Читать книгу Desert Sheikhs Collection: Part 1 - Люси Монро, Jane Porter, Люси Монро - Страница 19

THE table was set in a small banqueting room—a surprisingly intimate table, even though it was laid with plates of solid gold which gleamed beneath the light from the dazzling chandelier overhead. Heavy crystal glasses threw off rainbow lights, and overblown crimson roses were crammed into low golden bowls.

‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ Lara breathed automatically.

Darian turned to look at her, at the elegant little curve of her nose and the way her soft lips had parted. She had clipped some of her hair back—he had never seen it like that before. The rampant curls had been subdued, emphasising her long, elegant neck, and the overall impression was to make her look rather pure and innocent. But then, she was an actress, he reminded himself. A chameleon. She wore so many different masks.

‘Exquisite,’ he said curtly, his head turning as Khalim walked into the room accompanied by a retinue of servants, most of whom he dismissed immediately.

He had changed from his Western suit into one of the garments tradionally worn by the Marabanesh—only his was fashioned from the finest silk, denoting his royal status. It was a fluid and flowing robe in a silvery colour which made Lara think of a river. He indicated for them to take their seats and ran a finger reflectively over a rose in one of the bowls, rather in the way that Lara had done in her room, earlier.

‘You know, it is a strict rule at the palace to have only roses placed on the table at royal functions,’ he said gravely as he took his seat, though his black eyes were glinting with mischief. ‘In honour of my darling Rose.’

Lara frowned as she unfolded the heavy linen napkin. ‘Won’t Rose think it strange you haven’t told her I’m here, Khalim? Won’t she be upset?’

‘Why would she be?’ Khalim looked at her steadily. ‘Rose loves me and trusts me,’ he said simply. ‘And she trusts my judgement,’ he added softly. ‘She will know soon enough, when the time is right, but she must not be troubled by events over which she has no control. Especially not now, when she carries my child within her.’

He spoke in a way in which few men did—his words were poetic and romantic and they came straight from the heart. Lara had not spent her life looking for love—women who did that were doomed, in her opinion—but as she listened she experienced a great ache of longing. She tried to imagine what it must be like to have a man profess his love for you in such a profound and moving way as that. Didn’t Rose have what most women dreamed of? Oh, not the prince or the palaces or the untold riches—but the steadfast and passionate love of the man she adored.

And what a man Khalim was. She recognised then that somewhere in the back of her mind she had thought that no man could ever match someone like Khalim—his strength and his passion and his sheer, overriding masculinity. Only now she had met another such man.

Covertly, she studied Darian from beneath her lashes. His half-brother had those same qualities—qualities which had been born in him, not fashioned by his upbringing in a place of riches and privilege. Darian would be a man whose love would be worth more than a king’s ransom.

And she had blown it.

‘You will drink some wine, Darian?’ Khalim was saying.

‘No, thanks.’ Darian pointed to a decanter filled with a rich gold liquid. ‘I’ll have some of what you’re having.’

Khalim nodded, looking pleased. ‘It is a special Maraban concoction—made from honey and water taken from the crystal streams of mountain rivers and scented with rose and cinnamon.’

Darian took the goblet and sipped some. ‘Here,’ he murmured, and passed the goblet to Lara.

The gesture seemed somehow symbolic of sharing, and yet at the same time a mockery. Part of her wanted to refuse—but how could she in front of Khalim, and risk appearing churlish or rude? The goblet was so heavy and her fingers were so unsteady that she had to hold onto it with two hands. ‘Th—thanks,’ she stumbled.

The glittering look he sent her was impenetrable, and Lara found herself wondering how she was going to be able to fight him off later, when they were alone in their sumptuous room. Especially when there was a part of her which didn’t want to fight him at all…

A feast was brought before them—dish after tiny dish of subtly flavoured delicacies, some of which Lara had tasted before and some of which were new to her. She looked at the mound of glistening saffron-scented rice, studded with pistachios and cardamom seeds, and tried to summon up an appetite for it.

