Page 19 of Her Vow to Be His Desert Queen

‘In that case,’ she said, ‘yes. I’ll give you two weeks.’

CHAPTER FOUR

SIDONIE’SSKINBENEATHhis fingers was deliciously silky and warm, and Khalil didn’t want to let her go. Her eyes had darkened into deep emerald and the pulse at the base of her throat, the pulse he’d just tasted, was racing.

He could hear his own blood roaring in his veins, desire like a giant heartbeat echoing inside him, and he could still taste her on his tongue, like summer, all honey and sunshine and sweetness.

He’d fantasised about how she’d taste many times, but the reality was better than any of his fantasies. He’d thought of kissing her many times, too, back when they’d been friends. Kissing her and more. But they’d remained just that, thoughts and fantasies. He’d kept his hands to himself no matter how difficult it had been.

Yet he hadn’t been blind. He was an experienced man, and he knew when a woman wanted him. Sidonie had definitely wanted him back then and it seemed she still did, which was something he could use.

He hadn’t wanted to. His mother’s methods of using his emotions to teach him hard life lessons weren’t ones he wanted to use on anyone else, let alone Sidonie. But he’d had to do something to get her agreement.

Putting his hand against her cheek had been calculated. He’d thought using her desire for him would aid his cause, but he hadn’t expected the heat that had ignited inside him the moment he’d touched her.

He’d always wanted her, it was true, but his desire had felt like more than just want. It was as if the dam he kept between himself and his baser hungers had fractured, a dark and endless need welling up through the cracks, and he’d kissed her, pushed her up against that parapet before he’d fully understood what he was doing.

He had a longing not just for physical connection but also for her. For the woman he’d put out of his mind for so long that he’d thought she was gone for good. Except she hadn’t gone. She was still there inside him, as was the ache of a loss he hadn’t even realised he’d felt.

He hadn’t been able to stop himself from deepening that kiss, from pushing her up against the parapet so he could feel her against him, her warmth settling into him. Easing the ache inside him. Her mouth beneath his had been so hot, like summer sun on his face after years of winter, and he’d had to force himself to remember what he was doing and what his goal was.

This wasn’t about him and what he wanted.

This was about his country and his people, and no matter his pride. No matter that he’d never said please before in his life and certainly hadn’t wanted to give her a two-week window in which to decide whether she wanted to marry him or not.

All that mattered was that she agreed.

So, he’d let her have it. Let her have his name for her charity too, because that was a small thing, and it wouldn’t cost him anything, and it was clearly important to her. Two weeks wouldn’t cost him either, would give her the illusion of choice at least, because at the end of that time he had no doubt at all that she’d marry him. He’d convince her. He’d use any and every weapon at his disposal if it meant she’d be his queen. His country demanded it.

Sensual pleasure would clearly be his weapon of choice, judging by the smoky green of her eyes, the delicate flush in her cheeks, and the way her full mouth had gone from firm to soft and pouty-looking.

Are you sure that is a good idea? Especially given your own response to her? You could become greedy, like Amir.

It was a concern, granted. Especially given his bloodline. But now he knew he was...susceptible, he’d be on his guard. He could control himself. His mother’s lessons had been difficult, but he’d learned. And apart from all of that, he’d had five years of hardening himself into the King his people demanded. Of making sure the man he’d once been, the man full of doubts and flaws, was gone.

He could use their physical chemistry and not fall victim to it, he was certain.

She was staring up at him now from beneath her silky reddish lashes, and the temptation to kiss her again gripped him by the throat. But he mastered the urge. Instead he brushed his thumb over her mouth once more, relishing the give of her lower lip as he did so. ‘Good. In that case, we leave tonight.’

Sidonie blinked. She was still pressed up against him, her fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket, and he was very,veryconscious of the soft heat between her legs against his thigh and the press of her lush breasts against his chest.

You are hungry for her.

A physical hunger, nothing more. As a prince, after the nasty business of claiming his place in the succession was over, after his mother had died of the cancer that had taken hold of her, he’d let his desires run wild, let that poisonous blood have what it wanted, drowning the terrible doubt inside him about what he’d done. It had been before he’d met Sidonie and sex had been a good distraction.

But even then, his distractions had been calculated. His mastery over himself had never wavered, no matter how many women he took to his bed. And Sidonie, for all that she’d once meant to him, would be essentially just another woman.

Surprise crossed Sidonie’s lovely face. ‘Tonight? But...that’s too soon.’

Khalil forced himself to release her jaw and step back, which took more effort than it should. ‘I am afraid I need to be back in Al Da’ira as soon as possible.’

The surprise vanished, that cool veneer slowly sliding back into place, hiding the sensual, sweet woman she’d been not a moment earlier. The real Sidonie. The Sidonie he remembered.

He didn’t like that veneer. He didn’t like it at all. Well, shattering it completely wouldn’t take long. He wouldn’t need two weeks to make his Sidonie return to him.

‘That’s unacceptable, Khalil,’ she said. ‘I told you. I have a business to run and people counting on me. I can’t just up and leave with no notice.’

Thwarted desire coiled inside him, hot and demanding, eroding his patience and his temper along with it. He wasn’t a man who gave in to such frustrations, but he was tired of fighting her. He had to get home. Already he’d wasted too much time coming to Paris and preparing a birthday meal that he hadn’t even needed in the end. He should have just kissed her back in the pub in England.

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