by Lynne Graham
Polly leant back against the wall, almost boneless with anticipation of his touch, her blue eyes starry. She was intensely aware of her own body, already screaming a welcome as her gaze slid down his body to the desire outlined by his breeches and impossible to hide.
‘Getting naked, Your Highness,’ she murmured playfully, ‘would appear to be a sensible idea.’
Rashad planted his hands beside her head and pushed his lean strong body into hers, letting her feel the urgency of his need. ‘Sensible is the very last thing you make me feel—’
Polly gazed up at him, loving every proud line and hollow of his lean, hard face and the stunning black-fringed dark eyes that often made her breath hitch in her dry throat. ‘Well, if I have to suffer, why shouldn’t you?’ she teased.
Challenged, Rashad dug his hands into the silky swathe of hair she had unbraided and brought his mouth crashing down in hungry demand on hers. The very taste of her was an aphrodisiac. He was wound up tight as a spring and Polly was the only woman who had ever had that much power over him. He craved her body like a drug and revelled unashamedly in her responsiveness. At first, his extreme need for her had disturbed him and he had tried to restrain that need, but a willing Polly in his bed every night, and most unforgettably a Polly wantonly bending over the dining-room table while offering him a cheeky smile of challenge, had demolished his resistance entirely. They had a scorchingly sexual and satisfying connection he had never thought to find in marriage.
Polly’s clothes came off long before they made it into the shower. He tormented her swollen nipples with his mouth while his lean fingers probed the receptive wetness between her thighs and expertly fuelled her hunger. He hauled her up to him and brought her down on him, bracing her hips against the wall to take her with hard, forceful thrusts that made her cry out in excitement and blissful pleasure. Barely able to stand in the aftermath, she rested up against him for support and let him carry her into the shower.
‘How useful are you finding Hayat?’ he asked curiously as he switched on the multi-jets of water.
‘She’s indispensable,’ Polly admitted, for she was making her first official appearance as Rashad’s wife that evening at a diplomatic dinner in the capital, Kashan. ‘She’s explaining everything I need to know. She’s like a walking book on faces, etiquette, clothes. I couldn’t do without her.’
‘That’s good,’ Rashad responded, hiding his surprise at the news. Polly’s grandfather had suggested Hayat for the role of supporting Polly and it seemed the older man must also have seen a side to the waspish brunette that Rashad had failed to appreciate. At the same time, however, as his sister-in-law, he acknowledged that Hayat deserved superior status and recognition.
Having shampooed her hair, Polly surveyed Rashad as he lounged back against the tiled wall, slumberous and relaxed and all male to her appreciative gaze. She padded forward and rested her hands down on his wide shoulders before slowly tracing them down over his washboard abs, watching his lush black lashes shift upward, his dark golden eyes shimmer tawny with renewed desire.
‘You are so predictable,’ she scolded. ‘Do you ever say no?’
At that sally, Rashad grinned with unabashed enjoyment, slashing cheekbones taut below his bronzed skin. ‘Do you want me to?’
And no, she didn’t, she acknowledged as her hands went travelling down over his lean, powerful physique in confident reacquaintance. She turned him on and she liked that power very much, adored the way he closed his eyes and simply let her do as she liked with him, the evidence of his arousal hard and smooth and pulsing between her fingers. She stroked, cupped, knelt at his bare brown feet and used her mouth on him until he groaned and shuddered and lifted her up to him with impatient hands and brought her down on him again with all the explosive demanding passion he couldn’t control. Afterwards she was limp with satiation and drowsy as he washed her down, showering away the proof of their intimacy and roughly rubbing her dry with fleecy towels. Having to get dressed again was a trial, she reflected.
‘I’m so sleepy,’ she complained as he walked her back through the palace, his hand engulfing hers and maintaining a physical link with her that she appreciated.
‘Take a nap before this evening. You’ll be standing around a lot meeting people before the meal,’ he warned.
‘Do you need a nap?’ his bride asked him winsomely.
