Royal Weddings Page 5
“No,” she shook her head, and chased after him. Her throat moved as she swallowed furiously. “Please. Let me stay with him.”
Malakhi stared at her with such coldness that Evie wondered if she’d imagined their impassioned embrace only a minute earlier.
“Why did your marriage end?”
“You can’t be serious?” She bit down on her lip, her heart shredding painfully in her chest. “Are you actually saying you’ll let me stay if I tell you?”
“No.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “But I will let you stay a little longer.”
“I won’t be your Scheherazade,” she murmured with obvious anguish.
“Won’t you?” He lifted his hands to her shoulders.
The gauntlet had been laid. Evie trembled under his touch. “There must be another way.”
“Why are you so eager to hide this truth from me? Is what you did so shameful that even I, who thinks you are the worst kind of woman, might still be shocked?”
She sobbed. “No. It’s just private.” She lowered her eyes, hoping he wouldn’t see the lie for what it was. After all, Malakhi was the beginning and end of why her marriage had failed.
“So is your body and yet you seem willing enough to share it around.”
“Don’t.” She snapped, lifting her hands and rubbing her temples. “Just don’t.” She crossed her arms across her slender chest and moved back towards the window. Her handprint was still marked on its glass surface; she traced it distractedly.
“Well?”
She nodded. “We were never well-suited,” she said finally, the words pulled from her like weeds in the soil. “But we had been friends a long time. We liked and respected each other.”
Behind her, Malakhi was very still, every fibre of his being concentrating on this story that had interested him since meeting her.
“You spoke more passionately about him that night.”
Evie’s cheeks flamed when she remembered that night. How much champagne she’d drunk and how she’d thrown herself at the handsome ruler, only to panic and confess her engagement before things could go too far. But oh, they’d done that the minute she’d first met him, in that horrid Eagle’s enclosure.
“I know. I remember.” She shook her head wearily.
“Did you love him?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, without hesitation.
“You still wear his ring.”
She dropped her gaze to her hand and nodded. “Not all the time.”
Malakhi was an expert in reading people. He heard what she wasn’t confessing. “You wore it especially for my benefit. You thought it would keep me at a distance.”
She laughed, a hollow sound of miserable confusion. “Yep.”
“Your actions should have been enough to do that,” he growled. “What you did disgusts me. I meant what I said before: I am not interested in women that other men have rejected.”
“You’re a pig,” she interrupted angrily. “What a disgusting thing to say.”
He spoke as though she had not. “And yet I want you. I hate myself for feeling this for you, of all people. But I do.”
Her heart turned over in her chest. She had nothing to offer in response. For she wanted him too, and she suspected it made a mockery of all of the things that mattered most to her.
“Stay in Ishala as my lover.”
The words rang through the room like a tiny, horrible challenge. Evie turned to face him, her eyes shimmering with tears, her lips parted.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m deadly serious. I wanted to sleep with you that night, and I am surprised to discover that desire has not abated.”
“What about your other women?” She snapped. “Are they not doing it for you?”
“This isn’t about them,” he said with an insouciant shrug. “Wanting you does not preclude a desire for them too.”
She drew in a deep breath as pain quickly chased desire. “So you’re saying you want me to sleep with you … but you’ll still be … seeing them?”
His lips twisted in a wry grimace. “You need only think about your place in my bed. No one else’s.”
“I thought you were worried about gossip and rumours?”
“You are a divorced woman. There is no shame in making you my mistress now.”
“No shame for you,” she drawled, shivering at the clinical way in which they were discussing her body. Not just her body, but her pride. And though he didn’t know it, her virginity.
“The decision is yours,” he said with a careless shrug.
What could she do? She was torn. A love for her nephew and a desire for this man stood on side of her equilibrium. On the other? The rational voices of all those she loved and who had loved her. Her parents, her sister in law, her brother: all gone from this earthly sphere, but still very much alive in her mind. They shouted their objections at her now and she was disgraced to realise that, despite their number, her own desires held greater sway.
“So, Evelyn? What do you decide?”
“You give me little choice,” she said stiffly. Though she’d had a choice. To walk away from him and this life. It just wasn’t particularly palatable.
“Good. So it is done.” He was business-like, as if they’d done little more than arrange a property transaction.
It is done.
She nodded thickly, her mouth dry. “What happens now?”
His eyes glittered, his cheekbones were slashed with dark colour. There was a tangle of dark emotions firing through him that she couldn’t comprehend. “Take off your dress.”
Her breath was impossible to catch. “N-now? You’re going to do this now?”
He moved closer and looped his fingers through the straps of her dress. “You do not question me.” His eyes were fierce as they clashed with hers. He slid her dress down her body slowly, tightening instantly when he saw she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“I’ll say whatever I damn well want,” she contradicted, but the words had no sting. Her nerves were making her voice shiver.
“And now your underwear.”
Evie was torn. Her desire to be visible to him and to finally feel him moving inside of her was being drowned out by feminine pride. How dared he speak to her like a piece of meat?
