an earthquake and a landslide shake you right back awake.’

‘A fair point.’

She looked around the cabin. ‘Do you have anything to do here?’

He lifted a brow. ‘Perhaps you should be more specific.’

‘A board game? Cards?’ she rushed to clarify.

He moved to a small bookshelf and withdrew a silver box, carrying it towards her. He hesitated, gesturing to the other side of the sofa. ‘May I?’

Her heart in her throat, she nodded. It was, after all, his cabin.

As soon as he sat down, she felt the error of her decision. They were so close. The sofa wasn’t large enough for them to sit side by side without touching. She went to move, to jerk to stand, but his hand on her knee stilled her.

‘It’s okay,’ he said, gruffly. His smile was slow. Gentle. ‘It’s just cards.’

It didn’t feel like ‘just cards’. Not then, and not when he began to speak slowly, his accent heavy, recounting the rules of the game his father had taught him—the subtle gathering of houses to form a suite—patiently explaining for the first few hands then setting about ruthlessly demolishing her until she learned enough lessons to hold her own.

It didn’t feel like ‘just cards’ as they laughed in unison at a poor twist of fortune, nor when he commended her for beating him, his eyes glowing with something suspiciously like pride.

It felt likeso much more.

‘I...’ The word hung between them. She pulled back a little. ‘I should go to bed.’

‘You’re tired now?’

‘Not really,’ she responded. ‘But I should go to bed anyway.’ If she stayed there any longer, she wasn’t sure what would happen. His promise that everything would be fine felt as shaky as the earth outside the cabin.

‘If you wish.’ He stood, his ingrained manners fluttering something in the region of her heart. ‘There are spare toothbrushes in the bottom drawer of the bathroom. Soap in the shower. Make yourself at home.’

She nodded without a word. She didn’t trust her voice to speak.

There was no hot water so she shunned the idea of a shower, but she brushed her teeth gratefully, then stared at her reflection in the simple mirror above the sink. Slowly, she pulled her hair from its neat chignon, letting it fall down her back. She splashed her face with water then towelled it dry, aware she looked younger without the light make-up she habitually wore. There wasn’t much she could do about her clothes—she didn’t dare remove a single item—but when she stepped out, it was to find Tariq hadn’t shared her reservations. He’d stripped down to his cuffed pants. His torso was bare, the pants slung low on his waist.

The breath exploded from her lungs and she could only stand there and stare at him, everything inside of her burning at fever pitch.

‘I’ve put a spare tunic of mine on the bed, in case you’d prefer to sleep in it.’

Her lips were parted and refused to come back together. Her eyes wouldn’t cooperate. They feasted on him even when she knew she needed to look away.

He made no effort to conceal himself, but rather, submitted to her inspection, standing like a very desirable statue. Something tilted inside of her.

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