Free The Desert Lord's Baby by Olivia Gates Page A

flayed her with his words until she was hyperventilating, her color so high she seemed to glow in the subdued light of her corridor.
    At last she choked, “God, you’re serious.” Then a strangled sound escaped her as she whirled around and ran.
    He stared after her, his body throbbing, his nostrils flaring on her lingering scent.
    If he’d thought he’d wanted her in the past, that was nothing to what he felt now. It was as if knowing all the ecstasy they’d wrung from each other’s bodies had blossomed into a little living miracle had turned his hunger into compulsion.
    And then there was the way she was resisting him.
    That was certainly the last response he’d expect from any woman to whom he deemed to offer marriage. And he’d only ever thought of offering it to Carmen. She’d thwarted him the first time he’d been about to offer it. Now that he had, she seemed to think throwing herself off a cliff was a preferable fate.
    It baffled him. Enraged him. Intrigued him. Aroused him beyond reason. It wasn’t ego to say he knew that any woman would be in ecstasy at the prospect of marrying him. As a tycoon and a prince, he assured a life of undreamed of luxuries. So what could be behind Carmen’s reluctance and horror?
    He entered her bedroom, found her facedown on her bed, her hair a shroud of silk garnet around her lushness, her body quaking with erratic shudders.
    Was it upheaval over her ex? Was it fear of, or allegiance to Tareq? Was this another act? Or was it something else altogether?
    No matter what her reasons were for being so averse, they were of no consequence. He didn’t just want to pulverize her resistance, he needed to. It was like a red flag to an already enraged bull.
    He came down beside her on the bed and she lurched, tried to scramble away from him. He caught her, turned her on her back, captured her hands, entwined their fingers then slowly stretched her arms up over her head. She struggled, arching up in her efforts to escape his grip. She only brought her luxurious breasts writhing against his chest. He barely stopped himself from tearing open his shirt, tearing her out of hers and settling his aching flesh on top of hers, rubbing against her until she begged for the ravaging of his hands and lips and teeth, until she screamed for the invasion of his manhood. That would come later.
    But she was panting, whimpering, twisting in his hold, and his intentions to postpone his pleasure, her possession, dwindled with each wave of stimulation her movements elicited.
    He had to stop her, before he gave in.
    He moved over her, imprisoning her beneath him. She went still as if he’d knocked her out. Anxious that he might be suffocating her, he rose on both arms, removing his upper body from hers, found her eyes the color of his kingdom’s twilight. She wasn’t breathing.
    Before he took her lips, forced his breath into her lungs, he grated, “Now repeat after me, Carmen. Zao’wajtokah nafsi— I give you myself in marriage.”
    She tossed her head on the bed, writhing again. He pressed harder between her splayed thighs, fighting not to reach down and take hold of her hips, tilt her, thrust at her as his body was roaring for him to do. Even without seeking her heat with his hardness, the pressure he exerted still wrenched dueling moans from their throats. “ Say it, Carmen. Zao’wajtokah nafsi. ”
    “God, Farooq…” she pleaded. “Be reasonable. You don’t want to marry me. We can find another way…”
    “There is no other way. Now say it, Carmen.”
    Her stricken eyes meshed with his, her flesh burning beneath him, reminding him of all he’d once had with her, the overwhelming hunger, the affinity he hadn’t been able to duplicate with anyone else. He knew that, if he wanted, he’d be buried inside her in seconds, would find her molten for him, knew she’d attain her first orgasm as soon as he thrust inside her. He could get her to promise anything when he was inside her. But he