“Yet that gate was not strong enough to keep me from you that night.”

A brief span of silence passed between them, as well as an exchanged glance that Rafiq remembered very clearly. The same knowing look they had given each other when he had laid her down in her bed, cloaked only by the cover of darkness, the threat of discovery heightening their desire.

Maysa broke the visual contact first and turned her focus back on the flowers. “That was a long time ago, Rafiq. We were both young and very foolish.”

“We were consumed by each other.”

She raised a thin brow. “Consumed by lust, you mean.”

Had it only been lust, he would have long forgotten that evening. Forgotten her. “Have you never considered what would have happened had your father come upon us?”

“Would he have forced us to marry?” She shook her head. “He would have sent me away from you.”

In many ways, that is exactly what had happened. The sultan had sent her into another man’s bed. A man who had not deserved her.

When Maysa hid a yawn behind her hand, then stretched her arms above her head, Rafiq suspected she would soon be leaving him again, at least for the evening. “It is time for me to go to bed,” she said, confirming his theory. “I have several early visits to make in the village tomorrow.”

He struggled for some way to keep her there awhile longer, and returned to the issue that had begun their journey into the past. “Would you examine my shoulder before you retire?”

“What do you believe I’d accomplish by doing that?”

She would be closer to him, at least momentarily. He pressed his palm against the spot that always gave him the most pain. “I would like to see what you think about this ridge. Perhaps you can advise me if it is an issue I need to have evaluated further.”

She sighed, rose from the sofa and took the space beside him. “Lean forward.” After he complied, she rested her left hand on his left shoulder and examined the offending shoulder with her right hand.

“Well?” he asked.

She pushed against one spot, causing him to wince. “Does that hurt?” she asked.

“Slightly.” More than he would allow her to see.

“That’s your deltoid muscle,” she said as she continued to knead the area. “You have quite a bit of tension there.”

The tension behind his fly began to increase with every caress of her fingertips. “Perhaps it is only stress-induced?”

“Perhaps, but I cannot tell for certain without an X-ray. You could probably benefit from physical therapy.”

The therapy she was offering him now was quite beneficial in terms of soothing the soreness. He could not say the same for his libido. And when she leaned over and applied more pressure, his palm automatically came to rest on her thigh, immediately above her knee, where he drew small circles with his thumb through the dress’s thin material.

Her hand froze midmotion. “What are you doing, Rafiq?”

“Nothing.” Not presently.

She released a shuddering breath. “We said no touching.”

He inched his palm higher. “You said no kissing.”

“Rule two, no touching.”

Despite her assertions, he did not bother to lift his hand, and she did not bother to shove it away. “Yet you have been touching me.”

“As a physician.”

“And I have reacted as any man reacts to a woman’s touch.”

“For that reason, I should go now.”

Rafiq predicted she would stand and leave, but she remained positioned next to him, both hands still resting lightly on his shoulders. He straightened, bringing their faces close, their gazes connecting immediately. He saw the indecision in her eyes, as well as a spark of need.

And then Maysa did something Rafiq did not expect—she broke her first rule.

Three

She had taken complete leave of her senses, but at the moment Maysa didn’t care. She only concerned herself with the play of Rafiq’s mouth against hers and the impressions he made with the gentle glide of his tongue.

At some point—and she had no idea how or when—he had shifted toward her and she had moved fully into his arms. A nagging voice demanded she stop before she could not, but she disregarded the caution. For once she wanted to be softly kissed, without undue force. Willingly kissed. She wanted to remember how it felt to be a desirable woman, not simply an object of brutal lust.

Yet all the reasons why she shouldn’t be doing this kept crowding her mind. She could be only a means to an end for Rafiq. A source of comfort. A temporary diversion. She was also keeping a secret from him. A secret that could ultimately destroy him emotionally, and her reputation literally.

Still, when he cupped her breast, she focused on the sensations, not solid rationale. He traced her nipple with a fingertip, causing her to shift restlessly against the building heat. But when he left her mouth to feather kisses down the column of her throat, sliding the dress’s strap down her shoulder, a barrage of bitter memories prompted her to automatically tense.

Rafiq reacted to her sudden change in mood by abruptly rising from the sofa, leaving Maysa alone steeped in self-consciousness. He walked away, his hands laced behind his neck, and stopped in the middle of the terrace, keeping his back to her.

“I’m sorry,” Maysa muttered as she readjusted her clothing. “I have no idea what has come over me. We shouldn’t be doing this.” She’d begun to wonder if she could do it, even if she wanted to.

Rafiq dropped his arms to his sides and faced her again. “I am not sorry, yet I am convinced this will keep happening between us.”

So was Maysa, unless she revealed the absolute truth behind her reluctance. She wasn’t willing to do that. “We’ll simply need to avoid situations such as this. Following dinner each evening, I will return to my quarters, and you will return to yours. We will keep our distance during the day, as well.”

He shifted his weight slightly. “And I will lie awake all night, imagining how it would be to touch you with my hands and my mouth in ways I never did when we were younger. I will dream about how it would feel to be buried deep inside you. And each time I see you, I will want the reality.”

The heat returned, prompting Maysa to cross her legs. “Then perhaps it would be best if you found another place for your respite.”

“I care not to be anywhere else.”

Truthfully, she didn’t want him to leave, either. “Then I suppose you will be forced to rely solely on your imagination.”

“Or we could both choose not to fight our desire. No one would know if we became lovers again.”

How very easy it would be to agree. How very foolish if she did. “I would know, Rafiq. Nothing could ever exist between us beyond temporary physical pleasure. You are the king, and I am a woman who most believe is unfit to keep company with you, let alone be your lover.”

He rubbed a palm over his nape. “Again, we could be discreet. We could enjoy each other during the time we have.”

The fact he didn’t say she wasn’t unsuitable was as effective as a frigid shower. Maysa stood, hands fisted at her sides, nails digging into her palms. “I have already been one man’s whore, Rafiq. I will not be another’s.”

“I am prisoner to tradition and acceptable mores, Maysa, as are you. Yet that does not mean I would view you as my sharmuta.”

“Yet that is exactly what I would be to you, a woman not fit to be your queen, yet expected to do your bidding in bed. Answer your every need, yet receive nothing in return, as it was with Boutrous. That would make me your mistress.”

Maysa expected to see anger in Rafiq’s expression, but he only seemed concerned. “What did Boutros do to you, Maysa?”

“This has nothing to do with him.” Only a partial truth. “This has to do with us. I have developed a great deal of self-respect during our time apart. I am not that smitten schoolgirl who would have given everything to you, knowing I could never have a future with you.”