"That's not true. You've lunched with the queen and sat in the royal box at a polo match."
She nodded. "Queen Gwendolyn and King Marcus have been very hospitable. Why don't you go swimming? You've been just sitting here for the last hour. You must be hot and I'm sure a dip would be refreshing."
"I'm fine. Besides, I wouldn't be comfortable leaving you here by yourself to go swimming," he replied.
"Farid, I appreciate your conscientiousness to your duty, but I'm sure I'll be just fine right here on this blanket if you want to take a swim."
"Well, I'm not so sure," he replied.
She looked at him sharply. "Why? What's wrong?"
He hesitated a moment before answering. He certainly didn't want to give her any unwarranted worry, but he also didn't want her completely in the dark should a threat rise up.
"See that man over there? The one on the bench reading the paper?" He inclined his head in the direction of the man.
Her gaze shot in that direction, then she looked back at Farid. "Yes … what about him?"
"He was in the restaurant where we had dinner last night and also when we had lunch this afternoon. Now he's here."
Samira shot another glance over to the man, a frown creating a wrinkle across the width of her forehead. "Do you think he's following us?"
"I don't know," Farid replied. "I suppose it's possible that it's just a coincidence that he's shown up in the places we've been for the past two days."
"You don't sound convinced of that."
He shrugged. "I take nothing for granted and I prefer to rely on my instincts more than anything else."
She pulled her knees up to her chest, her gaze not wavering from him. "And what do your instincts tell you in this case?"
He shot a quick glance back at the man, who still seemed completely absorbed in his reading. "I'm not sure," he confessed. He looked back at her. "I just think we need to be extra careful. We both know the risks that come with your position and now we have not only your safety to worry about, but that of your child as well."
He was sorry for speaking his thoughts aloud when he saw the frown that once again marred her lovely face. "I shouldn't have told you this," he said, cursing his own stupidity. "I didn't mean to upset you."
She reached out and placed her hand on his forearm. "No, I'm glad you did." She quickly withdrew her hand from him. "I need to know if there might be a problem."
She'd been very careful over the past week, since the night of their kiss and his words of warning, not to touch him in any way. They gave each other a wide berth in the cottage and tried not to invade each other's personal space.
Except in the early mornings, when inevitably their bodies sought one another in sleep. Every morning he awakened with her in his arms and pretended to sleep until she'd awakened and quickly moved away.
He enjoyed those moments of holding her far too much, had come to anticipate the morning when her body would seek the warmth of his and in the unselfconsciousness of sleep she cuddled close to him.
She sighed and raced a band through her shoulder-length hair, then stared out at the ocean waves in the distance. "This past week has been rather idyllic, hasn't it?"
He knew she was thinking of the hours they had spent driving to small towns and sightseeing. Each day they had chosen a new place to visit. Their conversations had been pleasant, their silences companionable.
Farid would have characterized the last week as idyllic also, had it not been for the hunger that had been awakened in him for her with the kiss they had shared.
"Yes, it has," he agreed.
"Kind of like a break from reality," she added.
"It's been nice to be someplace where nobody recognizes me."
Farid said nothing, but once again shot a glance at the blond-haired man. He hoped she was right. He hoped she hadn't been recognized and the man's presence was merely a silly coincidence.
"I think perhaps I've had enough sun for one day," she said as she reached for her bathing-suit cover-up. "What about you?"
"I'm ready to go if you are." He stood and held a hand out to help her up. She allowed him to help her stand, then instantly removed her hand from his.
They were both being so very careful, he thought as they packed up their items and headed back to the rental car. No lingering touches, no physical contact that wasn't absolutely warranted.
How long could they continue avoiding each other's touch? How long could they be satisfied with only those moments in the early dawn when they came together as if their skin hungered for touch?
Eventually Farid knew something was going to break … he just wasn't sure what kind of a break it would be. One thing was clear – the tension between them couldn't continue to build without something happening.
He wondered if she felt the same kind of sexual frustration that he did. Surely she felt the energy between them that sparked with electricity?
Not that it mattered. He would never break the condition of their marriage that forbade him making love to her. He would never break the condition … unless she asked him to.
And there were moments in the night, when he was lying next to her, listening to the sound of her soft breathing, smelling the feminine scent of her and feeling her body warmth, that he desperately wished she would ask him.
It would probably be better, though, if they did not break that particular condition. With each day that passed Farid was more and more convinced that their marriage would probably only last until they reached the shores of Tamir.
She had spoken the truth when she had said their time in Montebello had been a break from reality. When she returned to the bosom of her family, he had little doubt that this marriage would end.
She was quiet on the ride back to the palace grounds and again he kicked himself for speaking his apprehensions about the blond-haired man aloud. He hadn't intended to worry her, but apparently he had.
When they were back in the guest house, he went into his smaller bedroom where his clothes were and quickly changed into a clean pair of shorts and a shirt. He assumed she had gone into the master suite to change as well. But when he returned to the living room he found her standing at the window staring out, still clad in her bright yellow swimsuit cover-up.
