Читать книгу Modern Romance Collection: May 2018 Books 5 - 8 - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 19

CHAPTER TEN

OLIVIA GAZED OUT at the mountain peaks dusted with snow, at the sun shining brilliantly, and let out a sigh that was half happy, half discontented. They’d been in Rubyhan for nearly two weeks now and it had been a surprisingly wonderful two weeks.

Olivia, as she was wont to do, had made herself useful helping out in the administrative office—as her knowledge of both French and Italian had proved useful—and also taking care of Lahela’s baby so the new mother could get an occasional rest. The atmosphere in the palace was a surprisingly cheerful one, with everyone determined to work towards the same important goal. Zayed had an incredibly loyal team, and they believed in him utterly.

Which made Olivia understand why he was so private with them. He didn’t share his headaches or his nightmares or any of his worries or concerns, as far as Olivia could see. He presented himself as a fortress, solid and impenetrable, because everyone was depending on him. It was, Olivia suspected, a heavy burden to bear. And it made her feel more honoured that he’d shared those things with her. As impossible as it seemed, they did have a connection, one that grew deeper on her side every day. One she could no longer deny, at least to herself.

Over the last few weeks Zayed had taken time out of his busy days and spent it with her, and they’d shared several meals as well as a few sunny afternoons simply whiling away the hours and getting to know each other.

Olivia had treasured those stolen hours, the easy conversation, the glimpses of humour, the attraction that always, always simmered between them. She’d started to feel comfortable with him, known by him, and that made her desire and care for him all the more. Which was foolhardy in the extreme, because she knew it was all likely to come to an end when she found out she wasn’t pregnant.

And if she was pregnant and Zayed kept her as his Queen? That was the possibility that brought her to both the heights of hope and the depths of fear. The more time she spent with him—the more time she saw his solicitude, his moments of humour, his care for his people and even for her—she feared she was falling in love with him. And that was something that she couldn’t allow to happen. Not when she knew a marriage to Zayed would only happen for expediency’s sake, not because of love. And she didn’t know if that was something she could accept, not in the long term. But in any case, she might not even have a choice. If she was pregnant, Zayed would not let her walk away. And Olivia had no idea how she felt about that.

A knock sounded at the door of her bedroom, and Olivia turned from the stunning view. ‘Hello?’ she called in Arabic. ‘Come in.’

‘It’s me.’ Zayed appeared around the door, looking crisply attractive in a western-style business suit. When not among the tribes of the desert, he tended to wear western clothes, a preference he’d said was from his Cambridge days. Olivia had enjoyed getting to know this little detail about him, as well as countless others. He preferred coffee rather than tea, and he listened to jazz. He had glasses for reading, and a partiality for Agatha Christie, something that had made her smile.

‘Hi,’ she said now, trying to ignore the tumble of her heart simply at the sight of him. ‘How are you?’

‘Oh, fine.’ He braced one shoulder against the doorway, surveying her bedroom with a distracted yet strangely purposeful air. Olivia wondered what he wanted. Although he’d made a point of seeing her every day, he’d never come to her bedroom first thing in the morning. She felt a little frisson of fear. Was this odd sort of honeymoon period over already?

‘It’s been two weeks,’ Zayed said, and there was an intractable note in his voice. Olivia stilled, one hand resting on the stone windowsill.

‘Yes,’ she agreed cautiously. ‘Thirteen days, to be exact.’

His agate gaze searched hers. ‘You should take a pregnancy test tomorrow, then.’

‘Is there one available?’ Olivia asked as lightly as she could. Her heart had started to hammer just at the thought of taking such a test. And, as luxurious as their accommodation was, they were in the middle of nowhere. How would Zayed procure a pregnancy test?

‘I’m having it flown in.’

She swallowed. ‘Oh.’

‘Better to know than not.’

Which sounded rather awful, and she couldn’t tell anything from his expression. ‘Yes, I suppose.’

So as soon as tomorrow this could all be over. He’d send her away and reopen negotiations with Sultan Hassan for Halina. Why, oh, why, did that thought have to hurt so much?

‘I’m having dinner with a government official from France tonight,’ Zayed said abruptly. Olivia looked at him in surprise.

‘Here?’

‘He’s flying in.’

