Читать книгу Working With Cinderella - Линн Грэхем, Lynne Graham - Страница 19

‘THEY won’t stay quiet for that length of time unless you are holding them.’

It had been a long morning for Amy. They were practising the formalities for the new Prince’s naming ceremony tomorrow, and as it was Fatima who would be travelling with the King and the Princesses, Amy had been tidying the nursery. The windows were open and she had heard their little protests, their cries to be held by their father and eventually, reluctantly, Emir had asked for Amy to be sent down.

‘Fatima will be the one holding them.’

‘They want you.’

‘They cannot have me,’ Emir said. She caught his eye then and he saw her lips tighten, because, yes, she knew how that felt. ‘I will be in military uniform. I have to salute.’ He stopped explaining then—not just because he’d remembered that he didn’t have to, but because Nakia, who had been begging for his arms, now held her arms out to Amy. They both knew that there would be no problem if it was Amy who was travelling with him.

Not that Emir would admit it.

Not that she wanted to go.

She could not stand to be around him—could not bear to see the man she loved so cold and distant, not just with her but with the babies who craved his love.

‘Can you hold one?’ She tried to keep the exasperation from her voice as she hugged a tearful Clemira.

‘I’ve tried that. Clemira was jealous,’ he explained as Fatima sloped off with Nakia to get her a drink.

‘If you can hold one then it needs to be Clemira. Keep Clemira happy and then usually Nakia is fine.’ She saw him frown and she could not check her temper because he didn’t know something so basic about his own daughters. ‘Just hold Clemira,’ she said, handing the little girl to him. ‘God, it’s like I’m speaking in a foreign language.’

‘It is one to me!’ Emir hissed, and she knew they were not talking about words.

Amy walked off, back to the palace, so she could listen to more tears from the window and do nothing, back to a role that was being eroded by the minute. She looked at the dolls’ house and felt like kicking it, felt like ripping down the palace walls, but she stifled a laugh rather than turn into psycho-nanny. She polished the tables in the nursery and changed the sheets, tried to pretend she was working.

‘It worked.’

She turned around at the sound of him, stood and stared. He held the twins, both asleep, their heads resting on his shoulders. She waited for Fatima to appear, except she didn’t.

‘Fatima is getting a headache tablet.’ Emir gave a wry smile. ‘I said I would bring them up.’

How sad that this was so rare, Amy reminded herself. How sad that something so normal merited an explanation—and, no, she told herself, she did not want him.

He went to put Clemira down and she moved to help him.

‘I don’t know how …’ It was almost an apology.

‘No.’ She took one child from his arms. ‘I can’t put them down together now either,’ she said. ‘They’re far too big for that.’ She lowered Clemira to the mattress as Emir did the same with Nakia. ‘It was easier when they were little.’ She was jabbering now. ‘But I’ve had to lower the mattress now they’re standing.’ She could feel him watching her mouth; she feared to look at him—just wanted Fatima to come.

‘Amy …’

‘They’re enjoying the dolls’ house.’

She kept her head down because she knew what would happen if she lifted it. She knew because it had almost happened the day before, and the day before that—moments when it had been impossible to deny, when it had almost killed not to touch, when it would have been easier to give in. But if she kissed him now this was what they would be reduced to—furtive snogs when Fatima wasn’t around, a quick shag when no one was watching, perhaps? And she was better than that, Amy told herself.

But the tears were coming. She reminded herself that, even if she was crying she was strong.

It was Amy who walked out. Amy who left him watching his children as she headed to her room,

‘You need to come home.’

Rather than cry she rang home, desperate for normality, for advice. Though Amy’s mum didn’t know all that had gone on, even if she did, Amy realised, her advice would be the same.

‘Amy, you’re not going to change things there. I told you that when you accepted the job.’

‘But Queen Hannah …’

‘Is dead.’

The harsh words hit home.

