Читать книгу Never Gamble with a Caffarelli - Melanie Milburne - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

ANGELIQUE COULD NOT even close her eyes, let alone get to sleep. She spent most of the night pacing the floor, cursing Remy, hating him. How could he have done this to her? He couldn’t have thought of a worse punishment.

Married.

To him of all people!

It didn’t matter if it was legal or not. She had sworn she would never marry. She would never allow someone else to have that sort of control over her, to have that sort of commitment from her.

She had seen first-hand her mother’s commitment. Kate Tarrant had taken her marriage vows way too seriously. She had been browbeaten and submissive from day one. She had toed the line. She had obeyed. She had given up her freedom and her sense of self.

Angelique would never do that.

Marriage and all it represented nauseated her. Unlike most girls her age, she couldn’t even bear the thought of wedding finery. Who wanted to dress up like a meringue, be smothered in a veil and be given away like a parcel to some man who would spend the next fifty years treating her like a household slave?

There was a knock on the door and when she opened it she found a maid holding a tray with fresh fruit, rolls and steaming hot, rather unusually fragrant coffee. ‘Your breakfast, mademoiselle.’

Was this the time to announce that—despite her half-French bloodline—she actually loathed coffee and could only ever face tea first thing in the morning?

Probably not.

Not long after that maid left, another one much older one arrived, carrying a massive armful of wedding finery which she informed Angelique she would help her get into in preparation for the ceremony at ten.

‘I’m not wearing that!’ Angelique said as the maid laid out an outfit that looked more like a circus tent. A particularly beautiful circus tent, however. On closer inspection she saw there were fine threads of gold delicately woven into the fabric and hundreds of diamonds were stitched across the bodice.

‘These are the official bridal robes of the province,’ the maid said. ‘The Princess Royal was married in them in July. It is a great honour that you have been given permission to wear them.’

I can’t believe I’m doing this, Angelique thought as she stood and was wrapped in the voluminous folds. The irony wasn’t lost on her. She made a living out of wearing the minimum of fabric. Now she was being wrapped in metres of it like some sort of glittering present.

Her blood simmered.

It boiled.

How could it be possible that within a less than an hour she would be married to Remy Caffarelli?

‘Are we done?’

‘Just about.’ The maid came at her with a denser than normal veil dripping with even more diamonds and a train that was at least five metres long.

‘Oh no.’ Angelique shied away. ‘Not that.’

The maid gave her a pragmatic look. ‘Do you want to get out of here or don’t you?’

* * *

‘Are you OK with this?’ Crown Prince Talib Firas Muhtadi said to Remy as he finished his second cup of thick, rich, aromatic cardamom-scented coffee. ‘Things are really unstable right now in our province. The tribal elders are notoriously difficult to negotiate with and highly unpredictable. It’s best to do things their way just to be on the safe side. We don’t want a major uprising over an incident like this. Best to nip it in the bud and keep everyone happy.’

Remy mentally rolled his eyes as he put his cup back down on the saucer. ‘No big deal. It’s just a formality, right? It’s not like this marriage—’ he made the quotation marks with his fingers ‘—will be recognised at home.’

Talib looked at him for a long moment without speaking.

‘You’re joking, right?’ Remy said, feeling a chill roll down his spine like an ice cube. Please be joking.

‘Marriage is a very sacred institution in our culture,’ Talib said. ‘We don’t enter into it lightly, nor do we leave it unless there are very good reasons for it.’

What about total unsuitability?

Being polar opposites?

Hating each other?

‘I fought it too, Remy,’ Talib added. ‘But it’s only since I met and married Abby that I realised what I’ve been missing out on. Oh, and yes, the marriage will be considered legal in your country.’

Damn.

Double damn.

* * *

The first thought Remy had was it could be anyone under that traditional wedding dress and long veil and he would not be any the wiser. But he instantly knew it was Angelique because of the way the robes were shaking, as if her rage was barely contained within the diamond-encrusted tent of the fabric that surrounded her slim body.

And her eyes.

How could he not recognise those stormy grey-blue eyes? They flashed with undiluted loathing through the gauze of the veil as she came to stand beside him.

