Читать книгу Sheikh's Convenient Marriage - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 16

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE MARRIAGE CEREMONY was conducted in both Qurhahian and English, and Gabe reflected more than once that the royal connection might have intimidated many men. But he was not easily intimidated and essentially it was the same as any other wedding he’d ever been to. He and Leila obediently repeated words which had been written by someone else. He slid a gleaming ring onto her finger and they signed a register, although his new wife’s signature was embellished with a royal crest stamped into a deep blob of scarlet wax.

She put the pen down and rose gracefully from the seat, but as he took her hand in his he could feel her trembling and he found his fingers tightening around hers to give her an encouraging squeeze.

‘You are now man and wife,’ said the official, his robed figure outlined against the indigo and golden hues of the Qurhahian flag.

Sara and Suleiman smilingly offered their congratulations as soft sounds of Qurhahian Takht music began to play. Servants appeared as if by clockwork, bearing trays of the national drink—a bittersweet combination of pomegranate juice mixed with zest of lime. After this they were all led into a formal dining room, where a wedding breakfast awaited them, served on a table festooned with crimson roses and golden goblets studded with rubies.

Leila found herself feeling disorientated as she sat down opposite Suleiman and began to pick at the familiar Qurhahian food which was presented to her. The enormity of all that had happened to her should have been enough to occupy her thoughts during the meal. But all she could think about was the powerful presence of her new husband and to wonder what kind of future lay ahead.

Who was Gabe Steel? she wondered as she stabbed at a sliver of mango with her fork. She listened to him talking to Sara about the world of advertising and then slipping effortlessly into a conversation about oil prices with Suleiman. He was playing his part perfectly, she thought. Nobody would ever have guessed that this was a man who had effectively been shotgunned into marriage.

He must have sensed her watching him, for he suddenly reached out his hand and laid it on top of hers, and Leila couldn’t prevent an involuntary shiver of pleasure in response. It had been weeks since he’d touched her, and she revelled in the feeling of his warm flesh against hers—but the gesture felt more dutiful than meaningful. She couldn’t stop noticing the way Suleiman and Sara were with each other. The way they hung off the other’s every word and finished each other’s sentences. She felt a tug of wistfulness in her heart. Their marriage was so obviously a love-match and it seemed to mock the emptiness of the relationship she shared with Gabe.

She turned to find his cool grey gaze on hers.

‘Enjoying yourself?’ he said.

She wondered what he would say if she told him the truth. That she felt blindsided with bewilderment about the future and fearful of being married to a man who gave nothing away.

But Leila was a princess who had been taught never to show her feelings in public. She could play her part as well as he was playing his. She could make her reply just as non-committal as the cool question he’d asked.

‘It’s been a very interesting day,’ she conceded.

Unexpectedly, he gave a low laugh—as if her unemotional response had pleased him. He bent his lips to her ear. ‘I think we might leave soon, don’t you?’

‘I think that might be acceptable,’ she said, swallowing in an effort to shift the sudden dryness in her throat.

‘I think so too,’ he agreed. ‘So let’s say goodbye to our guests and go.’

The unmistakeable intent which edged his words made Leila’s heart race with excitement. But hot on that flare of anticipation came apprehension, because the sex they’d shared that afternoon in Qurhah now seemed like a distant dream.

What would it be like to make love with him again after everything that had happened? What if this time it was a disappointment—what then? Because she suspected that a man as experienced as Gabe would not tolerate a wife who didn’t excite him. Wasn’t that why men in the desert kept harems—to ensure that their sexual appetites were always gratified? Wasn’t it said in Qurhah that no one woman could ever satisfy a man?

Her heart was pounding erratically as he led her outside to his waiting car. Leila slid inside and the quicksilver gleam of his eyes was brighter than her new platinum wedding ring as he joined her on the back seat. Suddenly, she imagined what her life might have been like if Gabe had refused to marry her, as he could so easily have done. She imagined her brother’s fury and her country’s sense of shame and she felt a stab of gratitude towards the Englishman with the hard body and the dark golden hair.

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

‘For what?’

‘Oh, you know.’ She kept her voice light. ‘For saving me from a life of certain ruin—that sort of thing.’

He gave a short laugh. ‘I did it because I had to. No other reason. Don’t start thinking of me as some benign saviour with nothing but noble intentions in his heart. Because that man does not exist. I’m a cold-hearted bastard, Leila—or so your sex have been telling me all my adult life. And since that is unlikely to change, it’s better that I put you straight right from the start. The truth might hurt, but sometimes it’s a kinder pain than telling lies. Do you understand?’

