by Liz Fielding
He had placed a circle of diamonds on her finger, made a public vow with a private meaning and then he’d kissed her. It should have been little more than a formal touch of his lips but she could still feel his hand against her cheek, the heat of his mouth...
She needed a moment, time on her own to put the pieces back together but, as she reached the bedroom door, she stopped in her tracks.
While they’d been plighting their troth, Noor had dressed it for the arrival of the bride and groom.
There were roses. Dark red roses that filled the air with a heavy scent.
On the long, low table that stood at the foot of the bed a silver bowl had been filled with sugar-frosted fruit. Beside it was a tray of sweets—Turkish Delight, truffles, tiny pastries and nuts. A silver-lidded glass jug filled with some dark red juice, another of water, stood in a casket of ice. Everything to refresh them, sustain them, as they consummated their marriage.
And the white damask spread that covered the bed had been scattered with ruby-red rose petals...
Her mouth opened but nothing emerged.
Noor, waiting to help her out of the dress, take it back to Violet’s workshop, dropped a shy little curtsey and said, ‘Congratulations, sitti, sidi.’
Sitti...
‘It means Lady.’ Bram, at her shoulder, eased her into the room.’
‘Yes...I know...’ She’d heard Violet addressed that way by the staff bringing deliveries from the boutiques in the mall. ‘Shukran, Noor.’
Bram dismissed the girl with a word as he unfastened his belt and tossed the khanjar he was wearing onto a sofa. A sweep of his hand and his keffiyeh followed it and the girl ducked her head, giggling, as she scurried to the door.
He kicked it shut behind her.
‘Bram!’ she protested.
‘She will tell Leila that I was impatient,’ he said. ‘Leila will tell Violet and tonight Fayad will give her a son, a cousin to grow up as a companion for our firstborn.’
The image was so vivid that her legs buckled and her protest was no more than a small noise at the back of her throat and, without warning, his arm was around her, steadying her. ‘And so the legend grows,’ he said with a wry twist of his mouth.
‘Well, that’s great,’ she said, horribly conscious of the blush heating her cheeks, his body keeping her upright, his mouth just inches from her own. ‘Unfortunately, it leaves me in a dress that I can’t get out of without help.’
‘An impatient groom would tear it off you. Maybe, in the pursuit of reality...?’
‘Don’t even think it, Bram Ansari!’ she said, finding the strength to pull away. ‘Violet loaned me this dress to please you. It’s to be the centrepiece of her new collection and it took weeks to make.’
‘Then it’s a good thing that I can handle a zip.’ He turned to the table, poured juice into a glass, glanced at her but she shook her head.
‘I don’t doubt your familiarity with the zip fastening,’ she snapped. She’d seen that photograph in the fountain. Which was none of her business, she told herself. ‘Unfortunately, this isn’t a dress I picked up in a high street boutique. It is hand-made couture, made to look as if it was created on my body.’
His sipped the glowing red juice, his gaze an almost physical touch as it lingered on the way it clung to her breasts, her waist, how it flared at the hips.
‘There are tiny hidden hooks and eyes,’ she said, before he said something outrageous. ‘Little stitches where Noor fitted it to me.’
‘We have an hour to kill. Hunting for invisible fastenings will pass the time.’ He replaced the glass on the tray, his eyes dark, his lids hooded and she shivered, not with fear but anticipation. Her head might have signed up for the no-sex deal but her body appeared to be on another planet. ‘If you’ll give me a clue where to start?’
‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll manage somehow,’ she said, unhooking the earrings and laying them carefully on the table beside the tray of sweets. The bracelets caused her more trouble and he made a move to help but she fended him off with a look that must have summed up all the frustration she was feeling because he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, took a step back. She should be happy about that but she was not supposed to be feeling anything. Certainly not disappointment.
The ruby and diamond cuff on her left wrist slipped off after a bit of a tussle with the safety catch. The one on her right wrist defeated her and she let out a little puff of frustration.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, but he didn’t look it. He looked as if he was struggling not to laugh.
‘It’s not funny, Bram.’
‘No.’ He straightened his face. ‘You were right, sitti. I should not have sent away your maid.’
‘Then call her back.’
‘And have the entire palace know that my bride cared more about a dress than satisfying her husband?’
‘Damn it, Bram!’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve spent most of the day being carried along on the current of Violet’s excitement. I was going to wear my black dress but no one was listening to me.’
‘I’m sorry.’ They looked at one another and then, because it was so ridiculous, they both laughed.
‘Shall we stop apologising to one another, Bram? We knew this wasn’t going to be easy.’
‘When I spoke to Fayad last night it never occurred to me that there would be any kind of ceremony but Violet wanted to make the day memorable for you.’
‘She succeeded beyond her wildest dreams but I should been have been firmer. At least about the dress.’
‘Remember that when you meet my sisters,’ he said. ‘Given free rein with my credit cards, they will be unstoppable.’
‘I don’t need any more clothes,’ she said.
‘Don’t tell them that. They’ll think you’re crazy.’
‘I think I’m crazy,’ she replied.