He cursed himself for causing her undue concern and reminding her of one of the negative aspects of her position. As a princess of Tamir, she had been raised knowing that kidnapping attempts, even death threats, would be a part of her life.
"You know, Samira, it's possible that man hasn't been following us for any bad reason. Perhaps he's merely smitten with your beauty."
She whirled around from the window to look at him. "Be serious," she exclaimed with a scornful look.
"What makes you think I'm not being serious?" he asked.
She moved away from the window. "Nadia and Leila are the true beauties of the family," she said, referring to her two sisters. "I'm the plain one of the bunch."
He looked at her in surprise. "Surely you don't really believe that?" But he could tell by the look in her eyes that she did believe it and it stunned him.
"Samira," he said softly. Although someplace in the back of his mind, he knew it was dangerous to touch her, he placed his hands on her slender shoulders, forcing her to look at him as he spoke to her.
"You're right, both Nadia and Leila are beautiful women. Their beauty is like the sunshine … bright and intense. They have the kind of beauty that shouts at you, but you…" He couldn't help himself. He reached up and stroked a strand of her shining dark hair.
He wondered what in the hell he thought he was doing, yet was unable to stop himself from the sheer pleasure of touching her.
His fingers left her hair and he caressed down the silky skin of her cheek. "Your beauty is like the moonlight," he began. The sudden light that shone from her lovely almond-shaped eyes heated his insides. "Your beauty is soft and subtle and it whispers like a gentle breeze."
He suddenly felt embarrassed by
his uncharacteristic poetic feelings, and he dropped his hand from her cheek and stepped back.
But she refused to allow him any distance. She moved to stand directly before him once again, their bodies only a breath away from each other.
She reached up and placed her palm on his cheek and in that instant a powerful desire for her welled up inside him. Her eyes were deep waters and he felt himself on the verge of drowning in them.
"That was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me," she said, so close to him her breath was warm on his face.
"I meant every word," he replied, wondering if she could hear the fierce pounding of his heartbeat, or feel the rigid tension that suffused his body. With the simple touch of her hand to his face, she'd unleashed the desire that Farid had been fighting against for the past week.
"Farid, if you don't kiss me right now, I think I might die." Her voice was a soft plea and her lower lip trembled with emotion.
He felt them teetering on the edge of a precipice, knew that if he kissed her it was possible they would plunge off the cliff and into an uncharted and perhaps disturbing alien territory.
"I told you before, Samira, if I kiss you, I can't be responsible for any consequences that may follow."
"I promise you I don't intend to hold you responsible," she replied.
The words, coupled with the longing in her eyes, shoved aside the last of any reservations Farid might have entertained.
He claimed her mouth with his and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her tightly against him. Her lips met his eagerly as she pressed intimately against him, her body soft and warm.
She tasted just as he remembered … hot and sweet, and he used his tongue to deepen the kiss, swirling it with hers as the fever inside him grew to mammoth proportions.
He ran his hands up and down her back and knew they were close enough that she would know the full extent of his desire for her.
He broke the kiss, aware that both of them were breathless, but instead of releasing her, he moved his lips to the hollow of her throat.
Her skin tasted of sunshine and the salty ocean air and Farid knew he'd never tasted anything more intoxicating.
She dropped her head back with a low moan as her fingers tangled in his hair. "Make love to me, Farid, she whispered. "Please, take me into our bedroom and make love to me."
With an effort, he dropped his arms from around her and stepped back. Her eyes glowed with an inner fever and her lips were slightly swollen from his kiss.
He wanted her. He'd never felt such desire for a woman, but he didn't want the heat of the moment to cause her to make a decision she would later regret.
"Are you sure that's what you want?" he asked.
"I'm sure." Her eyes clouded with doubt. "But … if you don't want me…"
How could she doubt his desire for her? Couldn't she feel it raging from him? Hadn't she tasted his hunger in his kiss? The fact that she was so unsure of his wanting her touched him deeply, and once again he drew her into his embrace.
"I want you, Samira. I've been half-mad with wanting you since that night we kissed in the gardens," he said. "Lying in bed next to you night after night and not touching you has driven me insane. I can't think of anything else but my wanting of you."
"Then take me to our bed and show me."
He didn't wait for her to ask again. He swept her up into his arms and carried her to the master suite. As he laid her on the bed, he had a single disturbing thought. When he made love to her and she closed her eyes, would she be thinking of him … her husband?
Or would she be fantasizing that she was making love to another man – the man who was the father of her baby – Desmond Caruso?
* * *
As Farid joined her on the bed and once again claimed her mouth with his, Samira felt herself falling into a maelstrom of sensations and emotions she'd never before experienced.
He had seduced her with his sweet words, but it was a seduction she'd welcomed – even encouraged. But it wasn't just his words that had seduced her. It was also the intimacy of their living arrangements for the past week, the quiet strength that radiated from him day and night, the gentle caring he exhibited when she was tired or suffering a bout of morning sickness.
