The Sultan's Reluctant Princess Page 3

  He paused outside some dark timber doors, and another set of matching servants pushed them inwards. As Olivia moved past them, she was reminded of salt and pepper shakers, for the way they stood as unemotional sentinels, tall and straight. They wore the same black uniform with gold trim that the others had done.

  “Please, have a seat.”

  Olivia jumped, her green eyes flying to his face.

  Tamir’s chuckle was low and throaty, turning her blood to warm lava inside of her. “You do not need to be afraid, Azeezi.”

  “Don’t I?” She lifted her brows in a mocking challenge to his words.

  Tamir wiped the humour from his expression. “Sit down, Olivia. I would like to speak with you.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to decline, when the formality of the stunning room broke through to her. Her eyes swung wildly from the gold colored curtains that covered the wall of windows, to the parquetry floor, and the chandeliers that ran down the middle of the room like a jewel encrusted river. The wallpaper opposite the windows was cream and gold, and emblazoned with the Talidarian royal crest. The chair that he was inviting her to sit in was made of walnut wood with gold details; and it was far more like a throne than a simple chair.

  She swallowed. Awe-struck, she eased herself into it, and clasped her hands in her lap. She found it difficult to meet his gaze suddenly.

  “Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

  She shook her head. Though she hadn’t been able to eat all day, she found her stomach was still too knotted to be tempted by food. “What would you like to speak about?”

  He disguised his amusement. “Last night.”

  “Oh.” She squirmed in the chair, and had it been possible, she would have disappeared into the floorboards. “I see.”

  “Do you?” He did not sit down. Standing before her, she had a perfect vision of his strong thighs and firm, flat chest. Though they were encased in the suit, it did nothing to disguise his muscled strength.

  Olivia looked up at him in confusion. “Do I what?”

  “Do you see what I want from you?”

  She took in a deep breath. The speech she’d rehearsed in her mind that morning felt heavy in her mouth in that moment. “I gave you the wrong impression last night, Sultan Al’ani.”

  “Mir,” he corrected, pressing a finger under her chin and lifting her face to meet his.

  She shook her head. “I can’t call you that. I shouldn’t be here. I hardly know you. You’re royalty. And I’m… not.”

  “That is birth, and nothing more. And you hardly know me yet,” he agreed with a shrug, as though it were of absolutely no importance.

  “Not ever,” she responded firmly, and her green eyes sparked with a determined fierceness he found enchanting.

  “What has brought you to this conclusion?” His accent was like cinnamon and rum on a desert breeze. Spicy and warm, deep and sexy.

  She made a sound of frustration and stood, moving with the grace of a ballerina towards one of the windows. The lush greenery of Hyde Park was just beyond her. Olivia unconsciously ran a hand through her ponytail, playing with the ends over her shoulder. “That wasn’t me, last night. I don’t know what came over me.”

  Tamir felt a strange prickle of sympathy; a desire to take away her obvious discomfort and reassure her that she had not been at all in the wrong. He did not act on it, of course. Though he was known to be a generous and kind ruler, when it came to the women he wanted to bed he played to win. Her discomfort gave him an advantage and he pushed it without shame. “Desire came over you.”

  She coughed, her breath hitched in her throat making her feel as though she were choking. “It’s crazy.” She shook her head. “I don’t act like that.”

  “Apparently you’re wrong.” He closed the distance between them and put a hand on her shoulder. “You would have made love to me in that room at the Royal Albert Hall if I hadn’t resisted.”

  Her cheeks flushed prettily. “I know.”

  He admired her honesty. It was a refreshing quality, and a point of difference between his usual choice of lover. Then again, integrity was not a quality he cared for in the women who temporarily warmed his bed. Nothing mattered to him beyond their desirability and enthusiasm. He ran his fingers down her arm, enjoying the way she shivered beneath his touch.

  “You would make love to me now. If I kissed you, you would beg me not to stop.”

