Society Weddings

by Sharon Kendrick

  The white embroidered dress pooled in a luxurious heap by her feet and she was left in nothing but the extravagant white lace of her lingerie. He made a fierce imprecation beneath his breath as his eyes observed the provocative swell of her breasts, before lifting her into his arms and carrying her across the room like a victor with his trophy, to where the divan awaited them.

  ‘Rashid,’ she half protested, but it was a wonderful sensation to be locked in the powerful arms of such a man.

  It wasn’t until he had lain her down that he looked at her with an expression as close to tenderness as she had ever seen, and her heart came close to melting. Because in that moment she recognised that her love for him burned as strong as it ever had.

  ‘Shall I undress for you now, my sweet Jenna?’ he questioned quietly. ‘Would you like that?’

  The blood thundered in her ears as she nodded, knowing that she would be far too shy to undress him herself. ‘Y-yes. Yes, I would.’

  With a fluid movement he swept the silken tunic over his head, dropping it carelessly on the floor, enjoying the way the tip of her tongue flicked its way along her lips as his muscular torso was laid bare.

  And then he untied the sash of his trousers and heard her tiny gasp as he kicked them away from him.

  He saw the startled direction of her eyes, and he looked down at himself and then shrugged. ‘You see the effect you have on me, my sweet Jenna?’ he mused, but then his voice gentled. ‘It will not be as before. I will make you taste pleasure tonight, my sweet desert flower,’ he promised softly. ‘I will satisfy your each and every need, and when the sun rises in the morning you will have known the rapture and the joy that your beauty and your virtue merits.’

  She didn’t doubt a word of it, and something in the velvet caress of his voice allayed her fears, so that when he came to join her on the divan she wrapped her arms around him tightly, with greedy possession.

  He laughed softly as she pressed her breasts so eagerly against his hair-roughened chest, and he kissed the top of her head before gently pressing her back against the bed.

  ‘Stay still,’ he commanded, and then his eyes glittered with irresistible challenge. ‘If you are able.’

  She stared at him in confusion, but by then he had taken her bra off, was bending his mouth to her nipple, and she felt such intense pleasure flooding through her as his lips closed around it that she moaned his name aloud.

  ‘Rashid?’

  ‘Shh,’ he whispered against the tightened nub, and licked it as luxuriously as he would a lollipop.

  And while he suckled her he began taking off her lace panties, very, very slowly, sliding them indolently down over her knees.

  ‘Rashid!’ she moaned, for the panties were off and she was as naked as he was, and now he was drifting his fingertips up inside her leg to find the silky flesh of her inner thigh.

  ‘Shh,’ he said again, only now his fingertip was no longer on her leg, but touching her very intimately indeed, teasing and moving against the moist skin in a way which was making it impossible for her not to move her hips in a silent yet agonised plea for she knew not what.

  ‘Rashid,’ she whispered in mystification. ‘What is this?’

  He tiptoed the finger with precision against her honeyed flesh and felt her shudder helplessly in response. ‘Mmmmm?’

  The powerful sensation which was creeping inexorably through her veins made her forget the question she had been asking, and she opened her eyes distractedly to find him watching her. And still he touched her, only now the movement had quickened, and he was bending his head to kiss her…and she felt as though she was going to die…to die or to…

  It came upon her with the shock and force of a thunderbolt, her back arching and her legs splaying indolently as wave upon wave of pleasure rocked through her and she moaned against his mouth.

  And only when she was completely still did he stop kissing her and raise his head to look down at her, a slow smile lifting his mouth as he saw her look of dreamy contentment, the flush of roses to her cheeks.

  She smiled back at him. ‘I liked that,’ she said shyly.

  He laughed with pleasure. ‘Yes, I know you did. But that was only the very beginning, my sweet Jenna. There are many, many variations on the act of love, and I intend to explore each and every one with you.’

  Just for a moment she felt her heart sink as she thought of all the other women he had known, but ruthlessly she pushed the thought away.

