“I know that,” she said with a nod. “I mean, I know that gems from Talidar are beyond reproach. They significantly increase an object’s value by their inclusion. I just wonder at the justification of controlling an entire industry.”
He stopped walking, his eyes scanning her face. “Do you know how much of the revenue raised from this industry is fed back into the country?”
Olivia bit down on her lip, and shook her head. She felt her long blonde ponytail move from side to side.
“Almost all of it. My country is my passion, Olivia. I was raised to rule, but the love I feel for it is my own. I want my people to prosper. That means the best schools, universities and libraries in the world. It means a police force that keeps drugs away from impressionable teenage brains. It means research grants from an interested government. It means educating everyone – men and women – and children, to realise that with a clever mind and good education, you can achieve anything. I am in the business of building opportunities from the soil of our land.” His dark eyes seemed to glow with intensity. “I am not a wealthy oligarch, getting rich and fat off the labour of a destitute people.”
Olivia’s stomach churned at his impassioned speech, for it spoke of a nobility that had nothing to do with noble birth. “I can see that,” she said finally, lowering her eyes to his taut frame. There was nothing fat about him. He was purely honed strength. He was… perfect. She closed her eyes on the thought.
Her open inspection made Tamir’s gut tighten. He’d been with many women. For decades, they had fallen at his feet, begging to climb into his bed, for however long they could interest him. Even as a teenager, he’d been no stranger to the ways of beautiful women. Enjoying a woman’s body was nothing new. But the wave of attraction he felt for Olivia was like a tsunami, pulling him under and overwhelming him at the same time. There was nothing for him to grab onto that could stop him from being dragged beneath the surface.
All he could hope was that he would be able to control the force eventually.
As they approached a set of large, timber doors, two servants opened them inwards. A carpeted corridor opened before them, with floor to ceiling windows running down one side, and carpets and tapestries the other. Olivia paused, unable to walk past the ancient hangings without stopping.
“Tamir, these are…” She moved closer, her lips parted, her eyes huge, as she took in the elaborate detail of the carpet before her. The colors spoke of an ancient time – faded ochre, black and cream. The patterns were influenced by Egyptian characters, and the craftsmanship was superb.
Tamir stopped walking and turned. Olivia was so captivated by the art that she wasn’t even aware he was there. He took advantage of her distraction to study her properly. Her clothes were all wrong for her. So conservative and staid. Oh, she looked good. But in a Talidarian robe, draped in jewels, she would be exquisite. What was it about her that drove him so wild? Her figure was lovely – tall and slender with generous breasts. Her fair skin and hair moreso. All of these were pleasing qualities, but each on their own was not enough to torment him the way she had since they’d first met, the night before.
Her head turned suddenly, her eyes locking with his, and he felt that instant spark of awareness hit him like an electrical current.
“Tamir, how old are these?”
He tamped down on his desire, carefully keeping his expression neutral. “You tell me. You’re the expert, aren’t you?”
She compressed her lips and looked back at the tapestry. “They can’t be… as old as they look.”
“No?”
She stepped closer to the wall hanging, completely oblivious to the way he was staring at her. “The depiction of a pastoral scene – the harvest and measuring of grains – is in keeping with works done somewhere around fifteen hundred BC.” She scanned the top of the hanging. “The colors suggest this, too. That particular shade is Madder; it was widely used in ancient art works because the plant that creates the pigment grew freely throughout the continent. And this,” she pointed towards a large Eagle depicted in flight, with a snake clasped in its talons, “is a reference to the first Talidarian ruler. The first Desert King who overthrew the Egyptian rule and established the protection of the Sultan for those who had been sold as slaves to the empire.” She gulped. “Without proper laboratory tests, I’d say this tapestry was completed by one person. The style is identical throughout. Yes. Definitely around fifteen hundred BC.”
He ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. “You’re right.”
“I know.” She gave the picture one last glance then moved to catch up with Tamir. “Why were you testing me?”
He slanted her a look. “I am interested in your level of expertise.”
Olivia’s steps faltered, and he quickly put a steadying arm around her slender waist. “Why?”
At her hip, his strong fingers pressed into her flesh with a bite of pressure. “Because I am interested in all of you.”
Olivia’s eyes were drawn to his, the surprise in her expression causing him amusement. She looked away, focussing on another tapestry as they walked past it. But now, her appraiser’s eye was far from ready. She skimmed past the ancient pieces, seeing without really noticing. All of her energy was focussed on the enormous piece of artwork to her side. The rarest of all commodities – a prince amongst men.
Olivia had lain awake all night, staring at the peeling paint of the modest two bedroom apartment she shared with her mother in Brixton. Over and over, she’d asked herself the question: What did he want with her?
Olivia didn’t go in for false modesty. If she’d had any doubts about her physical appearance, they would have been washed away by now, by the frequent remarks she received from men.
Unfortunately, Olivia wasn’t flattered by the attention. On the contrary, it made her squirm. Her father had taught her, from a young age, that beauty was nothing aspirational. In fact, he’d encouraged her to downplay her looks in any way she could, leading to a disastrous bowl cut just before her twelfth birthday. His belief – that beauty would only get in the way of the perception of brains – was flawed. Olivia had learned to combine the two. In fact, there had been times when her physical presentation had served her well, and she hadn’t been ashamed to use it to her advantage in order to further her career. That was only something she felt comfortable doing because she knew that her academic credentials were excellent.
