by Ann Mcintosh
Swinging her hand back and forth, he asked, “I meant to ask you earlier: are you comfortable with our suite? There are many others we could move to, if you aren’t.”
She shook her head, surprised at the sudden change in topic. “You’re kidding, right? It’s beautiful.”
And it was, although to call it a suite was damning it with faint praise. It was like a house within the palace, complete with a central courtyard where a fountain played the soothing sounds of splashing water. Huge rooms, decorated in keeping with the rest of the palace, had creamy marble floors offset by lush carpets and intricate decorative painting on the walls. Touches of turquoise, gold, and red turned the living area into a feast for the eyes, and her bedroom had literally taken her breath away when she’d first seen it.
All white and gold, with fuchsia accents, it was the most feminine yet restful room she’d ever seen. The bed was a huge four-poster, draped with sheer panels, while gold-framed mirrors lined one wall.
She still hadn’t gotten over the bathroom, with its mosaic tiles and sunken tub either.
Farhan lifted one shoulder, in an abbreviated shrug.
“That one is old-fashioned. It hasn’t been updated in decades. There are others more modern, if you’d prefer.”
“No. Seriously, I love it. Please, can we stay there?”
He chuckled, reaching out to smooth a little curl of hair off her cheek, and replied, “Of course.”
When had she moved so close to him? The thought had hardly entered her mind when he gently tugged her closer yet. Near enough that the heat of his body touched her like a caressing hand, and his mouthwatering scent completely filled her head.
Part of her wanted to step forward and experience the thrill of his muscular body against hers, but the saner part of her had her stiffening, stepping back. She could only go so far, however, since he was still holding her hand.
“You have to get used to my touching you.”
There was no amusement in his voice, just a deep, velvety tone that made her legs tremble and heat flow out from her core.
“I—I don’t see w-why.”
Good grief. She hadn’t stammered since she’d been in fourth grade, but whenever Farhan got too close her tongue refused to co-operate.
“We’re married, Sara. If we’re to make people believe it’s true, you can’t pull away every time I touch you.”
“I—I d-don’t!”
His free hand came up to skim her arm, a gentle, evocative brush of fingers, his thumb finding the ultra-sensitive inner flesh. An intense flash of yearning raked her, and she jerked.
“See?”
“You startled me.”
How absurd to be proud of not stammering, of holding up her head when she wanted to duck and hide.
“Come here. Let me startle you a little more.”
She should resist, not let herself be drawn in, physically and figuratively. Her experience with men was limited.
Okay, pretty much non-existent. One abbreviated love affair in med school, which had ended when the guy decided she spent too much time and energy on her family, hadn’t prepared her for Farhan Alaoui.
There was no way she could tangle with him and not get severely emotionally injured, especially knowing this was all a ruse to him. A joke played on his father, and the world.
Yet, when he gently tugged, she went to him, the motion as natural as breathing, swallowing.
Living.
His arms went around her, not too tightly, just enough to bring their bodies into soft alignment, and she forgot how to breath or swallow.
But, oh, she was instantly, completely, fully alive for the first time.
His hard frame shouldn’t be so comfortable or his grip evoke such safety, even as arousal swirled through her, tangling up her common sense, blurring her reasoning capabilities. How had she never known a hug could be so glorious, leave her desire-struck, melting inside, even as every sense sharpened almost painfully, so she could soak in his every nuance?
“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”
That had her stiffening again, need draining away, leaving her bereft and damp-eyed, wanting to step back but not wanting him to see her silly tears.
“Don’t, please.”
But he wasn’t so easily dissuaded.
“Don’t, what? Tell you how lovely you look? Why not?”
There were no easy answers to his questions, only prevarications or self-pitying proclamations about long ago having accepted her own plainness. If she was honest, she would stay right where she was for as long as possible, and listen to him lie about her beauty as much as he wanted.
Yet she was a pragmatist. There had never been a time when she’d been able to avoid or evade reality, and this wasn’t a good time to start. But she stayed where she was, taking the crumbs of intimacy he offered, too weak to pull away.
Hiding as best she could, even as she stated the brutal truth.
“I don’t need you to tell me things like that, Farhan. I know I’m no beauty, and even these gorgeous clothes can’t turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse.”
The sound he made was one she didn’t recognize, and she didn’t expect his arms to pull her closer yet, bringing her flush against him, from their hips to their torsos.
“Oh!”
“Yes,” he murmured, bending so the word whispered over her ear, making her shiver, a little moan rising in her throat. “Does that reassure you I’m not lying?”
Did it?
Sara had no brain power left to work it out, not with his erection resting against her belly, his breath rushing hard against her cheek, one hand sliding over her back, the other coming up to cup the back of her head.
He kissed her cheek, but there was nothing casual or cursory about the movement. It was, instead, as though he tasted her, explored each millimeter as he went, his lips seemingly learning things about her she somehow divined on a cellular level.
Like how to arouse her, to fill her with mindless lust, so that when his mouth reached hers, she was ready to accept whatever he had to offer.
