Indian Prince's Hidden Son / Craving His Forbidden Innocent. Louise Fuller

water over her because, deep down inside, she knew she was being childish, bitter and insecure and that he hadn’t earned that response. She looked up at him and those eyes of his were bright between lush black curling lashes and her heart literally went ka-boom inside her and clenched. She slid her hand back into his and in silence they left the library.

      ‘I’ll show you the rest of the place some other time,’ Jai told her, walking her along the corridor to the double doors at the other end of the landing. A servant somehow contrived to snake at phenomenal speed round from the other side of the landing and throw the doors open for them and quietly shut them again in their wake.

      The main bedroom was another awe-inspiring room, all of a glitter, with flowers and foliage hand-painted in shades of cream and gold with tiny inset mirrors everywhere on the walls, reflecting light into an interior that could otherwise have seemed dark because there were no windows. Instead there were densely carved stone screens open to the elements to filter in fresh air.

      ‘It was remodelled a century ago. It used to be part of the zenana where the royal women lived in purdah, only allowed to be seen by male family members. My father could still remember elderly relatives who grew up in that lifestyle, men and women living separately,’ Jai told her softly as she fingered the screen to look out through the tiny holes to the courtyard below, trying to imagine what it would have been like to only have a view of a life one was not allowed to actively share.

      ‘It must’ve been horrible,’ she whispered, her tiny nose wrinkling up expressively.

      ‘Perhaps not if it was all a woman knew. Going back only a handful of generations, we are talking mainly about women who couldn’t read or write or really do anything without a host of servants. Of course, there were exceptions, the educated daughters of more enlightened men, who were able to establish more equal relationships with their husbands. Women prepared to shout back…like you.’

      Willow whirled round. ‘Like me?’ she gasped. ‘Jai, I’m one of the most easy-going women you’ll ever meet!’

      Ice-blue eyes gleamed, sentencing her to stillness. ‘Not in my experience…and I like it,’ he completed almost as an afterthought.

      Was your mother like that and was that why your parents divorced? she suddenly wanted to ask, and her teeth worried at her lower lip before she could make that mistake. ‘You…do?’

      ‘If I have expectations of you, naturally you must have expectations of me,’ Jai traded, settling his hands to her slender hips in the smouldering silence that seemed to be filtering through the room.

      Her heart was banging so hard inside her chest that even catching her breath was a challenge. She gazed up into those extraordinary pale blue eyes welded to her and her heart hammered even faster while a clenching sensation assailed her between her thighs. Sometimes he struck her as so beautiful, he left her breathless. No points for that inane thought, she tried to scold herself, but her body wasn’t listening when right at that moment she craved Jai’s mouth more than she had ever craved anything. And he gave it to her, hot and hard, exactly what she wanted and needed, the urgency of his lips on hers, the tangling of their tongues, the sudden tightening of his strong arms around her quivering form. She was only dimly aware of her feet leaving the floor and being brought down on the wide low bed.

      With an effort, Jai restrained himself from tearing off her clothes like a barbarian because he was burning up for her. It would be different between them this time, the way it should have been the night of Hari’s conception, he assured himself, snatching in a sustaining breath as he raised her up from the pillows to run down the zip on her dress with the finesse he had somehow forgotten that first time. Stray half-formed thoughts were running through his brain, his father confiding that love in combination with unalloyed lust was a trap of the cruellest order, a trap that had almost destroyed the older man. Jai had always known that he didn’t have to worry about such a weakness because he was controlled, cautious, far less naive and trusting than his unfortunate parent had been when he had fallen like a ton of bricks for Jai’s mother. Cecilia, the apparent love of his life when he had been twenty-one, Jai conceded cynically, had done that much for him, at least.

      Jai lifted the dress over her head and the instant he glimpsed the pouting perfection of her tiny breasts cupped in something white and intrinsically feminine, the blood ran roaring through his veins. He gritted his teeth, briefly marvelling at the fierce possessiveness shock-waving through him. Willow was his wife, the mother of his son, and it was perfectly natural for him to experience such responses, but it was something new, which had to be why alarm bells were shrieking inside his head.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ Willow asked abruptly.

      ‘Nothing whatsoever, soniyaa,’ Jai declared, crushing her mouth under his in a surge of denial at those alarm bells.

      Willow’s hands crept up to his shoulders, her anxious gaze pinned to his lean, darkly handsome face. ‘Take your shirt off,’ she almost whispered.

      Jai laughed at her sudden boldness, watching the colour build in her cheeks as he leant back and loosed the buttons before peeling it off, enjoying the way in which her eyes stayed glued to him, recognising with satisfaction that his bride wanted him as much as he wanted her. He slid off the bed and began to strip, deliberately taking his time, reacting to the synergy between them.

      Willow rested back against the pillows, entranced by the display because she hadn’t seen Jai naked on the night of the funeral, had only caught little glimpses of him in the dim light filtering into her bedroom from the landing. And the more he took off clothes-wise, the harder it got for her to breathe through her constricted lungs, because he was a masculine work of art, dark-hair-dusted, lean muscles flexing with his every movement, that long, powerful body of his making her fingers tingle and her breasts swell and tighten inside her bra. She had not known that it was even possible for such a response to assail her and it shook her and then he was coming back to her on the bed, a symphony of lean bronzed masculinity, boldly aroused, and she acknowledged the surge of dampness at the heart of her with burning cheeks.