She traced the ridges of his powerful abdominal muscles and felt his stomach contract, heard him growl something against her skin as he dragged her bra strap down her arm to expose her other breast. She gasped when he caught her swollen nipple between his lips and sucked-hard-causing a peculiar sensation to spiral down through her body from her breasts to her pelvis.
She could feel the flood of sticky wetness between her legs and twisted her hips restlessly. She was burning up, and when he grabbed the hem of her skirt, thrust it roughly up to her waist and slid his hand between her thighs, she quivered with anticipation, knowing that he was going to touch her where no man had ever touched her before, and ease the throbbing ache that consumed her whole body.
His mouth claimed hers once more in a deep, drugging kiss while his fingers brushed lightly over her knickers, stroking up and down but in no hurry to ease the strip of lace aside. It was torture at its most refined, Erin thought as she lifted her hips and rubbed against his hand in an agony of need that made her want to scream with frustration.
‘Please … ' Her voice sounded shockingly desperate, but she didn't care. She was drowning in the wondrous sensations he was arousing in her, and more than anything she had ever wanted in her life she longed for him to remove the rest of her clothes and possess her completely.
The sudden buzzing noise in her ear sounded like an angry wasp, but it was loud enough to impinge on her dream-like state. She opened her eyes at the same time as Zahir cursed savagely and rummaged in his jacket for his mobile phone.
He spoke in Arabic, his voice no longer like molten honey but clipped and harsh, and when he ended the call he stared down at her, the flame of desire that had made his eyes gleam now extinguished, leaving them cold and contemptuous as he trailed a path over her naked breasts.
Ice replaced the heat in Erin's veins, and with a low cry she sat up and dragged her bra into place with trembling fingers. A few moments ago she had writhed beneath him, her body driven by an intense sexual desire she had never experienced before. But now her passion had drained away, and she felt sick with humiliation and self-disgust as she recalled her wanton response to him.
How could she have allowed him to make love to her without offering the slightest resistance? She hated him for the way he had cynically manipulated her into bringing Kazim to Qubbah-how he had played on her sympathy for his sick father. Yet Zahir had only had to touch her, kiss her, and she had obediently rolled over and begged him to take her like a common slut.
Her behaviour proved that she was her mother's daughter, she acknowledged on a wave of shame. It had been no secret on the rough housing estate where she had spent the first years of her childhood that her mother worked the streets to pay for her drug habit, and it had frequently been whispered that Jeannie Maguire enjoyed her chosen career, and invited numerous lovers as well as clients back to the rundown flat that had been Erin's home. She had hated the men who'd knocked on the door at all hours of the day and night, and she remembered how she used to climb into the big old wardrobe in her bedroom to block out the strange noises coming from her mother's room.
Perhaps it was those early experiences that had left her feeling that sex was dirty and shameful? Certainly she had never felt the curiosity about sex that had consumed the other girls at school, and as an adult she had been relieved to realise that she had scant interest in men. But all that had changed when she had walked into the library at Ingledean and come face to face with the most stunningly gorgeous male she had ever laid eyes on. Zahir had blown her away, she thought dismally. He had triggered feelings she had hoped never to have and awakened her to a sexual desire that was now desperate to be appeased. But not with him, she told herself fiercely. Not with a man who clearly did not respect her.
‘My father wishes to see me,' Zahir announced, his harsh voice shattering the silence and dispelling the lingering sensual haze that still hovered between them. He rolled off the bed, refastened his shirt and snatched up his jacket, frowning when he noted Erin's ashen face and the haunting vulnerability in her grey eyes.
There was nothing vulnerable about his brother's widow, he reminded himself cynically as he strode over to the door. Erin was no different from the countless other women he had met throughout his life-money-hungry, highly sexually experienced and calculating. His hunger for her-this primitive urge to throw her down on the bed, push up her skirt and sink himself into her-was an irritating inconvenience he could do without.
He knew he must fight his desire for her. Erin had been his brother's wife and was legally his nephew's stepmother. In his father's eyes that made her a member of the family, and the King would be deeply perturbed if he heard that he had visited Erin's bedroom when she had been unchaperoned. His behaviour constituted a serious breach of palace protocol and it could not happen again, he acknowledged as he stepped into the corridor and closed her door firmly behind him. Erin was out of bounds. And as it was now obvious that he was unable to keep his hands off her, he would have to avoid her until such time that he could dismiss her back to England.
CHAPTER FOUR
SHE refused to stay here for another day, Erin vowed the following morning as she stood at the nursery window, blinking back angry tears. She would not allow Zahir to manipulate her and treat her as if she was worthless-particularly where Kazim was concerned.
She screwed up her eyes against the brilliant glare of the sun and scanned the palace gardens. But only the peacocks that lived in the grounds were strutting along the paths, and there was no sign of a man or a small boy.
She'd spent the previous night plagued by memories of her shameful response to Zahir, and worrying over his shocking statement that he would never let her take Kazim back to England. Eventually she'd fallen into a restless sleep, and consequently had woken late. The sun had already been streaming through the blinds when she'd hurried to the nursery where Bisma, the nanny Zahir had appointed, had explained that ‘His Royal Highness' had taken ‘Prince Kazim' for a camel ride in the desert.
How dared he take Kazim out without checking with her first? She was his legal parent and, like it or not, Zahir had to respect her role in his nephew's life. And how much longer were they going to be? she fretted anxiously. They had been gone for two hours. Surely Zahir would not have taken a three-year-old far into the desert? It must be easy to get lost amid the towering dunes, and what if Kazim suffered from sunstroke or became dehydrated?
The sound of voices drifted up from below, and relief washed over her when she saw Zahir striding along by the ornamental pool with Kazim balanced on his shoulders. Kazim's joyful laughter carried up to her window and she felt a pang of jealousy. She had devoted her life to him for three years, but how could she compete with the roomful of wonderful toys Zahir had provided and camel rides? How could she compete with a man who was Kazim's blood relative? Especially when that blood was royal-a discovery she was still reeling from. Rich was one thing, but how could she compete with royalty?
Her eyes followed them as they walked beneath her window. She despised herself for the way her heart-rate accelerated at the sight of Zahir. He looked relaxed this morning, almost boyish, and she felt a little twinge of longing that he would smile at her the way he was smiling at Kazim. His hair gleamed like raw silk in the sunlight, and even from a distance it was impossible to ignore the impact of his blatant virility. He was a man unlike any other she had ever met, and although she hated to admit it she was utterly fascinated by him.