Who is Cat?’
‘Catherine Smith, who is now Queen Catherine Ali Nawari Khan—you know, the Sheikh’s wife,’ she said, her chest puffing up. ‘She is my best friend. It is because of her I have spent the last five years studying abroad.’
‘Not because of yourself?’ he asked, annoyed by her willingness to give someone else the credit for her achievements.
Zane’s wife was beautiful and accomplished. But no more so than this woman. The only difference was that Catherine Khan hadn’t had to fight for her education, the way he would guess Kasia had.
The girl’s gaze flashed to his—direct and irritated at his observation.
The heat in his groin surged. Her golden gaze sparkled enticingly when it wasn’t shadowed with guilt or shame.
‘Well, yes,’ she said. ‘But…Cat is the reason I sought an education. And she and Zane…’ She sank back on her heels, finally having finished caressing his biceps. ‘They made it possible for me to study abroad in a place called Cambridge University.’
A place called Cambridge University!
Did she think he had never heard of the British institution? What did she take him for? A savage?
His pride bristled—but he bit down on the urge to correct her.
She had been away from her homeland for five years, meaning all she would know of him was that he was the Sheikh’s bastard son—a primitive warlord, an unprincipled womaniser.
The rumours had some truth behind them, especially when he’d been a younger man, and he’d been more than happy to foster them because they had always given him a power and mystique he could use to his advantage—in politics, in business and in his bed.
Being the Bad-Boy Sheikh had been an advantage with women, because they loved the allure of the forbidden, the wild.
Why not exploit Kasia’s misconceptions about him? He had never been ashamed of that unloved child, who had been strong enough to survive thirst and starvation in the desert, or the angry teenager who had been savage enough to defeat the Kholadi’s greatest warriors and become Chief. His past still lived inside him—and defined him in many ways. It always would. Wasn’t it to reconnect with those parts of himself that he had returned to the desert?
Adrenaline raced through his bloodstream. This woman had seen him helpless, something that had made him uneasy. But being the womanising warlord would put the power back in his hands.
She took a tube of antiseptic cream out of the medical box. ‘I noticed some scrapes on your back, where you fell off the horse,’ she said as she unscrewed the cap. ‘Turn around and I’ll dab some of this on them.’ She held up a finger covered in ointment. ‘Before they get infected.’
‘Enough.’ Raif captured her wrist, satisfied when he felt her pulse pummel his thumb.
‘But I should treat the scratches,’ she said.
‘It’s not my back that hurts.’ He interrupted her nonsense.
Taking the hint, her gaze dipped to his lap. The blood pounded into his groin. He was as aroused now as he’d been during the depths of his nightmares.
She lifted her head.
Her pupils dilated, obliterating the rich amber of her irises. She was as aroused as him.
‘I…I see what you mean,’ she stuttered, desire colouring her skin.
‘We have had enough foreplay,’ he said.
He preferred to be open and honest with women about his appetites. When it came to sex, he never played games.
‘If you want me as much as I want you, we can take this ache away.’ He touched her cheek, not able to keep his hands off any longer, the heat rising at the way her breath hitched. ‘If you don’t, I will escort you back to the palace.’ He let his hand drop. He wasn’t usually so abrupt with women, but something about her made it hard for him to be subtle about his needs. ‘What is your choice?’
I CHOOSE YOU.
‘I…I…’ Kasia stuttered, the heat in her cheeks nothing compared to the liquid tug in her sex.
Prince Kasim’s bold offer seemed to be genuine. With no ands, ifs or buts, just like the man himself.
The tug turned into a yank.
Not Prince Kasim… Raif. She corrected herself. Because he was the furthest thing from a prince at the moment. Even a desert prince.
He had no airs or graces, no polite manners, no etiquette. His desire was basic and unashamed, and so much more compelling because of that. His need was arrogantly displayed by the tension in his jaw, the direct gaze and the thick erection.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ she blurted out. Disconcerted by her own driving need.
She’d flirted with men before, even kissed a few. But she’d never been subjected to such a focused assault on her senses by a man like him—who was so bold and unambiguous.
Why did that seem refreshing, and yet disturbing?
‘It is a simple question, Kasia.’
Was it simple? Maybe it was to him. Because he had so much more experience. But she could hardly tell him she had never slept with a man before. It felt too revealing.
His lips quirked beneath the beard. ‘Let me make it simpler. Do you want me, Kasia? For I dreamed of having you last night.’
The raw declaration tugged at her romantic heart.
He cupped her cheek, and her breath seized, the rasp of his callused skin sending heat spiralling into her tender sex.
His thumb traced her cheekbone, then slid down her neck into the well of her collarbone. The rabbit punches of her pulse echoed in the sweet spot between her thighs.
‘I want to make you sob with pleasure.’ His thumb circled her breast through her T-shirt and bra. ‘To make your nipples ripen and swell beneath my tongue.’
Her nipples squeezed into peaks, as if already being subjected to the promised caress. She panted, unable to catch her breath under his intense gaze.
He chuckled, the sound arrogant, and so unbelievably hot she felt burned.
‘Tell me you want me, Kasia, and we can feed this hunger.’
‘Yes.’ The word popped out before she could stop it. ‘I want you.’
Surely this didn’t have to be wrong? They’d survived a sandstorm. They were young and alive. Their worlds might be miles apart, but here and now she wanted to feed the hunger, too. A hunger that had tantalised her all through the night.
She would return to the palace today. Cat and Zane would be frantic with worry—she’d been lost for over twenty-four hours already. She would go back to Cambridge at the end of the month. She had no intention of venturing into the desert alone after this, so she would be unlikely to see him again.
Why couldn’t she have this moment? When she wanted him so much? And what better person to initiate her than a man she had idolised? A man who was supposed to be an incredible lover? A man whose ‘assets’ she’d been assessing most of the night?
He nodded, accepting her surrender as if he had expected no less. Then he grunted something in his own dialect.
She didn’t need a translation, though, when his nostrils flared, his gaze becoming so focused her flesh felt scalded.
Standing, he tugged her to her feet. Framing her face in his hands, he positioned her head, then licked the seam of