But during the meal she found herself cast in the role of spectator, listening while Darian continued to ask questions about Maraban’s history and about Khalim’s ongoing task of making sure that the country embraced new technology while losing nothing of its tradition and traditional values. She could have listened all night to the Prince describing dark conquests, the battles of his ancestors as they strove to liberate Maraban from marauding neighbouring countries.

‘Tomorrow we shall ride,’ announced Khalim as tiny little cups of thick, dark coffee were placed before them.

Darian dropped a single sugar cube into his cup and absently stirred at it. ‘I’ve never ridden before.’

‘It alarms you?’

Darian’s eyes narrowed into golden shards. ‘On the contrary. I have always enjoyed rising to a challenge.’

‘Of course. But I shall give you our quietest mount.’

‘Oh, no, you won’t.’ Darian’s voice was low, but it carried with it a steely determination, and Lara couldn’t miss the unmistakable look of horror which crossed the face of one of the servants. You wouldn’t need to speak English to be aware that this guest was arguing with the Prince!

‘I will take a mount that you favour,’ Darian emphasised.

This time Khalim frowned. ‘But it would be sheer folly to put a novice on a spirited horse!’

‘And would you not do the same in my situation?’ challenged Darian softly.

The eyes of the two men clashed a silent duel over the ornate table, until at last Khalim nodded his head.

‘Indeed I would.’

There was silence for a moment, as if another unspoken test had been set and passed.

‘And can I come and watch?’ asked Lara.

They turned to look at her, as if they had forgotten she was there.

‘Of course you can,’ said Khalim indulgently. ‘You don’t mind, Darian?’

‘Why should I mind?’ But of course Darian did mind. He minded a lot. He had never ridden before, and as Khalim had pointed out he was a novice. Did he really want Lara to witness him at the very bottom of a learning curve—he who liked to be seen to be accomplished in all things?

‘Good. That is settled.’ Khalim rose to his feet. ‘You will forgive me if I leave you now? I have affairs of state to attend to, and I must telephone Rose before she retires. You may linger here, over coffee—or one of the servants will show you where a television can be found, should you wish it. Or…’ His voice softened. ‘You can take Lara for a walk through the rose gardens—they are smaller than those at the Golden Palace, but they are beautiful indeed, and the perfect place for lovers on such a starlit evening.’

Lara opened her mouth to protest, to end this ridiculous charade here and now, but before she could speak Darian had answered for her.

‘Thanks, but I think we’ll go straight to bed. Lara’s very tired—aren’t you, darling?’

The mock concern in his voice made her want to rail against him. But what could she possibly say that would not embarrass her host? She nodded, and even managed to curve her lips into a smile. ‘Very tired,’ she agreed demurely.

She saw Khalim narrow his eyes fractionally. ‘Then I will bid you both goodnight and sweet dreams.’

They listened to the sound of his retreating footsteps as they echoed down the marble corridor, and then Darian bent his head to speak softly in her ear.

‘Why, Lara—you smiled like you almost meant it then,’ he murmured. ‘How useful it must be to have a talent for acting—you can use it in any given situation!’

The subtle masculine scent of him was playing havoc with her senses. She wanted to sway against him, to have him hold her close to him, to kiss her and blot out all this pain and uncertainty. But she fought it, turning on him instead. ‘How dare you imply that we can’t wait to get back to our room for a night of hot, no-holds-barred sex?’

Well, it was pretty easy to read what was uppermost in her mind. ‘Is that what I was doing?’ he questioned innocently, but the ache in his body felt far from innocent. ‘Then we’d better make our way back, hadn’t we—and quickly? I should hate to keep you waiting for your hot, no-holds-barred sex, Lara!’

Her eyes flashed blue fury at him, but she kept a tight rein on it. She would hang onto her dignity. She wasn’t going to answer him back there and then. Not with a silent servant guiding them back to their quarters. Still, he was labouring under a very big misapprehension indeed if he thought that she was about to leap into bed with him.

The servant opened their door and Lara went straight into the bathroom without a word. She locked the door behind her, not emerging until her face was scrubbed clean and her teeth brushed. She was wearing a pair of pyjamas which, though light and silky for the sultry temperature, could by no stretch of the imagination ever be described as sexy.