Fingers thrust into her hair, he tilted her head back and paused, their lips only a breath apart.
“Sara.” There was a question in her name, and she wasn’t sure what he was asking, her cognitive abilities impaired by his nearness. Her need. “Sara, may I kiss you?”
How could those words make her want him even more than she already did?
“Yes.”
It whispered from her lips onto his, acceptance and surrender all in one.
He kissed her slowly, gently, his lips brushing hers, coaxing, playing. She lost track of time, forgot her fears about her inexperience, instinct guiding her to open to him, to taste him as he tasted her.
Farhan groaned, deepening the kiss. They were fused together, her fingers clutching the back of his jacket, desperately seeking an anchor in a world gone haywire beneath her feet. Those same fingers longed to know what his sleek, hot skin felt like, just as the rest of her body yearned to find out too.
When his lips left hers to travel down to her throat, she could hardly stand, her entire body trembling, aching for him.
“You’re delicious.”
The words rumbled into her flesh, and a rushed sound of assent rose in her throat, blocking it, rendering her unable to reply.
Her head dipped of its own accord, giving him complete access, and he took full advantage of her compliance. With lips and tongue and teeth, he brought every nerve ending to sparking, shivering life.
A sound came from below, the echo of footsteps, the quiet drone of conversation. Sara hardly registered it, but Farhan slowly raised his head, a sigh whispering between them.
The sudden distance between their bodies came as a surprise, and it was only Farhan’s hands on her shoulders that stopped her from swayin
g, perhaps even falling.
“That went further than I planned.” His voice was cool, and she wondered how he went from the heat of passion to his usual icy self so swiftly, when she could still hardly catch her breath. “But don’t worry. It won’t happen again.”
How to respond to that, when everything inside her wanted more of his kisses?
Luckily, she didn’t have to reply as he continued, “I like you, and now you know I’m physically attracted to you, but our situation could get...messy if we aren’t careful.”
Not sure what he meant, she repeated, “Messy?”
His chin tilted up in that way it so often did. “Yes, as all relationships do when there is emotion involved.”
Ah. He was afraid she’d fall for him and get silly. Knowing that steadied her, and gave her a jolt of moxie too. She replied in as light a tone as she could manage, “I wouldn’t worry too much about that. I can’t speak for you, but I’ve no interest in getting emotionally entangled. With all I go through with my family, I have enough of that in my life as it is.”
Farhan nodded slowly, and offered her his arm as he turned toward their suite. “I should have known you were too sensible not to understand.”
All Sara could do was walk alongside him, willing her still trembling legs not to let her down and wondering why hearing herself described that way annoyed her the way it did.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE FOLLOWING FEW days were a whirlwind of activity, and Farhan watched Sara manage it all with commendable aplomb.
The day after their dinner with his parents, he’d gone to the hospital to check on his patient first thing in the morning, and then there was an official reception in the palace gardens, followed far too swiftly by a state dinner.
“Your wife is making quite an impression on everyone,” Maazin commented to him at the garden party. “She’s very charming, in her quiet, easy way. Just as you are, when you aren’t playing Crown Prince.”
Ignoring his brother’s jab, Farhan replied, “She’s a born giver. I’ll have to make sure no one takes advantage of her.”
“Well,” Maazin said, laughter in his voice, “Glaring at the people she’s speaking to will definitely do the trick.”
Realizing he probably did look rather fierce, Farhan forced himself to adopt a neutral expression just as Sara glanced back and gave him a smile. Something inside him softened, and he couldn’t help smiling back.
The night before she’d taken his statement about not wanting to get tangled up in emotion well, yet now he wondered if he weren’t the one who needed the warning. The taste and feel of her were indelibly locked into his memory, and he wanted more of both. But the danger of forging emotional ties with her wasn’t something he wanted to contemplate.
Yet later, seeing Sara in the soft pink sari-inspired ball gown she’d donned for the dinner, which hugged her luscious curves in all the right ways, was another revelation. It made him want to turn her around and take her somewhere private, not share her with the world.
It was, he reassured himself, just physical attraction. All his energy had to be channeled into his position, the work he was trying to do for his country. Sara would be gone in a short time, but Kalyana would continue on, and he had to be prepared to lead her into the future.
On Sunday, they were expected to attend church in the cathedral and afterwards had another round of official visits and introductions. As he explained to Sara, it was better to get it all over with as soon as possible, rather than stretch it out over a couple of weeks.
“If we did that, I’d get no work done at all.”
“That makes complete sense, especially since I’m looking forward to going back to the hospital and seeing what I can do to help out.”
She’d seemed understanding, but he’d also seen the fatigue in her eyes, and the way she locked her fingers together when she thought no one was watching. Hopefully being back in a medical setting would alleviate some of her stress.
He knew he should be as aloof as possible with her, yet her warmth and genuine personality made him also not want to hurt her in any way. There was no mistaking how she fractionally withdrew each time he forced himself to be cool with her and, strangely, it hurt him too.
