For a second Zahir had been tempted to reveal the facts his personal assistant had discovered about Erin's past, but he had kept quiet. His father was old and frail, and it was clear he wanted to believe she had made Faisal happy in the last months of his life. But Zahir did not share the King's belief that she was all sweetness and light, and as he stared down at her flushed face, and the lush mouth that would tempt a saint, he gave a harsh laugh.
‘You are the last woman I would choose to be my wife, I assure you. But my father is anxious for Kazim to have a stable upbringing, with two parents who will take the place of his own.'
Of course it was for Kazim's sake, Erin acknowledged, her heart beating so fast that she could barely breathe. And she knew why King Kahlid might have made such an outrageous proposal-if she married Zahir he could adopt Kazim and she would never be able to take him back to England. She would be stuck here for ever, trapped in a marriage made in hell, with no possible means of escape unless she left Kazim behind.
‘Trust me, you're not my Mr Perfect either,' she snapped. ‘But we can both breathe easy, because I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on the planet.'
‘Is that so? Lucky I have no wish to marry you, then,' Zahir said silkily. ‘I just want to bed you.'
‘How dare you?' His deliberate crudity fuelled her temper, but at the same time she felt a curious pain in her chest, as if he had stabbed her through the heart.
Before she could demand that he go to hell, he bent his head and brought his mouth down on hers in a statement of absolute possession, his tongue thrusting between her lips as if he was determined to prove his dominance over her. Erin tried to clamp her lips together, desperate to resist his mastery, but the need to fight him was being superseded by another, more primitive need-a hunger that only this man could arouse and only he could appease.
‘Zahir-please!' When he finally broke the kiss she dragged oxygen into her lungs and made one last feeble plea, knowing that if he kissed her again she would be lost.
‘Oh, I will please you, Erin,' he said softly, but it sounded like a threat rather than a promise, and she twisted her head wildly and bucked her hips-until she realised that her actions were having a profound effect on his already aroused body. ‘Don't stop,' he mocked, when she ceased the frantic movements that had brought her pelvis into direct contact with the solid ridge of his throbbing manhood. ‘But you're wearing too many clothes.'
With deft movements that proclaimed his expertise in the art of undressing a woman he one-handedly unfastened the row of tiny buttons that ran from Erin's throat to her waist, and pushed the edges of her blouse apart to reveal small breasts cupped by a gossamer-fine bra. Her nipples were clearly visible beneath the sheer fabric and he brushed his thumb-pad delicately across one peak and then the other, until she was desperate for him to caress her naked flesh.
His gaze locked with hers as he unhooked the clasp at the front of her bra and bared her breasts. With her wrists still pinned above her head, she was totally exposed to his hungry gaze, and a tremor of excitement ran through her when she saw the blaze of feral hunger in his eyes. ‘This is what you like, Erin,' he taunted, his voice husky with sexual promise, and he flicked his tongue across one dusky pink crest.
The sensation was so exquisite that she gave a moan, half-pleasure half-shame. She couldn't fight him any longer, and when he drew the tight peak fully into his mouth she arched her back, her doubts and inhibitions swept away on a tidal wave of bliss.
Her innocent body recognised its tutor, and a quiver of longing racked her when he moved his mouth to her other breast, his wicked tongue lashing her nipple, stroking back and forth, until she sobbed his name and he relented, closing his lips fully around her aureole and sucking its sensitive tip. He must have sensed her total capitulation, because he released her wrists and she immediately curled her hands around his neck, burying her fingers in the silky hair at his nape.
Now both his hands were free to explore her, and he muttered something beneath his breath as he dragged her skirt up so that it bunched around her waist-and discovered that her sheer hose were in fact stockings, edged with a wide band of lace that held them in place around her slender thighs.
Thank the Almighty he hadn't known she was wearing stockings during their audience with the King-he doubted he'd have been able to keep his hands off her! But now he did not have to, and a bolt of white-hot need ripped through him as he slid his hand up one silk-covered leg until he reached the satiny strip of bare flesh revealed above the lace stocking-top. He felt the tremor that ran through her, heard her soft gasp when he moved his hand higher still, and his gut clenched as he eased his fingers beneath the edge of her knickers and stroked, gently but insistently, against her tightly closed lips.
Slowly, tentatively, she opened for him, and Zahir's breath hitched in his throat as he probed her sticky wet heat, slid deeper and felt her muscles contract around his fingers. She was unexpectedly tight, and he frowned as he felt the burgeoning length of his arousal quiver with impatient need. He wanted to strip her and spread her beneath him, ready for his possession, but Erin had tensed, her eyes tightly closed and her lush mouth slightly parted. He could feel her frantic little jerks against his hand, inciting him to increase the intimacy of his caresses, and he pushed deeper into her velvet folds, realising with a jolt of shock that she was about to climax. He quickened the pace of his fingers while he rubbed his thumb-pad delicately over her clitoris.
The effect was explosive, and Erin gave a sharp cry, her body as taut and arched as an overstrung bow, her fingers clawing at Zahir's shoulders as she surrendered to the tidal wave of pleasure that ripped through her. She was ready for him-and he couldn't wait, Zahir acknowledged, excitement and an urgent need to bury his shaft deep inside her eager body making his fingers clumsy as he fumbled with the zip of his trousers. He had lost all sense of time and place-driven by a primitive urgency for sexual release …
‘Your Highness … forgive me … I did not realise … '
The sound of Omran's shocked voice smashed through the sexual haze that fogged Zahir's brain. Slowly he lifted his head and stared across the room, his chest heaving as he fought for control. He spoke in Arabic, barked a furious command to his personal assistant to get out, but the interruption had brought him to his senses, and he stared down at Erin, his face twisting with self-disgust.
What spell had she cast over him that had caused him to abandon his dignity and self-respect-let alone the respect of his staff-and had seen him behave like a rutting dog in the gutter?
Erin had blanched at the sound of Omran's voice, and her grey eyes were no longer smoky with passion but huge with shock. The faint shimmer of her tears filled Zahir with a mixture of guilt and fury. She had been with him all the way, he reminded himself. But now she looked young and gut-wrenchingly vulnerable, her vibrant red curls contrasting starkly with her paper-white face.
He had to get away from her before he gave in to the fire still coursing through his veins and pushed her back down onto the cushions. Despite his scalding embarrassment that his personal assistant had caught him in such a compromising situation, his urgency to possess Erin had not faded. But with a jerky movement he leapt to his feet and stared down at her, every muscle in his body clenching with sexual frustration.