‘Even Queen Hannah knew that the country would have little time for her daughters. That was why she wanted them to be educated in England.’

‘I can’t leave them.’

‘You have no choice,’ her mum said. ‘Can you really stand another three years of this?’

No, Amy could not. She knew that as she hung up the phone. The last ten days had been hell. With the anniversary of Queen Hannah’s death approaching the palace was subdued, but more than that, worse was to come, for there would be a wedding in a few weeks and how could she be here for that?

She couldn’t.

Rather than being upset, Amy had actually been relieved that Fatima had been selected to travel with the King. She had decided that the time she would spend alone must be used wisely, but really her decision was made.

Her mother was right: she had no choice but to go home.

She had to, she told herself as she made it through another night.

By morning, she was already wavering.

She walked into the nursery where two beaming girls stood in their cots and blew kisses. They wriggled and blew bubbles as she bathed them, spat out their food and hated their new dresses, pulled out the little hair ribbons faster than Fatima could tie them.

Amy knew every new tooth in their heads, every smile was a gift for her, and she could not stand to walk away.

Except she had to.

Amy packed cases for the little girls, putting in their swimming costumes, because she knew there were several pools at the Alzirz palace.

‘They won’t be needing those,’ Fatima said. ‘I shall not be swimming with them.’

And their father certainly wouldn’t, Amy thought, biting down on her lip as she struggled to maintain her composure.

She helped Fatima bring them down to wait for the King and board the helicopter.

‘Be good!’ Amy smiled at the girls when she wanted to kiss them and hold them. She was terribly aware that this might be the last time she would see them, that perhaps it would be kinder to all of them for her simply to leave while they were away.

As Emir strode across the palace he barely glanced at his daughters, and certainly he did not look in Amy’s direction. He was dressed in military uniform as this was to be a formal event and she loathed the fact that this man still moved her. His long leather boots rang out as he walked briskly across the marble floor, only halting when Patel called out to him.

‘La.’ He shook his head, his reply instant, and carried on walking, but Patel called to him again and there was a brief, rather urgent discussion. Then Emir headed into his study, with Patel following closely behind.

‘I’ll say goodbye now!’ Amy spoke to the girls, for they were getting increasingly fretful and so too was she. She must remember that they were not her babies, that they would be fine with Fatima, that they were not hers to love. But it killed her to turn around and walk up the grand staircase. It was almost impossible not to look around and respond to their tears, but she did her level best—freezing on the spot when she heard Patel’s voice.

‘The King wishes to speak with you.’

‘Me?’ Slowly Amy turned around.

‘Now,’ Patel informed her. ‘He is busy—do not keep him waiting.’

It felt like the longest walk of her life. Amy could feel eyes on her as she walked back down the stairs, trying to quieten her mind, trying not to pre-empt what Emir wanted though her heart surely knew. She had never been summoned to speak to him before, and could only conclude that his thoughts were the same as hers—while he was gone, perhaps it was better that she leave.

It was terribly awkward to face him. Not since their night together had it been just them, for Fatima was always around, her silent criticism following Amy’s every move. There was no discomfort in Emir, she noted. He looked as uninterested and as imposing as he had the last time that she had stood there, and his voice was flat.

‘You are to accompany the children to the naming ceremony of the new Prince of Alzirz.’

‘Me?’ Amy swallowed. This was so not what she had been expecting. ‘But I thought it was considered more suitable for Fatima to travel with them? She is more well-versed—’

‘This is not a discussion,’ Emir interrupted. ‘You are to go now and to pack quickly. The helicopter is waiting and I have no intention of arriving late.’

‘But—’ She didn’t understand the change of plan. She needed this time alone and was nervous about travelling with him.

‘That will be all,’ Emir broke in. ‘As I said, I did not call you in here for a discussion.’

It was Patel who offered a brief explanation as she left the office. ‘Queen Natasha wishes to discuss English nannies and has said she is looking forward to speaking with you.’