‘Sure,’ said Leila, her voice studiedly cool as her fingers dug into the wedding bouquet which she would have liked to squash against his cold and impassive face. Couldn’t the truth have waited for another day? Couldn’t he have allowed her one day of fantasy before the harshness of reality hit them? But men only did that kind of mushy stuff in films. Never in real life.

‘But understand something else,’ he added softly. ‘That my lack of emotion does not affect my desire for you. I have thought of nothing else but you and although I badly want to kiss you, you’ll have to wait a little while longer. Because while I’m fairly confident the press haven’t got hold of this story, I can’t guarantee that the paparazzi aren’t lying in wait outside my apartment. And we don’t want them picturing you getting out of the car looking completely ravaged, do we, my beautiful blue-eyed princess?’

‘We certainly don’t,’ said Leila, still reeling from his cold character assessment—followed by those contrasting heated words of desire.

But there were no paparazzi outside the apartment—just the porter who’d been sitting behind the desk the first time she’d been here and who now smiled as they walked into the foyer.

‘Congratulations, Mr Steel,’ the man said, with the tone of someone who realised that normal deference could be relaxed on such a day. ‘Aren’t you going to carry the lady over the threshold?’

Gabe gave a ghost of a smile as he stared down into Leila’s eyes. ‘My wife doesn’t like heights,’ he said. ‘Do you, darling?’

‘Oh, I absolutely loathe them,’ she said without a flicker of reaction.

But irrationally, she felt a stab of disappointment as they rode upstairs in the elevator. Despite what he’d said in the car, it wouldn’t have hurt him to play the part of adoring groom in front of the porter, would it? They said that men fantasised about sex—well, didn’t he realise that women did the same thing about weddings, no matter how foolish that might be?

‘Why are you frowning?’ he questioned as the door of his apartment swung silently shut behind them.

‘You wouldn’t understand.’

Tilting her chin with his finger, he put her eyes on a collision course with his. ‘Try me.’

She tried all right. She tried to ignore the sizzle of her skin as he touched her, but it was impossible. Even that featherlight brush of his finger on her chin was distracting. Everything about him was distracting. Yet his grey eyes were curious—as if he was genuinely interested in her reasons. And wasn’t that as good a start as any to this bizarre marriage?

So start by telling him what it is you want. He has just advocated the use of truth, so tell him. Tell him the truth. She held his gaze. ‘If you must know, I quite liked the idea of being carried over the threshold.’

Dark eyebrows arched. ‘I thought you might find it hypocritical under the circumstances.’

‘Maybe it is.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s just that I’ve never been carried anywhere before—well, presumably I was, as a baby. But not as an adult and never by a man. And this might be the only stab at it I get.’

‘Oh, I see,’ he said. He took the bouquet from her hand and placed it on a nearby table. ‘Would carrying you to bed compensate for my shocking omission as a bridegroom?’

She met the glitter of his eyes and excitement began to whisper over her skin. He was flirting with her, she realised. And maybe she ought to flirt right back. ‘I don’t know,’ she said doubtfully. ‘We could try it out and see.’

He gave a flicker of a smile as he bent and slid one arm under her knees, picking her up with an ease which didn’t surprise her. Leila might have been tall for a woman but Gabe made her feel tiny. He made her feel all soft and yearning. He made her feel things she had no right to feel. Her arms fastened themselves around his neck as he carried her along a long, curving corridor into his bedroom.

She’d only been in here once before to unpack her clothes and find a home for her shoes. But then, as now—she had been slightly overwhelmed by the essential masculinity of the room. A vast bed was the centrepiece—and everything else seemed to be concealed. Wardrobes and drawers were tucked away out of sight, and she could see why. Any kind of clutter would have detracted from the floor-to-ceiling windows which commanded such a spectacular view over the river.

She tried to imagine bringing a baby into this stark environment and felt curiously exposed as he set her down on her gleaming wedding shoes.

‘Won’t we...be seen?’ she questioned, her gaze darting over his shoulder as he began to unfasten her dress.

‘The windows are made specially so that people can’t see in from the outside,’ he murmured. ‘Like car windows. So there’s no need to worry.’

But Leila had plenty to worry about. The first time they’d done this, there had been no time to think. This time around and she’d done nothing but think. How many women had stood where she had stood? Women who were far more experienced than she was. Who would have known where to touch him and how to please him.

