Tycoon's Ring of Convenience

by Julia James

  He grinned again. ‘It’s just practice,’ he said. ‘And good lung capacity.’

  Diana’s eyes went to the smooth, muscled expanse of his chest, with its perfectly honed pecs and taut solar plexus in the flat between his hard-edged ribs. She looked away hurriedly. Feasting her gaze on his near naked body was no way to behave.

  She waded to the steps and clambered out, wrapping a towel around herself. ‘I’m heading indoors,’ she announced. ‘Time to shower. What’s the drill for this evening?’ Her voice held the light, bright tone she was determined to keep with him.

  ‘Sunset drinks on the terrace,’ he informed her. ‘No rush.’

  It was just as well he’d said that, Diana discovered, for when she returned indoors she was immediately swept away by what seemed to be a whole posse of waiting women who, with a flurry of soft-footed, smiling attention, proceeded to get her ready for the evening.

  For a brief moment she resisted—then relented. After all, never again would she be staying in a royal hideaway in the Arabian desert—so why not indulge in what was being so insistently offered to her?

  With murmurs of ‘Shukran!’ she gave herself up to their ministrations.

  * * *

  Nikos stood on the wide upper-storey terrace, edged by a balustrade in the red sandstone that the whole building was constructed with, smooth and warm to the touch still, though the sun was close to setting. To the east, colour was fading from the sky, and soon stars would be pricking out in the cloudless sky. There would indeed be a spectacular show later on.

  Ruminatively he sipped his drink, a cool, mint-flavoured concoction that went well with the ambience. There was champagne on ice awaiting Diana’s eventual emergence. His eyes narrowed slightly as he recalled that moment in the pool, when she’d made no secret of being oh-so-aware of his body. Finding it pleasing to her.

  Anticipation thrummed softly through him. Finally...finally he was losing the ice maiden! It had taken him this long, but the thaw was underway. He felt the tug of a caustic smile at the corner of his mouth as his eyes rested on the desert vista beyond. In this heat, how could she help but thaw?

  And here, now, in this the ultimate hideaway, she would melt completely, he knew.

  Mentally he sent a message of thanks to the Sheikh and his romantic-souled sister. This place was absolutely ideal. The hotel might have been designed to convey the impression of Arabian Nights—but this was the real thing.

  His smile lost its caustic edge and widened into one of true appreciation. An appreciation he knew Diana shared too. There was an authenticity to this place that appealed to her—it had a history, a cultural heritage. Generations had passed through it, leaving the echo of their presence, and that made it similar in essence to her own country house home. He felt it was a good omen for their stay.

  A sound behind him made him turn. And as he did every thought about the edifice he was in vanished. Every thought in his head vanished except one.

  It was Diana—and she looked...

  Sensational.

  She was walking towards him slowly. Slowly, he realised, because she was in very high heels and her dress was very tight. It must, he realised instantly, be the couture gown gifted to her by the Princess. And, oh, the Princess had chosen well!

  The superbly crafted gown contoured Diana’s figure like a glove, fitting her almost like a second skin. There was nothing at all immodest in the fit—it simply skimmed over her flawlessly, the smooth, pale yellow material creating a sheen that glistened in the fading light, aglow from the setting sun reflecting off the golden dunes.

  He gazed at her, riveted, as she approached, the short train of the dress swishing on the marble floor, the delicate beading rustling at her bodice and hem.

  She stopped as she came up to him. ‘The Princess had this delivered here!’ she announced.

  She’d been half dismayed to discover that Princess Fatima had kept to what she’d promised, and half dazzled by wearing so exquisite a gown, far in excess of what her own wardrobe ran to.

  Nikos’s eyes swept over her. ‘You look fantastic,’ he breathed.

  His whole body had tensed, tautened, and he could not take his eyes from her. The incredible gown—haute couture at its most extravagant best—needed no jewellery. The beading served as that, and all that had been added was a kind of narrow bandeau of the same material, embroidered all over with the delicate beading that had been woven through the elaborate coiffure of her hair. Her make-up was subdued, but absolutely perfect for her, her lips a soft sheen, her skin unpowdered, her eyelashes merely enhanced, and a little kohl around the eyes themselves. It made her look sensual and exotic.