  He was her Sheikh and her husband and she was here in his bed—far better to seize the moment and enjoy it than to sadden herself with regrets and hopeless longings for words of love.

  He stroked away a damp strand of hair from where it had been glued to her cheek. ‘Shall I make you pregnant, Jenna? Would you like that?’

  Her heart thudded with disappointment against her ribcage. Was that all part of the deal—a son and heir just as soon as possible? ‘W-would you?’

  He shook his head. ‘Pregnancy changes a woman’s whole life. It is not for the man to decide.’

  ‘Well, then—I would like to wait for a while,’ she ventured. ‘To give ourselves a chance to know one another.’

  ‘Mmmm.’ He leaned over and pulled a packet of condoms from a secret drawer in the inlaid locker, then slanted her a lazy smile. ‘Starting tonight.’

  It wasn’t what she had meant, but her doubts were soon forgotten because Rashid had begun to make love to her, and who on earth could think at a time like that?

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘RASHID?’

  Rashid paused in the act of tying his sash and looked over at where Jenna lay, her naked body so golden against the snow-white of the sheet. It wasn’t easy being married to her—he never wanted to get out of bed in the mornings!

  He raised his dark brows quizzically. ‘Yes, my sweet?’

  She squinted at her watch. ‘You are up very early. Are you…are you going away?’ She nearly said again, but she bit the vulnerable word back.

  He nodded his gleaming dark head and glanced at the time. ‘I am afraid so, Jenna. I must travel to the eastern region with haste.’

  ‘Why?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, nothing that need concern you, my sweet.’

  No, of course not. Politics was not the business of a wife. It was always the same. Her heart lurched. ‘And will you be away for long, my Sheikh?’

  ‘For as long as it takes, Jenna—no longer.’

  She could tell from his voice that the subject was closed and she must be satisfied with his rather curt explanation—except that satisfied she most certainly wasn’t. No way. Except in the purely physical sense, of course—Rashid seemed able to fulfil her every wish and her every desire, and invent a whole lot more into the bargain.

  But ever since they had returned from their honeymoon she had discovered for herself just what was expected of the wife of the Sheikh—how she herself was nothing more than an isolated figurehead. And how their two worlds barely touched.

  She had her charity work and he had his affairs of state—a demanding and taxing role as Ruler which took him away from her far more than she would have dreamed of.

  So much for putting off having a baby so that she could get to know him—why, she barely saw him! The closeness which had been reawoken between them during those two glorious weeks of their honeymoon seemed to have vanished into nothing once they returned to the busy life of the palace.

  Everyone wanted him. His advisors wanted him. His politicians wanted him. Foreign countries wanted him. She wanted him, too—but the only time he was ever completely hers was in their marital bed, when he took her to paradise and back again without fail.

  But even that seemed strangely empty once the pleasures of fulfilment had receded and he had fallen into an exhausted sleep by her side. The words of love she longed to tell him remained unsaid—for Rashid was a man who seemed to have no time for terms of endearment. He told her that she was beautiful, yes, and he told her that her body pleased h
im greatly—but the lavish compliments only served to emphasise that she did not have what she most desired.

  His heart.

  ‘Can’t I come with you, Rashid?’ she asked plaintively. ‘Just this once?’

  He frowned. ‘That will not be possible. You have your committees, Jenna, and I am told that your contribution to them is invaluable. Do you not wish to serve your country, my sweet?’

  She heard the unmistakable disapproval in his voice and suppressed the sigh which would anger him further. She was not his partner. Nor his equal. Only when she had accepted that would she ever be able to find the inner peace she yearned for.

  ‘Then at least come and kiss me goodbye,’ she murmured.

  He did as she asked, feeling the sharp tug of desire as he bent his lips to the softness of hers and then ran his fingers through her hair. ‘It is almost down to your shoulders now,’ he murmured. ‘Much better.’

  ‘Thank you. I am glad that my Sheikh approves,’ she said demurely, and sat up, and saw his eyes darken as her bare breasts were revealed.