‘We will neither of us sleep if I join you in our bed, habibti,’ Rashad parried with highly amused dark eyes and a flashing smile of acknowledgement. ‘I’ll catch up on some work in my office until it’s time to get ready for the dinner.’
Screening a yawn and wondering why she was so very tired when she slept like a log most nights, Polly stripped in their bedroom. She pulled on a nightie rather than shock her maid, who seemed to think that sleeping in the nude was scandalous, and she slid into bed. Her sore breasts ached beneath the fabric and she put her hands over them, momentarily questioning why she was getting all the usual symptoms of her period arriving but nothing was actually happening.
She was wakened with a light snack and tea and warned that Hayat was waiting to see her. Hayat was in charge of her wardrobe and her itinerary. Reluctant to keep the other woman waiting, Polly ate and dressed in haste to join her. As she pulled on her jeans and teetered on one leg a wave of giddiness attacked her and she lurched and fell back against the bed. Her maid started forward in dismay while Polly waved her back and breathed in slow and deep, remaining where she was until the sensation ebbed. Maybe she should’ve eaten a little more after so much physical activity, she thought ruefully.
‘Nabila said you were unwell,’ Hayat commented, moving forward. ‘Should I call Dr Wasem?’
‘A spot of dizziness, nothing more,’ Polly dismissed, knowing that the smallest hint of illness was sufficient to send the whole household into a state of either panic or premature celebration on her behalf and, as she was well aware that it was simply ‘that time of the month’ when she never felt that great, she didn’t want to cause a fuss. Hayat had educated her about the Dharian attitude to her health and Rashad’s, admitting that concern on their behalf was easily awakened by rumour and speculation and generally overexcitable in nature. Rashad’s bout of tonsillitis the year before had had the leading newspaper questioning why their King had not been hospitalised and had accused the royal household of risking his health with an old-fashioned hands-off approach to medicine. Dr Wasem had been mortally offended.
‘You are sure you are feeling all right?’ Hayat prompted. ‘Your devoted husband would never forgive me if anything happened to you.’
‘I’m fine,’ Polly said, wondering why that word, ‘devoted’, had seemed to acquire a sarcastic edge on Hayat’s lips. ‘It’s just that time of the month, that’s all. I always feel a little run-down.’
The brunette gave her a tiny smile. ‘I am sorry your hopes have been disappointed…’
Polly bent her head and rolled her eyes. Hayat and the rest of the household might be eagerly awaiting the announcement that she was pregnant but neither Polly nor Rashad were concerned, both of them believing that at the very least actually conceiving would take several months. Moreover such close scrutiny on such a score was seriously embarrassing. ‘I’m not disappointed, Hayat. We’re only newly married.’
‘I watched my sister break her heart over her inability to conceive,’ Hayat told her. ‘It is very hard for a woman to be in that situation—’
‘But I’m not in that situation,’ Polly broke in, hoping to shut down the too personal conversation for, while she found Hayat very efficient, she maintained careful boundaries with her and never quite relaxed in her company. The brunette was unpopular with the other staff and Polly had taken heed of that warning to stay on her guard.
‘Soon enough, as time goes on, you will be,’ Hayat forecast with a look of exaggerated sympathy on her pretty face. ‘How could you not be concerned?’
Polly shrugged a stiff shoulder in dismissal of the topic. ‘You
wanted to see me?’ she prompted, keen to push the conversation in a less personal direction.
‘Oh, yes. I brought the royal jewellery for you to choose from,’ Hayat pointed out, indicating the large wooden box on the table. ‘But I left the amber set out for you because it will exactly match the dress you’re wearing.’
Polly studied the very ornate gold and amber collaret and suspected her neck might break under the sheer weight of it. ‘It looks very heavy—’
‘It’s a favourite of Rashad’s. The set first belonged to his mother,’ Hayat told her quietly.
Hayat was a fund of such information about Rashad and the royal family and Polly invariably took the brunette’s advice. Well, if Rashad liked it… she thought ruefully, although she was challenged to imagine him even noticing what she was wearing. He wasn’t that kind of man. He didn’t notice much in the way of feminine detail, having once tried to describe a dress she’d worn and he’d admired as ‘that blue drapey thing’.