  ‘It’s incredible,’ he murmured, still sweeping his gaze over her. He found himself reaching for her hands—their nails were pearlescent, with a soft sheen like her lips. Slowly he raised them to his mouth. His eyes met hers. ‘You were always beautiful,’ he said, ‘but tonight—tonight you surpass the stars themselves!’

  For a moment their eyes met and mingled. Held. Something seemed to pass between them...something that she could not block—did not wish to. Something that seemed to keep her absolutely motionless while Nikos beheld her beauty.

  Then, with a little demur, she slipped her hands away and gave a tiny shake of her head. ‘It’s the gown,’ she said. ‘It’s a work of art in its own right.’

  ‘Then it needs a toast of its own!’ Nikos laughed.

  A servant was hovering, waiting to open the champagne, and Nikos nodded his assent. A moment later he was handing Diana a softly beaded flute and raising his own.

  ‘To your gown—to its exquisite beauty.’ He paused. A smile lurked at his mouth, and his eyes were not on the gown. They were on Diana. ‘And to you, Diana, my most exquisitely beautiful bride.’

  She gazed up at him, her own glass motionless, and met his dark, lustrous eyes, so warm, so speaking...

  And suddenly out of nowhere, out of the soft desert night that was slowly sweeping towards them from the east, as the burning sun sank down amongst the golden dunes, she felt a sense of helplessness take her over. She hadn’t wanted to come to this place—this jewel-like desert hideaway, this royal love-nest dedicated to sensual love—but she was here. Here and now—with this man who, alone of all the men she had ever encountered, seemed to have the ability to make her shimmer with awareness of his overpowering masculinity.

  She simply could not bring herself to remember that he was the man who was saving Greymont for her, to whom she was to be only a society wife, playing the role that he wanted her to play at his side.

  How could she think of things like new roofs for Greymont and rewiring, restoring stonework and all the bills that came with that? How could she think of being just a useful means for Nikos Tramontes to move in circles he had not been born into? And how could she think of things like marriages of convenience that were nothing more than business deals?

  It was impossible to think of such things! Not standing here, in this priceless precious gown, with a glass of vintage champagne between her fingers as she stood looking out over the darkening desert, miles and miles from anywhere, alone with Nikos.

  So she raised her glass to him, took a first sip, savouring the delicate mousse of the champagne.

  ‘To you, Nikos,’ she said softly. ‘Because I would not be here were it not for you.’ Her eyes held his still. ‘And, as you say, this is an experience of a lifetime...’

  Something changed in his eyes—a fleck of gold like flame, deep within. ‘It is indeed, my most beautiful bride.’

  A frisson went through her and she was powerless to stop it. Powerless to do anything but look back at him and smile. Drink him in. Her eyes swept over him. He was wearing narrow-cut evening trousers, but not a dinner jacket. His dress shirt, made of silk, was tieless, open at the neck, his cuffs turned back and fastened with gold links that caught the last of the setting sun and exposed his strong wrists.

  He looked cool, elegant and—she gulped silently—de
vastatingly attractive. His freshly shaved jawline, the sable hair feathering at his nape and brow, the strong planes of his features and those dark, deep-set, inky-lashed eyes that were meeting her gaze, unreadable and yet with a message in them that she could not deny.

  Did not wish to deny...

  Emotion fluttered in her again. How far away she was from the reality of her life—how immersed she was, here, in this fairytale place, so remote, so private, so utterly different from anything she had known.

  It’s just me and Nikos—just the two of us.

  The real world seemed very far away.

  She felt a quiver in her blood, her pulse, felt sudden breathlessness. Something was happening to her and she did not know what.

  Except that she did...

  She took another mouthful of the rare-vintage champagne, feeling the rush of effervescence in the costly liquid create an answering rush in herself. She felt as light as air suddenly, breathless.

