Then he pushed his hands through the long dark locks of her hair and laid his mouth upon hers. Her lips were soft against his. It was an innocent kiss that quickly became a devouring of pent-up need between them.

This was different from the kisses they’d shared in the Pleasure Gardens, different from the kisses they’d shared ten years ago in the grand duchess’s secluded garden. There was more feeling, a deeper knowledge and awareness of each other than the inexperienced mutual desire they’d felt mere weeks ago.

Her lips parted beneath his, warm breaths mingled and fused in the moment.

Could she become lost in this? Would she surrender the last of herself to him? Would he still hold on to his belief that he had done right by her? In his actions, his words, the ones left unsaid?

His tongue touched hers in tender exploration, and he wanted to consume her, inhale every last bit of her into his system. Wetted lips slipped and fused together as they each became bolder, greedier for something more. He didn’t want to press her for more than she was willing to share or offer. He’d already pushed her too far. This was not a one-sided kiss.

How had they ended up against the wall? They were conveniently there now.

Then thought escaped him when her arms wrapped around his neck. She stood up taller, on the tips of her toes, he was sure, and her body pressed tight to his from thigh to chest.

Her fingers curled through his hair, holding on with all her might as their bodies entwined and joined.

It was the kiss of kisses.

It was definitely pent-up need.

God, her kiss was paradise.

Bending his knees, he brought their groins together and thrust her against the wall in his desire for more. Moaning into his mouth, she wrapped herself more tightly around him. His hands cupped her buttocks, and he couldn’t stop himself from indulging more of their senses. Their tongues still delved and sought a completion that could only be found by lowering them to the ground.

Once on his knees, he ground up into the damp center of her body, wanting her to ride out to her climax. Never had a kiss been so intoxicating. Never had he thought he could lose himself to a woman so that he forgot about who watched them, who could see them, hear them.

He didn’t care about anything but kissing her. Her tongue was soft, smooth, and welcoming. She kissed like any experienced harlot.

But this was different.

There was a passion burning beneath the disguise of Jinan. She’d longed for this as much as he. Perhaps as long as he’d wanted it. He pulled more roughly at her hair as he gained a grip, hauling her down on his body. He thrust up as she pushed harder against him, and just like that they found a rhythm that could satisfy them both.

His cock swelled in the confines of his trousers. He wanted to release his hold on her long enough to free his raging hard-on and fuck her right there, but he didn’t want to distract her from the kiss.

It was too soon. He needed to ease her into this. He needed her to want him as badly as he needed her. He didn’t ever want this tasting of each other’s mouths to end.

Her tongue swirled around his, and her lips pulled at his intermittently, taking the lower lip, then the upper one as she licked and nipped at them before driving her tongue back into his mouth in a tangle of need.

They both broke apart from each other, their breathing labored, and he couldn’t bear for her to see the conflicting emotions running rampant in his mind, the feelings that were almost certainly reflected in his gaze. Whatever she asked for in this moment, he would give her. He’d deny her nothing right now.

“Shitfire.” His forehead pressed to hers as her smaller body still rode out to a completion that could very well free her mind from what he’d done to her the last time they were together.

When her neck arched back, he licked then bit at her exposed throat. She tasted of woman, a light musty saltiness that had his tongue searching more of her skin. He was harder than hell, and he knew he’d get off soon in his trousers. It didn’t matter. Like their first night together, this was about her letting loose her desire, her need, her emotions.

This was about cracking through that barely penetrable façade to the real woman hiding behind the charade she played so well.

Her hips jerked out of rhythm between his hands, and her slick center rode hard over his bulging groin as she mewed out her orgasm. Her fingers were rough, pulling at his hair as she held herself above him, her breath coming in pants.

And because he couldn’t end like this, he grasped her hips tight and rode up into her. In three hard strokes, his balls tightened up so much that the come spouting out of the head of his cock strained painfully against the binding material.

