Читать книгу Claiming His Replacement Queen - Amanda Cinelli, Amanda Cinelli - Страница 11

‘TWO DAYS? AS IN forty-eight hours from now?’

Khal had kept his tone deliberately neutral, taking in her pleasantly flushed cheeks and tied back hair. She looked younger without all the make-up from the night before, her ash-blonde hair was now swept neatly back from her face in a tight elastic band. The austere style only served to draw more attention to her wide-set blue eyes and porcelain skin. Of course, the red dress of last night had been more expertly cut to show off her curves than the plain blouse and casual jeans she now wore but he could still see the delicate dip and flare of her waist. If he thought hard enough, he could remember how good those curves had felt under his hands only hours before...

Redirecting his wayward thoughts, he cleared his throat and focused on the papers in front of him. ‘That is correct,’ he said coolly. ‘I ran your suggestion past my team last night, after you went to bed, and they took it quite to heart. It seems you may have averted us from a mistaken course of action indeed.’

‘My suggestion?’ she breathed, her eyes growing wider still.

‘The change in PR operation, of course. You alone spotted the likely backlash in public opinion. You were absolutely right to question it.’ He nodded in her direction as though congratulating her on acing a project rather than bumping forward an entire wedding. ‘You did say that you would prefer to get married as soon as possible.’

‘Yes... I did say that.’ She moved to a nearby seat and sat down heavily. She looked ashen all of a sudden, small and fragile in the large leather chair that cocooned her.

‘You have an entire bedroom to yourself for the duration of the flight,’ he said, motioning to a set of doors at the end of the main cabin. ‘You can’t have got very much sleep last night.’

She pursed her lips slightly. ‘Thank you. I could do with some more rest.’

Khal felt a momentary flash of conscience as she disappeared through the doors but pushed it away. He had done what was necessary in bringing forward the date. He had made the best decision to protect his deal. The sudden sense of urgency he’d felt—to take her far away from the life she had led in London and back to his kingdom—was purely down to expediting matters and avoiding any more risk of her going back on the agreement. The sooner Princess Cressida was his wife, the sooner he could get back to the business of growing his kingdom’s influence and doing what he did best.

Khal took the time alone to gather his thoughts, trying to shift the uncomfortable sensation that had settled in his gut. He felt completely unhinged, as though everything he had believed of himself was being challenged. This entire marriage debacle had done nothing but challenge him from the moment his advisors had suggested it as a solution to their problem with European trade.

From the start he had not been able to deny that an alliance with Monteverre made sense. The global perception of his country was vastly outdated, harking back to their war-torn history. Zayyar had enjoyed an age of peace and prosperity for almost a quarter of a century and still they hit wall after wall when it came to foreign politics. Monteverre was one of the oldest nations in the Western world; it had influence and sway and, best of all, it desperately needed help in the form of cash investments, due to years of spending far beyond its means. It was simple mathematics.

What was not quite so simple was the old Zayyari law that demanded a marital alliance between two high-born members of aligning kingdoms. His advisors had already been fighting a backlash from the older generation, who disagreed with their country’s changing landscape. He needed a bride if he wished to avoid public uproar. Thankfully, King Fabian had assured him that arranged marriage for the royal descendants was still a firm practice in his kingdom. Khal was not overly fond of the King, but he had not believed him capable of coercing his own daughter to the point that she would run away to avoid a proposal.

Cressida had assured him that she was not being coerced as her sister had been, yet still he wondered what personal reasons drove her to accept a political arrangement. Clearly she had a strong sense of loyalty to her kingdom and her family. It did not take much imagination to picture her by his side, swathed in silks and jewels, hosting lunches and balls in the Zayyari grand palace for hundreds of guests from all over the globe.

The trouble was, he had imagined a cold marriage. So far, his response to his fiancée had been far from cold. He’d had a true marriage once, built on the foundations of love and companionship. He had no desire to try to recreate that, for many reasons.

But the attraction between them was a complication he had not foreseen. Five minutes with her in his arms and he had practically pulled her to the nearest private area, needing more. She had felt so good in his arms. Too good.

The moment that he had realised she was completely oblivious to his identity he had felt something awaken inside him that he had long buried. Suddenly his quiet political marriage had seemed a lot less straightforward. He had planned to sit and keep watch until she decided to leave of her own accord. Then someone had tried to dance with her and that small primitive part of him he tried his best to suppress had roared to life, moving in to claim what was his.

So much for changing his image of ruthless desert King.

He had not expected to be physically interested in the woman he married; it was not necessary to the arrangement, after all. His head was not usually turned by long legs and a short dress. But the moment he’d had her body pressed against his, he had felt his libido emerge from its self-imposed hibernation with a vengeance. He’d been possessed by the mad urge to press his lips to the soft parts of her neck and continue down... It had shocked him, the need.

The wedding would take place in two days. This time he had made sure of it. An iron-clad contract of law bound Princess Cressida to their agreement. If she went back on her promise, his financial investments into Monteverre’s failing economy became null and void. Perhaps it was severe, but he couldn’t take a chance on her backing out of the marriage just like her sister had. Not when the future of two countries lay in the balance. He was not a patient man, quite the opposite. He liked things to be done precisely when he planned. Soon he could get back to more important matters in his own kingdom.

* * *

Cressida tried to stifle a gasp as the helicopter lowered swiftly to the ground, depositing them on a crop of barren flatlands on the very outskirts of the Zayyari desert. Despite her attack of anxiety at the news that she would become Queen so soon, she had surprisingly managed to sleep for almost five hours before waking with a ferocious hunger. The rest of the flight had been spent nibbling on snacks and perusing some of the books she had found on board about her new home, the desert kingdom of Zayyar. It had been a smooth trip from the private airstrip and she had presumed that they would arrive directly at the palace in the centre of Zayyar’s capital city of the same name. Her Internet research had provided her with some basic facts of what to expect from her new home, but nothing could have prepared her for the heat. Her blouse already felt damp on her back as Khal helped her out of the SUV and into the direct glare of the burning hot sun.

She had covered her hair with a pale pink scarf before they exited the jet, provided by one of his many assistants. In general, Zayyar was rather cosmopolitan for the Middle East; they did not enforce modesty among the women of its population. But apparently where they were going for their wedding ceremony was a sacred place. It was all very mysterious.

‘We continue on horseback from here.’ Khal’s voice was gruff and sleep-worn as he gestured to where his guards had already begun to mount impressively large dark steeds. ‘You will ride with me.’

She gulped, taking in the sheer size of the animal before her. She had never been one for horseback riding as a girl. But, before she could object, strong arms gripped her hips tight and she felt herself being swung up onto the saddle as though she weighed nothing at all. The hard warmth of the Sheikh’s chest pressed tight to her back as he settled behind her and she felt her body tense. The effort of keeping her eyes on the horizon was a welcome distraction as they began a swift gallop across the sand. There was no sound around them other than the beating of hooves on the dry desert plain. Gone was the hustle and bustle of city life she had grown used to, the noise she had used to distract her just as much as the books she lived inside. The air she breathed in was warm and fragrant, reaching deep within her and calming her raging heartbeat.