Читать книгу Modern Romance March 2019 Books 1-4 - Кэтти Уильямс, Julia James, Cathy Williams - Страница 19

IT SHOULD HAVE been a fairy tale. At least, that was how it might have looked to an outsider. A one-time single mother plucked from her humble abode and transplanted into a glittering, golden palace by a sheikh who was eager for her to be his bride.

A lump rose in Jasmine’s throat. Because this was no fairy tale. This was living in a gilded prison.

It was true she’d been meeting all kinds of new people—from royal monarchs who ruled neighbouring countries to the noblemen and women of Razrastan itself. She’d sat beneath sparkling chandeliers, wearing a fortune in diamonds around her neck—while discussing with the American ambassador the proposed trip by the President of the United States of America!

Those were the facts.

The irrefutable facts.

But facts only told you so much. They only showed you the supposedly smooth surface—not the dark undercurrents which were swirling beneath. She might be the mother of the Sheikh’s baby, and they might be polite and perfectly civil with each other in public. But in reality they’d barely spent any time alone since she had rejected Zuhal’s sexual advances, and the subject of marriage was still unresolved.

She’d wanted to get to know him before making any firm commitment, but how was that possible when palace life seemed the enemy of intimacy? When meals were distinctly formal and featured guests Zuhal thought it prudent she meet. During course after endless course, streams of servants weaved their way in and out, bearing extravagant dishes heaped with Razrastanian specialities, whose very names dazzled her. None of the servants ever met her eyes. They seemed to look right through her. She suspected they disapproved of this Englishwoman who had entered their royal palace with an illegitimate baby in tow. Maybe they were glad there had been no official acknowledgement of her role in the Sheikh’s life.

And none of these functions offered any opportunity for private conversation with Zuhal because he was always sitting at the far end of the table, looking impossibly aloof and regal. Why, the physical distance between them was so great, that just getting him to hear her meant she almost had to shout. Just as there had been no shared moments of parenting with him. It seemed he made time to see his son only when he was certain Jasmine wasn’t around and she wondered if he was punishing her for refusing his proposal, by deliberately keeping his distance. On more than one occasion, she had emerged from her dressing room, her hair still damp from the shower, to see the silky shimmer of the Sheikh’s pale robes disappearing through the tall, arched doorway.

Sometimes she would wake early when the baby was still asleep and the palace all but silent. Once, unable to get back to sleep, she had gone to the stable complex, just as Zuhal was dismounting from his horse after his morning ride. Hidden away in the shadows, he hadn’t seen her, but Jasmine had watched as he’d peeled a silk shirt from his torso. Like a woman hypnotised, she had observed his slow striptease with a racing heart which had threatened to burst out of her chest. With hungry eyes she’d drunk in the gleam of his burnished skin and bronzed definition of his powerful physique. There wasn’t an inch of surplus flesh on his hard body and his washboard abs were glistening like the cover shot of a fitness magazine. She’d found herself wanting to run over and to slowly slide her way down over his body. To lick her tongue over his chest, revelling in the taste of each salty bead of sweat, knowing they were all a part of him. And then to unzip his jodhpurs and feel his proud length springing free, first against her fingers and then into the moist and waiting cavern of her lips.

She began to question if she’d been too hasty. If she had driven him away with her proud stance, which had masked her fears about getting intimate with him again. Yet how was she ever going to find out whether they were compatible if they were never alone? When the days were ticking away, bringing closer the formal signing of the papers which would make Zuhal the official ruler of Razrastan. She hadn’t actually ruled out marriage, had she? She’d just told him she wanted to get to know him better before she committed. So maybe it was time for action instead of all these fractured thoughts. Maybe she should take Zuhal at his word and book herself an appointment to see him, since he obviously had no intention of backing down himself.

