by Lynne Graham
‘And why the heck would you assume that?’ Polly demanded with spirit.
‘Your values are more liberal. Here, although young adults now tend to choose their own partners, it is still the norm for women to be virgins when they marry. That would be more unusual in your society.’
‘I suppose so,’ Polly conceded reluctantly because she knew her sister fell into the same ‘unusual’ category, Ellie having admitted that she had yet to meet a man who could tempt her into wanting to cross that sexual boundary. ‘But my sister and I were both brought up in a very strict home. My grandmother believed that both I and Ellie were illegitimate and until she fell ill she policed our every move because she was afraid that we would repeat what she saw as our mother’s mistakes and come home pregnant and unmarried.’
‘I know very little about your background.’ Rashad settled fluidly down on the edge of the bed in a relaxed movement. ‘Even your grandfather warned me against having unrealistic expectations of you—’
Polly flushed scarlet. ‘My…grandfather? Please tell me you’re joking—’
‘There was no discussion, Polly, but I guessed what he meant. He merely wished to protect you from the risk of me being naïve in that line. I am not naïve,’ Rashad completed with wry emphasis. ‘But Hakim and I have naturally never discussed anything that intimate, so he could have formed no idea of my attitude in advance.’
In receipt of that explanation, her mortification ebbed. It was evident that her grandparents had made the same assumption and she couldn’t find it in her heart to fault her grandfather for trying to shield her from the threat of Rashad’s disappointment.
‘You’re not that old-fashioned,’ she commented with a helpless little giggle. ‘But obviously Grandad is.’
‘I spent several years studying at Oxford University and that was an enlightening experience being a mature student,’ he told her wryly.
‘Must’ve been,’ Polly conceded, picturing Rashad with his film-star good looks and wealth let loose to enjoy a student’s freedom. ‘Was that after your wife passed away?’
His lean, strong face tensed. ‘Of course. I could not have left her behind here to be oppressed by her father.’
Polly frowned. ‘How…oppressed?’
‘In essence my late uncle was a good man but he was also a bully. I say that with respect because without his intervention I would not be alive,’ Rashad admitted levelly. ‘On several occasions during Arak’s dictatorship rumours of my continuing existence put a price on my head. I could have been hunted down and killed like an animal but the tribe took me in as one of their own and protected me because my uncle was their sheikh.’
It was the first time he had given her a little window into the sheer turmoil of his formative years and it sobered Polly as nothing else could have done. Certainly it could not have been all rainbows and roses being brought up by a bully, most particularly not if he owed his very life to that same bully, who had coolly married the putative future King of Dharia off to his own daughter at the age of sixteen. Her heart was touched and she pressed her hand briefly against a lean masculine thigh in silent empathy.
‘It seems we do, in spite of all that has happened, have something in common,’ Rashad remarked with a flashing smile of such intense charisma that she couldn’t drag her attention from his lean, darkly handsome features. ‘We were both raised by strict guardians.’
‘Yes,’ Polly conceded feverishly, encountering the dark golden depths of his eyes with a mouth that was running dry and a stomach awash with butterflies as awareness of their proximity kicked in with electrifying effect.
‘I do not want you to be nervous of me, habibti,’ Rashad confided huskily. ‘I promise you that I will never do anything that you do not want.’
‘I… I pretty much want everything!’ Polly confided with a strangled little laugh of self-consciousness because she didn’t feel it was fair to go on acting as if she were a terrified virgin because she was not.
‘Everything…’ Rashad savoured the word and she flushed. ‘I love your honesty.’
And he kissed her, slowly, carefully, nibbling at her lower lip, then tracing it with the tip of his tongue. In fact he turned up the temperature so gradually she was barely aware that one of her hands had crept up to spear into his thick black hair and the other to tighten on a strong shoulder. She wanted more, much more, she acknowledged, her whole body turning warm and languorous in response while the little prickles and tingles of desire were already pinching at her nipples and warming her pelvis.
‘I will make it special,’ Rashad intoned into the scented depths of her tumbling hair, his dark deep drawl roughened by the knowledge that she was giving him her trust.