  “No,” she whispered, but the way she quickly stepped away from him showed that she knew it was true. “Please don’t.”

  He grinned. “You are so afraid of this.” He ran a hand through her hair. “Why?”

  “Because,” she exhaled softly, pressing her fingertips to her temples. “How long are you in London for, Tamir?”

  “I leave tomorrow.”

  A pain, like a stitch, stamped across her chest. How was it possible that she cared so much about someone she didn’t know? He was leaving, and that would be the end of it. “In which case, we definitely have nothing left to discuss.”

  “You will come with me.” He spoke as though she hadn’t, and his words echoed with a dark intensity that knocked her sideways.

  “What?” Her heart was louder than a drum, hard and fast.

  “You want me.”

  She opened her mouth to deny it, but the word died on her tongue. She closed her eyes, her lashes long and dark against her cheek. “Yes. I do. But that doesn’t mean I can indulge that… feeling.”

  Again, she showed her strength of character, by admitting to their attraction. “Why would you not indulge it? You can take a holiday from your job. Come and see Talidar again. Come and enjoy the many, many ancient jewels and tapestries and statues in my palace.”

  Her eyes flew open. That was almost as tempting as what she really wanted. His face was unreadable, his dark eyes intent on her face.

  “I can’t,” she insisted quietly. Though there was a part of her that was tempted, she had responsibilities in London. A life that required her in it.

  “You have said that, but you are not explaining your hesitation.”

  “This is a fantasy,” she muttered. “You are a prince who is used to getting what he wants. You’ve decided you want me, and I suspect that the more I prevaricate, the more determined you become. So let me ask you this, Tamir. Why do you want me?”

  His eyes flared with an intention that she didn’t comprehend. His lips took possession of hers hungrily, with a passion that perfectly matched what they’d shared the night before. “Because your body dances to the same tune as mine.” He pulled at her hair elastic, freeing it from the confines of the neat style she’d slicked it into earlier that day. At a time when she had stupidly thought she could control this raw flame of lust.

  She lifted her hands and tangled her fingers in his dark hair. It was thick and coarse. With her hands held aloft, her breasts were pressed firm against his chest, her body cleaved to his as though they were one. Tamir wanted to lift her shirt from the ridiculous sensible trousers she wore, and connect his fingertips with the warm, bare flesh of her body. But he did not. He wanted to savour Olivia.

  “God!” She pushed away from him and stared at him as though he’d threatened to stab her mother. Her eyes were laced with accusation. She lifted her hands and pressed her palms to her cheeks. “What is going on?”

  His smile carried a comprehension that she lacked. “Have you never felt desire before, Azeezi?”

  “Of course I have.” Her cheeks flushed. Never like this.

  “So why is this surprising to you?”

  “Are you saying it’s normal to you?”

  “No.”

  She looked at him in hope and confusion. “It’s not?”

  He shook his head, his eyes reproachful. “You’re… different.”

  Olivia’s brain was warning her. He was too smooth. This was too much. Too soon. Too flattering. Too intense. Too much. Way, way too much. Every fibre of common sense that ran through her was screaming at her to listen t
o her inner-objections. But her body was beginning to thrum with desire. Her skin craved to be touched by him.

  Would she ever know someone like Tamir Al’ani again? One of the sexiest men she’d ever met, who happened to be one of the most powerful men in the world, wanted her. And she wanted him. Why was she fighting it?

  “I… can’t go Talidar with you.” Before he could interrupt with another persuasive argument, she lifted a hand. “But I’m here now. And I do want you.” She was almost as shocked as he by her boldness.

  He narrowed his eyes. “You’re saying you will spend tonight with me.”

  She nodded. Her chest felt oddly heavy. “I guess I am.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Tamir’s bedroom at the embassy was an incredible mix of luxury, formality and technology. He laughed, at her expression. “You do not like it?”

  She flushed. “Oh. It’s very,” she searched for the right word. “Sterile.”