This made sense, because of course a request from Queen Natasha during the new Prince’s naming ceremony must be accommodated.

It mattered not that it would break her heart.

Amy packed quickly. She selected three pale blue robes and her nightwear, and threw a few toiletries into her bag. Even if there was the helicopter, the King and his entourage waiting, still she took a moment to pack the twins’ swimming costumes and her own bikini—because, unlike Fatima, she would swim with the girls.

Emir was at the helicopter, and she felt his air of impatience as she stepped in. He had already strapped in the girls and Fatima gave Amy a long, cool look as she left the aircraft, for it was an honour indeed to travel with the King.

It was not the easiest of journeys, though Emir did hold Nakia as they neared their destination. Again Amy watched his features harden and, looking out of the window, thought perhaps she understood why. Alzirz was celebrating as Alzan should have been on the day of the twins’ birthday. The streets around the palace were lined with excited people waving flags. They all watched in excitement as dignitaries arrived for the naming of their new Prince.

How it must kill him to be so polite, Amy mused as they arrived at the palace and the two men kissed on both cheeks. She could feel the simmering hatred between them that went back generations.

Queen Natasha didn’t seem to notice it. She was incredibly informal and greeted both Amy and the twins as if they were visiting relatives, rather than a nanny and two young princesses. ‘They’ve grown!’ she said.

She looked amazing, Amy noted, wearing a loose fitting white robe embroidered with flowers. She certainly didn’t look like a woman who had given birth just a few days ago, and Amy felt drab beside her.

‘Come through!’ Natasha offered, seeing the twins were more than a little overawed by the large formal gathering. ‘I’ll take you to the nursery. I have to get the baby ready.’ She chatted easily as they walked through the palace. ‘I’ll introduce you to my nanny, Kuma. She’s just delightful, but I really want him to learn English.’ She smiled over to Amy. ‘You’re not looking for a job, by any chance?’ she asked shamelessly.

‘I’m very happy where I am,’ came Amy’s appropriate response, though she was tempted to joke that Natasha might find her on the palace doorstep in a couple of days. But, no, Amy realised, even if Natasha was nice, even if she was easy to talk to, in Alzirz as in Alzan the Royal Nanny would have to be obedient to royal command. She could never put her heart through this again.

Kuma really was delightful. She was far more effusive and loving than Fatima. She smiled widely when she saw the twins, put a finger up to her lips to tell them to hush, and then beckoned them over to admire the new prince. Nakia wasn’t particularly interested, but Clemira clapped her hands in delight and nearly jumped out of Amy’s arms in an effort to get to the baby. She was clearly totally infatuated with the young Prince.

‘He’s beautiful,’ Amy said. His skin was as dark as Rakhal’s, but his hair was blonde like Natasha’s, and Amy was suddenly filled with hopeless wonder as to what her babies might have been like if Emir was their father. She was consumed again with all she had lost, but then she held Clemira tighter and qualified that—all that she was losing by walking away.

‘Would you like to hold him?’ Natasha offered.

‘He’s asleep,’ Amy said, because she was terrified if she did that she might break down.

‘He has to get up, I’m afraid,’ Natasha said. ‘I want to feed him before the naming ceremony.’ She scooped the sleeping infant out of his crib and, as Kuma took Clemira, handed him to Amy.

Sometimes it had hurt to hold Clemira and Nakia in those early days, to know that she would never hold her own newborn, and the pain was back now, as acute as it had been then, perhaps more so—especially when the two Kings came in. Rakhal was proud and smiling down at his son. Emir was polite as he admired the new Prince. But there was grief in his eyes and Amy could see it. She was angry on behalf of his girls, yet she understood it too—for the laws in this land, like in the desert, could be cruel.

‘Come,’ Emir told her, ‘we should take our places.’

Her place was beside him—for the last time.

