Page 21 of Desert King's Forbidden Temptation

‘To be fair, I was pretty complicit,’ she couldn’t resist saying, the words brittle, laced with shame.

‘I shouldn’t have let things go this far. If you were not her friend, then things would be different, but you are. I understand.’ He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, but quickly, chastely, with no promise of anything further. Her heart developed a fissure right down the centre, but she told herself it was with relief and gladness.

‘Okay,’ she forced a smile to her mouth but it felt wooden and heavy. ‘Thank you.’

His eyes glowed when they met hers. ‘Let’s eat.’

For three days, the Sheikh was on his best behaviour and Eloise told herself she was glad. Glad he was being businesslike and professional, glad he delegated some of the sightseeing to minions, glad that he kept a respectful distance from her at all times.

Glad that he didn’t touch her or kiss her or even look at her as though he wanted to.

Glad that her evenings were kept free, except for one thing: when she was alone, he was in her thoughts, her mind, his phantom touch on her body, his lips on her lips, his taste in her mouth, his touch in her body, so she was almost mindless with exhaustion and distraction by her fourth morning in Savisia.

Eloise had been so sure that she wasn’t interested in a relationship with anyone—what were the chances of the first man who got under her skin and made her question everything being a man who’d proposed marriage to her best friend?

A hysterical laugh bubbled inside of her, so she reached for her cup of tea, still piping hot, and sipped it, glad for the way it scalded her throat a little. His marriage with Elana would be purely one of convenience. For Elana, it was essential to boost her country’s flagging economic and political position in the region. But what about Tariq? Why had he chosen Elana? She frowned, contemplating that.

Why did he need children so desperatelynow? He was young and virile, and while he was the last of this line of the Savisian royal family, at thirty, and in good health, it was hard not to think he had at least a few years. Years in which to find a bride and marry for love. To marry someone he cared about, not just another princess.

But that wasn’t why she’d come here.

Eloise’s job was to see if she could recommend the marriage. She thought now of everything she knew about Tariq, everything she’d known before arriving and everything she’d heard and seen since, and her heart gave a funny little pang.

His reputation had preceded him. He was well-regarded by absolutely everyone. Not a single person could fault him. He was respected, liked, admired, but in person, it was impossible not to recognise his many personal charms, not to be overwhelmed by them. Elana would not likely love him—her heart had been lost when her fiancé had died—but she would like him. She would really like him, and she’d enjoy being married to him. They were definitely compatible.

Eloise felt a tick in the centre of her chest. She ignored it. She had to focus on Elana now, not her own stupid, selfish desires and wants. Not the little fantasy she’d developed in which Tariq was a normal man and she was not the best friend of the woman he’d sought to propose marriage to.

With a groan, she banged her palm against her forehead, wanting to push all thoughts from her mind that weren’t relevant, but they pursued her, rushing through her, pulling at her, so eventually, she gave up, deciding on a walk to clear her mind instead.

The palace was incredibly beautiful. Beyond anything she’d ever seen before, in fact. It wasn’t simply the grandiose nature of the architecture—and itwasimpossibly grand—but also the way the palace had been designed, at some long ago point in time, to make the most of nature’s bounty. In one direction, large curved windows framed striking views of the desert, the vastness making one feel inconsequential and vital at the same time. In the other direction, the ocean shimmered, the capital city a testament to modernity with glass-and-steel monoliths cutting like blades through the crisp blue sky. The palace was surrounded by lush, green gardens—a testament to genius aquaculture, the diversion of a nearby river offered year-round irrigation, making for dense, immaculate lawns. The trees were mostly natives to this region or those with similar temperatures, and prospered in the climate: junipers, date palms, figs. Strong and sturdy, reminding her, quite suddenly, of the Sheikh of Savisia. She stopped walking abruptly, staring at one of the trees as her breath quickened in her throat.

He was so completely of this land, it was a part of him, and he of it. He’d proposed marriage because it was his duty to marry, and he would marry for that same reason. He would marry Elana because it made sense.

She forced her feet to move, taking her step by step towards the wide doors that led to one of the many courtyards surrounding the palace. She’d explored extensively in the last few days and knew this was one of the ways she could access the gardens. The sky was turning, fading from the brightness of the afternoon to the magical light of the dusk, the stars beginning to peep down on Savisia, the desert birds issuing their lilting night cries. She inhaled, the fragrance familiar yet different, so like Ras Sarat, and yet so unique, quite unlike anything she’d ever known before.

Her hands trailed a nearby rose bush and an errant spike caught her finger. She lifted it to her face for closer inspection, noting the perfect droplet of blood that seeped out. With a grimace, she kept walking, past the rose bushes, to a large field of citrus trees that reminded Eloise of an army—each tree stood strong and proud, heavy with leaves and blossoms, preparing for the winter when fruit would burst on these limbs, weighing them down, dragging them closer to the earth. She imagined the delight of a sun-kissed orange eaten here. She imagined peeling the skin and lifting the quadrants to her lips, tasting the sweet flesh as juices ran down her fingers. She imagined Tariq taking her by the wrist and drawing her sticky, citrus scented fingers to his mouth, licking each one, eyes locked to hers, mesmerising, heavenly.

She gasped, pushing the errant thought from her mind.

But that wasn’t enough. The strength of her thoughts had conjured him—or so it seemed to Eloise, who was startled from her X-rated thoughts by the sound of hooves thudding across the ground, and a moment later, the sight of Tariq astride a magnificent stallion, black with rippling muscles and a mane that had been expertly braided.

She could only stare as he made his way across the field beyond the citrus trees. He sat straight on the horse’s back, his frame impossible to mistake for any other man’s, his expert command of the beast never in question. He rode as though he and the horse were one, their thoughts shared, their purpose unified. She lifted a hand to her lips, knowing this image would be burned into her brain for life. The perfection of it, the rightness, the fascinating, undeniable sensuality.

A low groan formed in the base of her throat. It was silent. A thought, more than anything, but he responded as though she’d shouted his name, his head turning, eyes pinpointing her precisely, exactly, so she froze to the spot, fingers pressed to her lips, as she’d been fantasising about only moments earlier.

Everything shimmered. The horizon, the sky, the horse’s mane, every cell in her body seemed to tremble and glisten. Without hesitation, he tugged on the horse’s rein, and the beast responded instantly, changing course, tacking away from the open field, feet kicking up, moving faster, with an urgency that matched the fast flowing of her blood, until Tariq was riding through the citrus grove, cutting a path directly to her.

CHAPTER FIVE

SHECOULDN’TMOVE. Her legs were divorced from her body. She stayed where she was, trying desperately to rally her thoughts, to remember that she was there to serve her friend, not her own selfish, and terrifying, desires.

It was just that she hadn’t seen him properly in days. It heightened everything, making her awareness of him as much a fundamental property as light and air.

‘Eloise,’ he said with a dip of his head, the words coated with something gruff and raw.

The horse expelled a breath, then studied her with undisguised curiosity, so she smiled because the beast really was a mirror of its owner.

‘Your Highness.’

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