Claimed for the Desert Prince's Heir Page 13

  Kasia shuddered, her amber eyes darkening with surprise and arousal. The young aristocrat finally detached his gaze from her cleavage to frown at Raif. The superior, vaguely disgusted expression told Raif all he needed to know about the whelp’s opinion of his behaviour.

  He sent the pampered fool the caustic smile he had used to unnerve his opponents before the many brutal bareknuckle fights he had been forced to win to gain leadership of the Kholadi over a decade ago.

  Back off. She belongs to me.

  The young man got the message and disappeared into the crowd.

  Satisfaction stirred, feeding the heat and the hunger.

  Maybe he had masked the feral teenager he’d once been in designer clothing, and learned how to survive and prosper in the world of high finance, but the instincts of that wild boy still existed inside him and he had no desire to tame them.

  ‘Okay, Raif,’ Kasia said, the edge of desire in her voice only adding to the pheromones now firing his blood. ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘Good.’ Grasping her trembling fingers, the ring biting into his palm, he led her through the crowd of partygoers towards the domed entrance of the lavish Belle Époque ballroom.

  His impatience heightened as they waited for the cloakroom attendant to find her stole and his coat. He slung the stole over his arm and wrapped his coat around Kasia’s shoulders. He didn’t need the garment himself, he was already burning up. His hunger surged when he caught a flash of something raw and needy in her eyes as he escorted her into the street and flagged down a cab along the wide boulevard. He couldn’t wait for their car.

  The cabbie weaved through the streets in the short drive to their hotel. He kept her fingers clasped in his, stroking her knuckles, trying to reassure her as much as himself. Despite appearances and the judgement of other, more pampered men, he wasn’t an animal.

  And he would be gentle if it killed him. He didn’t want to endanger the babe or exhaust her. But he could not wait any longer.

  ‘Is everything okay, Raif?’ she whispered in the darkness, and while he could hear the tremble of uncertainty in her voice he could also hear the naked desire that she was making no effort to hide.

  Pride surged. Despite her apprehension she was here, with him, ready to meet his needs with needs of her own.

  ‘It soon will be,’ he said, devouring the sight of her, silhouetted against the glittering lights of the city, as the cabbie drew up outside the hotel.

  But as he escorted her through the lobby, dragged her into the penthouse elevator, and waited for the damn thing to finally reach their suite, he felt the tight leash he had kept on his hunger start to fray.

  As they stepped into the suite, she let go of his hand to shrug off the coat and lay it on the back of one of the couches, revealing the seductive dress, and the lush curves he could no longer wait to caress.

  * * *

  Kasia’s thigh muscles loosened and pleasure ached at her core as Raif’s arms wrapped around her and his hands caressed the smooth satin covering her abdomen. His lips nuzzled her neck and her breathing became ragged, her heartbeat hammering her ribs.

  At last.

  The ring had thrown her and so had his presence by her side during the glittering event. She’d assumed he would leave her as he had so often in the last four days to attend to his business commitments. But instead he’d remained beside her, his arm banded around her waist, never letting her stray far from his side.

  But what should have felt suffocating had been exhilarating. Feeling owned also made her feel cherished, and important. He’d introduced her as his fiancée and had never let her out of his sight. But then something had changed suddenly. She’d felt his irritation at the attention she was getting from the royal she was talking to and had assumed it was because the young man’s conversation was so inane.

  But when Raif had whispered in her ear, she’d heard the note of possessiveness, the note of arrogance and desire—and instead of feeling outraged or appalled she’d felt elated.

  The journey to the hotel had been agony, her anticipation reaching fever pitch.

  His large hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs stroking her nipples through the dress until she was panting.

  ‘I need you naked,’ he growled, his breathing as ragged as her own.

  ‘I know,’ she said.

  He turned her in his arms, found the tab of the dress’s zipper under her arm. The sibilant hiss echoed in the shadowy room, the only light coming from the lamps outside. The evening breeze brushed over her skin, but that wasn’t what made her shiver as he stripped the dress off her.

  Seconds later he removed her bra. Bending, he scooped the swollen flesh into the palm of his hand and captured the stiff peak in his teeth.

  He flicked his tongue over the engorged nipple, making the blood flow painfully to her core. She sobbed, the sensations unbearably wonderful as pleasure rolled and crested.

  He lifted his head, his eyes dark with arousal. ‘Are they more sensitive?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said on a broken sob.

  He chuckled, then captured her other breast and continued the torture, sucking and nipping her into a frenzy as his seeking fingers slipped into her panties.

  The heel of his palm pressed against her vulva. She rolled her hips, desperate to increase the delicious pressure, then moaned as his fingers delved, brushing and circling the stiff nub of her clitoris, forcing her to dance to his tune.

  The vicious orgasm crested, her body bucking against his touch—so firm, so sure, so right. She cried out as she shattered, grasping his shoulders to stop herself from falling into the abyss.

  As the last of the orgasm waned, her knees weakened, but as she threatened to dissolve into a puddle of passion on the carpet, he scooped her limp body into his arms and strode into the master bedroom.

