by Sue Swift
But it got to her anyhow. She was becoming all itchy and twitchy again, tingly in all the places where he’d first awakened tingles, out on the beach under the moonlight.
She ignored the tingles and concentrated instead on his massive arrogance and his mean temper. “You probably shouldn’t bring up that night.”
“Why not? It was wonderful.”
“Unfortunately, you’re not nearly as wonderful in the morning. You know, you’re a real son-of-a-gun until you have your morning cup of tea.” She crossed her arms over her torso.
“How many times do I have to apologize for what I said?”
“You don’t have to apologize at all. You can leave. I don’t have anything to say to you, and I’m not interested in what you have to say to me.”
“I am your husband and I ask that you listen to me, trust me.”
“Trust you? You’re not my husband. You’re a guy I married by mistake.”
“We made love and it mattered.”
“Did it?” Her lip curled. “Sure couldn’t tell by your reaction. You grabbed me, yelled at me, accused me of horrible, dishonest things, and then you left. You went thousands of miles away. How great could the sex have been for you? Heck, you could hardly wait to leave, and then you went half a world away.” To her shame and embarrassment, the damn tears started again. She turned away so he couldn’t see them. He didn’t deserve any part of her, and certainly not her tears.
He touched her shoulder, making everything worse. “Don’t pretend, and don’t change the subject. It mattered to me, which was why I said those terrible things. It mattered so much that I was bad to you, my wife. It mattered to me and it had to matter to you. It was your first time.” His voice was gentle.
Her lips compressed. She leaned her forehead against the wall, feeling it cool on her heated skin. “More’s the pity.”
“Did you wish to remain a virgin forever?” He moved in closer to her, crowding her with his big body. “The way you kiss, I’m surprised you stayed inviolate so long.”
She lifted her chin. “I had my reasons.”
“You had one reason, and it doesn’t exist.”
“You just don’t get it, but there’s no reason why you should.” That tiredness, that lead blanket weighing her down, returned again, draping itself heavily over her heart.
“Your reason is in the past—eight years in the past!”
She turned and shook her head slowly. “Kam, you’re not like me. You’ve been spoiled all your life. On top of that, you don’t know anything about women. You think you do, but you don’t. How could you? The only women you’ve ever known were servants or throwaway lovers.”
“I know this. But you—you’re living in the past, Selina. You have made what happened when you were fifteen your reason for everything, everything you do. The past doesn’t exist, Selina. The past is a memory. The future is only a dream. There is only now. You and me, here, now.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it, visibly hesitant. “Maybe there’s some truth in what you’re saying. I’m willing to think about it.”
He pressed his body, and his point, closer. “Do you want to have a life? Then stay with me. Give us a chance. Or you can go back to your Corny Crunch and your empty little job.”
Her eyes chilled from lagoon to iceberg in an instant, and he realized that criticizing her job was a mistake. She said, “I’m not quitting work, whatever happens.”
Whatever happens. She’d left a chink, a tiny gap through which hope could wriggle. “Fine,” he said, immensely relieved. “But live with me.”
“No. It’ll never work out. We’re too different!”
“You’re a woman and I’m a man. Of course we’re different.”
“There are significant cultural differences.”
He shook his head. “I cannot agree. Before that idiotic marriage, I thought we got along quite well.”
“Ye-es, we did.”
“We had fun, didn’t we?”
“Well, yeah!”
“All I’m asking is to have fun with you forever. Is that so bad?”
“See what I mean? We’re too different. For you, life is all fun. For me, life is work.”
He shrugged. “My work is fun. Isn’t yours?”
“Sometimes,” she said slowly, sounding thoughtful. “I like the people I work with. I like the creative aspects of producing a marketing campaign. And I really like getting paid.”
“So…shall we not try? I understand it will be a big step, for you to close your apartment in D.C. and move into the ambassador’s house.”
She bit her lip. “Moving is always annoying.”