His fingers had loosened some of the fastenings, and the dress slid down to her waist, leaving her torso bare. She felt exposed. And vulnerable. He bent his head to kiss her shoulder, but she couldn’t help stiffening as he traced the tip of his tongue along the arrowing bone.

He drew his head away from her and frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I don’t know. This feels so...’ Awkwardly, her words trailed off. She could pretend that nothing was wrong but she remembered what he’d said in the car. That the truth could hurt, but lies could hurt even more. And if she kept piling on layer after layer of fake stuff, her life would be reduced to one big falsehood. In a marriage such as theirs—wasn’t the truth the only way to safeguard her sanity? ‘So cold-blooded,’ she said.

‘You’re nervous?’

‘I guess so.’

‘You weren’t nervous last time.’

‘I know.’ She licked her lips. ‘But last time felt different.’

‘How?’

‘Because we weren’t thinking or analysing. There was no big agenda. No frightening future yawning ahead of us. It just...happened. Almost like it was meant to happen.’

For a moment she wondered if she’d said too much. Whether that final sentence had sounded like the hopeless yearning of an impressionable young woman. The truth was all very well, but she didn’t want to come over as needy.

He stroked his hand down over her cheek and moved it round to her neck. His grey eyes narrowed and then suddenly he dug his fingers into her hair and brought his mouth down on hers in a crushing kiss.

It was the kiss which changed everything. The kiss which ignited the fire. All the pent-up emotion she’d kept inside for weeks was now set free. And suddenly it didn’t matter that Gabe had warned her about having ice for a heart because, for now at least, he was all heat and flame and maybe that was enough to melt him.

She clung to him as his mouth explored hers, and he began to pull the pins from her hair. Silken strands spilled down around her shoulders, one after another. She could feel them tickling her back as they fell. Cool air was washing over her skin as he unclipped her bra and her breasts sprang free.

He stopped kissing her and stood for a moment, just observing her. And then, very deliberately, he reached out and cupped a breast in the palm of his hand, his eyes not leaving her face as he rotated his thumb against the nipple.

‘Gabe,’ she said indistinctly.

‘What?’ The thumb was replaced by the brush of his lips as he bent his head to the super-sensitive nub, and Leila closed her eyes as pleasure washed over her. Her senses felt raw and alive—as if he’d just rehabilitated them from a long sleep. She reached towards his shirt buttons, but the effort of undoing even one seemed too arduous when his hand was skimming so possessively over her waist and touching the bare skin there.

With a low laugh which sounded close to a growl, he freed the last fastenings of her dress and let it slide to the ground.

Stepping out from the circle of concertinaed silk, she looked up at his dark face, and something about his expression made her heart miss a beat. All her doubts and fears were suddenly replaced by something infinitely more dangerous. Something which had happened the last time she’d been in this situation. Because wasn’t there something about Gabe Steel which called out to her on a level she didn’t really understand? Something which made her feel powerful and vulnerable all at the same time.

He was a cool English billionaire who could have just thrown her to the wolves. Who could have rejected his child and made her face the consequences on her own. But he had done no such thing. He had been prepared to shoulder the heavy burden of responsibility she had placed upon his shoulders. Gabe Steel was not a bad man, she decided. He might be a very elusive and secretive one—but he was capable of compassion. And wasn’t she now better placed than any other female on the planet to discover more about a person who had captivated her from the start? Couldn’t she do that?

Her torpor suddenly left her as she reached towards his shirt and began to slide the buttons from their confinement. Her confidence grew as she felt his body grow tense. She could hear nothing but the laboured sound of his breathing as she opened up his shirt and feasted her eyes on the perfection of the golden skin beneath.

Bending her head, she flickered her tongue at his tight, salty nipple and she felt a sharp thrill as she heard him groan. She had never undressed a man before—but how difficult could it be? She tugged the charcoal jacket from his shoulders and let it fall on top of her discarded wedding dress. The shirt followed—so that now he was completely bare-chested, like those men she’d seen fighting for coins in one of the provincial market squares outside Simdahab.

Undoing the top button of his trousers, she was momentarily daunted by the hardness beneath the fine cloth, which made unzipping him awkward. But his fingers covered hers, and he guided her hand down over the rocky ridge, and Leila’s heartbeat soared, because that shared movement felt so gloriously intimate.

With growing confidence, she dealt with his socks and shoes—and he returned the favour by easing her out of her panties and stockings.