He'd seduced her by being the kind of man he was … a man of honor and dignity, a man who was so much more than she'd once believed him to be.
His mouth plied hers with heat, a flame she welcomed in response. She'd hungered for him ever since that night in the garden when they'd shared their first real kiss. The memory of the taste of his lips, the feel of his arms around her, had played and replayed in her mind in the week that had passed.
As the kiss continued, she moved her hands to the buttons of his shirt, wanting to feel his broad, firm chest and warm skin beneath her fingertips.
Lying in the same bed with him night after night, feeling the heat that radiated from his body, knowing he wore nothing but boxer shorts, had evoked a hunger in her … a hunger to touch his warm skin, a hunger to have him touch her.
As she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, he worked the buttons that ran down the front of her bathing-suit cover-up. He tore his lips from hers and shrugged out of his shirt, then raised her up to help her rid herself of the gauzy material that covered her.
Instantly she was gifted with his smooth, firm chest making contact with her breasts, the only barrier between them her thin bathing-suit top.
Again their mouths met, this time in frenzied need. She ran her hands over the width of his back, reveling in the feel of solid muscles beneath the warm skin.
She gasped as his hands splayed to cover her breasts. Even through the fabric, his touch was intensely pleasurable. His lips left hers and trailed a path down her neck, shooting electric currents through her at every point of contact.
His hands left her breasts and caressed down her sides and across her lower abdomen, then swept down to lightly stroke the inside of her thighs.
He seemed to be in no hurry. His caresses became slow and languid, as if he were savoring each and every inch of her skin.
It was only by the intense glow in his eyes and the uneven rhythm of his breathing that she knew he was as lost in waves of desire as she was.
By the time he reached behind her to unfasten her bathing-suit top, she was ready for their intimacy to deepen, and as his hands covered her bare breasts, a moan escaped her.
"Samira." He said her name softly, almost reverently as his thumbs razed over the throbbing tips of her breasts. "You are so beautiful."
Beneath his touch and in his gaze she felt her own beauty for the first time in her life. It resonated inside her, a new and wonderful feeling.
He made her feel not only beautiful, but desirable as well, and she wanted to give back to him the feelings he stirred in her.
But before she could tell him how beautiful she found him, before she could put into words how handsome he was, how he moved her, his mouth captured the tip of her breast and the ability to speak was lost in the vortex of sensation that engulfed her.
He teased her nipples, licking and nibbling the turgid tips until she thought she'd go mad, and when she thought she could stand no more, he eased her swimming-suit bottoms off her and touched her where she needed his touch most.
Tenderly, yet with mastery, he took her higher and higher. It frightened her just a little, the incredible tension that built inside her. But her fear was overwhelmed by the explosion of sensations that swept through her, leaving her shattered and gasping and weak in his arms.
Only then did he kick off his shorts and briefs and take full and total possession of her.
She'd thought herself completely sated, but as he eased into her, a new hunger awakened in her. He released a moan of such pleasure it echoed in her veins and stirred her to heights she'd never known existed.
As he stroked slowly, deeply into her, her heart threatened to beat right out of her chest and she feared she might die from the exquisite, inten
se pleasure.
Again he seemed to be in no hurry. With a languid rhythm he moved against her … into her, building inside her a conflagration that threatened to consume her.
She cried out, she thought she might have said his name, but she wasn't certain. Her cry seemed to snap whatever control he'd retained. With a guttural moan that came from the very depths of him, he increased his rhythm.
Faster and faster they moved together, hips locked, hands gripping and breaths gasping until she was once again tumbling over the edge and this time she took him with her. He stiffened against her as wave after wave of sensation swept through her.
Afterward, he rolled off and to her side, his arm around her as if he were reluctant to break all physical contact with her. Neither of them spoke for long moments.
"Are you all right?" he finally asked as he reached up and softly stroked her hair.
She snuggled closer against his side, loving the way their bodies fit together. "I'm fine. More than fine, actually."
"I didn't hurt you?"
"Of course not," she assured him.
They fell into a silence again. She was grateful he didn't move to get up, to leave her. She liked lying in his arms, feeling his hand smoothing over her hair, his body against hers.
There were so many things Samira wanted to say … to ask. She wondered if making love to him would always be as wonderful as it had just been. She wanted to tell him how amazing it had been.
Had it been as wonderful for him? She wished he'd tell her. She wished she could ask him. But, she feared that if she asked him, he would tell her that he was simply doing his duty. Nothing more, nothing less.
* * *
Chapter 8
«^»
Homesick.
Farid had never believed he could feel homesick for his country, but after two and a half weeks in Montebello, that's exactly how he felt. And he knew Samira felt it, too.
It was another gorgeous day in Montebello, the sun bright overhead in a cloudless blue sky. He and Samira sat at a small round patio table, sipping cold citrus drinks.
The restaurant served only sandwiches and drinks and had very little seating inside, but had a dozen umbrella tables in front of the establishment,
SECRETS OF A PREGNANT PRINCESS Page 9