The Last Prince of Dahaar(56)

                He closed his eyes, fighting the wet heat of tears prickling at the back of his eyes.

                With his hand under her shoulders, he dragged her toward him, nothing gentle left in him anymore.

                “I told you there is no swelling, Ayaan. I was just disoriented for a few seconds, that’s all. I—”

                But he was past caring, past honor, past good sense. He moved to his knees, lifted her up and started walking out of the stables.

                “Ayaan, put me down,” she said squirming against him.

                He tightened his hold on her, crushing her against him. Did she have any idea how delicate she was? Did she not know what a mindless beast he became in the throes of a nightmare, what a chance she had taken with him? “No.”

                “Ayaan, please, you are scaring me.”

                He had to laugh. She was scared now? The woman was scared now after putting him through that? “Again and again, I warned you to stay away from me. But you didn’t listen. You made a choice, ya habibati. That choice has consequences.”

                He took the path toward his tent and a shudder went through her. “Where are you taking me?”

                “To my tent.”

                “The maid will tend to me. I want a bath and I want to sleep.”

                “You can do all that in my tent.”

                “Why?”

                “I could have seriously hurt you, Zohra. A few more seconds and I would have...” He pulled a deep breath in. The hard knot in his throat remained, his chest so stiflingly tight that it was a wonder he was able to breathe at all.

                “But you didn’t, Ayaan.” Her fingers feathered over his jaw. “You stopped. Ayaan, please, it was my choice to follow you, mine. This is not your fault. You couldn’t know who it was. You were drowning in that memory, you were not yourself. You can’t hold yourself—”

                “When you should have cowered from me, you didn’t.” He stepped over the threshold of his tent and dismissed the guards. “I close my eyes and I see you...against the wall. Ya Allah...if you...”

                He threw her on the bed, shivering from rage. Her face was pale, her brown eyes glittering in the light of the lamps. “I could not let you go through that alone, Ayaan.”

                “That image will haunt me now, ya habibati.” He knelt on the edge of the bed, the need to hold her close, the wanting to touch her, kiss her, blending into an unbearable ache. “Only one thing will banish that image.”

                She shivered again. “What?”

                He shook from head to toe. He wanted to fill himself with the scent of her, with the feel of her. He wanted to hear her scream in mindless pleasure, he wanted to see her thrashing, crying as she came apart in his arms, he wanted to reassure himself that she was alive, again and again.

                He swept off the bed, and walked to the entrance to summon a maid for her. Stripping off his sweat-soaked shirt, he threw it. Utter masculine pride filled him as her gaze swept over his chest with a hunger she couldn’t hide. “A new image of you, habibati, naked and writhing under me, begging me to be inside you, calling my name as you come undone.” He smiled, the dark hunger he had held on to so tightly unleashing inside him. “I am going to make you mine tonight, Zohra. And you are going to wish you had never laid eyes on me.”