She stood where in the future she would not: holding his daughters. She held Clemira and sometimes swapped. Sometimes he held both, when he did not have to salute, so he could give Amy a rest and once, when they girls got restless, she set them on the ground, for it was a long and complicated ceremony.

‘They did well,’ Emir said as they walked back to the nursery with the weary twins.

‘Of course they did!’ Amy smiled. ‘And if they’d cried would it really have mattered? Tariq screamed the whole ceremony.’

‘He did.’ Emir had been thinking the same, knew he must not be so rigid. Except his country expected so little from his daughters and somehow he wanted to show them all they could be. ‘Just so you know, the Alzirz nanny will be looking after the twins tonight. They are to make a brief appearance at the party, but she will dress them and take care of that.’

‘Why?’ Amy asked, and she watched his lips tighten as she questioned him.

‘Because.’ Emir answered, and he almost hissed in irritation as he felt her blue eyes still questioning him. He refused to admit that he did not know why.

‘Because what?’

He wanted to turn around and tell her that he was new to this, that the intricacies of parenthood and royal protocol confused him at times too. Hannah would have been the one handling such things. It was on days like today that the duty of being a single parent was the hardest. Yet he could not say all this, so his voice was brusque when he conceded to respond. ‘Sheikha Queen Natasha wants them to be close. It is how things are done. If Prince Tariq comes to stay in Alzan you will look after him for the night.’

‘I thought you were rivals?’

‘Of course,’ Emir said. ‘But Queen Natasha is new to this. She does not understand how deep the rivalry is, that though we speak and laugh and attend each other’s celebrations there is no affection there.’

‘None?’

‘None.’ His face was dark. ‘The twins will be looked after by their nanny tonight. They will be brought back to you in the morning and you will all join me at the formal breakfast tomorrow.’

‘But the girls will be unsettled in a new …’

He looked at her. He must have been mad to even have considered it—crazy even to think it. For she would not make a good sheikha queen. There was not one sentence he uttered that went unquestioned, not a thought in her head that she did not voice.

‘You keep requesting a night off. Why then, do you complain when you get one?’

Amy reminded herself of her place.

‘I’m not complaining.’ She gave him a wide smile. ‘I’m delighted to have a night off work. I just wasn’t expecting it.’

‘You can ring down for dinner to be sent to you.’

‘Room service?’ Amy kept that smile, remembered her place. ‘And I’ve got my own pool … Enjoy the party.’

Of course he did not.

He was less than happy as he took his place at the gathering. He could see the changes Natasha had brought to the rather staid palace, heard laughter in the air and the hum of pleasant, relaxed conversation, and it only served to make him more tense. He held his daughters along with Kuma, and Natasha held her son. He saw Kuma being so good with them and thought perhaps Fatima was not so suitable.

Maybe a gentler nanny would suit the children best, Emir thought. For he knew that Amy was leaving—had seen it in her eyes—and he held Clemira just a touch tighter before he handed her back to Kuma. His heart twisted again, for they should not be in this world without their mother, and a king should not be worrying about hiring a new nanny.

There was the one big decision that weighed heavily, but there were others that must be made too: their nanny, their schooling, their language, their tears, their grief, their future. He must fathom it all unshared with another who loved them. As a single father he did not know how to be.

Black was his mind as the babies were taken upstairs to the nursery, and he looked over to Rakhal, who stood with his wife by his side. Never had he felt more alone. Tonight he grieved the loss of both Hannah and Amy, and he was so distracted that he did not notice Natasha had made her way over.

‘I’m sorry. This must be so difficult for you.’

He shot her a look of scorn. How dared she suggest to his face such a thing? How dared she so blatantly disrespect his girls?

But just as his mouth formed a scathing retort she continued. ‘It’s Hannah’s anniversary soon?’

He closed his eyes for a second. Grief consumed him.

He nodded. ‘She is missed.’

Natasha looked at this King with grief in his eyes, who stood apart and polite but alone. ‘Where’s Amy?’

