Tycoon's Ring of Convenience

by Julia James

  ‘Call it a day?’ he asked. ‘Shall we head back up and think about dinner?’

  They got out of the water, put on the towelling gowns their butler had laid out for them, and headed back into the hotel. Diana was very conscious of her dripping hair, now wrapped in a turban. It would take a while to get ready.

  It did, but Nikos left her to it, using the bathroom in the ancillary bedroom, obviously set aside for a child or a personal servant, leaving Diana in possession of the bridal bedroom and its palatial en suite bathroom. She was grateful for the unspoken tact with which Nikos had appropriated the other bedroom for himself.

  By the time she emerged, over an hour later, she was ready for whatever demonstration of extreme opulence awaited her next. It proved to be an ultra-lavish bridal banquet, served to them in a private alcove off the main restaurant which was cantilevered out over the Persian Gulf.

  The dress code, judging by the other diners, was formal, so she was glad she’d come prepared. Her silk gown, with its very fine plissé bodice, was in the palest eau-de-nil, and the soft folds of her long skirts brushed her legs as she walked in on Nikos’s arm—an extended kind of body contact she was schooling herself to get used to now that she was his wife. With practice, she would soon lose her self-consciousness about it, she knew.

  Her face lit up as they approached their table. ‘Oh, how beautiful!’ she could not help exclaiming.

  Over the top it might be, but the table décor was exquisite. Huge bouquets of flowers flanked it on either side, and the floor was strewn with rose petals. More covered the table, which was also set with exquisite flowers, little candles, and napery constructed into swans—an image echoed on the side table, where stood an ice sculpture of two swans, their necks entwined in a heart shape, a feast of fresh sliced fruit and champagne chilling in a silver ice bucket.

  With a low murmur of an appreciative ‘Shukran!’ to the bevy of waiting staff now ushering them into their chairs, she was aware that they were drawing the eyes of the other diners as they took their places.

  Nikos had opted for the restaurant’s speciality—a tasting menu. Tiny portions of exquisite and extraordinary concoctions that went on and on...and on.

  ‘More?’ Diana all but gave a mock groan as the waiting staff gathered to bestow upon them yet another tender trifle for their delectation.

  ‘Keep going,’ Nikos advised her, ‘or the chef will be out here, brandishing his knives in rage at your lack of appreciation for his genius.’

  She laughed, and got stuck in to yet another delicious morsel filled with flavours that were impossible to identify but which created a fantasy inside her mouth. She gave a murmur of intense appreciation and closed her eyes.

  From across the table Nikos’s gaze flickered over her. That little moan she’d given in her throat...that look of pleasure on her face...

  He dragged his mind away. First their visit to the palace tomorrow, and then... Ah, then the honeymoon proper could begin. And how very much he was looking forward to that.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘YOUR HIGHNESS.’ DIANA dropped her head to the correct degree as she was formally presented to Sheikh Kamal and then his sister, Princess Fatima, who was at his side, also greeting their guests.

  The Sheikh was, she had instantly appreciated, extremely handsome, with dark Arabian looks, a hawk-like nose, and piercing dark eyes from which, she suspected, little was hidden. But his manner to his guests was urbane in the extreme, and that of his sister fulsome.

  Having been comprehensively briefed by one of the palace officials that morning in their hotel suite, Diana was confident she was not making any mistakes in protocol, and that her outfit of a long-sleeved, high-collared, ankle-length dress, worn with a loose but hair-concealing headscarf, was acceptable, and she found herself beginning to relax, encouraged by the warmth of their illustrious hosts’ welcoming attitude.

  ‘Afternoon tea’ turned out to be an exact replica of what might be found in the UK, of the very highest standard, and she was not slow to say so. Her praise drew a giggle from Princess Fatima.

  ‘My brother flew in the pastry chef from London this morning, and he brought all the ingredients with him to bake the scones just as you arrived!’ Her dark eyes twinkled. ‘Now, tell me,’ she said confidentially, ‘as an Englishwoman, what is the correct order in a cream tea? Jam first or clotted cream first?’