‘Along with the pregnancy test?’ she couldn’t help but quip, and Zayed gave her a tight smile. ‘On the same helicopter, as it happens, although obviously two very separate requests. I thought you could join us for dinner.’

‘You—what?’ Now she was really flummoxed. Although she’d enjoyed her time at Rubyhan, and had socialised and interacted with just about everyone there, she still felt as if she were being hidden away from the rest of the world, Zayed’s unfortunate mistake, his dirty little secret. She’d hardly expected to be introduced to someone important, someone who expected Zayed to be married to Princess Halina and not a governess nobody.

‘You speak French,’ Zayed pointed out. ‘You told me a few days ago.’

‘Yes, but...’

‘And having you there will make the dinner less formal, which is important at this stage.’

‘This stage of what?’

‘France might be willing to support me against Malouf,’ Zayed explained. ‘This is their initial approach.’

‘Okay.’ She didn’t understand the ins and outs of the politics, but she accepted that Zayed did, and if he wanted her there, she would go. ‘How...how are you going to introduce me?’

‘Simply as my companion. I do not think Pierre Serrat will ask any awkward questions. He is a diplomat, after all.’

Olivia nodded, unsure how she felt about any of this. It was so unexpected, yet the last few weeks had been filled with unexpected things.

They’d been exciting, she acknowledged, and she’d known more happiness here than she ever had in the Sultan’s palace, a fact which made her feel a little sad. When and if Zayed sent her away, she would do something different with her life, she vowed. She would go to Paris, get a job, live independently as she never had before. The prospect made her wilt inside. She was falling in love with him, she acknowledged despondently. With every moment, every second she spent in his company, she tumbled a little bit further. And there was nothing she could do about it.

‘I’ll send Anna to you later,’ Zayed said. ‘To prepare for tonight.’ Olivia nodded, and he paused in the doorway. ‘Thank you, Olivia.’

‘You’re welcome.’ The words were squeezed out. Zayed nodded once, then he was gone. She stared at the empty doorway for a moment, wishing she knew what was in his head. Was he hoping that she wasn’t pregnant, so he could get rid of her as soon as possible?

Of course he is, you ninny.

No matter how pleasant the last two weeks had been, and they’d been very pleasant for her, Zayed was a man on a mission, one he’d explained to her himself, one she understood and sympathised with. He needed Sultan Hassan’s cooperation too much to jeopardise it by staying married to her.

She was so foolish, half daring to dream about a life with a baby and a husband at her side. A man, she reminded herself ruthlessly, who would be there only by duty, not by desire. Far better for her as well as for Zayed if she hadn’t fallen pregnant. She knew that, even if in her weaker moments she didn’t feel it.

Olivia spent the morning as she had intended to, proofreading some correspondence in French. It was wordy stuff, about support for Kalidar’s social programmes, and made Olivia wonder about Serrat’s visit. What exactly were he and Zayed going to talk about? And why did Zayed want her there?

Anna fetched her in the afternoon and Olivia looked in surprise at her bedroom which, it seemed, had been transformed into a beauty spa.

‘Prince Zayed thought you would enjoy some spa treatments,’ Anna said with a smile.

Olivia spent the next few hours being pampered and massaged, tweezed and trimmed. When she finally emerged from the bathroom in a huge terry-cloth robe, she felt as if she were glowing from the inside.

Anna had laid out an evening gown, a column of deep blue, with a diamanté belt and detailing on the hem. Diamanté-studded high heels matched the outfit. It was the most gorgeous dress Olivia had ever seen.

Anna helped her slip it on and zipped up the back, then one of the beauty stylists came to do her hair in a loose chignon, a few dark tendrils slipping down artfully to frame her face.

‘I feel like Cinderella,’ Olivia said with a little laugh, but inside she felt a pulse of both disappointment and longing. She needed to give herself the reminder, because she was Cinderella. It was going to turn midnight on her very soon...if she wasn’t pregnant.

And if she was...

‘Come,’ Anna said as she handed her a matching gauzy wrap. ‘Prince Zayed and Monsieur Serrat are both waiting.’

With her heart starting to thud in anticipation, Olivia followed Anna from the bedroom to a small, private salon on the ground floor, its arched windows overlooking the back gardens that had been developed on the mountainside, surprisingly lush and green.