  He placed her gently on the four-poster bed. She lay there, feeling dazed and disorientated, her body alive with afterglow, as he stripped.

  Her gaze consumed the planes of muscle and sinew, the scarred and inked skin, the scatter of dark hair and the large, thick shaft of his erection.

  He knelt on the bed, but instead of thrusting that swollen shaft deep inside her, he cupped her bottom, draped her legs over his shoulders and blew across the slick folds of her sex. Then, holding her open with his thumbs, he licked across her clitoris.

  Her body bowed back, the shocking pleasure so raw she could hardly bear it as he laved the swollen flesh, tasting every part of her. He held her bottom, anchoring her to his mouth as he finally found the hard nub and suckled. She clutched his head, scraping her nails across his scalp. Crying, begging, the pleasure too raw, too intense as she tumbled over again.

  ‘Please, Raif, I need you inside me,’ she moaned, as the waves of orgasm finally ebbed a second time.

  She felt empty, she needed to feel the thick length inside her, wanted to see him shatter the way he had made her shatter—not once but twice.

  As he rose over her, she could see the strain on his face, his eyes wild and unfocused, as he gripped her thighs, angled her hips and notched the wide head of his erection at her entrance.

  But instead of burying himself deep, thrusting hard and fast, to ease the emptiness, he edged inside her so slowly her heart began to race, her body clutching and clawing at him.

  The ecstasy turned to agony as he teased her, easing in so gently she wanted to scream. She was so frantic for the hard thrust she thought she might die if he didn’t do it soon. ‘Please, Raif, I need all of you.’

  ‘Shhh... I must be gentle,’ he said, the elemental groan full of the same raw desperation.

  ‘Why must you?’ she asked, the yearning so sharp, so primitive she could barely think, let alone speak. What was he waiting for?

  ‘I don’t want to hurt the babe.’

  What?

  The raw pledge came so far ou
t of left field it took her a moment to understand what he was saying. His sweat-slicked body was as tortured as hers.

  ‘You are so tight, and I am not a small man.’

  ‘You won’t hurt the baby, Raif,’ she said, even as her heart pummelled her chest wall at the taut desperation to hold back, to take care of her and their child, even if it drove them both insane. ‘It’s only the size of a peanut.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ he groaned.

  ‘Yes!’ She clutched his face, forced his gaze to hers. ‘Please give us what we both need.’

  She saw the moment the cast-iron control finally snapped. He grasped her hips and thrust hard, sinking right up to the hilt.

  The brutal orgasm slammed into her and she heard him shout out as he rocked out, pumped back hard and fast—once, twice—then crashed over that final barrier behind her.

  But as the pleasure exploded in her nerve-endings, shimmering through her body, her heart expanded in her chest.

  As she drifted into an exhausted sleep, with his arms holding her securely, and the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat slowing in her ear, her own heart seemed to burst in her chest, the bone-deep yearning no longer contained.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  KASIA WOKE THE next morning to find the bed empty, but before she could let her crushing disappointment overtake her, she was scrambling out of bed and rushing into Raif’s bathroom.

  Ten minutes later, she was brushing her teeth with a spare toothbrush, her stomach finally having settled again, and making plans.

  She must not get disheartened. They had made huge strides last night. Not just with the sex—which had, of course, been spectacular—but also with the engagement. Maybe Raif was uncomfortable with the intimacy of waking up together, but she would move her luggage into his room today, without asking for his permission. And make a suggestion for their two weeks in New York.

  Her spirits lifted considerably when she walked out of the bedroom in her robe, ready to start fetching her things, to find Raif seated at the breakfast table on the balcony, reading a newspaper.

  He put the paper aside and stood as she approached, his concerned frown making her heartbeat jump and jiggle—the memory of his words the night before, in the throes of passion, coming back full force.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt the babe.’

  Was that why he had been avoiding sex? Not because of a fear of intimacy but because he was concerned about her health and the baby’s? Why hadn’t she considered the possibility before? This pregnancy had to be new and scary for him, too.

  ‘Are you well enough to be out of bed?’ he asked, his gaze searching her face as he assessed her condition.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said, realising she had a lot more energy than usual after the morning bout of vomiting, and even the smell of his coffee had not unsettled her stomach.

  Holding her elbow, he directed her to the chair opposite his and seated her. ‘Are you sure? I do not wish you to tire yourself.’

  She heard the unfamiliar note of uncertainty.

  ‘Really, Raif, I’m well.’

  ‘But the vomiting,’ he said, as he sat opposite her, ‘it is so severe.’

  So he had heard her each morning. And worried about her. The thought made her heart go a little crazy.

  ‘Are you sure our...?’ He paused, and she saw the unfamiliar flush of colour darken his cheeks. ‘Our activity last night has not made it worse?’

  ‘Actually, I feel much stronger this morning—despite the nausea,’ she said, finding his concern utterly adorable. ‘Apparently multi-orgasmic sex is a cure for pregnancy fatigue—who knew?’

  Her heart leapt at the slow smile that curved his lips and the sparkle of heat in his eyes.

