Page 13 of Desert King's Forbidden Temptation

‘And if she chooses to marry, will you accompany her here?’

The question was far more loaded than it should have been. Something inside her chest lurched and she found the vision of that future strangely barbed. ‘I...couldn’t say,’ she said after a beat. ‘It would depend on Elana’s wishes.’

‘It sounds to me like she relies on you a great deal. Will that end when she marries?’

‘She’d have your advisors, Your Highness. And you.’

‘And yet she’d also have her hands full, adapting to life here, and as my Sheikha. Your support would no doubt be invaluable.’

‘If she felt that way, of course I would accompany her,’ Eloise agreed finally, wondering why it felt like she was inking a deal with the devil. Something was warning her that she should keep her distance from this scenario, that for all she wanted to serve and help Elana, her own needs might come into conflict with those goals.

She didn’t like that feeling.

For as long as she could remember, she and Elana had been on parallel tracks. She didn’t like the idea of coming to a point where she could no longer serve her friend. And why shouldn’t she come to Savisia? What difference would it make where she lived? It was a question she couldn’t answer, but she knew, on some intuitive level that itdidmake a difference, and she suspected the man opposite was the beginning and end of that reason.

CHAPTER THREE

‘IT’SSOMUCHbigger than I realised,’ Eloise said, staring down the hallway at the palace and then, at the man beside her. ‘Are you sure you have time for this?’

‘This wedding is of the utmost importance to me. You have my full and undivided attention for the next seven days. Starting with a tour of the palace.’

Her eyes flared wide, as they often did, and he felt a strange rush inside him. Desire. He’d stopped pretending he didn’t recognise the feeling around the time she first tasted the chickpea curry. Her eyes had fluttered shut, her lips had swollen and parted, and she’d made a noise that was, oh, so similar to what he’d envisaged she might sound like if he were to kiss her. He’d found it almost impossible to think straight from that moment on. He’d stumbled through the rest of the meal, giving far too much attention to the full sweep of her lips, the curve of her breasts, the gentle movements of her hands, so he’d been as hard as a rock when their coffee had been cleared away. Grateful for his generous thobe, he’d suggested a tour in the hope the historical detail of the palace would take the edge off his physical awareness.

The only problem was that Eloise Ashworth was clearly a history buff. Every room they entered enticed such a delighted, cooing response that if anything, his awareness of her was growing by the minute.

It was...unexpected.

Reminding himself he’d had months of abstinence, he assured himself that he could slake his needs with another woman and return to the status quo tomorrow. Only...the idea left him cold. There was no woman he could think of in that moment that he wanted in his bed as he did Eloise.

And she was one woman he absolutely, definitely couldn’t touch. His marriage to Princess Elana was the insurance policy he desperately needed. Through her legitimate place on the throne of Ras Sarat could he stave off any future challenges to his own rule. Such a challenge would not be based in law—technically, the fact that Tariq had been legally adopted meant he was conferred with the same rights as a biological child, in this instance that made him the heir to the throne. But something theoretical was not necessarily the case in reality and he couldn’t imagine the people of Savisia happily accepting a foreigner as their Sheikh—not without an added legitimisation of his place on the throne, such as marriage to the Crown Princess of Ras Sarat.

Desiring his future wife’s best friend was a recipe for disaster. Grinding his teeth together, he nonetheless allowed himself to move closer under the guise of gesturing to one of the tapestries that adorned the walls in the morning room.

‘My mother uses this space to entertain,’ he said. ‘She likes the decorations.’

‘So do I,’ Eloise murmured. ‘These tapestries are stunning. How old are they?’ She spun around, perhaps not realising how close they were now standing, and she very nearly bumped into him.

Her lips parted and warm breath pressed to his cheek, courtesy of the face that was tilted to his. ‘I—’

He knew he should say something to take the awkwardness out of their situation, but he didn’t want to. He liked watching the expressions flitting across her face, showing that her own awareness of him was distracting her, making her contemplate something that they should both assiduously avoid.

‘You?’ he prompted, and with the spirit of the devil stirring, he leaned forward, ever so slightly, so her eyes fluttered shut quickly. He stared at her face with surprise, as if just realising how beautiful she was.

He’d been attracted to her immediately, but in Tariq’s experience, desire was never hung on one thing or another—he was just as likely to be drawn to a woman who made him laugh as he was a woman he found physically appealing. But Eloise was like a finely crafted doll, her features exquisite and somehow hauntingly fragile, so they stirred something quite protective and defensive in his chest.

Her throat shifted as she swallowed and before he could stop himself, he lifted a hand, his finger pressing to the base of her jaw, so her eyes skittled open and lanced his. But hers were heavy with her own needs, as though she were wading through desire just to be able to look at him. ‘This is—’

He said nothing this time, only stared. Her pulse was racing beneath his fingertips. Whatever she might say, her body’s response to his was obvious.

Which was, as a point of fact, an enormous problem. If his desire was one-sided, then he’d never dream of acting on it. It would have been easier to ignore her. Knowing she felt as he did made him want to rip the long, elegant dress from her body and take her right there on the ancient rug at their feet, to hell with who might interrupt them, to hell with anything.

Not since he was a teenager, and perhaps not even then, had he felt so overcome by his physical needs. Even with his monumental control at play, Tariq wasn’t sure he could keep this situation in check. Nor that he even wanted to.

‘Your Highness.’ Her breathy words were a plea and God help him, hearing her call him by his title made his already rock-hard arousal strain painfully against his pants. ‘I think...’

He waited, staring at her, heat buzzing between them, the air thick with their breaths and awareness, with a mutual, desperate need. ‘You are very beautiful.’

It was not something he’d intended to say.

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