Darian looked up from where he had been flicking through the book she had been reading earlier. He had removed his cuff-links, she noted, but that was all.

‘Finished in the bathroom, darling?’ he questioned sardonically.

‘It’s all yours.’ Lara hesitated, then pointedly looked at the long, low divan which stood underneath the shuttered windows. ‘That divan looks very comfortable, doesn’t it?’

‘Indeed it does,’ he agreed gravely. ‘I imagine it’s probably just as comfortable as the bed. One would be certain to get a good night’s sleep on it, anyway.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Lara, relieved, and yet annoyingly just a bit infuriated, too. She hadn’t expected him to agree quite so gracefully! And didn’t you want him to try and make you put up a bit of a fight? taunted a rogue voice inside her head. Weren’t you looking forward to at least one impassioned kiss before you finally pushed him away?

Darian saw her face and gave a small smile as he walked towards the bathroom. For someone who made her living from acting she could be remarkably transparent at times!

He undressed and showered, glad of the heavy beat of the cool water to subdue unwanted appetites and bring him back to some degree of normality. For it would be all too easy to get carried away—to be seduced by life out here in this strange, magical land, where men really did seem to live as they were born to.

He thought of the traffic crushes and the noise and pollution of the city, and his mouth twisted as he turned off the shower jets. Did places like this always inject you with a kind of wistfulness? he wondered. He couldn’t even blame the wine at dinner, since he hadn’t had any! He shook his head slightly, dispersing droplets of water and reflecting that he was badly in need of a reality check.

When he returned to the bedroom Lara was lying in bed, the covers right up to her neck, her eyes tightly closed.

‘Asleep already?’ he mocked softly.

She didn’t reply, taking care to make her breathing as slow and as steady and as deep as if she really was asleep.

It was torture, just lying there, hearing the unhurried removal of his clothes. She wanted to tell him to turn the wretched light off, but if she did that then he would know she wasn’t asleep, and would probably start to engage her in conversation.

Or worse…

She wanted to squirm, too. Her pyjamas felt hot and constricting, burning against her skin where the material touched. And her pulse was hammering so loudly that she was amazed he hadn’t heard it and made some hateful remark about it. Her breasts were all tingling and tight, and…

He heard the almost inaudible change in the pace of her breathing. Now it sounded shallow, and rapid. Darian smiled as he snapped the light off and climbed into bed.

As the bed dipped beneath his weight Lara sat up as if she’d been electrocuted—and with the nearness and warmth of his naked body she might as well have been. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

He yawned. ‘Going to sleep. Why—did you have something else in mind?’

She snapped the light on with shaking fingers, still shocked and yet excited beyond belief to see him arrogantly sprawled out next to her, not even having bothered to cover up the bare tawny chest.

‘You’re not sleeping here!’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘But…but you said…you said you’d sleep on the divan!’ she spluttered.

Darian shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t, Lara. You commented on how comfortable it looked. I agreed, and you mistakenly took that to mean that I would be sleeping on it. Well, you were wrong. This bed is big enough for both of us, and I am not, repeat not sleeping on the divan!’

‘You don’t think that as a gentleman, you might offer to take it?’

‘But I never claimed to be a gentleman.’ The golden eyes glittered. ‘Just as you never claimed to be a lady.’

‘I’m not going to react to that.’

‘Suits me.’

Now he was punching the pillow around with his fist, rearranging it, and Lara stared at him in disbelief. ‘And that’s your last word on the subject?’

‘I think we’ve said just about everything there is to say on the subject of beds and divans, don’t you?’ he questioned, his voice bored.

‘Well, if you won’t sleep there—I will!’

‘Fine.’

He turned over and shut his eyes, and Lara stared at him with mounting frustration and indignation. He meant it! He actually meant it!

Well, so did she! She grabbed her pillow and one of the covers, hastily turning her head rather than be confronted by the sight of the remaining covers clinging so lovingly to his long, lean frame.

And she had been wrong—the divan was not comfortable at all. It had probably been designed for a woman to lie on alluringly, showing off her body for her sheikh, not for a tall, tired woman to try and get eight hours’ sleep on.