  ‘Do you know how much you tempt me?’ He sighed regretfully. ‘All my officials are waiting for me, but how I wish I could lose myself in you.’ He moved away from the bed before he was lost in the weakness of that temptation.

  With an aching heart she watched him leave and then lay back down on the divan again, staring sightlessly up at the high ceiling above her.

  It was not as she had hoped it would be—in fact it was a million miles away from how she had hoped it would be. He didn’t talk to her. Or confide in her. Or ask her advice. In six months of marriage he had seemed preoccupied the whole time, and Jenna felt like just a tiny, tiny fragment of his life. Yet deep down she had known and feared that it was going to be like this, for was it not the royal custom? Separate lives. His father had had a marriage which had been very similar, and his father before him—everyone in Quador knew that.

  Her own parents’ marriage had been exceptionally close, but that had been a rarity. High-born Quadorian men usually took mistresses. She knew that, and yet it did not stop her from yearning for that same kind of closeness with Rashid—a closeness he did not seem remotely interested in giving her.

  He was gone for five long days, with two crackled and annoyingly brief telephone calls their only communication.

  And then the very thing she had been most dreading happened.

  She was just emerging from a committee she had been chairing which had discussed setting up a hostel for battered wives, when one of her ladies-in-waiting gave her a message from Rashid.

  It was stark and to the point.

  I have to fly straight to Paris on urgent business and will probably be away for the week. I will ring you the moment I get the opportunity.

  Paris?

  Paris? Where Chantal lived and no doubt waited for the dark Sheikh.

  Her face blanched and she crumpled the paper with a whitened knuckle.

  ‘It is bad news, mistress?’ asked the lady-in-waiting anxiously.

  The very worst. Rashid had been given the perfect excuse to meet up with his mistress. Unless that was the real purpose behind his visit—and she had no way of finding out for Abdullah would tell her nothing. She shook her head. ‘No, it’s nothing,’ she lied painfully. ‘I will be—I will be in my office should there be any call from the Sheikh.’

  In her office she paced up and down and her heart pounded with fear and jealousy. It was only what she had expected, and yet the actuality was a million times more disturbing than her fevered imaginings.

  He was a man of relentless sexual appetite with a taste for the exotic. And he was used to variety. His stream of lovers had been legendary—so why on earth should that have changed? His father had taken mistresses—it had been an open secret at court. Six months of marriage had probably left Rashid feeling jaded and bored, no matter how much she tried to please him.

  Her hand trembled. She couldn’t share him! She would not share him! She would sooner be without him than be able to bear the thought of him in another woman’s arms!

  Her fingers still shaking, she picked up the telephone and rang her sister on the other side of the world. ‘Nadia?’

  ‘Jenna, is that you?’

  ‘Of course it’s me.’

  ‘But you sound terrible—what on earth is the matter?’

  ‘R-Rashid has flown to Paris.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Nadia—he has a mistress in Paris.’

  ‘Had a mistress,’ Nadia corrected gently. ‘He’s married to you now, remember?’

  As if she could forget! ‘I have to know if he’s seeing her, Nadia,’ she said urgently. ‘I can’t live my life like this—I have to find out!’

  ‘Well, can’t you just fly to Paris and surprise him?’

  Jenna shook her head. ‘Oh, sure—he’s surrounded by minders and aides who would lie through their teeth for him! If I announced that I was taking a plane to Paris he would probably hear about it before the airline did!’ An idea began to take root in her mind. ‘Unless I was arranging to meet you for a holiday in London, of course!’

  ‘London isn’t Paris,’ Nadia pointed out.

  ‘I know it isn’t—but I could catch a train from London straight to Paris.’

  ‘And what about your bodyguards? Can you really see them letting you do that?’

  Jenna gave a small tight smile at her strained reflection. ‘You know how people always say how similar we look?’ she queried softly. ‘Why, if you were wearing my clothes and I was wearing yours—well, anyone could easily mistake us for one another!’