She flicked a glance to Tamir and looked away again immediately. He was so handsome and imposing, so tall and dark, strong and powerful, that he sent her pulse skittering with a single look. But therein lay the problem. He was not simply a man she had met, who she found attractive. He was born to rule Talidar, a wealthy, foreign country, skirted by desert on one side and ocean on the other. Any interest he had in her simply didn’t make sense. For a man such as Tamir could have any woman he wanted, at any time. Undoubtedly, he had done so for many years. So why her? And for how long?
I am interested in all of you. Her blood pounded through her body at his accented admission. But was he serious? A man such as him would find it easy to say what was necessary. He was suave and sophisticated, easily able to click his fingers and make women come running. Was she so predictable? So weak-minded, that she couldn’t resist his charms?
He paused outside some dark timber doors, and another set of matching servants pushed them inwards. As Olivia moved past them, she was reminded of salt and pepper shakers, for the way they stood as unemotional sentinels, tall and straight. They wore the same black uniform with gold trim that the others had done.
“Please, have a seat.”
Olivia jumped, her green eyes flying to his face.
Tamir’s chuckle was low and throaty, turning her blood to warm lava inside of her. “You do not need to be afraid, Azeezi.”
“Don’t I?” She lifted her brows in a mocking challenge to his words.
Tamir wiped the humour from his expression. “Sit down, Olivia. I would like to speak with you.”
/> It was on the tip of her tongue to decline, when the formality of the stunning room broke through to her. Her eyes swung wildly from the gold colored curtains that covered the wall of windows, to the parquetry floor, and the chandeliers that ran down the middle of the room like a jewel encrusted river. The wallpaper opposite the windows was cream and gold, and emblazoned with the Talidarian royal crest. The chair that he was inviting her to sit in was made of walnut wood with gold details; and it was far more like a throne than a simple chair.
She swallowed. Awe-struck, she eased herself into it, and clasped her hands in her lap. She found it difficult to meet his gaze suddenly.
“Are you thirsty? Hungry?”
She shook her head. Though she hadn’t been able to eat all day, she found her stomach was still too knotted to be tempted by food. “What would you like to speak about?”
He disguised his amusement. “Last night.”
“Oh.” She squirmed in the chair, and had it been possible, she would have disappeared into the floorboards. “I see.”
“Do you?” He did not sit down. Standing before her, she had a perfect vision of his strong thighs and firm, flat chest. Though they were encased in the suit, it did nothing to disguise his muscled strength.
Olivia looked up at him in confusion. “Do I what?”
“Do you see what I want from you?”
She took in a deep breath. The speech she’d rehearsed in her mind that morning felt heavy in her mouth in that moment. “I gave you the wrong impression last night, Sultan Al’ani.”
“Mir,” he corrected, pressing a finger under her chin and lifting her face to meet his.
She shook her head. “I can’t call you that. I shouldn’t be here. I hardly know you. You’re royalty. And I’m… not.”
“That is birth, and nothing more. And you hardly know me yet,” he agreed with a shrug, as though it were of absolutely no importance.
“Not ever,” she responded firmly, and her green eyes sparked with a determined fierceness he found enchanting.
“What has brought you to this conclusion?” His accent was like cinnamon and rum on a desert breeze. Spicy and warm, deep and sexy.
She made a sound of frustration and stood, moving with the grace of a ballerina towards one of the windows. The lush greenery of Hyde Park was just beyond her. Olivia unconsciously ran a hand through her ponytail, playing with the ends over her shoulder. “That wasn’t me, last night. I don’t know what came over me.”
Tamir felt a strange prickle of sympathy; a desire to take away her obvious discomfort and reassure her that she had not been at all in the wrong. He did not act on it, of course. Though he was known to be a generous and kind ruler, when it came to the women he wanted to bed he played to win. Her discomfort gave him an advantage and he pushed it without shame. “Desire came over you.”
She coughed, her breath hitched in her throat making her feel as though she were choking. “It’s crazy.” She shook her head. “I don’t act like that.”
“Apparently you’re wrong.” He closed the distance between them and put a hand on her shoulder. “You would have made love to me in that room at the Royal Albert Hall if I hadn’t resisted.”
Her cheeks flushed prettily. “I know.”
He admired her honesty. It was a refreshing quality, and a point of difference between his usual choice of lover. Then again, integrity was not a quality he cared for in the women who temporarily warmed his bed. Nothing mattered to him beyond their desirability and enthusiasm. He ran his fingers down her arm, enjoying the way she shivered beneath his touch.
“You would make love to me now. If I kissed you, you would beg me not to stop.”
“No,” she whispered, but the way she quickly stepped away from him showed that she knew it was true. “Please don’t.”
He grinned. “You are so afraid of this.” He ran a hand through her hair. “Why?”
“Because,” she exhaled softly, pressing her fingertips to her temples. “How long are you in London for, Tamir?”
