TWENTY-SEVEN
For two days, Aladdin did not visit her, and it drove Maram mad. She'd seen him again, and kissed him. She'd kissed him so many times he heated her blood near to boiling, and still he resisted her. Not even their betrothal was enough to bring him to her bed. If she didn't know better, she'd swear the man had seduction magic of his own, but she'd never met a man so frightened of intimacy before. Clumsy, indeed. She'd known clumsy, and he wasn't. His every kiss was perfect – making love to him would be even more perfect.
Yet still he did not come, and it was her turn to fear. Had she driven him away with her persistence? Or did he have other matters to attend to? For she knew he was no prince, not truly, so his money must come from somewhere. When she saw him next, she would