When it came to more practical matters, however, Rashad was a roaring success, she thought fondly. She loved Rashad so much more than she had ever thought she could love any man and, while as yet he might not love her, he was definitely attached to her. In a crowded room, his attention continually sought her out. Her favourite British foods now magically made regular appearances at mealtimes. Flowers arrived for her every day. Furthermore, he had insisted that they should settle Ellie’s student loans, Polly thought with pleasure as she went into the bedroom to phone her sister in privacy.
‘Ellie is part of our family now,’ Rashad had pointed out. ‘In the same way as your other sister will be when we eventually find her.’
Rashad had hired a London investigation agency to search for her missing sister the very day after she told him about her existence. Indeed Rashad took on Polly’s deepest concerns as if they were his own and she loved that trait because for the first time ever she felt cared for and looked after without being made to feel like a burden or a nuisance. In the dark of the night she wakened to find him wrapped round her and, even though she got far too hot sleeping that close to him, she rejoiced in their closeness and kicked off the bedding instead of pushing him away.
‘Polly!’ Ellie exclaimed with satisfaction. ‘I’ve got news about Penelope.’
‘Oh, my goodness,’ Polly muttered in shock, dropping down on the edge of the bed.
‘Don’t get too excited,’ Ellie warned her. ‘We haven’t found our sibling yet but that investigation agency Rashad’s London lawyer suggested certainly seem to know what they’re doing—’
‘Money talks,’ Polly said wryly.
‘Don’t I just know it.’ Ellie sighed guiltily. ‘Here I am free of all my student debt thanks to the two of you. I can’t ever thank you enough for that. I’ve got all sorts of choices now that I didn’t have before—’
‘Penelope?’ Polly prompted, uncomfortable with her sister’s gratitude.
‘Well, for a start, our sister doesn’t go by that name. She is called Gemma Foster now. You’ll be getting the agency report as well,’ Ellie pointed out. ‘Gemma was adopted but her parents, the Fosters, died and that landed her back into the foster system. She’s twenty now and we just have to track her down.’
‘Right.’ Polly swallowed her disappointment that that was as far as the agency had got in their search for their sister and returned to an issue that was currently more on her mind. ‘Remember you said that it usually takes at least six months to conceive—’
‘That is not what I said!’ Ellie sliced in, sounding infuriatingly like the newly qualified doctor she now was, having recently passed her finals. ‘I said that was the average but obviously a woman could get pregnant the very first time she has sex without precautions. Nothing about conception is etched in stone. Why are you asking me about this again?’
‘Just curious, that’s all.’
‘Don’t be putting pressure on yourself in that department,’ Ellie advised sagely. ‘You’re both young and healthy and you’ll likely conceive sooner rather than later.’
The evening dress Polly was planning to wear was in autumnal shades of brown and gold with muted hints of tangerine. Her maid brought the amber set to her and she donned it with a frown because the necklace was every bit as weighty as she had feared and the exotic earrings were almost as bad. Fully dressed, her maid having bundled up her hair into an elaborate updo that gave her the height she lacked, she scrutinised her appearance, ready to admit that once again Hayat’s advice had proved indispensable. The amber jewellery and the more mature hairstyle lent an impressive note of glamorous dignity to what might otherwise have been a rather plain outfit.
She did not see Rashad until she climbed into the limousine in which he awaited her and quite predictably, because he was never ever anything other than punctual to the minute, he was complaining that she had cut her timing too fine. As she turned towards him with a mischievous smile his attention settled on the collaret encircling her white throat and his lean, strong face snapped taut, sudden pallor accentuating his superb bone structure.
‘You look stunning,’ he murmured almost woodenly, turning his handsome face away, his jawline rigid.
‘Is there something wrong?’ Polly pressed uncertainly.
‘No,’ he asserted but not very convincingly.
