When the music changed tempo her eyes drifted opened and she was embarrassed by how lost she had been in the moment. Her heart beat double time and she was shocked to realise how aroused she was just by dancing with him.
It used to be that her body was more like a machine that did her bidding: arms, legs, hands, feet. Now she was aware of useless things, like her breasts, the hollow space between her thighs, the prince's hand on her hip and a tingling weakness at the back of her knees. Sensations that made her feel fragile and defenceless. And then she wondered if it was the same for him. Did men feel weak and defenceless when lust overtook them? Did Prince Zachim feel that right now, for her? It seemed impossible and yet more shocking was how much she wanted him to want her-she, a village girl, with all the sophistication of a desert mouse. Why, he must have had the most sophisticated lovers in the world. Women like the ones that peppered the wedding and gazed at him with a deep longing. A deep longing Farah never wanted to feel for anyone.
Suddenly feeling claustrophobic, she surprised them both by pulling out of his arms. Wanting Prince Zachim was a betrayal to her father and to everything she wanted for herself: self-sufficiency, independence. Self-respect. 'I need to use the bathroom,' she said, furious all over again.
'I'll take you.'
Of course he would, and it was a welcome reminder that she wasn't really a wedding guest but a captive. And she no longer cared about his threats if she tried to escape.
Inside the bathroom there were no windows or back doors so she finished up quickly and returned to the ballroom with him, alert now to where the guards were.
A few men dressed in Western attire came over and talked to the prince and he turned to engage in conversation. Farah half listened and smiled politely, as if she were part of the group when she wasn't. She noticed a small knot of women standing close by and realised they were the partners of the men talking and she was the only woman in this group-a lone gazelle in a pride of male lions.
She didn't bother getting the prince's permission before making her way over to them. Let him stop her if he dared. It wasn't for her to decide how long the leash was and, although earlier she had not doubted he'd tie her dress cord around her neck as punishment for defying him, she knew now that he wouldn't jeopardise his brother's wedding by causing a scene. He wasn't that uncivilised.
When one of the women she was only half listening to complained she was hot, Farah could have hugged her.
Taking charge, she suggested they walk on the terrace. Lush gardenias and roses scented the warm evening air but Farah was only interested in where the exit points were.
Cursing the torture devices on her feet, she realised she would have to leave them behind, Cinderella-like, if she got a chance to escape. Only she would be leaving both behind and she didn't want the prince to come after her. Ever.
Making her apologies to the women, she quickstepped down the stone steps as if she knew exactly where she was going and skirted the plethora of plants in the verdant garden. Clearly water restrictions did not apply inside the palace-another black mark against the Darkhan family.
A large stone wall covered in a passion-fruit vine loomed in front of her and she paused to get her bearings.
'The gate is about fifty metres to your left,' the prince drawled from behind her.
Farah groaned softly and expelled all the air in her body. 'I got hot.'
'Really?' His eyebrow rose. 'And I thought that was only while we were dancing.'
Oh! 'A simple enough mistake to make for a man with your sized ego.' She smiled sweetly, giving up all pretence of cooperating with him. What did it matter? He wouldn't let her get away from him now.
His eyes gleamed, no doubt taking her response as some sort of challenge. 'You had goose bumps.'
She hated that ring of confidence in his voice. 'Maybe I was cold,' she retorted.
He grinned. 'Now, we both know that's not true.'
His suggestive tone grated along every one of her nerve endings. 'Oh, to be so sure of yourself.'
'You know,' he began conversationally. 'I almost want you to make a run for it so that I can use that cord on you after all.'
Farah's hand strayed to her neck. 'You wouldn't dare.'
'Oh, I'd dare, Miss Hajjar. Remember, I'm a barbarian prince.'
'Your brother-'
'Is about to leave with his new wife.'
Farah swallowed. He moved in closer and the urge to take flight warred with a deep-seated determination to stand her ground.