‘You can’t promise that,’ Polly felt forced to tell him prosaically. ‘If it hurts, it’s not your fault. I’m not that ignorant—’
‘Hush…’ Rashad groaned.
‘No, you stop setting standards,’ Polly warned him playfully, tracing his hard jawline with a gentle forefinger, marvelling at how much closer she felt to him as he pressed her back against the pillows and leant back to flip off her shoes, letting them fall to the tiled floor.
‘I’ve done that all my life—’
‘But not here, now…when it’s only the two of us,’ Polly persisted helplessly.
And for a split second, Rashad contemplated the strangeness of not seeing everything in the light of passing or failing and shouldering the blame, but it was too engrained a habit for him to even imagine. He shook off that alien concept and homed in on his bride instead, studying that ripe rosebud mouth with an amount of hunger that threatened his control.
He kissed her again and the passion he couldn’t conceal burned in that kiss and it thrilled her as much as the hungry thrust of his tongue melding with her own. He was so intense, she thought tenderly, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. He took far too many things far too seriously. Maybe she would be able to make him lighten up a little and relax more. But that solemn thought was quickly engulfed by the intoxicating delight of his demanding mouth crushing hers beneath his own. Little noises she didn’t recognise escaped her throat.
He slid her out of her dress with admirable ease, so deft at the challenge that she was a little surprised to find herself lying there clad only in her lace underwear. All of a sudden she was worried about what he would think of her body, which she knew was kind of average. Breasts neither large nor small but somewhere in between. Hips a little larger than she would have liked, legs and ankles reasonably shapely, she reflected ruefully, shutting her eyes, just lying there, not wanting to beat herself up with such foolish thoughts.
‘Ant jamilat jiddaan… You are so beautiful,’ Rashad told her with fervour, and she dared to open her eyes again.
And yes, it was her body he was scrutinising much as if she were the seventh wonder of the world. Emboldened, Polly arched her spine to make the most of her assets, relishing his admiration while thinking no more about her physical imperfections. Her blue eyes settled on him and she murmured shyly but with determination, ‘You’re still wearing too many clothes.’
His dark golden eyes gleamed with appreciation and he pulled off his tee shirt to reveal a bronzed and indented muscular torso worthy of a centrefold. The tip of her tongue crept out to moisten her dry lips as her gaze crept inexorably down to the revealing bulge at his groin. Apprehension was the last thing on her mind as he unzipped his jeans, showing her the intriguing little dark furrow of hair snaking down over his taut flat stomach. She stopped breathing altogether as he came back to her and fastened his mouth hungrily to hers again, the warmth of his big body against her an unexpected source of pleasure.
He unclasped her bra and cupped a pale pouting breast, long fingers toying with the taut pink tip, rolling it, gently squeezing the distended bud before sucking it into his mouth and teaching her that that part of her body was much more sensitive than she would ever have believed. The tug of his lips on the straining tips of her breasts sent
a pulling sensation arrowing down into the heat rising between her thighs. Lying still became a challenge while her hips dug into the mattress beneath her. The hollowed ache at the heart of her increased, making her restless and stoking her craving for more.
‘You’re not letting me touch you,’ Polly muttered in a rush, gripped by the fear that she wasn’t being much of an equal partner. ‘Isn’t this supposed to be a two-way thing?’
‘It is but it would please me most if this first time between us is for you, not for me,’ Rashad countered with assurance.
A little red in the cheeks, Polly abandoned her objections, particularly when he made a point of pinning her flat with another passionate driving kiss and her temperature rocketed up the scale. He tugged off her panties and finally touched her where she most longed to be touched, tracing the delicate skin at the apex of her thighs and concentrating on the tiny nub that seemed to control her every nerve ending.