  ‘Then I suppose it is my job to make sure you are supplied with it,’ he murmured.

  His phone buzzed on the table, disturbing the moment. Picking it up, he frowned.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘Yes, but the series of meetings I am attending in New York have been moved forward. I will have to leave tonight.’ He wiped his mouth with his napkin and placed it on the table, before getting up. ‘If you would like to remain in Paris for the extra days, I can arrange it.’

  ‘I would rather come with you,’ she said, perplexed by his offer until she saw the fierce satisfaction in his gaze.

  Good, they were still on the same page.

  ‘I will have my staff make all the arrangements so you can join me on the company jet this evening.’ Resting his hands on her shoulders, he leaned down to kiss her neck. ‘I do not want you tiring yourself, is this understood?’

  She nodded, her heartbeat galloping at the delightful domesticity of the moment. But as he shifted away from her, obviously ready to leave her for the rest of the day, she covered one of his hands with hers and swung round. ‘Wait, Raif—can I make a suggestion?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Could we...?’ She swallowed, suddenly nervous. This really wasn’t a big deal, but it meant a lot to her and she was scared he might refuse. ‘Would it be okay if we stayed in an apartment while we’re in New York instead of a luxury hotel?’

  His brows lifted a fraction, and his forehead creased. He was obviously surprised and a little suspicious of the request.

  She rushed to explain herself before he could object. ‘It’s just that I’d like to be able to cook my own meals.’

  And I want to cook for you.

  She heard the plea inside her head but didn’t say it, because it made her feel suddenly vulnerable and exposed. Last night had been important to her, and not just because of the sex. It had deepened the intimacy between them and made her realise she was already more than halfway in love with this man. But she needed to tread carefully now, to make him see how much they could have together.

  They would be in New York for over two weeks. While she’d loved sightseeing in Paris, and being treated like a queen, she’d much rather spend the time in New York making a home with Raif, however temporary.

  ‘But there is no need for you to cook,’ he said, clearly confused by her request.

  ‘I know, but I enjoy it. My grandmother taught me how and it always reminds me of her.’

  Her grandmother had shown her how to use spices, to judge flavours and juggle tastes, to create her own unique recipes, because she had considered it an important life skill for any woman.

  ‘How can you keep your husband satisfied if you cannot fill his stomach?’

  At the time Kasia had found her grandmother’s thinking about marriage antiquated and silly, but she’d still loved learning the intricacies of Narabian cuisine at her side. It was something they had shared, her grandmother’s way of showing her she approved of her, and she loved her. Unlike her mother. And it was a skill Kasia wanted to share with Raif, because she suspected, for all his wealth and status, both in Kholadi and in the outside world, he had never been nurtured in the way that only a meal cooked with love could nurture a soul.

  She wanted to give him that, because he had already given her so much—she didn’t have money or status, but she did know how to conjure magic in a kitchen.

  His frown remained, but then he shrugged, and relief flooded through her.

  ‘Okay, I will have my assistant rearrange our accommodation.’

  She wanted to suggest she find the apartment herself, because she had visions of finding somewhere cosy and comfortable and intimate, and not too lavish, but she decided not to press him. The apartment wasn’t important, it was what they could establish inside it—a new level of understanding, of intimacy and domesticity. Together.

  An apartment represented a chance to make some semblance of a home with Raif—with no staff looking over their shoulders and cleaning up after them, and no restaurant or room service meals they hadn’t created and cooked themselves. To just be, in
their own space, together, however temporary, was more of a luxury to her than going on shopping sprees with his credit card, or seeing even the most amazing sights without him.

  As Raif left, her heartbeat galloped into her throat. It was such a small thing, a small thing that Raif didn’t understand the significance of, but that was okay, because it had huge significance to her.

  Plus she’d never been to New York before.

  The next two weeks would be an adventure, for both of them, that she could not wait to explore.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ‘THAT SMELLS INCREDIBLE—what is it?’

  Raif dumped his briefcase by the door and tugged at his tie. He was tired. The day of meetings with a Mexican retail consortium looking for investment had been conducted in both English and Spanish—a language he was not yet fluent in. But as he slipped off his shoes and walked into the loft apartment’s generous open-plan living and dining space he spotted Kasia, her wild hair pushed back from her face by a colourful bandana, busy stirring something on the five-ring stove.

  His heart did a giddy two-step. And the fatigue lifted, to be replaced by the familiar punch of lust. And longing.

  She sent him a quick grin, making the longing wrap around his heart. And begin to choke him. It had become a familiar sight since they had arrived in New York a week ago and his assistant had found them this apartment.

  Kasia’s request had confused him when she had made it in Paris. He always stayed at the Plaza when he was in New York. Had never had any desire to stay anywhere else. And if truth be told, he hadn’t been that happy about agreeing to this shift. He didn’t like her having to cook for them. And he liked even the less the daily excursions she made to scour the local markets to find the spices and ingredients she needed for her latest creation. But he’d had to stifle his objections because it made her so happy.

  And he liked to see her happy.