by Lynne Graham
As if that declaration about her separate room hadn’t punched what remained of her breath back out of her lungs, Izzy pinned a bright smile to her face since it seemed to be what Rafiq expected and she didn’t like to disappoint him. Or maybe she wanted to hang onto what remained of her pride, a more cynical inner voice suggested as she strolled over to the open doorway, and then what he had said only minutes before roused her curiosity afresh and she turned back to him and probed inquisitively, ‘A monument to excess and corruption?’
Lean, devastatingly attractive features grim, Rafiq turned brooding dark eyes back to her, thinking that she just had to go there, where nobody else dared in his radius. ‘My father built this palace and ploughed millions into it, so that he could have somewhere very private and luxurious to entertain.’
‘Well, maybe he was extravagant but surely in an oil-rich country that’s not a hanging offence,’ Izzy remarked uncomfortably, beginning to wish by his grave demeanour that she had left the subject alone.
Rafiq studied her with shielded eyes and decided it was time to tell her what was already widely known in Zenara, where his father’s name was never ever mentioned in polite company. ‘He held drug-fuelled orgies here with porn stars and hookers.’
‘Oh…’ For a split second, Izzy was frozen to the floor by shock and then she blinked rapidly, and a startled strangled snort of laughter was wrenched from her, her hand flying up to her parted lips in sincere apology and dismay. ‘S-sorry,’ she stammered. ‘I was just thinking that this is one place where you wouldn’t want to say, If only the walls could talk!’
Rafiq surveyed her in utter disbelief.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but you’re standing there like a pillar of doom,’ Izzy told him helplessly. ‘All ashamed and disgusted and miserable at having to tell me that. Why are you still so sensitive about it? Your father’s gone! It is the past you’re talking about, not the present, and you’re not responsible for your father’s choices.’
‘It is not that simple,’ Rafiq argued fiercely. ‘He disgraced the royal house. There is no depravity he did not explore, no extravagance he did not commit!’
‘When did he die?’ Izzy asked more gently.
‘Sixteen years ago…’ Rafiq admitted flatly.
‘And you’re still angry, but you shouldn’t still be feeling that so personally,’ Izzy countered with conviction. ‘It happened and can’t be changed but the sins your father committed weren’t yours and you should make the decision to let go of it all. Make that decision for your own sake. It is that simple.’
Rafiq was shaken by that straightforward and practical approach to the sordid heritage that had haunted and humbled him throughout his life.
‘I mean, every family has secrets,’ Izzy commented more thoughtfully. ‘Some secrets are embarrassing, some are hurtful, some may even cruise close to illegality but there’s nothing you can do about that. If it’s your family, you’re stuck with them and that background, but you certainly shouldn’t feel guilty about their mistakes, particularly not if you choose to lead a different life from theirs. I mean, you do, don’t you?’
Even more surprisingly in response to that enquiry, Rafiq found himself breaking out into spontaneous laughter that she could even ask such a question of him. ‘Definitely not into orgies and the like,’ he confirmed with a flashing smile, relishing her indifference to what he had told her and the obvious fact that it didn’t change her attitude to him. ‘But some people do believe that such behaviour as my father’s is the result of bad blood and that such a man’s children may follow in his footsteps.’
‘Only really, really out-of-touch, prejudiced people,’ Izzy opined confidently.
‘I am not oversensitive on the subject,’ Rafiq felt the need to declare even though he knew he was glossing over the truth, indeed possibly outright lying. After all, his father’s sins had been used like a stick to beat him with throughout his life, changing him, marking him, rebuking him, warning him of the danger of excess in any field. Having someone simply laugh inappropriately and remind him that his father’s mistakes were not his to repent was a little like being suddenly busted out of a prison cell with bars that he hadn’t even realised existed.
‘Well, if this is my room, I’ll leave you to it!’ Izzy breezed, stepping through the doorway and beginning to close the connecting door.