  She became aware that the silent-footed servants were there again, placing tempting delicacies on golden platters on an inlaid table, bowing and then seeming to disappear as noiselessly as they had appeared.

  ‘How do they do that?’ Diana murmured as she leant forward to pick at the delicate slivers of what, she did not know—knew only that they tasted delicious and melted in her mouth like fairy food.

  ‘I suspect a magic lamp may be involved,’ Nikos answered dryly, and Diana laughed. Then he smiled again—a smile that was only for her—and met her eyes. He raised his glass again. ‘To an extraordinary experience,’ he said, his slight nod indicating their surroundings.

  She raised her own glass and then turned her attention to the darkening desert. ‘I shall certainly remember this all my life,’ she agreed. Her gaze swept on upwards. ‘Oh, look—stars!’

  ‘There’ll be a whole lot more later on,’ Nikos said. ‘For now, let’s just watch the night arrive.’

  She moved beside him, careful not to lean on the balustrade lest the work of art she was wearing was marked or creased in any way. Her mood was strange.

  She had given herself over to the murmuring attentions of what she could only refer to as handmaidens, letting them do what they willed with her. It had started with them bathing her, in water perfumed with aromatic oils, and gone on from there until she’d walked out on to the terrace feeling almost as if she were in a dream.

  Because surely it must be a dream—standing here beside Nikos, watching the night darken over the dunes, hearing the strange, alien noises of night creatures waking and walking, feeling the air start to cool, the air pressure change. How far away from the real world they seemed. How far away from everything that was familiar. How far away from everything that was not herself and Nikos.

  Her eyes went to him again, seeing his elegantly rakish garb, the absence of a tie, the open-necked shirt, the turned-back cuffs, all creating that raffish look, looking so sensual.

  She felt a ripple of ultra-awareness go through her like a frisson. As if every nerve-ending were suddenly totally alert—quivering. And as she stood beside him she caught his scent—something musky, sweet-spiced and aromatic, that went perfectly with this desert landscape, matching the oh-so-feminine version of the perfume with which she had been adorned. It caught her senses, increasing the tension that was vibrating silently through her as she stood beside him, so aware of his presence close to her, knowing she only had to lean a little sideways for her arm to press against his. For his arm to wrap around her, pull her to him as they stood gazing out over the darkening desert.

  From somewhere deep within her another emotion woke. One she should pay heed to. One that called to her to listen. But she would not listen. She refused to listen. Refused to heed it. She would only go on standing here, nestled into the strong, protective curve of Nikos’s arm, gazing out over the desert that surrounded them all about, keeping the world beyond far, far away.

  She sipped her champagne, as did he, and they stood in silence until the night had wrapped them completely and the dunes had become looming, massy shapes, darker than the night itself. Overhead, stars had started to blaze like windows into a fiery furnace beyond. Behind them torches were being lit by unseen hands along the length of the terrace, and several braziers, too, to guard against the growing chill of the desert night, and the flickering firelight danced in the shadows all around them.

  She turned, and realised that through the archways that pierced the inner border of the terrace more light was spilling—softer light—and the characteristic sweetly aromatic scent of Middle Eastern cuisine.

  ‘Ready to dine?’ Nikos asked her with a smile, and she nodded, suddenly hungry.

  Lunch seemed a long time ago. Her everyday reality a long time ago.

  Because this surely wasn’t real, was it? Nikos as her very own desert prince, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and she, gliding beside him like a princess, in a gown fit for royalty, her train swishing on the inlaid marble floor.

  Servants were guiding them forward, smiling and bowing, ushering them into yet another room. She gave a soft cry of delight as they entered. It was a dining room, the interior constructed out of wood, fretted and inset with tessellations which glinted in the light of the dozens of candles that were the only illumination, burning in sconces on the walls and pillars all around, and on the table set for them with golden dishes, golden plates—golden everything, it seemed. The air was heavy with the fragrance of frankincense from hidden burners.

  ‘Jamil jaddaan—very beautiful!’ Diana exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight and indicating the exquisite room.