Before long, they were both completely naked, standing face to face next to the bed. His hands were splayed over her bottom and her breasts were brushing against his chest. She could feel his erection nudging her belly and the answering wetness of her sex as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

‘Are you sure we can’t be seen?’ she whispered.

‘Why, is that your secret fantasy?’ he questioned, pushing her down onto the soft mattress. ‘People watching and seeing what a naughty princess you can be?’

Leila said nothing as his mouth moved to her neck and he moved his hand between her legs. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the stroking movement of his fingers. But even intense pleasure could not completely obliterate the sudden troubled skitter of her thoughts. Was this what playboy lovers enjoyed most, she wondered—to share fantasies? Didn’t he realise that she was still too much of a novice to have any real fantasies?

His eyes were dark as he moved over her, but she could see the sudden tautness of his mouth. She wondered if he was wishing that this were just uncomplicated sex. That he was not tied to her for the foreseeable future, and that there was not a baby on the way.

‘Is something wrong?’ she whispered.

‘Wrong?’ he echoed unsteadily. ‘Are you out of your mind? I’m just savouring every delicious moment. Because for the first time in my life I don’t have to worry about contraception. I’ll be able to feel my bare skin inside you—and it’s a very liberating feeling.’

His description sounded more mechanical than affectionate but Leila told herself to be grateful for his honesty. At least he wasn’t coating his words with false sentiment and filling her with false hopes. And why spoil this moment by wishing for the impossible, instead of enjoying every incredible second?

Tipping her head back, she revelled in the sensation of what he was doing to her.

The way his lips were moving over hers.

The way his fingers played so distractingly over her skin, setting up flickers of reaction wherever they alighted.

The way he...

‘Oh, Gabe,’ she breathed as she felt him brushing intimately against her.

Slowly, he eased himself inside her, the almost-entry of his moist tip followed by one long, silken thrust. For a moment he stilled and allowed her body to adjust to him.

‘I’m not hurting you?’ he questioned.

Hurting her? That was the last thing he was doing. She was aware that he fitted her as perfectly as the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle which had just been slotted into place. She had never felt as complete as she did in that moment, and wouldn’t the cool Gabe Steel be horrified if he knew she was thinking that way?

‘No,’ she breathed, shaking her head. ‘You’re not hurting me.’

‘And does it feel—different?’

She met the smoky question in his eyes. ‘Different?’

‘Because of the baby?’

Would it terrify him if she told him that yes, it did? That it felt unbelievably profound to have his flesh inside her, while their combined flesh grew deep in her belly. Much too profound for comfort. She pressed her lips against the dark rasp of his jaw.

‘I don’t really have enough experience for comparison,’ she whispered.

He tilted her face upwards so that all she could see was the gleam of his silver gaze. ‘That sounds like a blatant invitation to provide you with a little more.’

‘D-does it?’

‘Mmm. So I think I’d better do just that, don’t you?’

She gasped as he began a slow, sweet rhythm inside her. Her fingertips slid greedily over the silken skin which cloaked his moving muscles. Eagerly, she began to explore the contours of his body—the power of his rock-hard legs and the taut globes of his buttocks.

She felt part of him.

All of him.

She felt in that moment as if anything was possible.

‘Gabe,’ she moaned, her body beginning to tense.

His mouth grazed hers. ‘Tell me.’

‘I c-can’t.’

‘Tell me,’ he urged again.

‘Oh. Oh!’

Gabe felt her buck beneath him in helpless rapture. His mouth came down hard on hers as her back arched, his fingers tightening over her narrow hips. He became aware of the softness of her belly as he pressed against her and then he let go—spilling his seed into her with each long and exquisite thrust.

For a while he was aware of nothing other than the fading spasms deep within his body and a sense of emptiness and of torpor. Automatically, he rolled away onto the other side of the bed where he lay on top of the rumpled sheet and sucked mouthfuls of air back into his lungs. His eyelids felt as if they’d been weighted with lead. He wanted to sleep. To sleep for a hundred years. To hold on to a sensation which felt peculiarly close to contentment.

But old habits died hard and he fought the feeling and the warm place which was beckoning to him, automatically replacing it with ice-cold logic. All he was experiencing was the stupefying effect of hormones as his body gathered up its resources to make love to her again. It was sex, that was all. Surprisingly good sex—but nothing more than that. How could it ever be more than that?

Meeting her bright blue gaze, he flickered her a non-commital smile.

‘What a perfect way to begin a honeymoon,’ he drawled.