“I am not going to take you here.” His fingers in her underwear were relieving her of their covering. “I simply want to see you naked.”
“It’s not right,” she whispered, haunted.
He felt pity for her. Pity, and something else. Something that made his whole body flex and contract painfully. With a sombre quietness to his voice he responded gently, “Allow me to see you. I need to see you. For years I have imagined. I have dreamed. Let me finally see.”
It was a horrible hell they’d found themselves in. She understood the desperate passion in his words for the same need was thick in her blood. It defied logic and sense.
Her nod was a concession not simply to the act but also to the pain. But any shred of self-consciousness was wiped away by the incredible moistness and heat between her legs.
She stood before him, undressed and naked to the core – she had faced her own demons and allowed them to thrive in her. She was not strong enough to set herself to their opposition.
“There.” Her breath was soft. She flashed him a sarcastic smile, but it was without strength. “Happy now?”
His lips lifted in a half-smile but he said nothing to reassure her. Had she been hoping for a compliment? For praise? Admiration, even? His eyes gave little away.
“It is a shame that you have not treated your body with more respect,” he said after a minute. “To marry a man you do not love, and cheat on him with others in the meantime. Your view of sex is distasteful.”
It smarted. She responded with an attack because she needed time to process the wound he had inflicted. “Says the man with a harem.”
“Yes.” He shrugs. “You’re right. It’s a double standard.”
“You can
say that again.” She felt so incredibly exposed. “Can I get dressed now?”
“No. I want you like this.”
“Like this?” She looked down at her naked body. “What do you mean?”
“Sit.” He nodded towards the chair on the other side of his desk.
“Like this?”
“I know you are low on moral fibre but I did not also take you for dumb.”
“Don’t speak to me like that,” she glared. Her fingers shook as she lifted them and ran them through her fiery, titian hair. “Whatever you think of me you should remember that I was Sabra’s best friend and that she loved me.” Her voice cracked when she spoke of their link – the dead woman who had brought them together.
It took every ounce of Malakhi’s willpower not to be cowered by the invocation of his sister. The words breathed reality into the cold, aching soil of his soul. Roots dug deep and the truth of his actions began to sprout plants he couldn’t ignore.
He cleared his throat and carried on with determination rather than conviction.
“Sit down.”
“Why?”
He made a noise of frustration and scooped her up, lifting her easily and placing her over his shoulder. So close to him, and completely naked, she froze. He walked swiftly to the desk and placed her down beside the chair. “Because there are things you need to learn and you will be more comfortable if you are seated.”
“But not if I am clothed?” She demanded angrily.
“I care about my entertainment more than your comfort, in that regard.”
“You are such a chauvinist.”
“Sit.”
When still she didn’t, he shook his head. Unused to being challenged, he wasn’t going to admit what a novel and pleasing experience it was. “Fine. Stand.” He put his hands on her hips and pulled her hard against his body. He dropped his head lower, taking one of her nipples into his mouth. Having never been kissed so intimately, she jumped out of her skin.
“Oh my God,” she cried, arching her back and giving him greater access to her body. “Shit.”
He laughed against her chest, his stubbled chin rough on the sensitive flesh.
He rolled her nipple with his tongue and bit down on it with his teeth, while his fingers crept to the apex of hair at the top of her legs. He teased it with his fingers, marvelling at her responsiveness. Suddenly, the idea of waiting at least a day to possess her was anathema.
“If you do not sit down I will make love to you right here,” he promised darkly, hoping she would stay standing.
It was like ice water on her libido. He’d be in for a rather nasty surprise. She collapsed into the chair, her whole body on fire. Did she need to tell him the truth? The actual truth? Or could she pretend she was experienced? Would he notice she was a virgin? She’d read so many conflicting reports she had no idea what to expect.
“Shame,” he said with a tight smile as he took his seat opposite her.
“So? What do I need to know?”
“Before coming to my bed, you will need to be … groomed.”
“Groomed? Are you fu… kidding me?”
“No.” He laughed at her outrage. “It is an ancient ritual of purification, not one of aesthetics. Women who are to make love to the Sheikh of Ishala are to be hairless. It’s an old custom that is supposed to prevent … unwanted complications.”
Her jaw dropped. “Let me get this straight. If I get all plucked like a chicken, that’ll stop me from getting pregnant somehow?” She slapped her palm to her forehead in an exaggerated gesture of mockery. “What a shame the western world doesn’t know this. Birth control stocks would plummet.”
“Very funny.”
She rolled her eyes. “What else?”
“Beyond that, I don’t know. You can tell me tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night?” She swallowed, nervous suddenly. “You want this to start … so soon?”
His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Yes.”
“Oh.” She nodded. “So where do I go for my plucking?”
His lips twitched. “A servant will come to you in the morning.” He stood, and apparently feeling there was no further need for communication, crossed to the door.