“Yes, it is, but when one has money, one hires people to help.”
“I’m not ready for that yet.”
“All right. Before taking that radical a step, I propose an experiment.”
“What kind of experiment?” she asked warily.
“Let’s play house.”
“Play house? How and where?”
“Here, at La Torchere, they have little houses. Villas, they call them.”
“Pretend to—”
“Yes. You have a few more days of vacation, do you not?”
“Ye-es. I don’t have to leave until Saturday.”
“All right, then.” With a sense of relief, he went to the phone. At last he’d wrested a concession from Selina. He had a chance. “I shall call the front desk and make arrangements to rent one of the villas.”
“Wait!” She put her hand on the phone, stopping him. “How many bedrooms? Two, right? One for you and one for me?”
He examined her, smiling. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright. She wants me, he thought. She wants me so much she’s terrified of getting too close. That is my fault, of course, and I will have to work hard to get her back.
But he was willing to put in the time, not because the king, his father, had demanded it, but because Selina Carrington was worth it. He said, “We do not need more than one bedroom.”
She crossed her arms over her chest in a closed stance. “I’m not comfortable sleeping with you.”
“You seemed most pleased the other night.” He tried to sound mild and modest rather than arrogant. Selina did not like his arrogance.
“I was insane the other night.”
“Yes, insanely sexy.”
She went pink.
He smiled. “Let us compromise. I’ll sleep on the couch one night, and after that, we’ll see.”
She still looked hesitant. One hand went to her mouth, and she bit the knuckle.
He reached for her. “You have continued to wear your ring.”
The pink flags in her cheeks deepened to a fetching shade of rose. “I like my ring.” She raised it to look into the glowing depths of the ruby, then dropped her hand, as though gazing into the fire too long would burn.
“Your ring symbolizes commitment.”
“That wasn’t why you bought it for me. You bought it for me as part of that stupid act we put on.”
“No. I had wanted to buy you a gift, and when a man gives a woman a ring, it means only one thing. No matter what excuses they may make, no matter what silly things they may say, it means only one thing.”
“Huh.” She turned that over inside her mind.
“Shall we now go and rent a villa?”
Selina hesitated, then decided that, if necessary, she could retreat to her suite. She wouldn’t be trapped.
Besides, she had to admit to herself she had a job that paid peanuts and occupied only a tiny corner of her mind. Most of the time she was bored.
Since she’d met Kam, she’d never been bored. Exasperated, yes. Angered, definitely. Astounded, often. Brought to the heights of ecstasy—yep, that too, tempered by the darkest sorrow and bleakest desolation she’d ever known.
But never bored.
Life with Kam would be exasperating, exciting, challenging…but never dull.
Should she take the chance? Could she survive if it didn’t w
ork out?
And what if it did?
“Okay, let’s try it.” She winked at him. “Just for kicks and giggles.”
Chapter Seventeen
Lacking a suitcase, Selina had to borrow one of Kam’s, which felt strange but strengthened her sense of intimacy. Sharing personal items did that, she realized, as she gathered together the meager possessions she’d amassed while at La Torchere. She shoved her toiletries into a leather case already partially filled with her husband’s razors and combs. She folded her bathing suit into the valise with Kam’s shorts and polo shirts. She left her dresses on their hangers so they wouldn’t become creased and wore her favorite clunky white platform sandals.
Packing didn’t take long, and at sunset she and Kam walked across La Torchere’s manicured gardens and along the beach to the villas.
Square white structures covered with stucco, the villas were really more like cottages. Extremely nice cottages. As they entered, she could see that they were fully appointed little houses, with a cozy living room and a kitchen downstairs, and a big bedroom upstairs. The place was decorated in inoffensive shades of oatmeal and white, with touches of color from plants, flowers and a bowl of fruit that the staff had left on the kitchen counter.