Which was how one sun-dappled morning she found herself in Zuhal’s offices in the south-west corner of the palace, which overlooked a sylvan courtyard of trees. At its centre was a cool pond, in which red-gold fish swam—giving the place a curiously peaceful feel. Inside, it was completely different—a modern hive of activity hiding behind the ancient doors. Assistants tapped feverishly at the keyboards of sleek computers and rows of clocks indicated different time zones from around the world. She was asked to wait in an anteroom, before being shown into an inner sanctum for a meeting with Zuhal’s chief aide—a shuttered-faced man in traditional Razrastanian robes, who looked up from his desk as she was ushered in.

‘Miss Jones,’ he said smoothly, rising to his feet to greet her. ‘My name is Adham. This is an unexpected pleasure.’

Jasmine recognised his voice instantly. She would never forget it, not in a million years. A chill rippled down her spine. This was the same aide who had blocked her attempt to tell Zuhal she was pregnant all those months ago. Was that why his face was so unfriendly when he looked at her? Why she detected a glimmer of darkness in his expression as she entered his plush office? Or was he just more open about expressing what she suspected most of the palace staff really felt about her? Quashing down her instinctive apprehension, Jasmine composed her face into a look of polite enquiry. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you?’

‘Not at all, Miss Jones,’ he said, his forced smile seeming to contradict his benign words. ‘What can I do for you this morning?’

Jasmine felt the sudden pounding of her heart, recognising that this was the moment. She was here to try to deepen her relationship with the father of her child and to address seriously the possibility of being a future queen. So maybe it was time to start acting like one. To show Adham that she was no longer some inconvenient lover he could dismiss as if she didn’t matter, but part of Zuhal’s life, whether he liked it or not.

Adopting the wide smile which had always been super-effective when dealing with tricky customers at the Granchester boutique, she gestured towards the sunlit garden outside. ‘It is an exceptionally beautiful morning, isn’t it?’ she observed, with diplomatic politeness.

‘Indeed. The weather in Razrastan is especially temperate at this time of year,’ Adham answered, the faint elevation of his eyebrows silently urging her to get to the point.

Jasmine did exactly that. ‘I’d like to see the Sheikh, please.’

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Miss Jones. His Royal Highness is busy at the moment. I’m sure you are well aware of the demands on his time at this key stage in the country’s future,’ he said, his tone smooth and pleasant, although the icy gleam of his eyes suggested a certain insincerity. ‘In fact, he is on the phone to the Sheikh of Maraban, as we speak.’

‘Oh, I didn’t mean right now,’ said Jasmine quickly. ‘Obviously, he’s tied up most of the time. I appreciate that. I just wondered if you could make an appointment for me to see him.’

A flicker of incredulity passed over the shuttered features. ‘An appointment, Miss Jones?’

‘If you would. Zuhal did say we should coordinate our diaries in order to make time for one other.’

‘His Royal Highness mentioned nothing to me.’

‘Does Zuhal run everything past you, then, Adham?’ questioned Jasmine innocently.

It was the first time in her life that she’d ever pulled rank—not that she’d ever had any rank to pull before now—and to her astonishment it worked. As if realising that this time she wouldn’t be thwarted, the aide reluctantly bent his head to study the leather-bound diary in front of him before returning his shuttered gaze to hers. ‘Very well. I believe I can fit you in, if you are prepared to be flexible. Shall we say tomorrow morning at ten o’clock? His Royal Highness has a window of thirty minutes he can allot to you, after his morning ride.’

Thirty minutes! Not even an hour alone with the man who had asked her to marry him! And just around the time when Darius would be having his post-breakfast playtime, which wasn’t what you’d call convenient. But if this was the best she could hope for, then she was going to grab it with both hands. ‘Perfect,’ she said brightly.

The aide consulted some sort of grid chart in front of him. ‘If you would like to make your way to the Damask Room at the allotted time, His Royal Highness will join you there.

Jasmine nodded. ‘Thank you, Adham.’