Lara tossed and turned, her frustration mounting as she heard Darian’s immediate steady breathing. As the night wore on tiredness gave way to anger and hot tears began to scald at the corners of her eyes. She felt alone and afraid and abandoned.

That’s only because it’s the middle of the night, she told herself. The lowest ebb of all is the hour just before dawn, when you seem to be the only person in the world.

Darian woke to a sound. A little sniff. In the darkness, he frowned, wanting to ignore it, but there it was again, another tiny little sound, and he sighed. ‘Why are you crying, Lara?’ he asked softly.

‘I’m not.’

‘I know this must be a difficult concept for you to embrace, but couldn’t you just try telling the truth for once?’ he drawled sardonically.

She contemplated ignoring him, but just the sound of his voice reached out and comforted her, like a warm fire. A human voice in the dead of night. ‘Why do you think? It’s bloody uncomfortable on this thing!’

‘Well, you do have a choice,’ he remarked sagely.

Yes, she did. She could lie here like a martyr, or she could take a little decisive action. Picking up her pillow, she walked back over to the vast bed and slid in beside him, taking care to lie on the very edge.

‘Be careful you don’t slip off.’

His voice sounded amused, and it was the amusement which finally made the anger and frustration inside her snap. She flicked the light on, sat up and glared at him, spirals of hair tumbling all over her face. She impatiently pushed them away with the back of her hand.

‘Just why did you bring me here, Darian?’

‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’

‘I’m serious!’ she hissed.

He could see that. The woman who had so entranced him with her feistiness at the casting was back. And how. Her cheeks flamed like roses and her eyes sparked a bright sapphire fire. His eyes drifted to her breasts and he felt his body jerk in reaction.

‘Why do you think I asked you?’ he asked tightly. ‘Because I was angry with you.’

‘Surely if you were angry with me then the most sensible solution would have been to wish me as far away as possible?’

‘But sense doesn’t come into it when sex is involved,’ he said bluntly. ‘Does it?’

His voice was curt, almost cruel. ‘No,’ she said flatly. ‘It doesn’t.’

He had planned to have his fill of her. To make love to her over and over again, in every way and in every position. To learn every inch of her body like a man conquering a brand-new country. And only when he had done that would he move on and forget her.

But the time had not been right. Not before dinner, and strangely enough not now, even though they were in bed together and he was naked beside her.

If it had been any other woman he would have started to kiss her. He was experienced enough to kiss away her doubts and have her sighing with pleasure, a consummate enough lover to know how to make her beg for him. But he saw the dried track of a tear, the sudden tremble of her mouth, and something stopped him and he knew that he could not. Not when she looked so cold and so lost and so damned vulnerable.

She’s just acting again, he told himself furiously, but that didn’t seem to make any difference. And deep down he didn’t think she was acting at all—she wouldn’t bother pretending not to have been crying quietly in the dark if she was, would she? He got out of bed and slid on a pair of boxer shorts before climbing back in.

‘What are you doing now?’ she asked, a slight tinge of hysteria to her voice.

‘Allaying your fears that I might try it on in the middle of the night,’ he said gravely. ‘See? I’m quite decent now, Lara.’

Decent? If he had swathed himself from head to toe in voluminous sackcloth, then ‘decent’ would still be the last word she would have used. And now she was confused—from being fearful that he would try it on, that she would have trouble resisting him, her self-esteem had taken a great plummet. Didn’t he want her any more?

‘Come here,’ he said, almost gently, and pulled her against him.

‘No.’ She tried to resist the impact of that warm, living flesh. ‘Go away,’ she mumbled, but she didn’t move.

He smoothed the silken tumble of her curls, thinking how soft they felt, the scent of her shampoo drifting towards his nostrils with its wholesome fragrance. For the first time in his life he felt disarmed by a sense of protectiveness—he didn’t know how and he didn’t know why. He just knew that it couldn’t have come at a more unwelcome time. ‘Just go to sleep, Lara,’ he sighed.