Two bathrooms tiled in white were conveniently located on each floor. The one downstairs had a stall shower. Selina didn’t like to share her bathroom, and she let Kam know that right away by unpacking her toiletries in the upstairs bath and arranging his toiletries downstairs.
“What’s this?” he asked, picking up one of his hairbrushes.
“A hairbrush, I guess.” Wooden-handled, it had what she thought were black boar bristles on the operative side.
“That’s not what I meant. Why is it here? Where are yours?”
“In the upstairs bathroom.”
He frowned. “That was not the deal. We are supposed to live as man and wife.”
She eyed him. “Honey, we could live as husband and wife for twenty years, but I still wouldn’t share a bathroom with you. I never even shared a bathroom with Grandpa Jerry.”
“And you call me spoiled,” he grumbled. “What did you do at college?”
“Worked, so I could afford my own apartment with my own bathroom. I can’t help it, I’m picky. Who wants your nose hairs in the sink?”
He reared back, visibly affronted. “I do not leave nose hairs in the sink.”
She gave him her sweetest smile. “Maybe there’s hope for this marriage after all.”
“And this couch…” He ambled out of the bathroom to the villa’s living room, where a comfortable-looking couch occupied the wall facing an entertainment center. He lay on it and stretched. His feet hung over one end. “It’s too short. I won’t sleep even a wink. Are you sure—”
“Yes, I’m sure. Scoot off for a second.”
He scooted, and she moved cushions around to discover that the couch folded out into a queen-size bed. “Perfect.”
“All right,” he said grudgingly. “Now how about supper and a walk along the beach?”
“Okay. Do you want to go fancy or casual?”
“Let’s dress, I think. I’d like to see you in that beautiful white dress you wore for our first dinner.”
“Can’t think of a reason why not.” She went to change.
A half hour later, they walked hand in hand toward the center of La Torchere. “How about The Greenhouse Cafe?” Kam asked. “We’ve never tried dinner there.”
The Greenhouse was magical at night, with tiny fairy lights illuminating the cavernous space. Inside, it was cooler than during the day, and Kam draped his arm over her bare shoulders as they walked over the bridge.
For supper, The Greenhouse served bistro-style fare. After they’d eaten chicken with a nice Chardonnay, they strolled along the moonlit beach, with Selina feeling pleasantly full and relaxed.
“So far, so good,” she said to Kam. “Maybe I can do this marriage thing.” Her platforms sank into the sand, and she stopped to slip them off.
He took them from her and stuck his fingers through the back straps, letting them dangle from his hands as they walked. “Of course you can. Millions of people have very happy marriages. Why shouldn’t we?”
“Well, we started off kind of…funny.”
“Strange funny, not ha-ha funny, right?”
“Yeah.” As they passed the bar, she could hear the band playing a rowdy rendition of “Twist and Shout” with a karaoke singer butchering the rock and roll classic.
“It would be less strange if we slept together, my wife,” Kam said.
“Oh, quit harping on that.” But she couldn’t put any sting into her words; she felt too good. “Let’s dance instead.”
“I do not think it would be seemly for a prince of Zohra-zbel to twist and shout.” He grinned.
“That’s just an excuse.”
He chuckled. “Yes, it is.” His cell phone rang, and he answered it.
Disappointment stabbed. Would she ever have her husband to herself? Would Kam’s phone fixation ever cease? She was conscientious about her job, but he took workaholism to an extreme. With a sigh, she reminded herself that his work wasn’t like hers. He’d been born into his job, and it was one that couldn’t be avoided or shirked.
They’d reached the villa, and, without missing a word of his conversation, Kam opened the door for her. Fighting tears, she headed for the staircase and her bed.
He closed the phone and intercepted her before she placed even one foot on a riser. “I’d like a good-night kiss, please,” he said.
A warm tide of affection rose in her chest. He cared, after all. Maybe a little. Otherwise, his motivation was obscure to her. Despite his insistence on remaining married, he hadn’t said a word of love but had only talked about having fun.