  “Yes.” He looked around himself, seeing through her eyes the hotel-like furniture, the incredibly expensive artwork and the state of the art laptops and televisions that allowed him to keep track of his country. “I have an apartment in London too, but I rarely use it these days.”

  “Why not?”

  “Since becoming Sultan, this has made more sense. Better security.”

  He spoke into a phone, in his own language. It was the first time she had heard him communicate in Talidarian, and it was a sound like music to her ears. He disconnected the call and turned back to her.

  What was he waiting for? Olivia’s body was energized, her whole self tingling with anticipation. Waiting had never been her forte. She shrugged out of her jacket and placed it carefully on the edge of the bed. Then, she planted her hands on her hips and eyed him thoughtfully. The placement of her arms made her blouse strain across her chest and Tamir’s gaze was drawn to the generous swell. His body jerked in immediate response.

  He forced himself to look away.

  “When did you first discover you were drawn to ancient objects?”

  No! Her body screamed. She railed against the idea of any kind of delay. Having screwed up her courage to sleep with a man she barely knew, she simply wanted to enjoy it. Not to have time to regret her hasty decision. She lifted her hands to her blouse and began to unbutton it. Tamir could no longer keep his eyes averted. As she removed obstacle after obstacle, until the shirt hung open, Tamir felt satisfaction getting closer.

  She placed the shirt on top of the jacket, and stood before him, in a pair of pants and a lace white bra. She was not nervous. She was excited. Thrilled. Turn on beyond bearing. Between her legs, she felt a slick of moist anticipation. There was no turning back now. And she didn’t want to.

  “You are beautiful,” he murmured appreciatively.

  She bit down on her lip. “Thank you.”

  Why was her willingness making him anxious? He had wanted this, so why was he hesitating now? Something about the whole scene was wrong. His instincts were warning him, and he’d never ignored them in the past. And yet, the visage of a half naked Olivia Anderson before him was overwhelming every compulsion he had to slow things down.

  He was Sultan Tamir Al’Ani, and he was not a man who second guessed himself.

  He crossed the space between them in two long strides, and pulled her to him firmly. Her sharp exhalation was an aphrodisiac. He lowered his mouth to hers, at the same time his hands found the strap of her bra and unhooked it. He tossed it across the room, thinking he would buy her more. Many more. His hands cupped her breasts, feeling the weight and warmth of them in his palms. They were soft and heavy, perfectly rounded. His fingertips brushed over her nipples, dusky pink and raised to an aroused peak. He dropped his mouth to lavish one with kisses, taking the nipple into his mouth and rolling it with his tongue, while his hands moved downwards, to push at her pants and lower the zip. She stepped out of them at the same time, leaving them discarded on the carpeted floor. Her briefs were just a scrap of lace, but he didn’t remove them. Not yet.

  He lifted her easily and placed her on the bed gently. Her blonde hair spread around her like sunshine in a window. He traced it with his fingers, an expression of wonderment on his face.

  “I imagined you naked the moment I saw you.”

  Her eyes drifted closed, and she shook her head from side to side. “Why?”

  “Because you move like an angel performing ballet. You smile like a goddess sharing a joke with a mortal. You are magical and beautiful and mythical and perfect.”

  “I’m not perfect,” she promised, an embarrassed laugh sounding discordant after such a beautiful speech. She lifted a finger to his lips. “And you don’t need to say that stuff. I don’t need flattery. I don’t need anything from you. Except this.”

  He frowned, as his mouth found her naval and flicked it. “You do not like to hear that I find you distractingly beautiful?”

  “No.” She reached down and ran her fingers through his hair. Her body was on fire. She pulled for his shoulders, trying to sneak her fingers inside his collar, to find his warm skin and scratch it with her nails. “I think you have been with a heap of women who did like that kind of thing, though.”

  “You’re not one of them?”

