by Leslie North
“You’ve been outstanding,” he told Laila, putting his hand on the small of her back and drawing her close. “This evening has been a pleasure.”
“For me, too,” Laila said. “Staying close to you for more than an hour has been a fun change of pace.”
“Fun, yes,” said Zayid. “A kind of delightful torture.”
“Torture?” Laila’s laugh rang out over the garden beneath them. “My feet are a little sore from my shoes, but I wouldn’t call it torture.”
“No, the torture has been having to look at other people all evening instead of you.”
A smile stole over her face, and in the warm glow from the ballroom, color splashed across her cheeks. “That must’ve been so awful for you.” She trailed a finger down the sleeve of his tuxedo. “What do you think we’ll have to do to make it better?”
Fire blazed along the core of him. “We could get out of here, for one.” He turned her gently in the other direction. “There’s a staircase leading down to the ground floor. If we skirt the edge of the garden, we can sneak back to my apartment without anyone seeing.”
“But what would we do there?” Laila’s teasing had him feeling flushed and reckless.
“Come and see. I don’t have the words to describe it.” He took her hand and led her down the staircase at the side of the balcony, her dress swishing on the stone steps.
“Zayid, won’t they notice we’re gone?”
“I don’t care if they do.” He’d done his duty for the evening, and now the want inside of him threatened to swallow him whole. “I’m taking a few minutes with my wife.”
His security team moved with featherlight steps around them as they went. Zayid felt them as they crossed the garden and again as he punched in the code on the outer door. A quick dash down the hall, and they reached his apartment door.
The two of them twirled inside, a dance of fancy clothes and heat, and then Zayid let himself loose.
He kissed Laila fast and hard, his hands on either side of her flawless face, tasting champagne on her lips and heat on her tongue. Laila groaned against his mouth.
“Please, Zayid.” Her urgency cut through the hot need that enveloped his mind. “Take this dress off me.”
His vision went sharp and clear, and he spun Laila around. The zipper opened, exposing her tanned skin, and the gown dropped away. Zayid found himself entranced with her shoulder blades. He kissed around the ridges and unhooked her bra. Laila turned toward him, and the world stopped. His breath halted in his lungs. Gorgeous. She stepped between his feet and let him run his fingers down her spine as she arched to give him a view of the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen.
“Don’t make me wait,” she said. “Here. I’ll help you.”
She stripped him of his clothes as efficiently as he’d gotten rid of her dress. The first press of her perfectly nude body against his was like a firework against the night sky. It lit up all his nerves in a blinding flash.
“Let me take you to bed,” he murmured against her shoulder.
“Don’t you dare.”
He met Laila’s green eyes and found a bright seriousness there. He was already hard, ready for her, and her breasts pressed against his chest with every breath she took. “Don’t you dare make me wait.”
So he didn’t. He lifted her in his arms, spreading her legs so that he could step between them, hands bracing her as he pressed her back against the wall. She rocked her hips, finding him, angling down. She was already wet, and her body pulled him in like he was meant to be there. Zayid tried to hold each moment in his closed fists. Remember this, he thought wildly as she sank down on his length until she’d taken him completely. Laila tipped her head back against the wall, her perfect hairdo crushed against the wallpaper, and rolled her hips.
“Yes,” he said, his voice coming from a deep, animal part of himself he hardly recognized. “Yes.”
She moved against him, a beam of moonlight cutting across her face from the window, and he savored the sensation of her muscles working beneath his palms. Every beat of his heart was a plea for more. More and more and more, his pleasure building and peaking and finally taking him over completely. Her cries echoed in his ears, a beat behind his release, which was so powerful it seemed to draw all of them into the center of the universe and send it back out in a burst of pure starlight.
They stayed frozen together for several ragged breaths, and then he put Laila back on her feet. She touched him all the way down—his face, his neck, his collarbone—and when she finally looked back up at him, there was naked wickedness in her gaze.
“Okay,” she said. “Now you can take me to bed.”
10
Laila woke to the sound of birds outside Zayid’s bedroom—the first birds of the morning, singing their songs in the garden. Zayid breathed deeply beside her. But...her legs felt heavy. No—not her legs. It was Zayid’s leg, curved over hers. A zing of excitement like champagne bubbles flitted across her heart. He had never invited her to sleep in his bedroom before. She’d been installed in the guest room down the hall since their wedding night. It felt good—the solid presence of him next to her...and over her.
She hated to sneak away.
Laila shifted gently to the edge of the bed, but just as she moved to slide her feet onto the floor, Zayid stirred, his leg locking hers in place. Then a hand, clumsy with sleep, skimmed gently across her stomach and pulled her back. He blinked at her.
“No woman has ever rivaled my wake time.” His still-gravelly voice caught at her breath.
“I love the morning light for working in the studio.” She took her hand in his and brushed a kiss across his knuckles. “Wait—did you say no woman? How many have you had here to come to that conclusion?” she teased.
“Only you.”
The teasing smile slipped away from her lips, and Laila couldn’t put it back into place again. A deep warmth moved through her, head to toe, as warm as Zayid’s eyes on hers. Only you.