‘She is enjoying a night off,’ he clipped, for he did not like to think about her when he wanted her here at his side.

‘I didn’t mean for her to stay in her room.’ Natasha laughed. ‘When I said that my nanny would look after the girls I was hoping that she would join us.’

‘She is the nanny,’ Emir said curtly. ‘She is here only to look after the children.’

‘Ah, but she’s English,’ Natasha sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Have you any idea how nice it feels to have someone here who is from home? I was so looking forward to speaking with her—we never really got a chance earlier.’

‘She will bring the twins to breakfast tomorrow,’ Emir responded, uncomfortable with such overt friendliness.

When he visited Alzirz, or when duty dictated that Rakhal visit Alzan, there were firm boundaries in place, certain ways things were done, but Natasha seemed completely oblivious to them. The new Sheikha Queen did not seem to understand that it was all an act between himself and Rakhal, that there was still a deep rivalry between the two Kings, born from an innate need to protect the kingdoms, their land and their people. Natasha simply didn’t understand that although they spoke politely, although they attended all necessary functions, it was only mutual hate that truly united them.

‘I’ll have somebody sent to get her,’ Natasha persisted.

Emir could only imagine how well that would go down with Amy. She didn’t like to be told what to do at the best of times, and this certainly wasn’t the best of times.

‘She is staff,’ Emir said, and that should have ended the conversation—especially as Rakhal had now come over. At least Rakhal knew how things were done. He would terminate this conversation in an instant, would quickly realise that lines were being crossed—unlike this beaming Englishwoman.

What was it with them?

Natasha smiled up to her husband. ‘I was just saying to Emir that I was hoping to have Amy join us tonight. I do miss having someone from home to chat to at times.’

And love must have softened Rakhal’s brain, Emir thought darkly, for instead of looking to Emir, instead of gauging his response, instead of playing by the unspoken rules he looked to his wife.

‘Then why don’t you have someone go to the suite and see if she would care to join us?’ he said. Only then did he address Emir. ‘Normally Natasha’s brother and his fiancée would be here tonight, to join in the celebrations, but they are in the UK for another family commitment and couldn’t make it.’

Emir did not care. Emir had no desire to know why Natasha’s brother and his fiancée could not be here. Had Rakhal forgotten for a moment that this was all a charade? That there was more hate in the air than the palatial ballroom could readily hold? For when he thought of his daughters, thought of his late wife and the rule Alzirz refused to revoke, Emir could happily pull his knife.

‘It would be unfair to her.’ Emir did his best to keep his voice even. ‘She will have only her working clothes with her.’

‘I’m not that mean.’ Natasha smiled. ‘I wouldn’t do that to her. I’ll have some clothes and maidens sent to her room to help prepare her. I’ll arrange it now.’

There was so much he would like to say—Emir was not used to having any decision questioned—and yet protocol dictated politeness even in this most uncomfortable of situations. He could just imagine Amy, in her present mood, if one of the servants were to knock at her door and insist that she come down and join in with the feasting and celebrations. A smile he was not expecting almost spread his lips at the very thought, but he rescued his features from expression and nodded to the waiting Queen.

‘Very well, if you wish to have Amy here, I shall go now and speak to her. I will ask her to come down, though she may already have retired for the night.’

Natasha smiled back at him and Emir could not understand why she could not see the hate in his eyes as he spoke. He strode out of the grand ballroom.

As he did so Rakhal turned to his wife. ‘You are meddling.’

‘Of course I’m not,’ Natasha lied.

But her husband knew her too well. He had had the teachings too and his wife seduced with her beauty, dazzled like the sun low in the desert. He knew his wife was plotting now.

‘Natasha? You do not interfere in such things.’

‘I’m not,’ Natasha insisted. ‘You have to work the room and I would like someone to talk to in my own language. Amy seems nice.’