  ‘Jenna—you aren’t suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you? Are you going to pretend to be me?’

  ‘How long have I covered up for you and Brad?’

  ‘That’s blackmail,’ her sister objected jokingly.

  ‘Or you could say that one good turn deserves another.’ There was a pause. ‘So how soon can you fly to London?’ Jenna asked crisply.

  Her plans proved almost ridiculously easy to execute. She arrived in London accompanied by a lady-in-waiting and two bodyguards and went straight to the large penthouse suite at the Granchester hotel, which Nadia had booked.

  She hadn’t seen her sister since the wedding, and the two of them embraced tearfully.

  ‘Jenna, what on earth are you going to say to Rashid?’ asked Nadia worriedly. ‘Won’t he go mad if he finds out you’ve been checking up on him? And won’t someone tell him that you’ve left Quador?’

  ‘I don’t care. I have to find out the truth,’ said Jenna urgently. ‘The man I married is like a stranger to me.’

  ‘Already?’ asked Nadia sadly.

  ‘Except during our honeymoon, when we seemed as close as a couple could be.’

  ‘But you love him? You do still love him, don’t you?’

  ‘As life itself,’ answered Jenna simply. ‘That much has not changed. But I can’t live a lie, Nadia—and my love for him will be eaten away if he intends to be free with other women. I would sooner divorce him than have that happen.’

  ‘He would never allow it, Jenna—you know that.’

  ‘We shall see. We’re in the twenty-first century now, not the Dark Ages—he cannot keep me a prisoner to his will!’

  Jenna sent one of the bodyguards out with her lady-in-waiting to pick up a coat she had ordered from one of London’s most exclusive department stores and then she dressed in some of Nadia’s unashamedly American clothes.

  And by nine o’clock that evening she found herself safely alone in Paris, speeding along in a taxi towards the Splendide, where Rashid always stayed when he was in the city.

  Unless he was at Chantal’s, she thought, with a painful lurch of her heart.

  She went straight up to his suite and the door was opened by Abdullah, his look of confusion quickly becoming one of wariness as he registered just who it was standing there, in blue jeans and a black leather jacket.

  ‘Mistress,’ he said slowly
, and bowed his head.

  ‘I have come to see the Sheikh.’

  There was a pause. ‘The Sheikh is not expecting you.’

  It was unmistakably a reprimand, but Jenna forced a smile onto lips which felt as though they had been carved from ice. ‘I want to surprise him.’

  ‘The Sheikh is not here, mistress.’

  ‘And I suppose you’re not going to tell me where he is, Abdullah?’

  ‘You know that I cannot do that, mistress.’

  Her skin prickled and her smile faded as she marched past him. ‘Then I shall wait.’

  She didn’t have to wait long. She had only been slumped in an armchair for less than ten minutes, watching a French soap opera in a vain attempt to try to keep her heart-rending thoughts at bay, when Rashid entered the luxury suite.

  She heard him before she saw him. Heard the urgent words spoken to him in an undertone by Abdullah. And then suddenly he was there, filling the room with his magnificent and rather daunting presence. She searched his impassive face for any tell-tale signs of betrayal. Where had he been? Had his naked limbs been entwined with Chantal’s? Where had he been?

  He stood looking at her, his face as dark and as unforgiving as thunder, but she was too angry to care.

  ‘Would you care to explain the meaning of this unwarranted intrusion?’ he hissed.

  Intrusion! ‘And would you care to explain just where you have been until this hour?’ she retorted furiously.

  ‘I’ll tell you where I have been, you little fool—I have been at the British Embassy in an attempt to find out your whereabouts!’ he stormed. ‘I have had half the police force in London scouring the city. And your sister—who I gather you were supposed to be meeting—is nowhere to be found either! What the hell are you doing here, Jenna? And where the hell are your bodyguards?’

  ‘I gave them the slip!’ she boasted, blithely ignoring the look of dark menace on his face. ‘I dressed as Nadia and took the shuttle from London!’