heating up between them. He slipped his hands up around her face and pulled her close. Her words stuttered and came to a halt.
“I’m going to kiss you.”
“All right.”
And he did. She tasted sweet, like lemon candy, and after a few moments she melted against him. Laila slid her hands up the front of his shirt, palms gliding across the muscles underneath. Every nerve in his body sparked and flamed. What had he been thinking, all this time? Why had he bothered to keep her at arm’s length when he wanted her this badly? He had wanted her like this from the moment he first saw her in the garden. Brazen, just like now.
They broke apart, and she looked deeply into his eyes, hands still fisted in the front of his shirt. “It would have been nice, that’s all, if you’d been there,” she said.
“I’m sorry.” He kissed her again, giving in to the impulse he’d been shoving deep down for the entirety of their honeymoon, and since they’d returned. He’d wanted to be with her. But that wasn’t the arrangement, and if he let himself fall any further... “My schedule is full, after being unavailable for two weeks. And if you’d been here when I finally got a spare fifteen minutes, I would have shown you myself.”
Laila narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure I believe that you’re sorry. Kiss me again so I can decide.”
He laughed and swept her around in his arms, lifting her up onto the desk so he could dip her back, the hem of her tunic rising. “Is this what you meant?”
“No,” she teased. “Now I’m just sitting on your desk, in your arms, and you’re still not kissing me.” She brushed her fingertips along the back of his neck. “It’s almost like you can’t hear me. How many times do I need to say it, Zayid? I want another—”
He silenced her, devouring her laughter and turning it into a moan. His own body strained against the prison of his clothes. Her curves underneath the tunic were exactly as luscious as he’d imagined for all those days of their honeymoon. Zayid had supplied her with a full wardrobe for the trip, since the American clothes she’d brought with her wouldn’t do—not when they were going to be photographed by any paparazzi who could find the new royal couple. His mistake had been purchasing the softest, most pliable fabrics, the fabrics that lifted in the breeze and wrapped around her and begged him to put his hands around her waist.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “For not being there. I’ll try to rearrange my schedule.”
She rested her forehead against his. “You don’t have to do that. I know this isn’t...you know. It’s not—”
“Whatever it is or isn’t, the rest of Raihan will notice if I’m never with my wife.” A knock at the door pulled his attention away from the sandalwood and rose scent of her. “What is it?”
“Sir, it’s time for your next meeting.” Makin sounded like he wanted to be interrupting Zayid as much as Zayid wanted to be interrupted.
“All right.” Zayid waited for the door to close, then eased Laila off the desk. He bent and pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck, just where it met the fabric of her tunic. “I’ll be home for dinner. I promise.”
9
Talif, the pottery expert Zayid had hired to mentor her, rubbed his hands together to rid them of dried clay. Laila had only been working in the studio about a week, but it was already broken in, with clay dust everywhere. “So, it’s not so different from the modern style,” he finished. “But with earthenware, you don’t add a glaze.”
“That’s right.”
“The distinctive thing about Raihan’s traditional pottery, as you know, is in the shape of the pots themselves.” Talif’s eyes twinkled.
“The wide mouth,” Laila added. “Inclined outward.”
“That, along with the—”
“Etched decorations.” Laila grinned at him.
Talif laughed, the wrinkles in his face deepening. “Why did His Highness think you needed a mentor?”
Laila shrugged. “I’m always happy to learn. Besides, it’s not every day I get to work with experts like you.”
Talif pressed a hand to his chest. “The pleasure is all mine. I’ll see you next week, Your Highness.”
“I look forward to it.” Laila walked him to the door of the studio. “How will you fill your time until we meet again?”
“I meant to tell you.” Talif’s eyes lit up. “There’s a pottery center in the main market. I volunteer there several times a week.