Yet it also reinforced the knowledge of his own shortcomings, the part of his character so reminiscent of his father. The ability to pull away from people, to lock away his emotions, become cold and clinical. She deserved better, even in a pretend husband, but Farhan wasn’t prepared to open himself up to the danger of caring too much for her, only to have to send her away.
On the other hand, Sara was, in some ways, irresistible. Okay, in many ways. If they were separated during official functions, he found himself in her orbit, keeping an eye on her, moving closer and closer, until he was back by her side.
And when she smiled at him in seeming relief, the sensation of being her champion filled him with warmth.
And desire.
Desire she seemed to share.
Walking back to their apartments, she said, “It’s so interesting meeting all these people, hearing their stories. Everyone I’ve spoken to seems very happy to have you back in the country and so engaged.”
Her words shouldn’t please him so much, but they did. However, he was cautious in his reply. “I doubt anyone would tell you otherwise, Sara. After all, you’re my wife.”
Her hand on his arm stopped him in mid-step, and when he turned to face her, the earnest expression on her face was arresting.
“Farhan, as a doctor, don’t you know when your patients are skirting the truth? Like when you ask how much they drink, or smoke, and they give you an answer, but just from their demeanor you know it’s probably more?”
“Yes.” It was indeed something he’d learned to watch for.
“Well, it’s something I’m very good at, and I can usually tell when someone’s telling the truth or just schmoozing. You have nothing to worry about when it comes to whether you’re appreciated here or not.”
There was such sincerity in her voice, her soft gaze, he found himself stepping closer, his heart unusually light. Lighter than it had been in a very long time. Perhaps since the night he’d heard of his brother’s death.
“Your Highness,” he murmured, teasing in his tone. “If you’re not careful, you’ll turn my head, saying things like that.”
And his heart raced when she blushed.
Irresistible, in all ways.
Leaning against the wall, so she knew she could step away if she wanted to, he eased her warm body into his arms.
She didn’t pull away but wrapped her arms around his neck, although she murmured, “Farhan, someone might see.”
Sliding his lips close to her ear, he whispered, “See me kissing my wife? I think that’s acceptable.”
“In the hallway?” Her question came out in a rush, her voice breathy, hopefully from the sensation of his teeth gently playing with her earlobe.
He searched for her lips, halted with his a millimeter away from her sweet, seductive mouth.
“We’re the Crown Prince and Princess. We can kiss wherever we like.”
Then he put action to his words, tasting and sipping until she opened for him, their kisses getting deeper and deeper, until he knew he had to stop, lest he drown. Seeing her flushed, her eyes gleaming, lips damp, was almost his undoing. It took him close to forgetting his finer instincts, his need close to pain.
Drawing away, putting a stop to it, was far more difficult than he liked, and turning the conversation back to safe, boring topics took everything he had. But it had to be done, for his own safety and sanity.
* * *
On Monday, he came out of his bedroom after another restless night where his dreams were bedeviled with images of Sara, to find her already up, dressed and ready to go.
“You’re going to the hospital this morning,
right?”
“Yes,” he replied, sitting at the breakfast table and smiling his thanks to the young woman pouring his coffee.
“Good. I’m coming with you. There’s no way I’m sitting around here all day with nothing to do.”
Even if he wanted to gainsay her, the smile lighting her face when he nodded would have changed his mind.
As soon as she entered the hospital there was a flurry of excitement, which she quelled with a few calm, well-chosen words.
“I’m here to work, not disrupt anything. Take me up to the director’s office and let’s figure out where best I can help.”
That was the last he saw of her, except for glimpses of her hurrying off down corridors, totally unaware of him staring after her, wondering why the hospital, which had been a refuge for him, now felt like a jail.
Then his father called, catching Farhan in his office just before he went in to operate on a young man with a diaphragmatic hernia, and demanded their presence at dinner.
Clearly Farhan wasn’t the only person fascinated with Sara. In the year since he’d been home, they’d established a routine of family dinners once every two weeks. Of course, he saw his parents at other times, and his brother almost every day, but to be summoned again so soon made Farhan wonder what his father was up to.
Ali’s wife had been the child of a wealthy Indian businessman who was one of Uttam’s oldest friends, and the match had been conceived between the fathers and dutifully carried out by the children. She’d been used to a far grander, more cosmopolitan life than Kalyana could offer, but Ali had been devoted to his position, determined to assure his father the throne would be in safe hands after his death. Chandni had accepted that, and had set out to make a place for herself in Kalyana, although she had never been as hands-on as Sara seemed determined to be.
Queen Aruna had loved Chandni, and she and her daughter-in-law had taken trips together to Dubai, Milan, Paris, and London to shop and enjoy the bright lights. His mother had been devastated by the loss of Ali and Chandni. She’d never been the same. An air of sadness enveloped her even ten years later, and she’d become reclusive, the world outside the palace seemingly holding no interest for her anymore.