Despite the somewhat lukewarm response she’d received, Jasmine felt a fizz of excitement as she returned to her suite, where Darius was waiting with Rania. The baby gurgled with pleasure as she held out her arms to him and her mind was buzzing as she wondered how to make the most of her time alone with Zuhal tomorrow.

Was that being super-needy?

No, she told herself, as she waved a noisy rattle in front of the baby’s nose. Not needy at all. It was being grown-up and sensible. Accepting that she wasn’t dealing with just any man. She closed her eyes with pleasure as Darius wrapped his chubby little arms around her neck and snuggled up close. Zuhal was a man who would soon be King and she needed to make allowances for that.

But that night, during a pre-dinner drinks reception for a cluster of visiting Argentinean diplomats, she looked up to find the Sheikh’s eyes fixed on hers more often than usual. The expression in their ebony depths was one she couldn’t decipher, but it was enough to set her heart racing as she walked forward to meet the line of guests.

She had decided to treat these functions in the same way she used to regard shopping evenings at the Granchester boutique, trying to put people at their ease—and for the most part this made them bearable. Yet tonight it felt different. Or maybe it was just she who felt different. She’d broken the deadlock and from tomorrow, she would start learning more about the Sheikh whose narrowed gaze was currently sweeping over her like a dark spotlight. She wished he wouldn’t look at her like that in public. Making her dress feel as if it had suddenly become two sizes too small. Making her brow break out into tiny little beads of sweat beneath her carefully coiffed hair.

As usual, she and Zuhal left the reception at exactly the same time but tonight, instead of going to his own suite, he insisted on accompanying her to Darius’s room where he remained while she checked on him, before dismissing Rania for the night. The main reception room of her private suite seemed very large and echoing as she shut the door to the nursery and turned to Zuhal, realising that, for the first time in a long time, they were completely alone. She swallowed. She could detect the subtle yet very masculine scent of sandalwood radiating from his powerful body, making her uncomfortably aware of his raw virility as she regarded him with cautious question in her eyes.

‘I understand you paid a visit to Adham this morning,’ he said, without prompting.

‘I did.’

‘And insisted on a meeting with me tomorrow morning.’

Wasn’t his expression more than a little smug? Jasmine wondered, with a touch of indignation. ‘Insist?’ she echoed lightly. ‘I thought that’s what we agreed. Appointments in the diary. A rather unconventional way of a couple getting to know each other, it’s true, but that was the only way you could guarantee allotting me any time.’

‘It’s true, that’s what we agreed,’ Zuhal conceded, feasting his gaze on her luscious body and letting it linger there. He’d said it to make her realise that he had neither the time nor the inclination to play games with her. He’d imagined his cool indifference might make her reconsider her foolishness in rejecting him and bring her running into his arms. That without further prompting she would slip along the secret corridor to his bed and seek the pleasure she was guaranteed to find there.

But it hadn’t worked out that way.

His remoteness hadn’t had the desired effect of taming her or bringing her into his bed. There had been no delicious blonde lying waiting for him between the slippery silk of his sheets, eagerly taking him into her arms before spreading those delicious thighs for him. Instead, she had remained as prim as a maiden aunt and ironically this had only increased his hunger for her. His mouth dried. As if he needed any more hunger than was already coursing around his frustrated veins!

‘So you’ve got what you wanted,’ she observed thoughtfully.

A pulse flickered at his temple as she tilted her chin with faint challenge. ‘On the contrary, Jazz,’ he demurred softly. ‘I’m still waiting for the thing I want most.’

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him and suddenly all that old sexual shorthand was back. The flush to her cheeks and the darkening of her eyes. The spring of her nipples against the silk of her robes and quick writhe of the hips, which was almost imperceptible to anyone else but him.

‘Jazz,’ he said, on a throaty note of hunger he couldn’t disguise and he heard her answering intake of breath. Did she move first or did he, and wasn’t that something he needed to know—in order to establish whose victory this was? But suddenly Zuhal didn’t care—not about the method, only the result. He didn’t care which of them had backed down as, with a hungry moan, he closed his arms around her and desire reverberated through him as never before.