‘Undoubtedly, but in the meantime if you don’t let me help you we are never going to make the banquet this evening.’
‘Do we have to go?’ she asked. ‘The thought of an entire evening pretending one thing to Violet and Fayad—’ she wouldn’t have the least trouble blushing ‘—and something else to everyone else...’ She swallowed. It shouldn’t be a problem. She’d spent all her adult life pretending... ‘Do I have to go?’ she added quickly.
He smiled, shaking his head. ‘Ruby, Ruby, Ruby...’
‘Forget I said that,’ she said, realising just too late how that would look. She held out her wrist. ‘Just concentrate on the bracelet.’
He took her hand but seemed to find it no easier than when he’d fastened it. ‘The safety catch on this one is tougher to crack than Fort Knox.’
‘You wouldn’t want anything flimsy on something so valuable,’ she said, doing her best to ignore the cool touch of his fingers, the delicious slide of his dark hair over his forehead as he bent over her wrist, the waft of pheromones that had her hormones whizzing around in a frenzy.
She had met many attractive men as she’d moved from company to company and there had been invitations to carry the day over into the evening but she’d never once been tempted to mix business with pleasure. She knew, as they did not, that there would have been no future in it.
There was a big difference between the boardroom and the bedroom, however. The arrangement with Bram involved the kind of intimacy that she’d never encountered in the office. The only way she could see this through was by being totally professional. And taking a cold shower the minute she was out of this dress.
The cuff finally parted and he tossed the bracelet beside its pair as if it was no more than a trinket from the market.
‘The necklace?’ he prompted.
She half turned so that he could reach the fastening. ‘Don’t step on the train!’ she warned.
H
e scooped it up and dumped it in her arms. ‘Just keep still while I try and figure this out. I’ve had more practice putting jewels on a woman than taking them off and they’re a lot trickier than a zip.’
A little dart of something sharp, something green, shot through her at the thought of him dressing other women in precious stones and her hands tightened into little fists all by themselves. Realising that she was creasing the material, she forced herself to relax. It was ridiculous to feel jealous of the women who’d passed through his life.
She was the one wearing the diamond and ruby collar that was causing him so much trouble. It was her neck his fingers were touching, sending a charge as if she’d touched a live wire rippling through her.
She was the one he’d turned to, trusted not to betray him.
‘Ruby,’ he protested as she twitched nervously.
About to apologise, she caught her lip and lowered her head to his shoulder to make it easier for him to gain access to the clasp, her face in the snowy white of his robes, breathing in the scent of fresh linen, soap, warm skin. It would be so easy to let the train fall, reach for him, hold him...
He muttered something as the clasp finally parted and he stepped back. ‘I think I broke it.’
‘The jeweller will repair it when you return it,’ she said, taking it from him, laying it carefully beside the cuffs.
He looked as if he was going to say something but when she waited he shook his head. ‘Can you manage the rest?’
‘Of course,’ she said, sliding off the double ring he’d placed on her hand with little regret. It was pretty, but would catch on her clothes, her stockings. ‘I know how Cinderella felt when the clock struck twelve,’ she said, making a joke of it as she slipped off the diamond wedding band.
‘Your clock has months to run before midnight strikes but your coach won’t turn into a pumpkin. You will keep the ring and the title that goes with it.’
She looked up, startled. ‘I can’t do that,’ she protested.
‘Complain to Fayad. It’s in the contract he negotiated on your behalf.’
‘And you agreed?’ Stupid. Of course he did. He was supposed to be in love. ‘I won’t use it. And I can’t keep the ring either.’
‘You are giving me back my family, Ruby. Six months of your life. That is worth a lot more than a few diamonds.’
‘Six months?’ They hadn’t got around to discussing how long they would have to keep up the pretence. ‘You want me to stay until September?’
‘Even the most hasty and ill-conceived marriage needs time to fall apart.’
‘You think? I’ve seen celebrity marriages that have lasted less than six days.’
He shrugged. ‘No doubt, but I’d like to put off the break-up until I’m sure that Bibi is safely settled in Cambridge.’
‘You’re suggesting that if it’s too soon there might be pressure to revert to Plan A?’
‘That’s one reason,’ he agreed, with one of those rare smiles that seemed to light her up from the inside.
‘And the other?’ she asked, her voice not quite steady.
‘It will take time to replace Peter.’
‘Oh. Yes...’ What on earth had she expected him to say? Six days, six months—it was just a job. She’d made a commitment and once she was wearing her own sensible clothes, away from the heady scent of roses, the sparkle of diamonds, the need to pretend, she would be fine.
‘Will you call Jude Radcliffe and break the news?’ she asked, cranking up a smile to let him know that she was okay with his plan, ‘or will I?’
‘Leave it to me,’ he said, the creases in his face deepening into a smile. ‘It’s the least I can do, under the circumstances.’
She nodded, her smile fading as she looked down at the circle of diamonds lying in the palm of her hand. ‘This is the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen but I’ll forever be worrying about losing it in a washroom. An old-fashioned plain gold wedding band that you never take off is a lot more practical.’