He suddenly had a vision of his oldest brother Rafe’s wedding day only a few weeks ago. The ceremony had been very traditional, and his bride, Poppy Silverton, had been quite stunningly beautiful and unmistakably in love. So too had Rafe, which had come as a bit of a surprise to Remy. He’d always thought Rafe was the show-no-emotion, feel-no-emotion type, but he’d actually seen moisture in Rafe’s eyes as he’d slipped the wedding band on Poppy’s finger, and his face had been a picture of devotion and pride.

His other brother Raoul was heading down the altar too, apparently just before Christmas. His bride-to-be, Lily Archer, had been employed to help rehabilitate Raoul after a water-skiing accident which had left him in a wheelchair. Remy had never seen Raoul happier since he’d announced his engagement to Lily, which was another big surprise, given how physically active Raoul had always been. But apparently love made up for all of that.

Not that Remy would know or ever wanted to know about love. He’d had his fair share of crushes, but as to falling in love...

Well, that was something he stayed well clear of and he intended to keep doing so.

Loving someone meant you could lose them. They could be there one minute and gone the next.

Like his parents.

Remy sometimes found it hard even to remember what his mother and father had looked like unless he jogged his memory with a photo or a home video. He had been seven years old when they had died, and as each year passed his memories of them faded even further. Listening to their voices and seeing them moving about on those home videos still seemed a little weird, as if a tiny part of his brain recognised them as people he had once known intimately but who were now little more than strangers.

He had completely forgotten their touch.

But there was one touch he was not going to forget in a hurry.

As soon as the cleric asked Remy to join hands with Angelique, he felt a lightning zap shoot up his from his hand, travel from the length of his arm and straight to his groin as if she had touched him there with her bare hands. He hadn’t touched her even when her father had brought her with him when he had socialised with Remy’s grandfather in the years before their fall out. Being eight years older than her, Remy had occasionally been left with the task of entertaining her during one of his grandfather’s soirées. Even as a young teenager she had shown the promise of great beauty. That raven-black hair, those bewitching eyes, those lissom limbs and budding breasts had been a potent but forbidden temptation.

He had always made a point of not touching her.

Would the cleric expect him to kiss her? Not that the idea didn’t hold a certain appeal, but Remy would rather kiss her in private than in front of a small group of conservative tribesmen.

After all, he didn’t want to offend them.

Angelique’s hand was tiny. His hand almost swallowed it whole. But then the whole of her was tiny. Dainty. He felt a primal stirring in his loins when he thought of what it might be like to enter her. To possess her. To feel her sexy little body grip him tightly...

Whoa, keep it in your trousers. Remember, this is just an on-paper marriage.

The cleric went through the vows and Remy recited his lines as if he were an actor reading them from a script. No big deal. They were just words. Meaningless words.

When Angelique came to her lines she coughed them out like a cat with fur balls. She almost choked on the promise to obey him.

‘I now pronounce you man and wife.’ The cleric gave Remy a man-to-man smile. ‘You may lift the veil and kiss your bride.’

Angelique’s eyes flickered with something that looked like panic. ‘I’d really rather not.’

Remy didn’t give her time to finish her sentence in case she blew their cover. Besides, he’d kissed dozens of women. All he had to do was plant a perfunctory kiss on her lips and step back. Everyone would be happy.

Easy.

He lifted the heavy veil from her face and planted his mouth on hers.

* * *

Angelique had spent years during her teens imagining this very moment—the first time Remy kissed her. She had imagined it when other dates were kissing her, closing her eyes and dreaming it was actually Remy’s mouth moving on hers, his hands touching her, his body wanting her. Quite frankly, those mind-wanderings of hers had made some of those kisses—not to mention some of her sexual encounters—a little more bearable.

But not one of her imaginings came anywhere near to the real deal.

Remy didn’t kiss sloppily or wetly or inexpertly.

He kissed with purpose and potency.

The firm warmth of his lips, the taste of him, the feel of him was so...so intensely male, so addictive, she couldn’t stop herself from pushing up on tiptoe to keep the connection going. His mouth hardened and then she felt his tongue push against her lips just as she opened them.

His tongue slid into her mouth and found hers.