But of course she was meddling. Natasha had seen King Emir’s eyes linger a little too long on Amy at times, when the nanny hadn’t been aware he was watching her. She had seen the sadness behind his eyes too. And, yes, perhaps it was for selfish reasons also that she was interfering just a little, but the thought of someone from her own land to be beside her at these endless functions …

She knew that Emir must soon take a new sheikha queen, and if that queen happened to be Amy—well, who could blame her for giving Cupid a little nudge? She loved her new country—loved it so much—but the rivalry between the two nations, the bitterness between them and all the impossible rules she simply could not abide, and she was quite sure that Amy must feel the same.

Amy had not retired for the night as Emir was silently hoping as he walked through the palace to her room.

She had rung down for dinner and enjoyed a delicious feast—or tried to. She had been thinking about the girls, thinking about Emir and trying to picture her future without them. But it was too hard. So she had telephoned home, hoping for a long chat, but everybody must be at work because she had spoken to endless answering machines. And, yes, a night off was what she had asked for, and the Alzirz palace was as sumptuous as even the most luxurious hotel, but after an hour or two of reading and painting her toenails she had grown restless. Simply because it was there for the taking Amy put on her bikini and went for a long swim in her own private pool.

It was glorious—the temperature of the water perfect, the area shaded with date palms for complete privacy and protection from the fierce Alzirz sun during the day. Lying on her back, she could see the stars peeking through. But just as she started to relax, just as she had convinced herself to stop worrying about leaving Alzan, at least for tonight, she heard a bell ring from her suite.

Perhaps the maid had come to take her tray, Amy thought and, climbing out of the pool, went to answer the door. She had left her towel behind so she tied on a flimsy silk robe and called for the maid to come in. As the bell rang again Amy realised that perhaps she didn’t understand English and opened the door—completely taken aback to find Emir standing there.

‘It was not my intention to disturb you.’ It was close to an apology, but not quite. He was a king summoning a servant, Emir reminded himself—it was a compliment in itself that he had come to her door. ‘You are required downstairs.’

Amy frowned. ‘Is there a problem with one of the twins?’

‘Not at all.’ He felt more than a little uncomfortable, especially as two damp triangles were becoming visible where her wet bikini seeped into the silk of her gown. ‘Sheikha Queen Natasha has requested that you join in the celebrations.’

‘No, thanks.’ Amy gave a tight smile and went to close the door, but his booted foot halted it. ‘Excuse me!’ was Amy’s brittle response.

‘You don’t understand,’ Emir said, but he did remove his boot. ‘That is why I came personally—to explain things to you. The Queen is hosting the party. It is the Queen who has requested you to come down, not me. It would be rude …’

‘Rude for who?’ Amy responded—because she did not want to go down there, did not want to be Natasha’s little project for the night. She particularly did not want to spend any more time with Emir than she had to—things were already difficult enough.

Now he was at her door, and she could feel the cool wetness of her gown, knew from the flick of his eyes downwards that he had seen it too—that she might just as well not be wearing it. She was frantic to have him gone.

‘It’s rude to give me a night off and then revoke it!’ She went to close the door again, did not want to prolong this discussion.

Emir would not let things be, and unless she slammed the door in his face she’d have to stand there and listen as he spoke on.

‘If the twins were awake you would be expected to bring them down.’

‘The twins are not in my care tonight.’

‘That is not the point.’ Emir’s voice was stern. He was less than impressed with Amy’s behaviour—especially as a maid came into the corridor and bowed her head to him. He stood there bristling with indignation as she went in and retrieved Amy’s dinner tray. ‘It is not right for me to be seen standing here and arguing with …’

‘An employee?’ she finished for him. But she accepted it was not fitting behaviour, and once the maid had gone she held the door further open for him. ‘I have nothing to wear to a party. I haven’t showered. I’m not ready …’

‘That is being taken care of.’ He blocked her excuses as Natasha had blocked his. ‘Queen Natasha is having some clothes and some maidens sent here to your room.’ He turned to go. ‘I expect you to be down there within half an hour.’