With one final sniff she snuggled against him, and it felt like coming home. Like walking into a room with a fire when you had been outside in the cold. But that was all an illusion, she reminded herself. A wish and a dream and a desire—all mixed up in her head and a million miles away from reality simply because she was a million miles from reality.

Yet the warmth of his embrace was irresistible, as was the rhythmic movement of his hand stroking her hair as he lulled her into a state of utter defencelessness. She couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to, and she didn’t want to.

Her last thought before drifting off into a fitful and dreamless sleep was that this was the kind of thing you should do with a man before you had sex with him. Being intimate without being too intimate. Building something slowly instead of grabbing at it. She felt like a child who had gobbled all the icing off the top of the cake. And how she wished she hadn’t.

When Lara’s eyelids fluttered open, it was to find Darian’s space beside her empty. In fact, the room was empty. She blinked her eyes and rubbed them just as the door opened and in he walked, carrying a pile of clothes. Her heart flipped over when she saw him.

It’s just because he’s wearing jodhpurs, she thought—all men looked good in jodhpurs.

The cream trousers defined every sinew of his muscular thighs, clinging to the narrow jut of his hips and the high, hard curve of his buttocks. His shirt was loose and cool, though the fine, filmy material did nothing to disguise the rocky torso and the broad span of his shoulders. Long, soft black leather riding boots completed the ensemble, and for the first time in her life Lara understood why leather was considered synonymous with sex.

But sex was not what she wanted from Darian, she realised, her heart sinking. Or rather, not sex on its own. She wanted more. She wanted affection and respect and tenderness and regard. There was a word for what she desired, and that word was love.

And, judging by the cool, non-committal look on his face, she wanted far more than she could ever have.

‘Good morning,’ she said, feeling almost more shy than if they had had sex.

‘You slept.’ It was a statement. He knew it for fact simply because he had not. The moment she had got into bed with him had been the moment when sleep became, for him, a distant memory.

He must have been out of his head. Playing the protector and the carer when all he’d really wanted to do was drive himself into her sweet and yielding flesh, over and over again. Punishing his body with the nearness of hers and the sweet, feminine scent of her which had invaded his senses until the sun had risen, and unable to do a damned thing about it. He had never known such an acute and excruciating sense of frustration in his life.

‘Yes. Yes, I did get to sleep,’ she agreed. ‘Eventually.’ This was awful—she felt as if he was someone she had just met in the doctor’s waiting room. She looked instead at the pile of clothes he was carrying. ‘What’s that?’

He dropped it onto the foot of the bed. ‘Riding clothes,’ he said shortly. ‘Khalim sent them for you. They belong to Rose and he says you’re pretty much the same size. I’ve eaten breakfast and I’m just off to the stables—so do join us when you’re ready. If you’re still inclined to.’

The dark, unfriendly note in his voice told her that he would rather she didn’t, and with something which she supposed was a smile he was gone, leaving Lara staring after him, wondering what she had done to make him look as if he had been eating something with a distinctly sour taste. Was it sexual frustration he felt? Or frustration that he had actually ended up playing the gentleman?

Wasn’t it crazy that just lying innocently in his arms, with him stroking her hair like that, should have made her feel so…so…dreamy? But tenderness could mean so much more than even the most spectacular orgasm in the world. Even if it was only pretend tenderness.

She showered and put the riding clothes on. Khalim was right—the two women were pretty similar in size, though Lara was taller and, judging by the shirt, her breasts were now smaller than Rose’s. But Rose had had one child already, and everyone knew that pregnancy changed your shape.

Lara stared in the mirror, at her slim hips and breasts untouched by childbirth, and a sudden yearning stabbed at her. Babies were something she had never even considered before, yet now she saw a sharp, snapshot image of a baby at her breast, a beautiful baby with golden eyes and dark ruffled hair.

Stop it, she thought impatiently. Just stop it. He’s gorgeous and he’s a challenge. He’s good in bed, and occasionally he can be tender—but that’s all. You aren’t in love with him, and he certainly isn’t in love with you.

And she tied her hair back so tightly that it made her wince, then set off for the stables.