‘No!’ In an abrupt movement, Rafiq crossed the room and dragged the door open again.
‘No?’ Izzy queried in surprise as she spun back. ‘But I thought—’
‘This far we have not had much of a wedding day,’ Rafiq breathed in taut continuation. ‘No celebration, nothing…’
Izzy shrugged a tiny dismissive shoulder, her head high, her chin at an I-can-cope-with-anything angle. ‘We’re not a real couple,’ she pointed out quickly.
‘We may as well be,’ Rafiq countered, brilliant dark-as-Hades eyes locked to her triangular face, lingering on her pale flawless skin and the brightness of her bluer than blue eyes. ‘Tonight, we will do something different…’
‘Don’t think there’s a lot of different around this neck of the woods,’ Izzy warned him ruefully, having only seen sand and more sand out of any of the windows that looked beyond the walls and the courtyard. And Izzy didn’t like sand, had never liked sand, whether it was sand on a beach or sand in a sandpit when she was a kid. Sand in giant rolling dunes that formed the entire landscape left her cold.
‘We will dine in the desert this evening,’ Rafiq proposed, striving to think feminine, romantic, even frilly and getting absolutely nowhere in his imagination because he had absolutely no experience in that line. Instead he was forced to settle on an experience that he was pretty sure she could not previously have encountered.
‘Oh…’ Izzy was just quick enough to kill the grimace threatening her facial muscles. ‘Well, that would be different, special,’ she added hastily, not wanting to be picky or ungracious because there truly wasn’t much available in the way of alternative options.
‘The stars are amazing at night,’ Rafiq told her with sudden warmth, his smile illuminating his bronzed features like the sun and dazzling her. ‘The desert at night is wondrous.’
Engulfed by that astonishing smile, Izzy decided she could bear to picnic in a mud puddle should that be what was required of her.
* * *
Vanishing back into his own room, Rafiq stripped for a shower and wondered why he had suggested dinner in the desert. It was surely basic courtesy to ensure that his bride enjoyed her time in Zenara and for him to act as a considerate host? Even though he had planned to avoid her? his hind brain prompted. And beneath the beat of the shower, Rafiq groaned, comprehending his change of heart with a clarity that surprised him.
Izzy was not Fadith. In nature, she was not remotely similar to his first wife. She was a totally different woman. Just as the handful of women he had had sex with in recent years could also have been dissimilar, only he had never given them the chance to prove that, had never got to know them in any but the most superficial of ways. He had never spent the night with anyone until Izzy and had never allowed an encounter to stretch into a second night.
Izzy, however, was a unique case. ‘We’re not a real couple,’ she had said, and while in one essential way that was true since they did not plan to remain together, in other ways it was quite distinctively untrue, Rafiq reasoned seriously. Of course, his outlook on marriage was very different from hers. Weddings were fun occasions in the West, associated with romantic love and deeply optimistic hopes. But being born royal, Rafiq had never expected that kind of marriage. He had always known that he was unlikely to get to choose his wife for himself and that he would have to simply make the best of whichever woman he married. That awareness had made him realistic and practical.
What Izzy had yet to accept was that, even without those Westernised notions of hers about marriage, she was sti
ll his wife and was still the mother of his unborn children, a bond that would create an unbreakable lifelong tie between them. And when she did reach that real-world state of acceptance, how would she feel then? How could he possibly know?