“I don’t know if I believe that,” she said softly, hope like a candle flame igniting in her soul. “You’ve never brought any other women here?”
“Never.” Zayid slipped his fingers through hers. “You’re the very first. Maybe it’s simpler for other people to invite women into their spaces, but for me—” He shook his head. “It’s not the same for me. There are more risks for the royal family.” He brushed his lips against her knuckles, and Laila almost, almost, swooned into the sensation.
But reality came down like ice water on the back of her neck. She was part of the royal family now, but it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t last. As soon as Zayid’s brother was married, they’d go their separate ways, and she’d be left with only the memory of this bed and these rooms. No matter what Zayid said to her now, she couldn’t afford to forget that the day was coming when all this would be behind them.
“Of course there are more risks,” she said, bringing his hand up to her face and resting her cheek against it. She put her smile back on like she’d put on her dress for the state dinner—shields made of silk. “I have to go. I’ll lose the light.”
“Oh, let it slip away,” Zayid said, tugging her into him. She fell across his chest with a laugh. “Laila...”
“Yes?”
“I’d like you to share my bed from now on.”
She bit her lip. “I should say no.” She traced a line down the center of his chest with her fingertip. “But I want to share your bed, too.” For as long as I can.
“Good. Now tell me you’ll stay. One hour. The light will be back tomorrow. Just this once,” he coaxed.
He was warm and solid beneath her, and his hands on her back stroked and rubbed. Her body couldn’t help but curve into his touch like a cat. Would it be so bad if she let the future be the future and enjoyed him now? It couldn’t possibly be. A morning in bed with Zayid didn’t mean she was falling for him. It didn’t mean this was anything more than getting a little pleasure out of their arrangement.
Given la
st night, a lot of pleasure.
“Just this once,” she murmured into the crook of his neck, then kissed her way up to his jaw. When their mouths met, Laila kissed the morning light goodbye and sank back into bed.
Maha and Laila sat in the living area of Zayid’s suite, Laila on the long sofa, her feet tucked up underneath her. She’d been thinking of Zayid. And Zayid’s bedroom. And how novel it seemed, sleeping in his bed. Almost like she’d won a prize.
“Your Highness, you have a faraway look in your eyes,” said Maha.
Laila snapped back into the meeting they were having. “I got lost in my thoughts.” She felt her cheeks heat at the twinkle in Maha’s eyes. “Please, go on. What’s the date again?”
Maha flipped to the next page in the folio that held Laila’s schedule and named the date. “Your next formal appearance with Sheikh Zayid is next Tuesday. It’s—”
“Pardon me,” said Laila. “Wait. I had something planned. For…next week? I had something important planned in Majadin.” She jumped up from the couch and moved quickly to the guest suite. The neighboring country had a museum so old it was rarely open to the public. Tickets had to be reserved months in advance, and she’d gotten one. Her heart pounded with nerves. What was the date? She had the sick feeling that it had already passed, and then she’d have missed it, and then...
She rifled through her purse until she found her passport folder with all her tickets and itineraries folded inside. Laila tossed the papers out onto the bed and sorted through them, until—there it was. The ticket, still pristine and shiny. She turned it over with shaking hands. Next Wednesday. “Yes!” She thrust a fist into the air.
Maha sat blinking on the armchair when she came back, her eyes wide. “What is it, Your Highness?”
“Please, Maha, call me Laila.” The other woman laughed. “I almost forgot a trip I’d planned.” She showed Maha the ticket to the museum, then sat back down on the sofa, plans racing through her mind. “I’ll need to figure out how to arrange my schedule.”
“I’m not so sure about this trip, Your High—Laila.” Maha grimaced. “I’m sorry. I don’t know if I can throw off protocol so easily.”
“Try your best.” Laila grinned. She hadn’t missed her chance to visit the museum. “What makes you unsure about the visit? It’s not scheduled for the same day as something very important, is it?”
“I wouldn’t feel right to say. There are some engagements, but—” Maha said vaguely. “This might not be the best time to add things to the schedule.”
Laila stared across at Maha. “I will go,” she said. “It’s only a matter of the transportation.” What was this about?
“My only recommendation is that you discuss it with the crown prince.”
“I’ll do that now.” Laila stood up. “Was there anything else you wanted to go over this morning?”
Maha pressed her lips together. “Nothing that can’t wait until later. Go.” She waved Laila off. “I’ll be waiting when you return, as always.”
Laila wracked her brain for a good reason to put off the visit on the way to Zayid’s office. It wasn’t like it was a controversial monument. It was a museum, for goodness’ sake.
This time, when she went through the foyer outside Zayid’s office, nobody stopped her. Makin bowed his head low.
“No visitors at the moment, Your Highness,” he said, and stepped forward to open the door for her. Laila marched into the office to find Zayid at his desk, the pen in his hand poised over a sheet of paper. He looked at her with amusement in his eyes and one eyebrow arched.
“Is something the matter?”