  “Definitely not.” She arched her back as his mouth moved closer to the line of her underwear. His fingers hooked inside, pulling it down the length of her legs and exposing her feminine core to him. She cried out as the cold air brushed over her skin. The anticipation was too much to bear. His hands drove over her body, gliding past every single spot of skin, feeling and communicating, touching and teasing.

  “Why not?” His lips were on her breasts again, and his hands were parting her legs, teasing her entrance. She bucked sharply off the bed, her hips lifting as pleasure and sensation ravaged her body.

  “You’re still wearing clothes,” she complained, running her hands down his coat, pushing at the waistband of his pants, searching for contact.

  “Very observant,” he laughed quietly. “You remember me saying that I want you here all night.”

  She nodded. “But I feel at a disadvantage.”

  “You are,” he grinned, lifting his head to meet her eyes.

  Olivia shifted beneath him, her body feeling more alive than it ever had before. “Let me undress you.” His eyes widened, his lips twisted into a smile.

  “In good time,” he promised throatily, padding his thumb across her womanhood.

  “No, not in good time,” she contradicted demandingly. “Now.”

  His response was a laugh, quiet and low in his throat. “You’re impatient.”

  “Yes.”

  “I like it.”

  “Do you?” She pushed at his coat, and this time, he let it slide it down his arms. He tossed it across the room, earning a teasing smile of reproof from Olivia. “That thing probably cost what I earn in a month.”

  He nodded. “Perhaps.”

  Her hands were working his buttons, but it was difficult to lace them through the shirt holes when her fingers were quivering like a dandelion on the breeze. “Help,” she grunted finally, flicking her hair away from her face and looking up into his eyes.

  He knelt between her legs and ripped the shirt off, sending it on a similar trajectory his jacket had sailed. Naked from the waist up, Olivia couldn’t help but stare. His chest rippled with muscles. It was bare and smooth but for a line of coarse dark hair that ran to his pants. She lifted her hands and trailed the muscles, biting down on her lip as she felt them bunch in response to her contact.

  “Now who’s perfect?” She asked quietly, pushing up onto her elbows so that she could kiss him. She wrapped her fingers around his neck and pulled him back to the bed, on top of her, his weight like an essential life ingredient she hadn’t even realised she’d been missing. The evening was cold, and he was warm. Warm and strong, and everything she needed in that moment.

  Olivia didn’t dare think about the moments that would follow. How she would fe
el afterwards. No, she didn’t dare think of that. She didn’t allow herself to wonder if she’d regret this. If she’d wish she’d been more circumspect and prudent.

  She’d only slept with two other men. One had been a long term boyfriend, and the other had been a rebound after Simon had broken her heart. So what was her excuse this time?

  Her eyes crashed down to his perfect back, rippling as he moved over her, and she knew. Who could resist Tamir Al’ani? He was a man more desirable than three thousand others. He was truly heaven-sent.

  She wrapped her naked legs around his waist, wishing his pants were no longer present. She pressed her hips against his arousal, thrilling at the promise of what was to come. “I want…” She cried into the dark room. “I need…”

  “I know,” he whispered, tickling her ear with his tongue. “I understand.”

  Her fingers searched for his belt, and she loosened it, pulling it from his pants and dropping it to the bed. It slithered off, landing with a resounding thud against the plush carpet. Olivia didn’t notice. She was one step closer to seeing him naked and feeling him.

  “Did I really only meet you last night?” She groaned, pulling at the button and snapping her nail in her haste.

  He didn’t answer, but he had the same sense of surprise. The orchestral performance had lasted two hours, and he’d watched her the entire time. He had stared at her, experiencing the performance through her emotive responses. He’d spent thirty minutes in a back room with her, wanting her and denying himself that pleasure, and then he’d dreamed of her, and thought of her, until he wondered if he was going insane. Now, she was here in his bed, and nothing about it felt too sudden. But it was. Tamir was used to bedding women he hardly knew, but they were different. Women who approached him, wanting to be a part of the Sultan’s life, if only briefly. They understood what he had to offer.