He was still marvelling that she was willing to surrender custody of their offspring and leave her children behind in Zenara while she returned to the UK to pursue her career plans. She was a lot younger than he was, he reminded himself, and still defiantly determined to reclaim the life she had expected to have, and he understood that tenacious streak of hers. Even so, she had seemed softer, more sentimental and had made it very clear that family meant a lot to her…
But then what did he know about a mother’s emotions, most particularly a career-orientated modern mother? he asked himself cynically. Having birthed him, his own mother had not seemed to care whether he was alive or dead, having never shown any further interest in him. At a very young age he had realised that not all women were maternal. It wasn’t every woman who wanted to raise her own child, take on that responsibility for another being’s welfare and limit her own freedom accordingly. He had not the slightest doubt that, had it not been for the royal nursery staff, he would have starved and cried without comfort as a baby. He wasn’t making a poor judgement of Izzy’s character, he assured himself staunchly, just as he hadn’t judged his mother for the same lack of interest. After all, he freely acknowledged that his father had been no more concerned than his mother about their son’s well-being. And with his private jet at her disposal, Izzy would be able to come back and visit their children any time she wanted…
* * *
In the bedroom next door, Izzy cradled her mobile phone and tried to work out what she could afford to tell her sister when she called her. And she had to call Maya because they had never been out of contact for so long.
‘Where the heck have you been?’ her twin shrilled down the line with worried emphasis. ‘I’ve been worried sick! You vanished… I mean, who can afford to do that on our income?’
Izzy registered that she had to come clean. ‘I found out that I was pregnant,’ she told her sister baldly.
‘How the hell—’ Maya exclaimed and then added with startling insight, ‘Bathroom guy? I knew I wasn’t getting the whole story.’
‘Bathroom guy,’ Izzy confirmed, grateful for once that her sibling was that quick on the uptake.
‘Right, so you’re pregnant,’ her twin murmured with laden stress on that condition. ‘And right now, I’m…er…working in Italy.’
‘You got a job abroad?’ Izzy gathered with admiration. ‘Congratulations. I expect, considering how fast your talents have been snapped up, that the position pays very well?’
There was an unexpected silence before Maya responded brightly, ‘The benefits are unbelievable. My stay in Italy promises to free Mum and Dad from all their financial problems!’
‘My goodness,’ Izzy muttered, undeniably impressed by her twin’s superior earning power. ‘But what a shame that the dream job has to be abroad!’
‘Well, can’t have everything,’ her twin sighed feelingly. ‘So, where are you?’
‘Zenara,’ Izzy admitted.
‘Where’s that?’ Maya questioned, delighting Izzy with her ignorance. ‘And you’re living there with this guy?’
‘Yes.’ Izzy grimaced, reluctant to tell fibs to her sister and hoping she wouldn’t ask too many more difficult questions. She would tell Maya the whole story when she got home again but if she spoke up now, her twin would be worried sick, and she didn’t need that stress when she had just embarked on a demanding highly paid job in a foreign country. But sooner than that she would definitely have to tell Maya about Rafiq’s true identity and share the news that they were married.
‘He wants us to stay together until the babies are born,’ she admitted.
‘Babies…like more than one baby?’ Maya exclaimed in excitement.
‘Twins,’ Izzy confirmed. ‘But it’s too soon to know the gender yet.’
‘Heavens, I’m going to be an auntie!’ Maya cried with satisfaction and the dialogue veered off awkward questions into territory that Izzy could more easily cope with.
‘All right, you’re being suspiciously silent here about the important stuff. Tell me all about bathroom guy.’
‘He’s…he’s gorgeous.’
‘You’re not that shallow,’ Maya told her.
Izzy reddened at her end of the phone. ‘He’s very responsible, decent, maybe a little old-fashioned.’
‘Nothing to complain about there when you fall accidentally pregnant,’ her twin commented bluntly. ‘Why shouldn’t he be responsible? They’re his kids too. At least he’s not trying to run away.’
‘Rafiq is not the running-away type.’
Having completed her call, Izzy walked into the ridiculously large and luxurious dressing room off the bedroom and opened doors and drawers, amazed to find them packed with brand-new garments and she leafed through them in awe. Rafiq had said she had no clothes because she had only brought along a couple of casual summery outfits in her carry-on case and he had made good on that deficit, so good indeed that she was staggered by his generosity. There were drawers full of fine lingerie, rails lined with dresses, both long and short, and all appeared to be maternity wear. It was good that he was aware of that issue with clothing, she told herself even while her instincts shrieked no, no, no, don’t want that aspect to be so important that it shadows everything else for him.