She heard him smother a groan as her tongue tangled with his.

She felt his body stir against her as he gripped her by the hips and pulled her flush against him.

She heard the cleric clear his throat. ‘Ahem...’

Remy dropped his hands. He looked slightly stunned for a moment, but then he seemed to give himself a mental shake before he grinned charmingly and rather cheekily at the cleric. ‘Almost forgot where I was for a moment.’

The cleric gave him an understanding smile. ‘It is very good to see an enthusiastic couple. It bodes well for a happy and fulfilling marriage.’

Angelique ground her teeth. Remy was enjoying this much more than he should. She could see the glint in his eyes as they reconnected with hers. She gave him an ‘I’ll get you for this later’ look but he just grinned even wider and gave her a wink.

‘The Crown Prince and his wife have a put on a special banquet in honour of your marriage,’ the cleric said.

Oh no! Don’t tell me there’s going to be a reception with speeches.

But as it turned out it was more like a party. A dry party. Which was a crying shame, as right now Angelique needed a glass of something alcoholic—make that two glasses and to hell with the calories—because she was now officially a married woman.

Arrrggh!

The reception room was as big as a football field, or so it appeared to Angelique. How many friends did Remy have out here, or had someone rented a crowd? There were at least a thousand people. Who had a wedding that big? It was ridiculous! It was like a wedding extravaganza, a showpiece of what a celebrity wedding reception should be. The room was decked out in the most amazing array of satin ribbons, balloons and sparkly lights that hung from the high ceiling like diamonds. They probably were diamonds, she thought as she glanced up at the chandelier above her head. Yep, diamonds.

They were led to the top table where Angelique was finally introduced to the Crown Prince’s wife, Abby, a fellow Englishwoman who had met and fallen in love with Talib earlier that year. A royal baby was due in a few months, which Abby explained had given an extra boost to the celebrations. It seemed Dharbiri was in party mode and an event like this could on for days. Great.

Remy took her hand and led her out to the dance floor for the bridal waltz. ‘Loosen up, Angelique. You feel like a shop-window mannequin in my arms.’

Angelique suppressed a glare. ‘Get your hands off my butt.’

He smoothed his hand over her hip and then tugged her against him. ‘That better?’

She looked at him with slitted eyes. ‘We’re supposed to be dancing, not making out.’

‘I thought you’d be great at dancing.’

‘I am great at dancing.’

‘Then show me your footwork.’

Angelique moved in against him and let him take the lead. The music was romantic with a flowing rhythm so she let her body move in time with it. She started to feel like a princess at a ball, or a star contestant on one of those reality dance shows. They moved in perfect unison around the dance floor. The other couples—and there were hundreds—swarmed backwards to give them more room.

‘Nice work,’ Remy said once it was over. ‘Maybe we should do that again some time.’

‘You trod on my toe.’

‘Did not.’

‘Did so.’

He gave her a grin as he pinched her cheek. ‘Smile, ma chérie.’

She smiled through clenched teeth. ‘I want to scratch your eyes out.’

‘Did I tell you how beautiful you looked?’

‘I can’t breathe in this dress. And I have no idea how I’m going to fit in the bathroom. They’ll have to take the door off or something.’

He grinned again and tapped her gently on the end of the nose. ‘You’ll find a way.’

Angelique let out a breath as she watched him turn to speak to another guest. There were times when Remy took his charm into very dangerous territory...

* * *

‘You have to try this,’ Remy said as he came over with a loaded plate from the banquet a little while later.

Angelique breathed in the delicious smell of lamb with herbs and garlic. She couldn’t stop her gaze from devouring everything on his plate. Along with the juicy lamb pieces, there was a couscous salad and some sort of potato dish and flatbread. The carbs would be astronomical. ‘No.’ She gave him a tight smile for the sake of anyone watching. ‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Here.’ He forked a piece of lamb and held it in front of her mouth. ‘You have to try this. It’s amazing.’

‘I don’t want it.’

His eyes locked on hers, hard, determined. Implacable. ‘Open your mouth.’