‘Ah, here she is.’ Zayed turned as she entered the candlelit room, giving her a smile that was both reassuring and devastating. He wore black tie, and the crisp white shirt and midnight tuxedo jacket suited him perfectly, the ultimate foil to his bronzed skin and ebony hair. Olivia became breathless just looking at him. ‘Monsieur Serrat, please let me introduce Miss Olivia Taylor.’

Olivia turned to the second man, who looked to be in his forties, with thinning hair and a kind smile as he nodded at her. ‘Pleased to meet you, mademoiselle.’

‘And you, monsieur,’ Olivia answered in French. ‘It is a pleasure.’

Pierre Serrat’s face lit up. ‘You speak French.’

‘Mais bien sûr,’ Olivia answered with a laugh. She came further into the room, her dress swishing about her ankles. She felt so beautiful in this dress, beautiful and confident in a way she never had before. She extended her hand, and with a grin Pierre Serrat kissed it. Olivia glanced at Zayed and saw a flash of something turn his eyes silver—admiration and perhaps even pride. An answering emotion fired through her, buoying her confidence all the more.

It wasn’t just the dress that made her feel this way. It was Zayed. Knowing that he’d needed her, that he wanted her here at his side...it felt like the ultimate empowerment.

The member of staff who was quietly serving them handed Olivia a glass of champagne, and the conversation flowed easily, from where Olivia had learned her French to the places she’d visited in France.

‘And what do you think of Kalidar?’ Serrat asked as they were seated at a small, intimate table laid for three. ‘It is quite different from Europe.’

‘I’ve been living in Abkar for several years,’ Olivia replied. ‘So I am used to this part of the world. And I find Kalidar to be quite beautiful, even if it is a harsh beauty.’

‘Well said,’ Serrat answered, raising his glass, and Olivia tilted her head in acknowledgement.

The conversation continued through five courses of a meal that could have been served in a Michelin-starred restaurant in Paris and, as Zayed had promised, Serrat did not ask any awkward questions about who she was or what she was doing there. Neither did he talk of politics or policy. Olivia suspected that would come later, when she wasn’t present, if it hadn’t already happened.

As she sipped her wine she let herself drift into a daydream that this was her reality—that Zayed had been restored as King and she was his Queen. That they were entertaining together, as they often would, a partnership, a team. It was such a pleasant daydream, but it also created an ache in her that was painful. It hurt to let herself imagine things that would never come to pass. Even if Zayed insisted on keeping her as his Queen, she knew instinctively that he would not want the kind of loving partnership she dreamed of. But perhaps it would come in time...

Was it foolishness to hope for such a thing? Madness? Yet she did. To her own weakness and shame, she did, because she wanted to be pregnant with Zayed’s child so she could live as his Queen...whatever he felt for her.

* * *

Olivia sparkled like the most brilliant jewel. All evening Zayed had trouble keeping his eyes off her and so, he’d noticed bemusedly, did Serrat. He’d made the right decision in having Olivia attend. Serrat had relaxed, seeing the western influence in Zayed’s life, speaking his own language. Their discussions that afternoon had been tenuous and wary; France was willing to support Zayed against Malouf but wanted to be reassured that Zayed would take Kalidar in a different direction—and what better way to prove that than by taking a western wife?

When Jahmal had told him that Sultan Hassan had sent Halina away and was refusing to accept his message or his gifts, Zayed had realised he needed to think seriously about an alternative. And he had, quite suddenly, realised that Olivia was the alternative, and a good one at that...even if she wasn’t pregnant.

Admittedly, he would have preferred a wife with further-reaching connections, but Olivia’s background as a diplomat’s daughter, her ease with languages and the fact that she was European were all points in her favour. If she was carrying his child, so much the better.

It was after midnight when Serrat said goodnight, and left Zayed and Olivia alone in the dining room, the room flickering with shadows and candlelight. Zayed ached just to look at her, her slender body encased in the sheath-like evening gown, the diamanté details making her sparkle so she looked like a blue flame.

‘You were lovely tonight,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Perfect.’

‘I didn’t do much,’ Olivia answered with a little laugh. ‘Just made small talk.’

‘Which was exactly what was needed.’ Zayed had a desperate urge to make love to her. He’d been fighting it all evening; he hadn’t touched her in ten days, since that madness had overtaken them both in his study, and he’d had her on his own desk. Even now he couldn’t believe how quickly and completely he’d lost control, yet it had felt so good. So right. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of her—and why should he? She was his wife. And she could stay his wife.