The dinner was Polly’s first public appearance at Rashad’s side since the wedding and she was keen to get everything right. Hayat had prepared her well with a key sheet of useful information, listing names and faces and functions to ease her into the social evening.
Rashad, holding himself in rigid check, was temporarily drowning in his own memories. He could not see that amber necklace without also seeing Ferah wearing it. It had been her favourite, the colour of the semi-precious stones reflecting her brown eyes. During the drive to the embassy, he was steeped in the memories he had locked into a little box at the back of his head. He saw Ferah, laughing and smiling, full of energy and happiness at the outset of their marriage. Ferah before life had scarred her and fatally wounded her and he had let her down. Fierce discomfiture and guilt gripped him.
‘Why did you choose that jewellery?’ he asked with as much nonchalance as he could contrive.
‘The amber gems match the dress perfectly,’ Polly replied in some surprise.
‘I prefer you in brighter colours,’ Rashad imparted flatly, making a nonsense of the compliment he had initially paid her.
Polly squared her slim shoulders and gave a very slight shrug. ‘I can’t wear blue all the time. I have to ring the changes.’
Her soft mouth had settled into a surprisingly defiant line because she was annoyed with him. Didn’t he realise how nervous she was at attending her first official function as the new Queen of Dharia? Didn’t he appreciate that she needed support and encouragement rather than criticism? All right, he didn’t like the dress, but he should have kept his opinion to himself, she reflected angrily.
*
Instead of clinging to his side as Rashad had expected, Polly vanished into the crush. It was obvious that she did not feel a need for his presence. Once or twice he heard her musical laughter and wondered what she was laughing at and, indeed, who she was laughing with. He told himself that he was grateful that she had found her own feet but, as a man whose first wife had never strayed more than a foot from him at such occasions and at all times followed his lead, he was perplexed and a shade threatened by Polly’s independence.
‘You’ve made a real find in the wife stakes with Polly,’ a familiar voice drawled and Rashad’s dark head spun.
‘Rio?’ he said in surprise. ‘What are you doing back in Dharia?’
Rio Benedetti dealt him an amused smile. ‘The Italian Ambassador knows we’re friends and, as I had to check out a location for one of our hotels here, I volunteered to do my patriotic best to oil the wheels of diplomacy for him—’
‘You mentioned Polly,’ Rashad reminded him, unsettled to hear his wife’s name on Rio’s l
ips and at the same time to recognise Rio’s admiration for her, because Rio was a notorious womaniser.
‘Yes. She’s lively and intelligent, a positive asset rather than the encumbrance you once feared a wife would be,’ his old friend pointed out.
The faintest tinge of colour highlighted Rashad’s hard cheekbones, for when he had been studying at Oxford with the younger man he had confided in him in a manner which, now that he was older and wiser, he would not risk repeating. ‘I no longer fear that prospect,’ he parried. ‘In fact I am discovering that marriage suits me surprisingly well—’
Boldly impervious to hints, Rio laughed. ‘Why are you surprised? She’s gorgeous!’
‘You seemed to be finding her sister equally attractive at our wedding,’ Rashad commented, firmly moving the exchange away from his wife, whom he refused to discuss even with a close friend.
Rio grimaced. ‘No, that went to hell in a handbasket for reasons I won’t share. I’m afraid I landed the sister with the temperament of a shrew. By the looks of it, you got the sweet-natured one so be grateful for that reality,’ he advised.
Rashad glanced across heads to where Polly stood engaged in animated dialogue with the British Ambassador. ‘I’m very grateful,’ he said grimly.
‘Then why do you look anything but grateful?’ Rio asked very drily.
Rashad truly didn’t know how to answer that direct question. He shrugged a broad shoulder in smouldering silence. His brilliant dark eyes were hooded, his teeming thoughts full of conflict. He was well aware that he was being unreasonable. He had wanted a confident, independent woman as a wife and he had got one. Why was he now wishing that she would cling just a little? Seek him out for advice and guidance? Flash her eyes restively round the room, looking anxiously for him as if she needed and missed him? Why was he being so perverse? So illogical?