since sheâd walked out of his life. In ways he could not begin to explain.
Just one of the many things affected had been his sex drive. Heâd had no desire for a woman, for sex at all, since sheâd left. And now that she was here, that had changed. It had changed drastically.
Desire didnât feel like he remembered. Had it always made him feel like he was standing on the edge of a cliff? Had it always stolen his breath and made his body tremble? He didnât think it had. But it was now. He felt perilously close to losing his balance. To losing himself.
âThen that is what I am to you,â he said, âan opportunity?â
âAn opportunity was all I was to you, sugar.â Sheâd called him that back in Texas. It had sounded sweet then. An endearment. Silly but it had done something to him. Now it seemed more of an insult.
âI am not interested in banter, or arguments,â he said. âIf you want me, come here and show me.â
It was not his way to have a woman make the first move. It never had been. But he had to give the power to Angelina now, mostly because he stood powerless before her. What had happened in the space of the past half hour?
Taj Ahmad, Sheikh of Rahat, ruler of many, transfixed, controlled, by a woman.
But the revelation didnât bring the power to prevent it. He had no strength to stop what was unfolding. And no desire to stop it, either.
She took a step toward him, her eyes darkening, the emotion in them unknowable to him. And for once, he was grateful to be ignorant of something.
âThis time,â she said, âyou have to kiss me.â
If he did, he would be the one laying down his hand. The one giving in. He did not give in. It wasnât in him.
At the moment, his body seemed to disagree. Because he was moving to her. And then he took her in his arms. He relished the feeling for a moment, the sensation of having her breasts pressed against his chest, of her softness. Her strength.
It was little wonder no woman had managed to appeal to him since Angelina. She was like no other woman, and his desire for her had remained piqued but unsatisfied since heâd met her.
He needed satisfaction. He needed to have her. In his arms. In his bed, or her bed, so that he could move on.
Resisting wasnât an option. It wasnât a possibility.
He was lost, in her kiss, her touch. He pushed his hand beneath her shirt and felt her smooth, creamy skin. He pulled his hand away, as though heâd been burned. He felt like he had been. Down to his soul. He couldnât explain it. Didnât want to.
Not when she was arching against him, whispering words of encouragement, her hands moving over his back.
He looked at her face and saw her eyes, closed tight, as though she was afraid to open them.
âLook at me,â he growled. Her eyes opened wide. âI would have you know who youâre with.â
She looked confused. Dazed. âHow could you be anyone else?â
With a groan, he claimed her lips again, walking her back to the opulent bed that was in the corner. He laid her down on the soft duvet, and peeled her shirt over her head, revealing snow-white breasts barely covered by a thin web of a lace that was trying to pass for a bra.
His hand shook as he traced the line of the bra with his fingertip. Had a woman ever made him shake before? He did not think so.
For a moment, he feared it would it be over too quickly. A fear he had never experienced in his life. But three years without sex was a long time. And now that he was breaking his fast, it was with the object of his fantasies.
She worked at removing his clothes, while she divested him of his. When his skin finally met hers, he exhaled a breath. One he thought he might have been holding since she walked out of his life.
It was like everything fit. Finally.
He lavished attention on her strawberry tipped breasts, her sighs of pleasure and the feel of her arching