that could end tomorrow morning with a light kiss and a “pleasant knowing you”?
An uncomfortable bolt of rejection shot through him, not just resisting the idea of walking away, but outright refusing to countenance it. His reaction was so visceral, his hand closed in a small squeeze where it rested above the back of her knee. He was literally holding on to her and he’d only thought about the inevitable parting that awaited them.
It was a sobering confrontation with his inner animal, the one he had always been so sure he governed without effort.
“I’m awake,” she murmured on a contented sigh, as if she took his grip to be a test of her level of consciousness.
She turned her head so she could blink dreamy eyes at him while keeping her face mostly buried in her folded arms and the fall of her magnificent hair. “Just thinking. Do you want to meet me in Berlin next weekend? I have a thing.”
He had places to be, people to rise above.
“I thought we were staying out of the spotlight.”
Her sleepy smile slowly warmed to something vulnerable yet elated. It made his heart swerve and swell.
“I was really asking if you wanted to see me again after tonight.” The tone in her voice caused a pleasant-painful vibration through him.
He looked at where his hand was still firm on the back of her thigh. “I fear for our lives at the rate we’re going, but I was going to ask you to stay the weekend. I have to escort my mother and sister back to Zhamair on Sunday, but I will arrange to take them back late.” He would also cancel his lunch arrangements for tomorrow with his foreign secretary and the British counterpart.
“I wasn’t planning to spend the weekend,” she said, last night’s troubled light coming into her eye. Her sister again.
“No?” He tensed and felt her hamstring flex against his light grip.
Guilt and longing fought for dominance in her gaze. She released a soft moan of struggle and gave a taut stretch beneath his touch.
“I will if I can arrange it.” Her tone echoed with something like defeat.
He began to pet her again, blood tingling as he fondled her with more purpose. He wasn’t used to a woman resisting him. It made him restless for her capitulation. Not something forced. No, he needed her to give herself up to him.
Rolling her over, he began to kiss her, running his mouth to all the places that made her arch and moan under him, impressing on her the benefit of belonging to him. As he felt the tension in her, the clasp of nearing climax, he kissed his way back up the center of her torso.
“Tell me what you want.”
“You know,” she sobbed, moving against his hand, but he followed her undulations, keeping his penetration shallow and light.
“You want this?” he very slowly and gently deepened his caress, deliberately holding her on the plane of acute pleasure she occupied, not letting her tumble into orgasm. “Or this?”
He rolled atop her and loved the saw of her breath as she gasped in a sensual agony. Holding himself in a tight fist, fighting back from his own approaching peak, he rubbed his aching tip against her slick folds, nudging at her with promise.
She danced and angled her hips, trying to capture him.
He shook with want, barely able to see straight, but made himself hold off and only kiss her. “What will you do for me?”
“Anything,” she gasped, but opened her eyes. They were shiny with helpless torture, a hint of resentment even. She knew what he was demanding. Her.
He cupped her head and slowly, slowly sank into her. Their breaths mingled as their bodies joined, both of them parting their lips to release jagged noises of intense pleasure.
How could she resent this? How?
He made love to her then, sending her over the edge, then keeping her aroused so they were damned near clawing each other when the next crest approached. He didn’t think he could wait for her, but he wanted her with him. Demanded it with the hard thrust of his hips against her. Needed it.
She locked herself around him and released a keening noise, shuddering beneath him. The greedy clasp of her sheath triggered his own climax and he shouted in triumph as he joined her in the paroxysm.
* * *
Angelique was a little stunned by what she’d just experienced. Not just the ferocity of Kasim’s lovemaking. She’d been so aroused, she had craved that intensity, but there’d been a loss of self in that joining. He had been the only thing important to her. It left her scrambling to recover her sense of autonomy, while he made it impossible by rolling back into her and running proprietary hands over her still-tingling skin.
The condom was gone along with his urgency. Now he was the tender man whose touch was soothing and reassuring. He almost lulled her back into thinking everything about him was safe, but it wasn’t. He imperiled the very heart of her.
She put up an instinctive hand against his chest, resisting his effort to pull her into a sprawl across his sweat-damp body.
“What’s wrong?” He picked up her hand and lightly bit her fingertip, then kissed the same spot. “I can’t make promises about Berlin, but I will try. Good enough?”
He sounded languid and satisfied while she was completely dismantled.
“Is it because we might be found out?” She had been trying to think how they could continue on the sly, but couldn’t see a way, not unless he wanted to go broke buying private flats. He hadn’t seemed particularly worried about exposure anyway. “Would it be complicated for you with Hasna if something wound up in the press?”
He snorted. “I don’t consult my sister on how I conduct my private life.”
There. That was the issue. He resented her sister. She stiffened and tried to pull away.
“That was a cheap shot,” he allowed, arms clamping like a straitjacket around her. “I take it back.”
“No!” She turned her face away. “You don’t get to kiss me into forgetting you said it.”
He sighed against her cheek.
“I’m spoiled,” he stated without compunction. “Never second fiddle to anyone except my father and that is a finite situation, not that I wish his life away. I only mean that I am his heir and aside from him, I am autonomous.”
“Yet I’m supposed to be content as a second fiddle in your life.”
A long pause that was so loaded, she had to glance warily at him, fearful she’d truly angered him.
Maybe she hadn’t angered him, but she’d scored a point. She could see echoes of his mood earlier when he’d talked about his mother’s brutal treatment of his father’s second wife and his half brother.
“I have meetings all next week,” he said in a cool tone. “Roundtable discussions with a dozen of our region’s most powerful leaders. You must have an idea of our political and economic landscape? The stakes are always high. I go so my father won’t or he’ll send us back to the Stone Age. The conference could easily go into next weekend. That is the only reason I am avoiding saying yes to Berlin.”
“Fine.” Now she felt like she’d pressured a concession of sorts from him, but it was a hollow victory. “It was just a thought.”
“What are you doing there?” His tone wasn’t patronizing, but she read his question as an attempt to mollify her and move past their conflict.
“A fashion awards night.” She glossed over it. “There’s a white tie and champagne thing after. I’m presenting so I can’t skip it. You’d probably find it boring anyway.”
“Do you do a lot of these things? Who do you usually go with?”
She