He had never been at the mercy of any woman, and he was always, always in control. But Erin blew him away. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he was the only man she had ever known, that her innocent, untutored body had found pleasure only with him. He didn't know, and right now he didn't care-because she suddenly gave a sharp cry and tensed beneath him, the intensity of her climax so strong that he could feel her muscles clench around him, each spasm squeezing him harder until the sensation was unbearably exquisite. He paused, dragged air into his lungs, and made one last valiant attempt to exert control over his body. But it was too late, and as he affected one final, powerful thrust he felt himself explode and spill his seed deep inside her.
For several moments after the last shudders of satisfaction had racked his body he remained slumped on top of her, his face buried between her soft breasts as he inhaled the delicate fragrance of her skin. He knew he should move, that he must be too heavy for her slender frame, but for the first time in his life he was in no haste to withdraw and regain his own personal space. He had never known such a feeling of complete contentment-of body and of spirit. The thought triggered warning bells and he rolled onto his back, irritated by his reluctance to break the contact of skin on skin.
He had married her because she was a good mother to Kazim, he reminded himself. A fact he'd recognised even when he'd suspected her motives for marrying Faisal and adopting his child. Blindingly good sex was a bonus-but that was all it was, a white-hot sexual attraction that had raged between them from day one.
Experience told him that it would probably burn itself out, although right now that was hard to imagine, when the mere sight of tousled red curls tumbling over her white shoulders was enough to make his stomach muscles tighten. But what more could he ask from marriage than a devoted mother to the son he now regarded as his own and sexual satisfaction on tap? He should feel highly pleased with himself, he decided as he rolled onto his side and trailed his hand possessively over Erin's body. No doubt the curious empty feeling inside him was because he hadn't eaten for hours.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ERIN stirred and opened her eyes to find that it was no longer pitch-black inside the tent but a soft, pearly grey in the hour before dawn. There was plenty of time to go back to sleep, and heaven knew she needed to rest after another night of incredible passion with Zahir, but the memory of how he had made love to her last night, their fifth night in the desert, caused the familiar tug of desire low in her stomach.
She'd learned early on that he liked it when she initiated sex. He was a light sleeper, and she had only to dip beneath the sheets and circle her hand around his manhood and he would respond instantly.
But maybe she should let him sleep, she thought, her lids fluttering down once again. Since their arrival at his camp they had slipped into a routine of rising late and going to bed early, and spent the few remaining hours swimming in the pool or strolling a little way into the desert. Zahir had an extensive knowledge of the plants and the surprising numbers of birds and wildlife that flocked to the oasis. And after the sun had turned into a huge orange ball every evening, and sunk below the horizon, he would stand with her in the quiet desert and point out the hundreds of star formations in the inky sky.
After their stormy wedding night they had settled into an uneasy truce which had developed into a tentative friendship. He was an entertaining companion, and she was fascinated to hear tales of his boyhood, growing up at the palace, and of his close relationship with Faisal. He'd explained that Faisal and his three sisters were his half-siblings, children of King Kahlid's first wife, who had died when Faisal was a baby. Two years after the Queen's death the King had married Zahir's mother, Georgina. Erin had detected from his tone that the marriage had not been a happy one, and although Zahir made light of the fact that Georgina had left Qubbah and returned to America when he was eleven, she wondered if his mistrust of women had anything to do with the fact that his mother had abandoned him.
She should have felt heartened by his genuine interest in her own childhood-it was the biggest sign he had given her that he viewed her as more than simply his sex partner-but she carefully avoided giving details of the appalling lack of care she had suffered during her early years, and the sense of utter loneliness she'd felt living at the children's home.
How could Zahir, who had grown up in a large, loving family, understand that her longing to belong somewhere had led her to join the gang that had hung around the shopping mall? Her new ‘friends' had been the only people who had ever shown any interest in her. Of course now she looked back and saw how they had used kindness to groom her, but back then she had been a vulnerable teenager, desperate to be accepted by the gang and pathetically grateful for their praise when she proved to be an adept shoplifter for them.
Memories of her childhood reminded her of the vast differences between her and Zahir's social standing, and she had become adept at turning the conversation to other topics. But she could not forget her past, and it gnawed at her confidence. Zahir was a prince, and she shuddered to think of his reaction if he ever learned that her mother had been a prostitute and a drug addict.
She fidgeted restlessly beneath the sheets, knowing she would not fall back to sleep now. The only time she forgot her insecurities was when she was in Zahir's arms, swept up in the world of sensual pleasure he created. She reached across the bed, expecting to feel the solid warmth of his chest, but he wasn't there-and when her eyes flew open she found the bed empty. Despite telling herself that there were any number of reasons why he had left her alone, she could not dispel her feeling of unease-a feeling that increased second by second when he did not reappear.
Should she go and look for him? She had flicked back the sheets and was just sliding her arms into her robe when he walked back into the tent. She knew instantly that something was very wrong.
‘What is it?' she asked urgently. ‘Kazim … ?'
Zahir shook his head. ‘He's fine, but my father suffered a heart attack two hours ago.' He ignored her shocked cry and continued in a controlled voice. ‘Early indications are that it was a mild attack, but he will remain under close observation by his doctors in the hospital wing of the palace.'
He raked his hand through his hair and frowned at her, as if surprised to see her in her nightgown. ‘You must get dressed. We have to return to the palace immediately. Until my father is well enough I will take his place as the King of Qubbah.'
Erin didn't know why his words filled her with such foreboding. She'd known that King Kahlid had appointed Zahir as interim ruler, until the true heir to the throne, Kazim, came of age. But only now did she appreciate the enormity of being the supreme ruler of an entire nation. Already Zahir seemed distant-although that was hardly surprising when he must be worried about his father.
She jumped up and firmly banished her fears that they would never recapture the unexpected closeness they'd shared on their honeymoon. She was Zahir's wife and consort, and she had a duty to aid him in the role that had been thrust upon him. ‘I can be ready to leave in five minutes,' she said quietly. He nodded and swung round to walk back out of the tent, but she glimpsed the flare of pain in his eyes and sympathy flooded through her.