  Diana gave a laugh. ‘Oh, that’s an impossible question, Your Highness. In Devon, I believe it is one way, and in Cornwall the other—but I never remember which! I’m afraid I do jam first.’

  ‘So do I!’ cried the Princess delightedly. She smiled warmly. ‘I do hope, my dear, that we can take tea together when I am next in London?’

  ‘I would be honoured and delighted,’ Diana said immediately.

  Nikos smiled. ‘If it pleases the Princess,’ he said, ‘afternoon tea at Greymont would be our pleasure.’

  Diana’s fingers tightened on the handle of the priceless porcelain tea cup she was holding. A small but distinct sense of annoyance flared in her that Nikos had presumed to offer her home in his invitation to the sister of the man whose approval he needed to make money out of doing business here. Greymont was hers—and she would choose who to invite to it.

  But he’d clearly said the right thing, and it obviously did please the Princess. Her eyes lit up. ‘I adore English country houses,’ she exclaimed in her enthusiastic manner.

  ‘So much so that I bought my sister one only last year,’ her brother interposed dryly.

  ‘And so he did—he is the most generous of brothers,’ Fatima acknowledged.

  A chill replaced the flare of annoyance that Diana had been feeling.

  If I hadn’t married Nikos then Greymont might have been snapped up as the latest amusement for an Arabian princess.

  It was a sobering reminder of just why she was sitting here, in a royal palace in the Persian Gulf, next to the man who was legally her husband, but in name only, making small talk with an Arabian princess about her latest acquisition.

  The Princess rattled on in her bubbly manner, asking Diana about how great houses used to be run and how best to furnish them in a style to look authentic. Diana contributed as best she could, making several suggestions which the Princess seemed to value.

  As she talked to the Princess, all the while taking delicate bites of the lavish cream tea laid before them, she became aware that the Sheikh and her new husband had moved their own conversation on to matters concerning the economic development of this particular Gulf state.

  After a while, with the final sliver of Dundee fruit cake consumed, the final cup of Darjeeling taken, the Princess got to her feet.

  ‘We shall leave the men to their tedious affairs,’ she announced smilingly to Diana.

  Nikos and the Sheikh immediately got to their feet as well, as did Diana, who was then swept off by the Princess. When they were in the Princess’s own apartments Fatima cast aside her veiling, then turned to show Diana that she could do likewise with her headscarf.

  ‘My dear, what a handsome husband you have.’ She gave a theatrical sigh, her dark eyes gleaming wickedly. ‘I’m going to tell my brother that he must lend you his...’ She giggled even more wickedly. ‘His love-nest in the desert. It’s actually quite respectable—our great-grandfather had it built for his favourite wife, so they could escape together, away from his jealous older wives.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness!’ Diana exclaimed weakly, not knowing what to say.

  ‘You must demand of your oh-so-handsome husband that he declares his love for you every morning. And even more importantly...’ she cast a knowing look at Diana ‘...every night.’

  Diana’s expression was a study. It was impossible for her to comment, but fortunately for her the Princess took her silence as embarrassment.

  ‘Oh, you English,’ she cried laughingly. ‘You are always so frozen—so...what is that word? Ah, yes—repressed. Well, I will not tease you—you are a bride. You are all
owed to blush.’ She took Diana’s arm. ‘Now, come and see my wardrobe. I am dying to show it to you.’

  She led her off into a chamber which made Diana’s eyes widen. It was like, she realised, a museum of costume, for along the walls were a parade of gowns arrayed on mannequins set on pedestals, each and every one a priceless haute couture number, a work of art in its own right. Entranced, Diana let the Princess guide her around, enthusing volubly to the Princess’s evident delight.

  Then, to her dismay, the Princess exclaimed, ‘This one will be my wedding gift to you.’

  She clapped her hands and one of her hovering servants hurried forward to receive instructions in rapid Arabic. Diana immediately demurred—a gown like this would cost thousands upon thousands. She couldn’t possibly accept.

  The Princess held up a hand, imperious now. ‘To refuse it would be to offend,’ she instructed regally.