Angelique’s belly shifted at his commanding tone but she was not going to let him win this. This was her battle, not his. She was the one who had to keep her body in top shape for her career. She had been counting calories and carbs since she had landed her first contract. Since before that, actually. It was the only thing she could control. She knew what she had to do to keep her body perfect. She was not going to allow anyone, and in particular Remy Caffarelli, to sabotage her efforts.

She gave him a flinty look. ‘I said I’m not hungry.’

‘You’re lying.’

She felt the penetrating probe of his dark-brown eyes as they tussled with hers. Heat came up from deep inside her, a liquid molten heat that had nothing to do with food but everything to with hunger.

Sexual hunger.

Angelique knew one taste would not be enough. She would end up bingeing on him and then where would that get her?

His kiss had already done enough damage.

And that dirty dance routine...

She could not afford to let herself be that vulnerable again. She was in control of her passions. She did not slavishly follow her desires. She had self-control and discipline.

She did not want him or his food or his fancy footwork.

Angelique pulled out an old excuse but a good one; she was nothing if not a great actress when the need arose. She put a hand to her temple and gave him a part-sheepish, part-apologetic look. ‘I’m sorry, Remy, it’s just I’ve been fighting a tension headache ever since I got up. Well, actually, I didn’t get up, because I didn’t go to bed in the first place. I couldn’t sleep a wink.’

He studied her for a moment as if weighing up whether to believe her or not. ‘Maybe you’re dehydrated. Have you had enough to drink?’

‘I could kill for a glass of wine.’

He gave her a wry look. ‘You could get killed for having it.’

Angelique felt a cold hand of panic clutch at her insides. ‘We are safe now, aren’t we? I mean now we’re—’ she gave a mental gulp ‘—married?’

Remy’s expression sobered for a moment, which made that fist of panic grip a little tighter. ‘We’re safe as long as we act as if this is a real marriage. It would be foolish to let our guard down until we’re on the plane home.’

Angelique swallowed as she cast a nervous eye over the crowd of people who had joined in the wedding celebration. They looked friendly and innocuous enough, but how could she be sure one or more of them weren’t waiting for her to make a slip up?

Her stomach pitched with dread.

Never in her wildest dreams had she ever thought something like this would happen. She had wanted a face-to-face with Remy. She hadn’t given a thought to where he was or whom he was with or whether it would be convenient or politic or safe. She had focused solely on her goal to get him to hand back the deeds to Tarrantloch.

Now she was pretending to be married to him.

Not pretending, a little voice reminded her. You are married to him.

Angelique turned back to look up at Remy. ‘Why do you come out here? It’s not the sort of place I thought you would be drawn to. It doesn’t really suit your party-boy image.’

He gave a shrug of one broad shoulder. ‘The Crown Prince is a friend of mine. We went to university together. I like to visit him now and again.’

‘Do you come here often?’ Angelique gave herself a mental kick for not rephrasing that a little less suggestively.

He gave her a wicked look. ‘No single, unchaperoned women in my room, remember?’

She compressed her lips. ‘I’m being serious. How many times do you, er, visit?’

He put his plate down on a nearby table. ‘Not as often as I’d like. I only get out here once a year. Two, if I’m lucky, like this year when I came out for Talib and Abby’s wedding.’

Angelique’s eyes widened to the size of the plate he’d just put down. ‘But...but why? What’s so great about it? I don’t see anything that’s relaxing or beautiful about it. It’s just a bunch of boring old sand dunes.’

He put his hand on her elbow and led her away to a quieter area. ‘Will you please keep your opinions to yourself until we’re out of danger?’ he hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

Angelique wriggled out of his hold, not because she found it unpleasant, but because she found she rather liked it. A lot. She hadn’t realised until now how much she had come to rely on him protecting her. To come to her rescue. She had blundered into a minefield and yet he had remained calm and steady throughout. Even cracking jokes about it.

Was he scared?

If so, he had shown little sign of it until now.

‘I’m sorry, but I’m not used to this,’ she said. ‘You’ve been coming here for ages. This is my first time. I’m what you would call a desert virgin.’

‘What about that bikini shot of you I saw in New York a couple of years back? You were draped over a sand dune with a couple of camels in the background.’