“Yes,” she said, struggling to keep her tone even. “There is. I’ve been discussing some plans with Maha, and she seems to think that I shouldn’t visit the Majadin National Museum next week.” She waved the itinerary. “I’ve had it planned for months. I’m so relieved I didn’t miss it.”
“That’s because you shouldn’t. Mustn’t.” Zayid leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. The matter-of-fact dismissal in his tone made her stomach twist, a flash of pain and irritation. “It’s out of the question.”
“It’s a museum. What could possibly be so bad about visiting a museum?” She let out a short laugh. “You can’t expect me to spend our entire marriage inside the palace walls, can you?”
Zayid considered this, his own gaze sparking and locked on hers. “Under normal circumstances, my wife would be graciously welcomed and given a private tour of the museum. But these are not normal circumstances.”
Her gut went cold. “What do you mean?”
“The sultan’s daughter was a candidate to be my bride.”
Laila’s gut unknotted. It wasn’t as if Harb could come after her if word about their true arrangement got out, but the thought of having to face everyone at the palace knowing...and everyone in the world... It threw her. “So things are strained because you married someone else?”
“Things are strained in part because I married someone else. And as a result of that, a trade deal between our two nations stalled out.”
“Well...” Laila’s cheeks burned. The world loomed large around her, and the museum visit crept farther out of reach. “I shouldn’t have anything to do with your political dealings. It’s only a visit. I could go in disguise, not on the official calendar...”
“It’s simply not politically advisable,” Zayid said, his tone hard as bedrock. “If it’s discovered that you’ve visited unofficially, it’ll be taken as an offense, a refusal of their hospitality or a sign of distrust. If we request an official visit, it gives them a bargaining chip to hold over us in our negotiations.”
“Wouldn’t it be a way to let them know there’s more to your two countries than an engagement that didn’t pan out?” countered Laila.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Zayid said flatly. “The visit won’t happen until the trade agreement is settled. And this decision—my decision—is final.”
11
Laila paced her suite, muttering under her breath. A controlling husband had been exactly what she was trying to escape when she married Zayid in the first place. There was no reason she couldn’t make an undercover visit to the museum. Who would be the wiser? If she wasn’t in an evening gown with professional makeup done, nobody would recognize her as Zayid’s wife.
Nobody would recognize her.
She snapped her fingers. What she needed now was to get out of the palace for some reason—any reason. And if she didn’t take a full security detail and a backup SUV filled with extra staff from the palace, she could do it undetected.
Laila knew the perfect place to go. The pottery school. What had Talif said? In the market, off the fountain courtyard. If she couldn’t go to the museum next week, she’d go to the school now and give in to her adventurous spirit. At least a little.
“Maha!” The woman was at the doorway instantly, as if she’d been hovering outside waiting. “I’m going to the market.”
Maha nodded. “I’ll call in to the crown prince’s office.”
“Wait.” Laila put a hand on Maha’s arm. “I want to go in a disguise.” She watched Maha’s face change into an expression of skepticism. “A veil. Something that will blend in. ” Laila said quickly. “I’ll take a bodyguard. But I don’t want to travel with fifty people from the palace. I want to make a visit as me, not Zayid’s wife.”
Maha frowned. “The crown prince may not—”
“Call him and put in the request.” Laila’s heart lifted at the thought of being out in the market without every eye turned on her. She could go to the pottery school. If the timing was right, she could attend a class. “Call him right now, Maha. I want to leave as soon as possible.”
Maha swept from the room, headed for a tiny office with a direct line to Zayid’s secretary. Laila rocked on the balls of her feet. If he said no, she might explode. The palace was a sprawling place, filled with art and antiques and luxury, but she didn’t want luxury. Not now. Zayid’s
face had been so stern when she asked about the museum visit. He was probably going to say no, and then—what would she do then? Summon Talif to the palace? Ugh. That wasn’t what she wanted, either.
Maha came back wearing a cautious smile and carrying a long veil. “We have the crown prince’s permission.”
Laila clapped her hands. “Give me that veil. I can’t wait.”
Thirty minutes later, one of the palace drivers let Maha and Laila out a block down from the fountain courtyard at the market. The fountain itself was a massive sculpture of sandstone, the water glistening off the golden-brown surface. The crowd moved and shifted around it, with couples coming to sit on its lower ledge to eat and chat and exchange details about purchases. Conversation rose into the air and bounced off the low buildings on either side, each one filled with goods and customers. The aroma of roasting meat floated over all of it.
Laila’s bodyguard scanned the area for a long moment before giving them the go-ahead. “I’ll be close by, Your Highness.”
And then she was set free in the market, Maha by her side.
“This way,” she told Maha, and Maha gave her an indulgent smile and followed along. Talif had said the pottery school was to the right, and she spotted it immediately. A swinging sign hung from a wooden post driven into the front of a low building, with Thrower’s Haven written in Arabic script. “There it is,” Laila cried, even though she knew Maha could see it just as easily as she could.
They moved through the crowd on light feet, arriving at the front entrance to the studio in moments. Nostalgia washed over her, gentle and warm.
“I used to come to places like this,” she whispered to Maha. “When I visited my grandfather. I was so young, but they let me come sit in the classes anyway.”