The pleasure was the most irresistible sensation she had ever known. In an impatient movement Rashad disposed of his jeans and glided down the bed to part her trembling legs. She felt like a sacrifice spread out before him and it heightened her arousal. Before very long he contrived to teach her that what she had deemed to be irresistible pleasure could grow exponentially to an almost unbearable level. And she had never felt her body rage out of her control before until those frantic feverish moments when Rashad thoroughly controlled her with his carnal mouth and skilful fingers. Almost immediately he transformed her keen curiosity into an overpowering demanding need. Her spine arched, her hips rose and jerked and her heart thumped as madly as though she were sprinting. And then stars detonated behind her eyelids and the whole world went into free fall along with her body.
He slid over her and ran his mouth down the sensitive slope of her neck to her shoulder. A compulsive little shiver racked her languorous length. Her lashes lifted on his lean, darkly handsome features and she smiled, a little giddily, a little shyly, recalling how much noise she had made in climax and the way she had clawed at his hair and his shoulders. He brought out the bad girl hiding inside her and she rather thought she liked that, and the shimmering gold satisfaction in his eyes suggested that he did as well.
He nudged against her tender cleft and she tensed, feeling him there, hard and ready. He pushed into her with greater ease than she had expected but then he had prepared her well. Her delicate inner walls stretched to accommodate him and then he shifted his hips and sank deeper, sending a sharp little pang of pain through her that made her grit her teeth.
‘Do you want me to stop?’ Rashad asked thickly.
‘No…’ she wailed in shocked protest as in answer to his movement an exquisite little shimmy of internal friction eddied through her pelvis.
Rashad was fighting to stay in control, struggling to think about anything other than what he was doing. He shifted again, gathering her legs up over his arms, and drove into her hard and fast, rewarded by the gasp of pleasure she emitted. She was very vocal and he loved her lack of inhibition. He gripped her hips and pounded into the hot, wet grip of her glorious body with a growl of savage pleasure.
Polly could only compare the experience to a wild and thrilling roller-coaster ride. A tightening band of tension formed low in her body and the crazy rush of intense sensation heightened as he quickened his pace, changing angle, hammering into her receptive body with delicious confident force. Excitement flooded her as another climax beckoned and she could feel her body surging up to reach it, gloriously out of her control. She hit that peak with a wondering cry and then dropped her head back against the pillows, drained but wonderfully relaxed. Rashad groaned and shuddered and buried his face in her tangled hair.
‘That was amazing,’ she told him cheerfully as soon as she had enough breath to speak, one hand smoothing possessively over his long, sweat-dampened back.
Rashad’s dark head reared up, a startled look in his dark eyes as he searched her flushed and smiling face. And then he threw back his head and laughed. ‘Polly…only you would tell me that!’ he said appreciatively, dropping a kiss on her brow. ‘I thank you. It was even more amazing for me, aziz.’
‘Do you think it would have been like this for us last night?’ she asked, suffering a belated attack of regret.
‘No, we were both too tired and irritable and I had no idea I would be your first lover,’ Rashad replied, letting her off that hook with newly learned generosity as he freed her from his weight and rolled over.
Her hand sought and found his below the sheet. Had she had the energy she would have turned cartwheels because she felt happy and too laid-back to guard her words. Succumbing to her curiosity, she said lightly, ‘Your first marriage was arranged, wasn’t it?’
His fingers flexed and tensed beneath the light cover of hers. ‘Yes.’
‘Did you love her?’ Polly pressed helplessly, desperate to know even though she didn’t understand why she should have such a craving to know that information.
‘Yes,’ Rashad replied, stifling his unease at being forced to think back to his miserably unhappy first marriage. ‘How could I not? We were childhood playmates.’
And somewhere within Polly a little hurt sensation sprang up like a claw that had the power to scratch her deep where it didn’t show. She didn’t understand it because it was surely good news that he had contrived to love Ferah, regardless of the reality that it had been an arranged marriage. But perhaps she had not been quite prepared to hear that he had known Ferah so well, a young woman who would have understood so much more about Rashad than Polly probably ever would. Her predecessor, she acknowledged unhappily, would be a tough act to follow.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘YOU’RE DOING VERY WELL,’ Rashad assured Polly seven weeks later. ‘Your posture is much improved.’