‘Do you think France will support your claim?’ Olivia asked. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him and Zayed knew she felt it too. The desire twanged between them; the air felt electric. He reached forward and took her hand, her fingertips sliding along his.

‘I hope so. Serrat will return to his government with a very favourable report, I have no doubt, and in no small part thanks to you.’ He drew her towards him and she came hesitantly, a question in her eyes. ‘I want to make love to you, Olivia,’ Zayed said, a ragged note entering his voice. His need was too great to hide it. ‘I’ve been wanting to make love to you all evening. For ten days, in fact. I’m in agony.’

She laughed softly at that, and as her hips nudged his heat flared. ‘I would hate to be the cause of your pain.’

‘You are the only one who can assuage it.’ His hands cupped her face, his palms sliding over her silken skin. He could never get enough of her. She tilted her face up to gaze at him, everything about her open and trusting. When he told her he intended to keep her as his Queen no matter what, pregnancy or no, she would give no objections. Of that he was certain.

Zayed lowered his head and brushed his lips against Olivia’s. She tasted cool and sweet and so very lovely. He deepened the kiss, loving the feel of her softness against the hard planes of his chest and thighs.

‘Zayed,’ she murmured against his mouth, a protest. He stilled, surprised. Surely she would not deny him now? She wanted this as much as he did—even more. ‘Someone will come in.’ She gestured to the table strewn with dirty dishes. ‘To clear up.’

‘Not while I’m in here,’ Zayed answered confidently, and started drawing her towards him again, aching to feel her mouth once more.

Olivia shook her head. ‘They’ll be waiting until you leave. And they’ll be tired, having served us all night. Let’s not make them wait any longer.’

‘You are thinking of my staff?’

Olivia’s eyes flashed. ‘Having worked in a royal household for four years, I have some sympathy.’

‘Of course.’ With a smile he reached for her hand. ‘You are talking sense, especially as I would much rather make love to you on a bed. My bed.’

Her cheeks went pink. ‘Do you really think this is a—’

‘I don’t think.’ Zayed cut her off before she could verbalise any concerns. ‘I know. I want you, Olivia, and you want me. It’s that simple.’

‘Yes, but...’ Shadows crept into her stormy eyes. ‘What about...?’

‘Shh.’ He silenced her with a kiss. ‘Tonight is for us. Only for us.’ And, as she kissed him back, he knew he had her acquiescence. Her surrender.

Silently, holding her hand, he led her to his bedroom. The corridors were dark and shadowy, the mood singing with expectation. Her hand felt small and fragile in his.

Back in his bedroom his bed had been turned down by one his staff, the lamps turned to low, the perfect setting for seduction. Except this wasn’t even a seduction; this was both of them wanting each other. Revelling in each other.

As soon as the door closed behind them Zayed turned to Olivia and she came willingly; their bodies clashed, their mouths tangled and his blood and heart both sang. He backed her towards the bed and she tripped on her dress; the fragile material tore but Zayed didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything but the woman in his arms.

A single tug of the zip and the torn garment slithered off her, leaving her in nothing but a sheer bra and pants. She shivered slightly and Zayed realised she was nervous. The last time they’d been together, it had been rushed and urgent, and the time before that it had been a consummation, a matter of expediency. Tonight felt different for both of them.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he said softly as he smoothed his hand from her shoulder to her hip. ‘Utterly beautiful.’

Relief flashed across her face and then, with an impish smile, she reached for the studs on his shirt. Her fingers trembled slightly as she undid the first one but then, emboldened by the throaty growl he couldn’t help but give, she undid the others, the studs clattering to the ground, then pushed his shirt aside before resting her palms flat on his chest.

‘You’re beautiful too,’ she said softly, and the blood roared through Zayed’s veins. This woman enflamed him. He pulled her to him, wanting to be slow and deliberate but craving her too much, even now. Especially now.

They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, hands and mouth reaching for whatever bit of skin they could access. He skimmed his hand along her inner thigh and she bucked, her response overwhelming.

Zayed reached for a condom from his bedside table. This time he would be careful. Within moments he’d buried himself inside her and, as Olivia met him thrust for thrust, he forgot about everything...everything but her.