When he heard the double doors bang behind her, he leapt to his feet. With an intake of breath, he pursued her. He saw her disappear through a wooden door in the hallway. The door to the royal garden, forbidden to all but the king’s family. He followed her outside.
He stopped at the foot of the stairs, turning his face up to the night sky. He heard an owl’s distant echoing cry. He felt the warm desert wind against his face, blowing open his white shirt.
He was on the hunt. He no longer felt like a king, constrained by the rigid boundaries of duty and appearance. Suddenly, he felt wild. Uncontrolled. For the first time since he’d returned to the palace in Shafar, he felt like himself again.
No. It had been longer than that since he’d truly felt like himself. Far longer…
Where was she? He looked to the right and left, searching across the dark shadows of trees and shimmering pools of water like a Qusani hawk seeking his prey. Had she disappeared into the night? Did she truly exist only in dreams?
The moonlight cast a silvery glow on the swaying palm trees. He could hear the wind through the leaves, hear the burbling water of the fountain. In the distance, he could hear the Mediterranean pounding beneath the cliffs.
Booms like cannons ricocheted with increasing vigor across the sky. Explosions spiraled like pale flowers of smoke across the night—fireworks provided by the city of Shafar to celebrate his coming coronation. He knew he should be thanking the city council right now, instead of pursuing this ghost from his past—this woman who’d given herself freely to another man.
But not yet. She was still his. She was still his.
He saw a sudden flash of white. He saw her lithe body cross the garden, darting and shimmering between the dark shadows. Silvery moonlight twisted through her onyx hair, causing her short, filmy white gown to glow. She was a creature of seduction, a faerie creature of the night, illuminating it like any man’s fantasy.
Jasmine. How long had he hungered for her? How long had he thirsted, like a man crossing oceans of hot sand?
He stood still, watching her in the moonlight. Afraid to breathe, lest the dream disappear.
His expression hardened as he moved forward.
Too many years of hunger. Too many years of denied desire.
She wished to have her freedom. He would give it to her. But not yet.
Tonight, she was still his.
For this night, she was his to possess.
As he caught up with her, he saw her long dark hair tumbling down her pale, bare shoulders in the moonlight. Shoulders now shaking with silent sobs.
A branch snapped into the grass beneath his foot as he stopped abruptly.
She didn’t turn around, but he knew she’d heard him by the sudden stiffening of her posture.
“I know I shouldn’t be here.” Her voice was sodden, muffled. “Have you come to kick me out?”
Grabbing her shoulder, he turned her around. “This garden is forbidden to all but the royal family.”
“I know—”
“And you are my wife.”
She looked up at him with a gasp. Her eyes were wide and dark, her tears glimmering in the moonlight like endless pools. “But I can’t be,” she choked out. “You are the king. And I must marry—”
“I know.” His eyes searched hers. “I will give you your divorce, Jasmine.”
“You will?”
“Yes,” he said in a low voice. “But not yet.”
“What do you want from me?” she whispered.
His hand tightened on her bare shoulder. What did he want?
He wanted to strip the flimsy dress off her body and lay her down beneath him in the moist, cool grass. He wanted to close his eyes and feel her wholly in his grasp, to feel the beat of her heart and warmth of her skin.
He wanted to kiss her senseless, to lick and suckle every inch of her naked body, from that slender, delicate neck to her full breasts, down her tiny waist to the wide sweep of her hips.
He wanted to dip his tongue into every crevice of her, to taste and bite every delicious curve. To savor the spicy sweetness of her skin until he could bear it no longer, while he plunged himself into her so hard and deeply that he would never resurface again.
Part of him—the civilized part—knew it was wrong. Jasmine was another man’s betrothed. And she was under his protection.
But as he held her in his arms…Kareef was no longer a civilized man.
“You,” he growled in reply. “I want you.”
“No,” she gasped. Her brown eyes shimmered with fear. “We can’t!”
He breathed in her scent of spice and blood oranges and something more, something distinctly her, the intoxicating feminine warmth of her skin. He smelled the fragrant night-blooming jasmine, and he didn’t bother to answer. He just lowered his head to kiss her.