With the ease of practice, Polly ignored the audience of grooms and guards gathered round the palace horse paddock. When Rashad had first informed her that he planned to teach her to ride she had laughed out loud in disbelief and outright denial of the idea because Polly had never been into anything even remotely athletic. Unfortunately, Rashad considered the ability to ride a horse an essential skill and from the instant she was put aboard a four-legged monster and then panicked at the height she was from the ground, the lessons had begun. If you had a weakness, you worked hard to conquer it: that was how Rashad expected her to operate. And backsliding and excuses weren’t allowed.
If Rashad knew the actual meaning of the word ‘honeymoon’ he was hiding the fact very well, Polly conceded with rueful amusement while her mount trotted obediently round the paddock, her own body moving easily now in the saddle as Rashad had taught her to move. When she had pleaded her fear of falling as an excuse to avoid the activity, Rashad had borrowed a mechanical horse from somewhere and set it up with crash mats in the basement gym and she had spent two ghastly days learning how to fall as safely as possible. At no stage had she required Dr Wasem’s attention but she had certainly picked up a few bruises before she’d learned the technique of tucking in her arms and her head and rolling to lessen the impact of a fall. When the doctor had cautiously suggested to Rashad that learning to ride could be considered a rather risky activity for a woman hoping to conceive, Rashad had scoffed.
‘That will probably take at least a year to achieve!’ Rashad had remarked dismissively to Polly, releasing her from the fear that her ability to conceive would be under constant scrutiny.
In fact, on that score, she had worried unnecessarily, she conceded with relief. Rashad appeared to have neither a sense of urgency nor indeed any level of expectation when it came to the question of his bride falling pregnant. Of course they weren’t taking any precautions either, so she supposed that over time the odds of conception would naturally increase. It could hardly have escaped her notice that his first marriage had been childless but, when taxed on that question, Rashad had quietly admitted that Ferah had had a medical condition that made her infertile.
Rash
ad lifted Polly down off the mare and stared down at her with brilliant dark eyes of satisfaction. ‘I’m really proud of you,’ he admitted huskily. ‘You’ve conquered your fear.’
Polly grinned. ‘I’m going for a shower,’ she told him cheerfully.
Their audience had vanished back to their duties when she trudged into the building at the rear of the stables that housed luxury changing and washing facilities. They had stayed at the castle by the sea for only two weeks before Rashad’s necessary attendance at an important meeting of his council had interrupted their seclusion. They had returned to the palace, where it was much easier for Rashad to oversee the progress of various projects and still take time off.
But Polly still retained tantalising memories of the sea and the castle. They had picnicked on the beach and gone swimming, for both of them were proficient in the water. They had talked late into the night on the terrace and rumpled the bed sheets until dawn lit the skies. By the end of that stay at the castle Polly had admitted to herself that she had fallen head over heels in love with her husband. He could charm her with a smile and seduce her with the smallest touch but his greatest skill was that he made her feel wonderfully happy and content.
Rashad had reached the shower block ahead of her. She started in surprise when she saw him: a lithe, dark, electrifyingly sexy figure sheathed in a polo shirt, tight riding breeches and riding boots. As soon as she appeared he shut the door and locked it behind her, towering over her as she relaxed languorously back against the stone wall. He ran a calloused fingertip lightly over her pouting pink lips and breathed thickly. ‘I can’t keep my hands off you when I think of you getting naked in the shower, aziz.’
A shiver of excitement as stimulating as a storm warning snaked through Polly’s slender body. While formal in so many other ways, Rashad was wonderfully earthy about sex. Over the past weeks they had probably had sex virtually everywhere they were left alone together in the palace. In his office, in the stables, in unoccupied rooms he showed her round and once, thrillingly, over the dining-room table. Polly was equally challenged to keep her hands off Rashad’s gloriously masculine body. And as many of their unplanned encounters had proved to be the most sensational she literally stopped breathing when a certain smouldering look appeared in Rashad’s dark golden eyes. It made her feel like the most seductive and beautiful woman in the world. And it was a level of intimacy with a man that she had never dreamt of experiencing.