'Your skin looks almost luminescent in the moonlight.' He reached out and stroked his hand down the side of her face. Farah reeled back and would have scratched herself on the vine if the prince hadn't grabbed her elbow. 'Careful, you could hurt yourself.'
Only by giving into the pull of attraction between them, she thought wildly, her heart racing as she fought to maintain control over her senses. 'I'll take my chances with a spiky plant any time,' she threw at him.
Ignoring her smart comment, he drew her inexplicably closer. 'You don't like being told what to do, do you?'
Sensation zipped through her as his hands dropped to her hips and splayed wide. 'Not by men like you, I don't,' she bit out scathingly. Anything to put him off.
'Men like me?' His eyes narrowed dangerously. Soft music and the tinkling conversation from the ballroom drifted over them. 'You need taming, my little Zenobia,' he whispered, taking full advantage of the tilt of her chin to nuzzle his way down her throat. 'And I'm the man to do it.'
The hands she intended to shove against his shoulders slipped and she nearly groaned as her fingers slid along the top of his robe and grazed the ends of his thick hair.
A fierce expression crossed his shadowed face and one of his own hands cupped the nape of her neck, holding her firm. It seemed like forever that they stared at each other, silent and intense, the only sound that of their harsh, uneven breaths and the pounding of her heartbeat she was sure he could hear as loudly as she could.
She felt his hand sift through her hair before he slowly wound its length around his fist. She could feel the tug of each loop at her scalp and she couldn't tear her eyes from his.
'Tell me you want me, Farah.'
His lips slid along her jaw, feather-soft, as he breathed her in. Farah's head fell to the side, unconsciously offering more of her neck to his sinful lips, offering more of herself.
He was going to kiss her. She knew it and she wanted him to. She wanted to feel the moist thrust of his tongue again and lose herself in his dark taste. She wanted him to crush her against him and ease the unbearable ache that throbbed low in her body. Just imagining it had her knees giving out. He took her weight effortlessly, his free hand skimming up the sides of her torso, stealing her thoughts like a sexy cutpurse filching goods from an unprotected market stall. Then, ever so slowly, he brought his other hand down and skated his thumbs lightly along the underside of her breasts until her throbbing nipples were so tight they ached for his touch. Ached for his...
'I wouldn't go there if I were you, Zach.'
Shocked and dazed by the voice at her side, Farah whipped her head around to find Sheikh Nadir scowling at them.
'Her father is here.'
It took a moment for the sheikh's words to penetrate her desire-fogged brain but when they did she gasped.
Here? As in, the palace here?
'What?' Zach's tone echoed her own disbelief.
'Yes. And he's after blood-yours, to be precise. I told you this would happen.'
Told him what would happen?
The prince released her and stepped back, a victorious, snake charmer's grin on his face. 'He'll get blood, but it won't be mine.'
A lightning streak of fear shot through Farah. 'What are you going to do to him?'
Ignoring her, Zach raised a hand and a nearby guard materialised at his side. 'Take Miss Hajjar to the harem.'
She grabbed his forearm. 'I want to see my father.'
'Don't let her out of your sight,' he continued as if she hadn't spoken. 'Not even for a second.'
Nadir stayed the guard before he could move. 'Unfortunately I told her father I would bring her.'
'Why would you do that?' the prince snapped at him.
Nadir's brow rose and Farah wasn't sure if it was with censure or surprise. 'He wants to see her for himself.'
'I don't care.'
'I do.' This time the look was definitely censure. 'This is my wedding night, Zach,' he said grimly. 'You need to take care of this quickly and smoothly before Imogen realises something is amiss.'
The new king's care of his bride made Farah's stomach clench. Men did not put their women first, in her experience.
'Fine,' the prince growled. 'Let's get this over with.'
Farah tensed at the ominous ring in those words. In Bakaan, the prince wouldn't need a court order to have her father imprisoned or put to death, and desolation overtook her as she realised that, despite all her efforts, there was next to nothing she could do to save him now.