“Wait. When do I … what time should I …”
“Nine o’clock,” he said, his hand on the door knob.
“Nine o’clock? What... I don’t even get dinner first?”
He raised his brows. “Do you want to share a meal with me, Jamila?”
Her heart turned over in her chest as she shook her head from side to side.
“Nine it is then.”
CHAPTER THREE
Fortune favours the brave.
Fortune favours the brave.
Evie repeated those four words to herself as though they were her lifeline.
It didn’t help though, for she was not brave. Not, at least, in that moment. An arrangement of exotic flowers stood sentinel beyond his room. She caught a hint of its sweet fragrance and breathed in deeply.
With a hand that was shaking, she knocked on the door, so quietly that she was almost certain he wouldn’t have heard.
But it was nine o’clock on the dot, and perhaps he was waiting right near the entrance to his suite, for the door was pulled inwards instantly.
“Come.” He stepped back a little to allow her entry, his large, dark eyes studying her appearance with interest.
Evie had dressed in the golden robe that had been presented for her. It had a tie around the waist and beneath it she was naked, but for a fine gold chain that had been fitted to her waist.
She nodded jerkily, dislodging a tendril of cherry red hair from the plait it had been weaved into.
He watched as she walked into the middle of the room and then turned, slowly, to face him.
“You’re nervous,” he observed, his expression giving little away.
“Yeah.” She bit down on her lip. “I’ve never done this before.”
At his look of confusion, a blush spread across her face.
“Slept with someone because of a deal. It’s weird.”
“Sex is always a deal,” he said simply. “A transaction. An exchange. Sometimes pleasure is the only goal. More often than not it is more complex.”
“And love?” She said softly, watching his face shift at the question.
“Love? You tell me. You are the one who has been in love.”
“And you haven’t?” Curiosity barbed inside of her. “Ever?”
“No.”
“I see.” She was shivering, though not from the desert winds that were trifling through his windows. Anxiety was perforating her soul.
“Are you hungry?” He asked, crossing the room to stand before her. His hands cupped her hips, pulling her gently towards him.
She shook her head. They were heading towards an inevitable union. She’d jumped down the rabbit hole and now it was only a matter of time before the Mad Hatter invited her for tea.
“Good. Nor am I.”
Silence formed a trance around them.
Evie broke it. “So what do we do now?”
He smiled; a genuine smile, his eyes crinkled at the corner and she was reminded forcefully of what a handsome man he was.
“You undress me.”
“I do?” She squeaked, her eyes flying to his in a fit of uncertainty.
His nod was droll. “It is somewhat of a prerequisite for what we are about to do.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Of course.” Her fingers wouldn’t obey her mind’s commands, however. She lifted them to his cream robe and began to push it, to separate it from his body, but her hands lacked strength and skill.
He expelled an impatient breath as she tried to disentangle him until finally he grasped her hands in his much bigger, more powerful hands. “Stop.”
“I’m sorry.” Her eyes were huge in her dainty face. “I’m nervous.”
“Apparently.”
“You must be used to much more sophisticated lovers.”
“Yes,” he shrugged, as though such an easy admission wasn’t striking a dagger through her heart.
“Have you done this a lot?” She mumbled, dropping her face to hide her embarrassment.
But he pressed a finger beneath her chin and lifted her eyes to his once more. “Done what?”
“I mean, you have that other woman, and I guess this is normal for you.”
“Sex?” He laughed. “Yes.”
She nodded, mortified. What would he say if she confessed the truth of her innocence to him? Might he change his approach? Would he still want her? Or would her appeal evaporate with her imagined experience?
“You do not need to be afraid,” he said softly, dropping his fingers to the robe and pulling expertly on the rope to release it around the middle.
“I’m not afraid,” she said honestly.
“Good.” He pushed the robe off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. He stepped back to study her from a distance, and nodded.
“Satisfied?” She purred, though anger was flicking at her heels. How dared he look at her like an object d’arte?
“Not yet,” he grinned. “But the night is young.”
God, this was really going to happen! Evie’s breath was coming in fits and spurts. “I don’t know what to do,” she confided honestly, her voice hoarse.
“Relax,” he commanded, but in a tone that made it impossible for her to obey. Her anxiety ratcheted up a notch.
He pushed at his own clothes, freeing himself from their confines quickly and easily, so that he too stood completely naked.
“No golden chain for you,” she drawled, to cover the fact that the sight of his glorious body without clothes was doing something unbearable to her pulse rate.
His laugh was abrupt. “It would hardly be appropriate.”
“You don’t like jewellery?”
He shook his head slowly and reached forward, hooking a finger around the fine chain and pulling at it. The metal cut into her skin painfully; she had no choice but to move with him.
“This is not jewellery. It represents a shackle. Many years ago, women who serviced the ruling Sheikh were chained to his bed.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“I agree,” he said quickly. “This is supposed to represent the past; to honour the sacred role of the palace harem, while empowering the woman who wears it.”