‘A princess does not have to think of practicalities.’
She rolled her eyes and got another smile for her effort.
‘On the subject of practicalities,’ she said. ‘As your personal assistant, I’d advise you to remove your own ring before you forget.’
‘Do you think anyone would notice it?’ he asked, looking at the plain silver band she’d placed on his finger.
She arched a brow at him. ‘Hello... Single, sexy billionaire, undoubtedly the most eligible man in the room? Allegedly.’
‘Most of the women there will be with husbands or partners,’ he reminded her.
‘You think that will deter them? You must have been leading a more sheltered life than you’d have me believe.’
‘Are you suggesting that I’ll be propositioned?’
‘Isn’t that why you need your PA with you?’ she asked. ‘To ensure there’s an orderly queue. That is if I ever get out of this dress. It will do your image no good if Noor returns to help me dress for this evening and I’m still wearing it,’ she pointed out and, certain that she had everything under control, she lifted her arm so that he could reach the tiny hooks holding the dress together.
She was wrong.
It started well enough but the combination of the cool air and the touch of his fingers skimming her skin as the dress slowly parted from breast to hip sent a shiver rippling through her and she grabbed his shoulder for support.
‘It’s done,’ he said at last.
‘Thank you.’ She was forced to clear her throat. ‘If you’ll just help me get it over my head.’
‘Tawaqqal! Enough.’ He took a step back and her hand slid from his shoulder. ‘The dress is yours. No one else will wear it.’
She clamped her lips shut against a protest. If she was trembling from the intimacy of the moment, how much worse must it be for Bram?
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I did not mean to shout at you.’
‘Don’t...I wasn’t thinking...’ She drew in a slow breath, gathered herself. ‘For me this is just a job. For you...’
For him it was a chance to return home, but at what cost?
He was a man who’d been born to lead and he’d done that all his life. On the ski slopes, on horseback, in the financial market. Now, when he could have had it all—a good political marriage that would restore him to the succession—he’d turned his back on the prize because... Because the girl chosen as his bride wanted to be a doctor?
Really?
How likely was that?
She didn’t doubt Bibi Khadri’s ambitions; she’d had ambitions of her own but there was a world of difference between a dream and reality. And what girl would rather be a doctor than the wife of the Emir? To be Umm al Basr’s first lady? With jewels, clothes—everything she desired.
Had she really begged her sister for help or had Bram’s brother, aware that the crown was slipping from his grasp, invented the smuggled note to keep him away? And, if so, why on earth did he imagine that Bram would care?
She took a step back. ‘I’ll manage,’ she said quickly, picking up her skirt and heading for the privacy of the dressing room so that she could think.
* * *
Bram stared for a moment at the closed door. He should never have allowed that to happen. He’d made Ruby a promise and he should have been able to help her out of a dress without making a fool of himself, but sending that girl away—as if he had been a real groom and Ruby had been his bride—had been an instinctive reaction. Not exactly fighting his way through her male relations to claim her, but it was right out of that tradition and he retreated to his own dressing room, shed his robes and took a cold shower.
* * *
Ruby wriggled carefully out of the dress and placed it on a padded hanger. If Noor was disappointed that he h
adn’t torn it off her in a fit of passion... Well, it wasn’t as if she was his new bride, seen for the first time, claimed...
She stopped the thought, stripped off and stepped under a cool shower.
Five minutes later, having forcefully reminded herself why she was here, she wrapped herself in a soft towelling robe, opened her tablet and logged into Bram’s email account, made a note of who needed to be responded to as a matter of urgency. Then, having restored herself to PA mode, she began to get ready for the charity dinner.
Noor had laid out her dress for the evening, along with a set of filmy black lace underwear. Realising that it would look odd if she discarded it in favour of her own rather more functional underclothes, she slipped them on and then covered them with her black dress and the matching long-sleeved bolero that covered her arms.
There was a new pair of delicious black suede peep-toe shoes parked neatly side by side that Noor had chosen for her to wear. They were utterly gorgeous and she could not resist slipping her feet into them, checking them out in the mirror. She was seriously tempted to keep them on but the heels were ridiculously high and a hard-working PA needed to be quick on her feet and, reluctantly, she changed into her own black ballet flats. Finally she fastened the single strand of pearls and matching pearl ear studs that her mother had been given on her eighteenth birthday, slipped on the ruby ring that had been in her family for over a hundred years and checked her reflection.
It was reassuringly familiar. She was Ruby Dance, in-demand temporary personal assistant, and she had a job to do. Speaking of which...
She straightened her back, opened the door to the bedroom and, relieved to see that it was empty—she really did not want a witness for this—wasted no time in messing up the bed.
Rose petals scattered across the floor as she pulled back the cover, tugged loose the sheet, punched the pillows to look as if they had been used, knocking one onto the floor in the process.
Heart pounding, she stepped back to check the effect. It would do, she decided, and turned her back on the mess, only to discover that Bram, immaculate in a dinner jacket, was watching her from the doorway of his own dressing room on the far side of the room.