‘Emir …’

There was a plea in her voice, a plea he had heard once before—the sound of her begging. He remembered her writhing beneath him and he hardly dared turn around.

‘Don’t make me do this. Go and enjoy the party on your own—make an excuse for me that is fitting. I don’t know anything about …’

‘Enjoy it?’ He did turn around then, and he wished she were dressed—wished she looked anything other than she did now. For the gown was completely see-through. Three triangles taunted him. He could see the hard peaks of her nipples, see the flush on her neck. He should not be in this room with her for a whole set of reasons other than protocol. ‘You will get dressed.’

When still she shook her head, he lost his temper. He spoke harsh angry words. It was far safer than pushing her onto the bed.

‘You really think that I want to be down there? You really think that I’m enjoying making small talk, pretending that I do not hate them? If it were not for them …’

His black eyes met hers, as angry and savage as they had been the day she had first challenged him, but it did not scare her as it had then. His anger was not aimed at her, nor his words, Amy was quite sure. This would not be of his choosing, for this remote, private man to pour some of the pain out.

‘Amy, please …’

Not once had he pleaded, not once that she knew of, and this came with a roar from the heart.

‘I am asking you to please make this night easier for me—I am in hell down there.’

And he was. He was in hell tonight and no one knew. He could not share his burden; he carried it alone for he was King. He remembered his status and was ashamed of his words, his loss of control. But there was no smart retort from Amy. This time she stood stunned, as he was at his revelation, and he could see tears pooling in her eyes. She had glimpsed a little of his pain.

It was not that her mouth found his, nor was it his mouth which sought hers. Neither initiated the kiss. They simply joined, and he felt the bliss of oblivion. The pain ended for a moment and relief was instant. There was release and escape as her wet body pressed to his. He had craved her since that night, had wanted her each minute, and her tongue as it twisted with his, the heat of her skin through the damp gown, told him she had craved him as much.

She had.

His uniform was rough beneath her fingers, his mouth desperate on hers, his erection as fierce as his passion. She could feel him hard in her centre. It was happening again and it must not.

‘Emir,’ she whimpered, pulling her mouth back from his, though she did not want him to stop kissing her. Her lips ached for more as they moved from his. Regretting their departure, they returned, speaking into his mouth. ‘We said just once.’

‘Then get dressed,’ he said, and his hands peeled off the damp robe, and his fingers worked the knot at the back of her bikini.

She moaned in his mouth as he stroked the aching peaks; his hands moved to her bottom and he pulled her up till her legs twined around him. This was way more than a kiss getting out of hand. The bed seemed an impossible distance, clothes their only barrier.

She felt the cold of brass buttons on her skin as he kissed her onto the bed, pulling at the damp bikini while his other hand moved to unbuckle his belt. And Amy realised her hands were helping his, for she was through with thinking. She could make decisions later, could work things out then. Right now she simply had to have him.

And she would have.

He would have had her.

Had the bell not rung again.

He looked down at where she lay, a breath away from coming. Regret was in both their eyes—not just at the interruption, but at what had taken place.

‘That didn’t just happen,’ Amy said. Except it had. And now, even more so than before, it was impossible for her to stay.

No longer could their night in the desert be put down to a one-off. The attraction between them was undeniable and yet soon he would be taking a wife.

‘It won’t happen again,’ Emir said.

They both knew he was lying.

He buckled up his belt, took her by the hand and led her to the bathroom. He checked his appearance in the mirror and then called to open the door. He watched as maidens bought in an array of clothing. He told them that Amy was in the shower and they must quickly prepare her to be brought down, and then he called out to her where she sat, crouched and shivering on the bathroom floor.

‘You will get ready quickly.’ He spoke as a king would when addressing a belligerent servant. He tried to remember his place and so too must she. ‘Queen Natasha is waiting for you.’