Her mouth opened beneath his kiss and her moan echoed his as he explored her with his tongue. Sweet heaven, but she tasted good. So good. His shaking hands were on her robes, tugging at them impatiently with none of his usual restraint, and she was doing the same thing to him—touching his body through the delicate material as if she were discovering it for the very first time. But this was nothing like the first time. Back then she had been a virgin and now she was a sexually experienced woman who knew exactly what she wanted. And so did he.

Her hand pressed boldly against his erection as he deepened the kiss and, urgently, he backed her up against the wall, peeling off her tunic and flinging it aside before dispensing with his own the same way. He ripped off her panties so that they fluttered onto the Persian rug, his fingers quickly finding the moist heat now exposed to him and beginning a deliciously familiar rhythm. The scent of sex filled the air as he strummed against the warm syrupy feel of her and she bucked immediately.

‘Yes,’ she gasped, brokenly, and suddenly she forgot everything. Forgot that she probably shouldn’t be doing this and that Zuhal wasn’t using any protection. All she could think about was it. And him. The word burst out of her lips again. ‘Yes.’

His hands clamped around the cool flesh of her buttocks, he lifted her up so she could lock her thighs around his hips, positioning herself perfectly for that first, deep thrust which made her gasp in the way he remembered so well For a moment he had to still in order to compose himself, terrified he would come straight away—like some over-keen schoolboy whose wildest fantasy had just been realised.

‘Oh,’ he breathed, as control returned to him and he resumed his thrust. Each. Hard. Hungry. Thrust. ‘Isn’t that good, Jazz?’ he demanded unsteadily. ‘Isn’t it the best thing you ever felt?’

Her breath was hot against his neck, her words slurred with pleasure. ‘Is it praise you’re seeking, Zuhal?’

No, it wasn’t praise. He told himself it was orgasm he wanted—all he had ever wanted—but orgasms were easily attained, weren’t they? And then he stopped thinking altogether, focussing instead on how tight she felt as his balls slapped softly against her molten heat. On how his heart was pounding like a regimental drum as he increased his speed. He drove into her while doing all the things he knew she liked best. Grazing her nipples with his teeth—so that she was balancing on the fine edge between pain and pleasure. Stroking his thumb down the enticing valley which cleaved between her buttocks, so that she moaned softly with pleasure.

When she came, he followed almost immediately, kissing away her shuddering moans as his seed spurted long and deep into her body and he felt the inexplicable clench of his heart. Long minutes passed as her head flopped against his shoulder and he could hear her breathing fanning his neck. At last she unfolded her legs and slid them down so that she was standing again, her weight now pressed against the wall instead of into his body. But when he tilted her chin to stare into her eyes, she was having none of it and shook her head.

‘No. Don’t say anything,’ she said.

‘Not even to ask you whether you’d like to do it all over again?’

Her emerald gaze was very clear. ‘And if I did, would you use some protection this time?’

He nodded. ‘Of course I would. I wasn’t thinking. At least, not about that.’

There was a fraction of a pause. ‘Neither was I. But I need to do some thinking now, so will you please go?’ She shook her head as if to pre-empt further argument. ‘I mean it, Zuhal. Just go.’

It took a moment or two for him to realise she meant it and slowly he expelled a long breath. It was the first time he’d ever been ejected from a woman’s bedroom but to Zuhal it suddenly felt more like a reprieve than a punishment. Because wasn’t it a relief to be spared the inevitable analysis of what had just happened, in that tedious way women had of always overthinking things?

They both knew exactly what had just happened.

Sex. Amazing sex—nothing more and nothing less.

His lips curved into a satisfied smile as he allowed himself the brief luxury of a stretch. ‘Sure,’ he said, as he bent to retrieve his discarded robes.