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tragedy. Nothing would stop her uncle from forcing the marriage if she were caught in such a circumstance.
    Thank goodness, only the royal family of Zohra knew of the passages. And her.
    â€œHow did you know I was in the corridor? Is there some kind of alarm?”
    Zahir merely shrugged, but there was an odd expression in his eyes, the soft light of the candles giving his angular cheeks a burnished glow that almost looked like a blush.
    He reached out and cupped her cheek. “You look beautiful.”
    â€œYou didn’t like my dress earlier?”
    â€œYou know I did.”
    â€œDo I?”
    â€œOh, yes.” His hand slipped around her head and settled against her nape. He used the hold to gently tug her forward until their bodies were a mere breath apart. “You are a minx. How did I not realize this before?”
    â€œMinx is such an old-fashioned word.”
    â€œI am an old-fashioned guy.”
    â€œYou think?”
    â€œIn some ways, I am very traditional.”
    Then, before she could answer, he lowered his head and she finally got the kiss she’d always wanted.
    And it was every bit as tender and romantic as she could ever have hoped. Letting out a little sigh of pleasure, she let her lips part slightly.
    Zahir’s tongue swept inside, claiming her mouth with unhesitating, if gentle, demand. Her arms moved of their own volition, her hands clasping behind his neck as she melted into him. His big body shuddered at the full-on contact and she could feel the evidence of a tightly leashed desire pressing impressively against her stomach.
    The evidence that he did indeed want her made her bold and she tangled her tongue with his, responding to his kiss with an abandon she’d never known she was capable of.
    She’d spent so many years repressing her sexual desires, they rushed through her now with the power of a California wildfire.
    She moaned, moving against him, needing more than the kiss, but too involved in it to do anything about that.
    As if he could read her mind, Zahir’s hands began exploring her body through the thin silk of the wedding galabeya. He traced the embroidery along her spine, sending raptures through her body.
    When his hands cupped her bottom, she could not suppress a needy whimper. An approving growl came from deep in his chest as he lifted her to press the apex of her thighs against his hardness.
    Her legs spread of their own volition, but the skirt of the long Arabic gown constricted how far she could do so. He didn’t seem to mind, making another sound of approval as he intimately thrust against her. The contact between them, even through the layers of silk of their clothing, sent electric sparks exploding along her nerve endings. His thrusts became more urgent as she felt warm moisture develop between her legs.
    How could this feel so good? How could she feel so out of control already? They weren’t even naked yet.
    He tilted her pelvis just so and suddenly sensation unlike anything she’d ever known was making her womb clench. She mashed her mouth against his, needing to be closer.
    He gave her what she needed, taking their kiss into something wildly carnal.
    Unfamiliar tension built inside her, pleasure tinged by almost panic at the unfamiliarity of it, made her body shake even as she pressed against him in wanton need for something she couldn’t give name to.
    And then it came, that nameless something, a super-nova of sensation that made her body go rigid as she cried out against his mouth. A sob built in her throat as the pleasure burst, and ebbed, and burst again.
    She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She couldonly feel and that was too much. Too intense and yet she never wanted it to end.
    But something this immense had to end, or kill her. She was sure of it.
    Her heart felt ready to explode from her chest. If this is what he could do to her with a kiss, she was never going to survive what was to come.
    The jolts