  Diana bowed her head. ‘You do me too much honour, Highness,’ she said formally, knowing she must concede.

  ‘And you will do it justice,’ the Princess returned warmly, adding for good measure ‘The colour is all wrong for me. It makes my skin sallow. But you, with your fairness—ah, that shade of palest yellow is ideal.’ She smiled. ‘I will have it delivered.’ The dark eyes gleamed with a wicked glint. ‘Make sure you wear it at the love-nest.’

  Again, Diana had no idea what to say—could only hope that the Princess would forget to speak to her brother about any such thing as a desert love-nest, which was the last place she wanted to go with Nikos. Meekly she let the Princess lead the way into another exquisitely decorated room, this time with a balcony overlooking a beautiful ornamental pool in a pillared courtyard.

  ‘Tea,’ the Princess announced, lowering herself onto a silk-covered divan and indicating that Diana should do likewise, ‘but this time from my part of the world!’

  The mint tea that was served proved very refreshing, and their conversation returned to the subject of historic English country houses. Diana waxed enthusiastic, mentioning the exhaustive restoration work she was having done on Greymont.

  ‘You love your home dearly, do you not?’ the Princess observed.

  ‘It’s the most important thing in the world to me!’ Diana answered unguardedly.

  The dark eyes rested on her curiously. ‘Not your husband?’

  Diana started, not sure what to say.

  The Princess was still looking at her curiously. ‘But surely you are in love with him more than anything in the world? If, after all, you had to choose between your home or your husband, surely there would be no choice at all?’

  Diana swallowed. How could she answer?

  Then, to her relief, a servant approached, bowing, then murmuring something to her hostess, who immediately got to her feet.

  ‘We are summoned,’ she announced.

  A servant was there at once, with their headscarves, and once appropriately attired Diana followed the Princess from her private apartments back into the palace, to take her farewell of their hosts with Nikos.

  As they settled back into the limousine that would return them to their hotel, she turned to him. ‘How did it go? I hope the Sheikh was as gracious to you as his sister was to me.’

  Nikos eased his shoulders back into the soft leather seat. ‘Extremely well—just as I hoped after our having been invited socially,’ he said with evident satisfaction. ‘I have an agreement in principle from the Sheikh—which is essential—and clearance to talk to the relevant ministers. Exactly what I wanted.’

  He looked at Diana and smiled warmly in a way that she must wish he hadn’t.

  ‘You did wonderfully. Thank you. I don’t just mean all the protocol—I wouldn’t insult you by implying you might not have been able to handle it—but the personal touch. The Princess clearly took to you...that was obvious—’

  Diana cut across him, feeling flutteringly uncomfortable after that warm smile. ‘Nikos, Princess Fatima has given me one of her couture gowns. It’s worth a fortune, but she insisted. I know I couldn’t refuse, but what on earth should I do now?’

  ‘Make her a present of equal value,’ he returned promptly. ‘I don’t mean financial—that would be crass, and anyway they have so much money it makes me look like a pauper, let alone you,’ he said carelessly. ‘I mean something matching.’

  Diana furrowed her brow, and then a thought struck her. ‘I know! I’ll find an antique gown for her—something she can possess but not wear because it’s too historic. Maybe she can display it in her English country house when it’s all done up.’

  ‘Great idea,’ said Nikos. He rested his eyes on her with warm approval, in that way she wished he wouldn’t. ‘You impressed the Sheikh, too, I could see that—he quoted from some Persian poet about how a beautiful and intelligent wife is the ultimate jewel a man can possess.’ He paused, keeping that look on his face. ‘And he was right about you being a jewel, Diana, both in beauty and intelligence. You are, indeed.’

  For one long, endless second it seemed to her there was no breath in her body. Then, as if urgently grabbing a towel after emerging naked from the shower, she forced a little laugh to her lips.

  ‘Well, I’m glad I came in useful this afternoon,’ she said, and now her face was deliberately bright. ‘And thank you for the opportunity to see inside a royal Arabian palace. It was like something out of a fairytale, and with a real-life prince and princess inside it too.’

