He was still beneath her lips, his fingers curling around the skirt of her dress, the material bunching in his fist. The rumble turned to a growl, low and feral. Sexy on a level she’d never imagined something like that could be.
Granted, her experience with men and kissing was limited. So limited it could almost be called nonexistent. Because she’d known that she would have to marry for her country. For many traditional leaders a virgin bride would be expected. It had been written into the contract hers and Malik’s fathers had signed.
She wondered why she’d stood for that now. Why she’d calmly let them decree something like that. Something so personal and hers. Because it had seemed right then. Like she had to do the best thing for Austrich, and if that meant not ever having a real relationship of her choosing …
She had done that. Sacrificed ever pursuing a man she was interested in because of a marriage contract drawn up six years ago.
The realization was obvious, but stunning. The sudden understanding of what personal, private things in her life had been controlled by those she trusted.
No one was making her do this. She wanted this.
She deepened the kiss, parting her lips and sliding her tongue over the outline of his top lip, over the slashing scar that ran through it. He shuddered beneath the touch, every muscle in his back shivering beneath her fingertips.
He tightened his hold on her, brought her tight against his body. She could feel his erection pressing firmly against her stomach. She broke the kiss to suck in a sharp breath and he took advantage, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat, the curve of her neck. Teeth nipping, his tongue soothing.
He moved his hands from her hips to her waist, his hold tight, but good. She loved the intensity of it, him clinging to her as though she was bringing him life, as though she were water in the desert.
He was to her. His touch, his mouth. It was heady, intoxicating, far beyond anything she’d ever imagined possible. It was like having a veil torn from her eyes, seeing everything clearly for the first time.
Seeing how little she’d truly felt in her life.
She turned her head and captured his mouth again on a rough moan that would have normally shocked her, embarrassed her. But it didn’t. And it wasn’t because his kiss made things fuzzy—far from it. It was all sharper, more defined. Raw and real and all the better for it.
It was all instinct and feeling, lust and need. He was devouring her and she was willing, more than.
He slid his hand down and gripped her thigh, his fingers wrapping around at the sensitive spot behind her knee. He pulled up gently, opening her to him, wrapping her leg around his hip. It brought the blunt head of his arousal against the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs that was screaming for attentions, dying for satisfaction.
She rocked against him, following her instincts for once, leaving her head out of the equation.
This was about feeling. Not logic. Not duty. Not about pursuing worth.
She gave a slight growl of protest when he abandoned her mouth, and he laughed, pressing kisses to the side of her neck, her exposed collarbone.
“Zahir … oh, Zahir,” she whispered, tightening her hold on his shoulders, her nails digging into his muscled body.
He froze, pulling his head away, the expression on his face dazed, clouded. And then clarity returned.
He pushed away from her, his chest heaving. “Enough.”
“Zahir … “
“Why are you here, Katharine?”
“I … I wanted to read so I came down after dinner and … “
“No. Why are you here? In Hajar. With me.”
“Because of Alexander. Because … because I need a husband to protect the throne of Austrich.”
“If not for that, would you have come?”
She shook her head. “No.” She spoke the word on a whisper, her entire body trembling.”
He looked at her for a moment, his eyes bottomless wells of ink. Flat and empty. Her stomach tightened in on itself, making her fight to keep upright.
He nodded curtly and turned and walked from the room, leaving her standing there, cold and more alone than she’d ever felt in her entire life.
SHE wasn’t used to saying the wrong thing. Or maybe she wasn’t used to people showing their disapproval as openly. Unless of course it was from her father.
This, with Zahir, went way beyond disapproval, though. She’d hurt him. At least, she thought maybe she had. She wasn’t certain that Zahir felt hurt anymore. She wasn’t sure if there was anything behind that granite wall of his.
Oh, no, there’s … there’s all that passion.
Just for moment, she’d seen Zahir as he’d been. Effortlessly seductive, charming and sensual. As he had been? He still had it. He’d all but turned her to mush.
But that was just physical. A kind of physical she wasn’t used to. But she knew enough to know that men didn’t really need emotion to get into the physical. She wasn’t entirely certain she needed it, either, considering how she’d responded to him.
Not that she was entirely void of emotion where he was concerned.
She thought back to that day in the market, his eyes like a hunted, wounded animal until she’d touched him. And when they’d cleared, in that moment, something had shifted in her. And it had only kept on shifting. The oasis. The dance. The kiss.
Nothing like the few chaste kisses she’d shared with Malik. Theirs had been an attempt to find some passion between them, and she’d been certain that she could, but it hadn’t been anything like being in Zahir’s arms.
With him, she’d gone up in flames.
She still burned. She squirmed slightly in her reclining position on her plush bed, a slight sheen of sweat breaking out over her skin.
She could still feel the imprint of his hands on her, sliding over her curves, his tongue against hers. So sensual, in a way she hadn’t imagined it could be. Her body felt overheated again, just like that. Just the thought of him.
Blinking hard, she turned her attention back to her tablet computer and swiped her fingers over the screen idly, flipping through a few more wedding gown designs. She wasn’t certain it really mattered what she wore, but her usual dresser had sent her some amazing sketches, and it would be great publicity for him and the fashion designer who’d created them. So in that way, it sort of mattered.
She frowned. She was always doing that. Looking for the meaning in what she did. The weight. A way to make herself matter. She rolled over onto her stomach and pushed the tablet out of the way. She would just have Kevin pick one. Because she really didn’t care. What did it matter anyway?
Zahir would rather not be having the wedding at all, and he wouldn’t care if she walked down the aisle in clear tape and packing peanuts. So truly, the wedding gown was moot.
It didn’t represent anything. A legal union that didn’t go beyond the piece of paper they would both be signing. A different set of documents, another pair of signatures, and they’d be unmarried just as easily.
She’d leave the cake flavors and the canapés up to the wedding coordinator, too. Because it just didn’t matter.
And it would matter even less if her groom couldn’t stand there long enough for her to make it up the aisle. If a flashback hit him there and then and he was assaulted