Princess Ghizlan of Jeirut has returned home to find that warrior Sheikh Huseyn al Rasheed has seized her late father’s kingdom. With her sister held hostage, Ghizlan has no choice. Her barbarian captor is determined to tame her, rule her—and make her his own!
Forcing Ghizlan’s hand in marriage will not be enough to conquer her body and soul: Huseyn’s iron will is challenged at every step by her magnificent beauty and fierce pride. It won’t be long before they both fall prey to the firestorm between them…
Princess Ghizlan returns home to Jeirut following the sudden death of her father, to discover herself under house arrest. The palace has been taken over by supporters of Huseyn al Rasheed, sheikh of one of the desert tribes, also known as the Iron Hand of Jumeah. Huseyn claims the throne and, to expedite his claim, he demands Ghizlan becomes his wife. But Ghizlan doesn't trust him or his claim that his actions are for the benefit of their people.
Smooch -
'I’d
simply never marry a man I despised on sight.’
‘Despised?’
His voice dropped to that bass rumble. Thunder to the lightning she’d seen a
moment ago. She felt its vibration shimmer across her nipples and thighs.
‘Absolutely.’
Her chin notched even higher. Had he moved closer?
He
had
moved closer. She drew in that tangy scent of stable and man as he stepped in,
toe to toe.
‘Then
how do you explain this, my lady?’
Big,
warm, implacable hands closed around her upper arms and his face lowered to
hers.
Ghizlan
whipped her head to one side but only succeeded in baring
her cheek to this…this…bandit.
Whiskers
brushed her in a totally unfamiliar caress, sending little shivers dancing
across her skin. Warm lips, far softer than she’d imagined, nuzzled her cheek,
stealing her breath.
She
wouldn’t scream. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of revealing fear. Instead
she stood ramrod straight. Frozen.
Yet
it wasn’t fear she experienced as his lips moved in a tantalisingly slow trail
up to her ear. Ghizlan blinked, surprised at the odd sensation of warmth
curling in on itself deep in her belly.
This
had gone on long enough.
She
yanked her arms back, trying to break his hold, but it was like wrestling a
boulder. A huge, warm boulder scented not just with the stables but with an
enticing, unfamiliar tang that she suspected was essence of Huseyn al Rasheed.
Teeth
nipped her earlobe and she jumped, horrified at the fiery trail zapping from
the spot straight to her womb, as if he’d jerked a string and she, like a
puppet, responded. Her nipples budded hard and achy against her bra. Did he
feel that as his big body pressed against her?
‘Stop
it, you lout!’
Hands
braced on his chest, she leaned back, trying to escape, but he was taller and
stronger. In one swift movement he clamped both her hands against that brawny,
powerful chest. His other hand grabbed the back of her head, inexorably turning
her face towards him.
Ghizlan
saw a flash of smoky blue beneath straight dark brows, then his mouth was on
hers.
Heat,
power, the rich, zesty scent of male skin. The soft prickle of his whiskers
against her flesh contrasted with the sheer force of his mouth grinding down on
hers. It was a predictably ruthless assault on her senses by a man determined
to dominate.
Fear
filtered into her stunned brain. Until she realised, astonished, that despite
the power in that massive, muscled body, he’d pulled back a fraction. Even as
the thought formed, the pressure on her lips eased and his hand in her hair
gentled, cradling and massaging.
Ghizlan
stared, trying to focus on the blue of his eyes, but he was too close. He
shifted his stance, drawing her lower body in against him until there was no
mistaking the monumental evidence of his arousal.
She
gasped, stunned, and too late realised her mistake. For Huseyn al Rasheed took
the opportunity to invade her mouth.
Not
to ravage this time but to seduce. His movements were sure but gentle as his
tongue swiped hers, learning the feel and taste of her, just as she discovered
he tasted like almonds and something else impossibly, horrifyingly delicious.
Her
chest cramped as she realised she enjoyed the sensation of his tongue
tangling with hers.
Foggily
she fought the drugging pleasure of those slow, sure, sensual movements of lips
and tongue, no longer forcing but inviting.
A
shiver passed from the back of her skull where his fingers caressed her, down
to her curling toes.
She’d
been kissed before. Perfectly pleasant kisses from perfectly nice men. Sweet
kisses, even eager kisses. But none like this. None that demanded so
imperiously then gentled to seduce her into feelings that surely were more
dangerous than anything else he could unleash on her.
His
kiss invited her to relax and follow the unfamiliar lure of pleasure. To be
selfish, just once. His hand cupping her head supported but also caressed,
sending whorls of languid delight through her.
And
his hard body against hers—that was a totally new, electrifying
experience. Ghizlan had kissed, and dated while a student, but, ever conscious
of the high expectations placed on her, and the possibility for scandal if
caught out publicly in a love affair, she’d never progressed beyond
that.
No
man had ever made her feel this potent longing for more.
Ghizlan
tried to be strong, tried not to respond. Until she heard, and tasted, Huseyn’s
low humming growl of satisfaction. It was a sensual assault, as real as his
hand in her hair or his tongue stroking hers. The way it vibrated through her,
sparking an answering excitement, was unlike anything she’d known.
His
kiss slowed, deepened, became positively languorous, and Ghizlan’s bones began
to soften. Her hands twitched against that powerful chest and before she knew
it they’d slid up, over hard shoulders to tangle in tousled locks, tunnelling
and tugging then clamping tight on his skull.
She
shifted, angling her mouth to kiss him back and losing her breath as his
erection aligned provocatively against her.
Another
growl from the back of his throat and he roped one muscled arm around her,
lifting her against him so the contact became even more blatantly sexual.
And
devastatingly delicious.
Ghizlan
gasped, her mind, like her body, running on overdrive. One part of her was
aware of curving in, inviting more of that heavy, outrageously improper
contact. Another revelled in the strength of a man who could lift her with one
arm as if she were made of gossamer. But mainly she was focused on the
provocative, delicious kiss she didn’t want to end.
Except
this was wrong. On so many levels she couldn’t begin to count them.
The
part of her consciousness that had been trained from birth to focus on duty, to
be a good example, to do the right thing always, suddenly burst awake and
screamed in horror.
Ghizlan
dropped her hands to his shoulders and shoved with all her might.
What temptation would you most like to give in to right now? I'd love to hear. Leave a comment to be in the draw to win a signed copy of THE DESERT KING'S CAPTIVE BRIDE.