  Determinedly she went on to recollect with admiration some of the architectural details that had impressed her, even more determined not to mention anything about the Princess’s talk about desert love-nests.

  Hopefully Princess Fatima would forget all about it. A desert love nest was the last place that could be relevant to a marriage such as theirs.

  A marriage in name only had no need of such a place.

  * * *

  ‘What do you say we dine up here tonight?’

  Nikos’s voice was casual as they walked into their huge suite and Diana’s reply was immediate.

  ‘Oh, yes, let’s. I feel today has been quite a strain, and to be honest I could do with an evening just vegging.’

  She rolled her head on her shoulders, rubbing at the nape of her neck.

  ‘Need a massage?’ Nikos gave a laugh and crossed towards her. He rested his hand on her neck and kneaded it gently with his fingertips.

  It was a casual gesture, lasting only a few moments, but Diana froze. There was something about the weight of his large hand on her nape...something about the soft pressing of his fingers into her skin, the brush of his hand against the loosened tendrils of her hair caught into its habitual chignon...something that made her feel suddenly weak. Breathless.

  ‘Better?’ he murmured, and she realised that somehow he seemed to have stepped close to her, so that he stood just behind her. Close—so close.

  Despite her frozen muscles, she seemed to be feeling a wash of intense relaxation easing through her—an impulse to roll her head forward and let free the low moan in her throat as she succumbed to the seductive touch of his fingers working at her neck.

  Seductive?

  With a scrambling of her senses she pulled herself together, made herself shake her head. Seductive? Was she mad to think such a thing?

  She took a step away, freeing herself, and turned towards him with a bright smile. ‘Lovely,’ she said lightly. ‘Thank you.’

  She headed towards her bedroom. She needed a bit of sanctuary right now.

  ‘I’m going to freshen up, then maybe order some fruit juice. The terrace looks very appealing at this time of day.’

  Chattering brightly, she didn’t look at him, just got inside her bedroom. She felt breathless. Determinedly, she inhaled. This had to stop. All this nonsense with her making such a fuss just because Nikos touched her. He hadn’t meant anything by it—not a thing. And especially nothing seductive, for heaven’s sake.

  Yet a few minutes later, as she stood under the shower, warm water plunging like rainfall
over her body, sluicing over her shoulders, her breasts, down over her flanks and legs, she felt a kind of restlessness inside her. An awareness of her own flesh and blood that was as rare as it was disturbing. As she smoothed the rich, foaming shower gel over herself, running her hands along her arms, her shoulders, her breasts and abdomen, there was a kind of sensuality about it...

  As if it were not her own hands running over her body...

  For one vivid, overpowering moment she had a vision of Nikos standing beside her in the steamy enclosure, the water sluicing over both of them as she stood in front of him, his strong arms enveloping her, his hands on her body, soothing, easing, smoothing...caressing her as he washed her then turning her towards him, his arms sliding around her waist, drawing her to him...

  She cut off the water. Furious with herself. What on earth was she thinking of? Nikos might be the man she’d married two days ago but he wasn’t her husband in anything but name. It was totally out of order to think of him in any other way.

  Determinedly she stepped out of the shower, towel-dried herself vigorously without the slightest hint of sensuality at all, deliberately not looking at herself in the glass as she did so, and got dressed as quickly as possible.

  Friendliness—that was the only atmosphere she wanted between them, and that was what she was set on ensuring.

  To her relief, that seemed to be Nikos’s idea as well for the evening. So it was in an atmosphere of relaxed congeniality that they dined on their terrace, she wearing a simple cotton print dress with a thin lacy shawl around her shoulders, he in chinos and a polo shirt, feet in leather flip-flops, both of them casual and comfortable.

  Unlike the elaborate tasting menu of the previous evening they chose more simple fare—grilled fish for herself, a steak for Nikos, followed by ice cream. Their conversation centred on chatting through the events of the afternoon, then Diana asked about his plans for the next day.

  ‘If you’re meeting those government ministers I’ll either laze by the pool or go and browse in the souks. Maybe both.’ She smiled at Nikos, reaching for a piece of fruit to chase down the last of her wine.