Angelique mentally raised her brows. So he’d seen that, had he? And taken note of it. ‘It was staged. The sand dunes were in Mexico and the camels were cranky and smelly. One of them even tried to bite me. It was a horrible shoot. The designer was impossible to please and I ended up with a massive migraine from sunstroke.’

A frown appeared between his eyes. ‘Why do you do it?’

She felt her back come up. She’d heard this lecture before, too many times to count. The most memorable one had been from him. ‘Why do I do what?’

‘Model. Put yourself out there in nothing but a couple of scraps of fabric.’ His tone sounded starchy and disapproving. Old-fashioned. Conservative. ‘You’re capable of so much more than being some gorgeous too-perfect-to-believe image young guys jerk off to when they’re in the shower.’

Angelique gave him an arch look. ‘Is that what you do?’

His eyes hardened. His mouth flattened. A muscle ticked in his jaw. On-off. On-off. ‘No.’ His tone was clipped. Too clipped. ‘I don’t think of you like that.’

He was lying.

Just like she had been lying about her hunger.

How...interesting.

The thought of him being turned on by her, orgasming because of her, was deliciously shocking. It made her flesh tingle. It made her juices run. It made her need pulse and ache to feel him come to completion with her, the real her, not some airbrushed image that didn’t even come close.

Are you out of your mind? The sensible part of her brain kicked in again.

You are not going to sleep with Remy. Whether he wants to or you want to.

Angelique looked up at him, noting the dull flush that had flagged both of his aristocratic cheekbones. ‘So, when do we get to step out of this charade? We can leave for the airport once this is over, can’t we? I’ve got my bag packed all ready to go. All you have to do is say the word and I’m out of here with bells on. Not the wedding variety, of course.’

His dark-brown eyes seemed to go a shade darker as they held hers. ‘We’re not leaving tonight.’

Angelique felt that fist of panic come back, but now it was two fists.

Two very big, very strong fists.

‘But why not? You have a private jet, don’t you? You can leave whenever you want.’ She swallowed and looked up at him hopefully. Desperately. ‘C-can’t you?’

Remy turned his back so anyone nearby couldn’t see his expression, his voice sounding low and deep, like a rumble of an imminent earthquake under the ocean floor. ‘There is a tradition we have to uphold. We can’t leave until we officially consummate the marriage.’

Angelique jerked back from him. ‘You’re joking. You have to be joking! There’s no way we have to do that! How would anyone know if we, um, did it or not?’

He gave her a levelling look. ‘We’d have to prove it.’

Her brows went up. Her eyes went wide. Her heart started to gallop. Her inner core got hot. Very hot. ‘You mean like witnesses or something? Oh my God, I can’t believe this! I’m so not a threesome person. I’m not even a twosome person. I—’ She clamped her mouth shut. She had given away too much as it was.

‘We’ll need evidence that you’re a virgin.’

Angelique blinked. ‘Pardon?’

‘Blood.’ He had his poker face on. ‘On the sheets. We have to display them the next morning.’

She gave him a narrowed look. ‘Whose blood?’

His mouth cracked in a half-smile. ‘Yours.’

Angelique sent him a fulminating glare. ‘I just knew you were going to say that. The only blood I want to see spilled right now is yours.’

‘You’re really hating this, aren’t you?’ His expression was amused.

Her eyes went to slits again. ‘By “this” I suppose you mean this ridiculous subservience.’

He gave one of his loose, get-over-it shrugs. ‘It’s the way things are done here.’

She shook with outrage. ‘But it’s the wrong way!’

‘The women here are happy.’ His voice was calm, measured. ‘They don’t have to do anything but be who they are. They don’t have to primp and preen. They don’t have to have a spray tan every week or put on false nails or colour their hair. They don’t have to pretend they’re not hungry when they’re starving, because they’re not going to be judged solely on their appearance. It is who they are on the inside that matters.’

He was describing a paradise...or was he?

She set her mouth. ‘That’s only because they probably don’t know what they’re missing. If just one woman gets a glimpse of what she could have, you could have total anarchy out here.’

An amused quirk tilted his mouth. ‘And I suppose you’d be out front and leading the charge of that particular riot?’

She gave him a beady look. ‘You’d better believe it.’