“I leave tomorrow.”
A pain, like a stitch, stamped across her chest. How was it possible that she cared so much about someone she didn’t know? He was leaving, and that would be the end of it. “In which case, we definitely have nothing left to discuss.”
“You will come with me.” He spoke as though she hadn’t, and his words echoed with a dark intensity that knocked her sideways.
“What?” Her heart was louder than a drum, hard and fast.
“You want me.”
She opened her mouth to deny it, but the word died on her tongue. She closed her eyes, her lashes long and dark against her cheek. “Yes. I do. But that doesn’t mean I can indulge that… feeling.”
Again, she showed her strength of character, by admitting to their attraction. “Why would you not indulge it? You can take a holiday from your job. Come and see Talidar again. Come and enjoy the many, many ancient jewels and tapestries and statues in my palace.”
Her eyes flew open. That was almost as tempting as what she really wanted. His face was unreadable, his dark eyes intent on her face.
“I can’t,” she insisted quietly. Though there was a part of her that was tempted, she had responsibilities in London. A life that required her in it.
“You have said that, but you are not explaining your hesitation.”
“This is a fantasy,” she muttered. “You are a prince who is used to getting what he wants. You’ve decided you want me, and I suspect that the more I prevaricate, the more determined you become. So let me ask you this, Tamir. Why do you want me?”
His eyes flared with an intention that she didn’t comprehend. His lips took possession of hers hungrily, with a passion that perfectly matched what they’d shared the night before. “Because your body dances to the same tune as mine.” He pulled at her hair elastic, freeing it from the confines of the neat style she’d slicked it into earlier that day. At a time when she had stupidly thought she could control this raw flame of lust.
She lifted her hands and tangled her fingers in his dark hair. It was thick and coarse. With her hands held aloft, her breasts were pressed firm against his chest, her body cleaved to his as though they were one. Tamir wanted to lift her shirt from the ridiculous sensible trousers she wore, and connect his fingertips with the warm, bare flesh of her body. But he did not. He wanted to savour Olivia.
“God!” She pushed away from him and stared at him as though he’d threatened to stab her mother. Her eyes were laced with accusation. She lifted her hands and pressed her palms to her cheeks. “What is going on?”
His smile carried a comprehension that she lacked. “Have you never felt desire before, Azeezi?”
“Of course I have.” Her cheeks flushed. Never like this.
“So why is this surprising to you?”
“Are you saying it’s normal to you?”
“No.”
She looked at him in hope and confusion. “It’s not?”
He shook his head, his eyes reproachful. “You’re… different.”
Olivia’s brain was warning her. He was too smooth. This was too much. Too soon. Too flattering. Too intense. Too much. Way, way too much. Every fibre of common sense that ran through her was screaming at her to listen to her inner-objections. But her body was beginning to thrum with desire. Her skin craved to be touched by him.
Would she ever know someone like Tamir Al’ani again? One of the sexiest men she’d ever met, who happened to be one of the most powerful men in the world, wanted her. And she wanted him. Why was she fighting it?
“I… can’t go Talidar with you.” Before he could interrupt with another persuasive argument, she lifted a hand. “But I’m here now. And I do want you.” She was almost as shocked as he by her boldness.
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re saying you will spend tonight with me.”
She nodded. Her chest felt oddly heavy. “I guess I am.”
Chapter Three
Tamir’s bedroo
m at the embassy was an incredible mix of luxury, formality and technology. He laughed, at her expression. “You do not like it?”
She flushed. “Oh. It’s very,” she searched for the right word. “Sterile.”
“Yes.” He looked around himself, seeing through her eyes the hotel-like furniture, the incredibly expensive artwork and the state of the art laptops and televisions that allowed him to keep track of his country. “I have an apartment in London too, but I rarely use it these days.”
“Why not?”
“Since becoming Sultan, this has made more sense. Better security.”
He spoke into a phone, in his own language. It was the first time she had heard him communicate in Talidarian, and it was a sound like music to her ears. He disconnected the call and turned back to her.
What was he waiting for? Olivia’s body was energized, her whole self tingling with anticipation. Waiting had never been her forte. She shrugged out of her jacket and placed it carefully on the edge of the bed. Then, she planted her hands on her hips and eyed him thoughtfully. The placement of her arms made her blouse strain across her chest and Tamir’s gaze was drawn to the generous swell. His body jerked in immediate response.
He forced himself to look away.
“When did you first discover you were drawn to ancient objects?”
No! Her body screamed. She railed against the idea of any kind of delay. Having screwed up her courage to sleep with a man she barely knew, she simply wanted to enjoy it. Not to have time to regret her hasty decision. She lifted her hands to her blouse and began to unbutton it. Tamir could no longer keep his eyes averted. As she removed obstacle after obstacle, until the shirt hung open, Tamir felt satisfaction getting closer.
She placed the shirt on top of the jacket, and stood before him, in a pair of pants and a lace white bra. She was not nervous. She was excited. Thrilled. Turn on beyond bearing. Between her legs, she felt a slick of moist anticipation. There was no turning back now. And she didn’t want to.