  The servants bowed and smiled, and the steward pulled back huge carved wooden chairs, lined with silk cushions, for her and Nikos. She took her place carefully, and Nikos sat opposite her.

  The meal that followed was as exquisite as the room they dined in—dishes of rich, fragrant Middle Eastern food, with delicately spiced charcoal-baked meats as familiar as lamb and as unfamiliar as goat and camel, and who knew what else besides, as tender as velvet, all served with rice enhanced with nuts and dates and raisins, sweet and savoury at the same time.

  As a mindful precaution for her priceless gown Diana had called for a shawl to be brought, which she’d swathed around her upper body while she ate.

  ‘I couldn’t bear to mark this dress!’ She shuddered at the thought. ‘I doubt it could ever be cleaned—and even if it could the cost would be terrifying!’ She looked at it musingly. ‘I wonder when I’m ever going to have an opportunity to wear it again.’

  He answered instantly. ‘When we entertain at Greymont,’ he said. ‘Once all the work is complete we can give a grand ball—and you shall wear the Princess’s gown for it.’

  A vision leapt in her mind instantly. Greymont, thronged with guests, and she and Nikos descending the stairs to the hall, her hand on his arm—man and wife, side by side. As if their marriage was a true one.

  For a moment longing fired within her. So fierce she felt faint with it.

  What if my marriage to Nikos were real?

  The thought wound its way around her senses, enticing, beguiling, sweet and fragrant—just as the fragrance of the frankincense was winding its way around her senses, along with the glowing effervescence of champagne, the deep, rich sensuality of the wine, her physical repletion after the delicately spiced foods, the soft golden light of the candles, reflected a million times in the golden dishes...

  The light was setting off the man she had married a few short days ago with a golden sheen, softening the contours of his face, giving him glints like flecks of gold in his dark, long-lashed eyes.

  Eyes that were resting on her.

  With a message in them that was as old as time.

  ‘Diana.’

  He said her name in a low voice, setting down his wine glass slowly, paying it no attention. All his focus was on her, now, as she sat there, held in his gaze.

  ‘Diana...’

  He said her name again. His voice was husky now. How beautiful
she was! Like a rare, exquisite jewel, shining in this jewel box of a room. For him alone.

  He got to his feet, oblivious of the servant who was instantly there, drawing back the heavy, carved cedarwood chair. He held out a hand towards Diana. Slowly, very slowly, she got to her feet. Unnoticed, her swathing shawl fell to the floor. Unnoticed, a servant stooped to pick it up, drape it gracefully around her shoulders.

  Wordlessly she took Nikos’s hand. It closed over hers, warm and strong. She felt faint suddenly, and filled with a subliminal sense of anticipation. His eyes smiled at her—warm, like his handclasp.

  ‘Shall we look at the stars?’ he said softly.

  Still wordless, she nodded. There was a breathlessness in her—a headiness that had nothing to do with the consumption of champagne and wine and everything to do with Nikos holding her hand, leading her away.

  They went back out on to the wide marble terrace and down to the far end where, Diana realised, there was a flight of steps that would take them upwards to the roof.

  As they gained the flat surface she gave an audible gasp. Only a very dim torch, low down, lit the top of the steps. Beyond there was velvet darkness. A darkness that was pierced only above their heads by a forest of stars, the incandescence of them burning through the floor of heaven.

  She lifted her hand. ‘It’s as if I could reach up and pluck one down, they seem so close!’ she said in wonder.

  Nikos tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, leading her carefully, mindful of her high heels, into the centre of the wide flat rooftop, which was carpeted like a roofless open-air room. Roofed by stars.

  The sky was like a bowl, inset with stars down to the horizon, or so it seemed—a horizon marked only by the rounded edges of the dunes, the jagged outlines of rocks and outcrops. She gazed about her, lips parted, awestruck, tilting back her head.

  She dimly was aware that she was leaning against the strong column of Nikos’s body to give herself balance. He was gazing upwards too, his gaze sweeping in wide arcs to take it all in. He started to name the constellations that were visible at these latitudes, at this season, raising his arm to guide her.