She wasn’t sure that fun was enough, but she had to admit she’d never found anything lacking in his kisses—and tonight’s good-night kiss was no exception.
She didn’t want to mislead him or become tempted to rash their romance, so she broke it off before they got into the kiss too deeply. “I’d better get to bed,” she said, keeping her tone casual.
But moving in with Kam hadn’t felt casual. Oh, she’d faked it well, she thought, but it was weird, lying alone in a big king-size bed, listening to the sound of the TV as he watched Letterman before he switched off his light. Then she heard every creak as he rolled around in his foldout bed downstairs before the villa went silent.
She stared at the ceiling and longed for rest. Hours later, she turned her head to see that the digital clock by her bedside registered three-fifteen. The villa was silent, and she resented Kam’s ability to fall asleep when she couldn’t. She finally fell into a restless slumber sometime before dawn.
When she awakened, her nose twitched at the heavenly scent of coffee. Thoughtful of Kam to have ordered room service early, she thought as she washed her face and scrambled into her clothes. She hurried to the villa’s little kitchen to find Kam, naked to the waist, pouring coffee, brewing tea and arranging croissants on a flowered plate, his dark face intent on his culinary tasks.
She stopped. She hadn’t seen his bare flesh since their fateful encounter on the beach, and even then, his body had been silvered by moonlight and shadowed by the night. Now, his golden skin gleamed in the morning sunlight streaming through the villa’s windows. She might not have a perfect relationship with her husband, but she couldn’t deny his attractiveness or obvious virility.
Swallowing, she approached, deciding to crack a joke, toss out a witty quip—her usual defense mechanism. But words failed her. The memories were too overwhelming, her neediness too extreme.
“Hi,” she managed to say.
He raised his gaze to her, and the darkness of his visage was broken by a brilliant smile. “Good morning, my wife.” Coming to her, he took her in his arms and kissed her soundly, his embrace warm and possessive. “But what is this?” He fingered the lapel of her jacket.
“It’s
a business suit.” She’d arrived wearing it.
He drew away. “I know that. I’m not stupid. Why are you wearing it?”
“Aren’t we pretending this is a normal life? I thought that, um, if it was an ordinary workday I’d dress the part.” She couldn’t resist another glance at his chest. “I guess you thought differently.”
“I did bring a suit, but it is not appropriate for the Florida weather.” He gave her a frown. Not a mean frown but a confused and thoughtful one. “There is such a thing as too much pretense, you know. If we go to lunch, I would not want to draw attention.”
“But this is what I would normally wear.”
“There is nothing normal about the situation.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” To take the edge off her words, she said, “Coffee and croissants. You… you remembered what I eat for breakfast.”
“Of course. You are my wife. I am quite aware of your needs and very ready to satisfy them.” He went to the refrigerator. When he opened it, she could see that it was stacked with food. He took out two fruit compotes, artfully arranged in cut-crystal bowls, and set them on the counter.
Kam intended to cook for her.
Since her childhood, no one in her life had nurtured her in this way. Not even Grandpa Jerry fixed meals for her; he left that to his housekeeper.
Once again words failed her, so she fell back on manners. Thank heaven for manners. Without them she’d be adrift on a sea of silent ineptitude.
“Thank you.” She sat on one of the bar stools at the counter.
They ate, and after breakfast, Kam got his briefcase and set to work, wondering what Selina would do with herself. Wasn’t she on vacation?
She flipped open a laptop and started to answer e-mails while he found the floor plan of the house he’d just purchased, the ambassador’s residence in Washington, D.C. He figured that if he was going to live there, it should be remodeled to his specifications.
After opening the roll of paper, he stretched it over the kitchen table and anchored its corners with salt shakers, sugar bowls and his coffee mug. Contemplating the lobby, he began to make sketches and lists of materials.
A few minutes later she asked, “What are you doing?”