So, you go and say thank you like a well-brought-up woman, she reflected, reasoning with her less grateful self, crushing it down because she was being unreasonable. After all, he wouldn’t have needed to marry her or clothe her had she not been pregnant, therefore it was downright irrational to be annoyed that he was quite that aware of her condition. And it was not as though she could afford to buy a hot-climate wardrobe for herself or any maternity wear, she reminded herself. In any case her cropped jeans were already straining at her thickening waist and all her bras were too tight.
Knocking on the door politely, she walked into his empty bedroom.
‘Rafiq!’ she called lamely, knowing in frustration that there was no way she could track him down easily in the giant building and simply hoping against hope that he was still somewhere within hearing distance.
The bathroom door opened and he emerged, wrapped in a towel, and she grinned.
‘So, back where we started, with you half naked,’ she commented cheerfully, rejoicing in the vision of him standing before her, all lithe and bronzed and damp. ‘I like it.’
Rafiq was shocked by that earthy honesty and struggled to hide it. Odd as it seemed, it had never really occurred to him that a woman might like to look at a man naked as much as a man liked to look at a woman and, acknowledging that, he felt off-puttingly out of his depth even though he was incredibly flattered and aroused by the appreciation that glowed in her sapphire eyes. That unabashed glow in her gaze had an immediate effect on him and he gritted his even white teeth, striving to suppress his arousal.
‘I wanted to say thank you for the clothes…but there are so many,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m never going to get to wear all of them!’
‘You will be here for months,’ Rafiq pointed out levelly. ‘Through the hottest season.’
Izzy tried and failed to swallow as she studied him, her attention involuntarily glued to that tall, lean, powerful physique of his, the muscles indented in his torso that shifted with his every slight movement, the flatness of his stomach and the little dark silky furrow of hair there that snaked down out of sight below the towel. Her mouth ran dry. ‘Not as hot as you,’ she mumbled while thinking, I didn’t just say that, I didn’t.
‘You find me…hot?’ Rafiq breathed without any thought at all.
Colour claiming her cheeks in a feverish surge, Izzy simply nodded with a jerk.
The silence
seethed, dark golden eyes welded to blue like heat-seeking missiles, and she felt her whole body leap into awareness, jolting her with embarrassing sensation as her breasts swelled and the peaks tightened and that hollow hungry pulse throbbed between the slender thighs she pressed tightly together.
A phone rang, breaking in like a sudden bucket of ice water flung over her heated skin, and she turned away in haste as he reached with a stifled apology for the mobile phone lying at the foot of the bed. She was crossing back into her own room again when he murmured abruptly, ‘It’s cold in the desert in the evening. Wrap up warm,’ he advised.
Cold and sandy, she thought dolefully. Oh, joy.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE NIGHT SKY was a great arching black velvet expanse spangled with white glittering stars and it was, indisputably, very beautiful. The fire crackled and burned with blue and orange flames that were almost hypnotic, light leaping and casting shadows over the robed and armed men guarding the encampment. Dinner in the desert with a crown prince demanded a substantial number of people in support and protection roles, Izzy reflected ruefully.
There was the cook and his helpers, who had slaved over a brazier to provide a wholly impractical elaborate meal that ran to several courses. There were also Rafiq’s bodyguards, the maid hovering for Izzy’s benefit, lest she might need some service carried out. There was a black cloth tent behind them for their comfort and given the excuse she would have retreated to it because it looked cosy and she was horribly cold, in spite of the layers she wore. Across the fire, musicians pounded skin drums softly, another man plucking at a stringed instrument that resembled a mandolin while two more wielded flutes. The music was rhythmic and melodic, the muted beat of the drums humming through her bones.
‘My brother will visit us tomorrow. He is eager to meet you,’ Rafiq told her quietly, after they had eaten.
With their backstory, Izzy winced a little at the prospect. ‘What have you told him about us?’