He let out a sound that could not be mistaken for anything but unbridled animalistic pleasure. Wrapping his arms around her back and placing his hands on her shoulders, he pulled her in tight, burying his face in her neck as he slowly gained control over his breathing. The heat of their wet groins spurred him on for an encore. But not out in the open where his staff could spy him at any moment. If they hadn’t already.

What had he done?

It always came back to this. Damn it. He had come to talk to her, to apologize as best he could, and here he was fucking her where anyone could happen upon them. Damn it to hell, too, if he wouldn’t do it all over again given the choice.

Lifting her from his lap and to her feet, he stood. As though embarrassed by what they’d just done, she looked down at her feet. Chucking her chin, he made her meet his gaze. Still the dark, bottomless brown he remembered. Now he had the rest of her face to soak up since the veil was gone—for a second and final time between them.

It was on the tip of his tongue to call her Elena and ask her for only truths between them when, in thick Persian, she said, “I will make myself ready for you, my lord. I apologize for not wearing your gift.”

Hell and damnation if he could say anything about their past—their future—when she threw up a solid wall between them with such ease after earth-shattering, mutual come-offs. There was nothing to say in the moment that wouldn’t have her wishing him ten kinds of bloody death, so he spun on his heel and walked away.

It was most likely a mistake to give her the upper hand. He needed to break down these coldhearted walls she was so insistent upon erecting. There was a weakness somewhere and once he found that chink, he’d plow right through to the very core of the matter.

Stepping back in his office, he left the door open and watched Jinan through the window. She paced a short path on the cobbles that lined the fountain. In her hand she held the silken veil. Would she put it back in place? Would she still try to hide from him?

He didn’t believe she would.

After a few minutes of constant pacing, she headed inside. He turned as she walked past him toward the stairs that led to his rooms. She wasn’t going to attempt leaving. That surprised him for some reason.

Should that not be worrisome? It wasn’t as though she could escape him anyway.

She couldn’t find her way easily around Italy dressed in the garb she seemed so accustomed to wearing. Though he didn’t mind that in the least.

He shook his head at his wayward thoughts. It was time to join Jinan, and hopefully she would be quick to don his gift.

He’d taken the last of her identity when the veil had fallen between them. It didn’t matter that she’d already given him that gift in the harem. Now he wanted her to turn her back on the ways she’d become so familiar with over the last five years. She wanted to continue to play at being the hidden beauty; it helped to keep her patrons at arm’s length.

To keep him at arm’s length. He was done with secrecy, with pretense. It didn’t matter. It was a piece of cloth. The princess was no more.

The heavy footfalls coming from the hall were a sure indication he had followed.

She had thought that he would do so as she passed his open study. As swiftly as she could, she retrieved the box she’d thrown aside earlier and sequestered herself in the bathing room.

There were glass jars with cork stoppers lined against the wall farthest from the tub. She started pulling them out, hoping she’d find what she needed. It wasn’t long before the sharp scent of vinegar burned through her nose and down her throat. Tossing the stopper to the floor, she opened the box that contained the sponge and soaked it generously. Pulling the trousers down, she kicked them aside and lifted her leg to the edge of the tub.

No more fear of pregnancy. If he did touch her, at least she’d be prepared—like any good courtesan, she thought ruefully. Spreading the lips of her sex, she pushed the cool sponge deep into her sheath and made sure the string dangled free at the opening.

With a pop of the stopper from the tub, she turned the water on to rinse the vinegar from her hands.

In a few days, her menses would come and Rothburn would let her be. Not that she reviled his advances or his touch. She couldn’t even find it in her to despise him.

How long would it take for the missive to reach Mr. Chisholm? How angry would Amir be with her? Hopefully he wouldn’t keep her out of the harem, away from her sisters and her son. He wouldn’t be so abominable. At least she hoped that to be the case.

He hadn’t asked her to grace his bed since she’d stood on the auction block for another lover.

Well, it did her no good standing here mulling it over. She’d have a few more weeks at the most, then she would know her fate. Hopefully she would regain the promise her life held five years ago. She prayed it would be so. She knew she could not live without her son gracing her days, her life.