by Kate Hewitt
Olivia spent the morning as she had intended to, proofreading some correspondence in French. It was wordy stuff, about support for Kalidar’s social programmes, and made Olivia wonder about Serrat’s visit. What exactly were he and Zayed going to talk about? And why did Zayed want her there?
Anna fetched her in the afternoon and Olivia looked in surprise at her bedroom which, it seemed, had been transformed into a beauty spa.
‘Prince Zayed thought you would enjoy some spa treatments,’ Anna said with a smile.
Olivia spent the next few hours being pampered and massaged, tweezed and trimmed. When she finally emerged from the bathroom in a huge terry-cloth robe, she felt as if she were glowing from the inside.
Anna had laid out an evening gown, a column of deep blue, with a diamanté belt and detailing on the hem. Diamanté-studded high heels matched the outfit. It was the most gorgeous dress Olivia had ever seen.
Anna helped her slip it on and zipped up the back, then one of the beauty stylists came to do her hair in a loose chignon, a few dark tendrils slipping down artfully to frame her face.
‘I feel like Cinderella,’ Olivia said with a little laugh, but inside she felt a pulse of both disappointment and longing. She needed to give herself the reminder, because she was Cinderella. It was going to turn midnight on her very soon...if she wasn’t pregnant.
And if she was...
‘Come,’ Anna said as she handed her a matching gauzy wrap. ‘Prince Zayed and Monsieur Serrat are both waiting.’
With her heart starting to thud in anticipation, Olivia followed Anna from the bedroom to a small, private salon on the ground floor, its arched windows overlooking the back gardens that had been developed on the mountainside, surprisingly lush and green.
‘Ah, here she is.’ Zayed turned as she entered the candlelit room, giving her a smile that was both reassuring and devastating. He wore black tie, and the crisp white shirt and midnight tuxedo jacket suited him perfectly, the ultimate foil to his bronzed skin and ebony hair. Olivia became breathless just looking at him. ‘Monsieur Serrat, please let me introduce Miss Olivia Taylor.’
Olivia turned to the second man, who looked to be in his forties, with thinning hair and a kind smile as he nodded at her. ‘Pleased to meet you, mademoiselle.’
‘And you, monsieur,’ Olivia answered in French. ‘It is a pleasure.’
Pierre Serrat’s face lit up. ‘You speak French.’
‘Mais bien sûr,’ Olivia answered with a laugh. She came further into the room, her dress swishing about her ankles. She felt so beautiful in this dress, beautiful and confident in a way she never had before. She extended her hand, and with a grin Pierre Serrat kissed it. Olivia glanced at Zayed and saw a flash of something turn his eyes silver—admiration and perhaps even pride. An answering emotion fired through her, buoying her confidence all the more.
It wasn’t just the dress that made her feel this way. It was Zayed. Knowing that he’d needed her, that he wanted her here at his side...it felt like the ultimate empowerment.
The member of staff who was quietly serving them handed Olivia a glass of champagne, and the conversation flowed easily, from where Olivia had learned her French to the places she’d visited in France.
‘And what do you think of Kalidar?’ Serrat asked as they were seated at a small, intimate table laid for three. ‘It is quite different from Europe.’
‘I’ve been living in Abkar for several years,’ Olivia replied. ‘So I am used to this part of the world. And I find Kalidar to be quite beautiful, even if it is a harsh beauty.’
‘Well said,’ Serrat answered, raising his glass, and Olivia tilted her head in acknowledgement.
The conversation continued through five courses of a meal that could have been served in a Michelin-starred restaurant in Paris and, as Zayed had promised, Serrat did not ask any awkward questions about who she was or what she was doing there. Neither did he talk of politics or policy. Olivia suspected that would come later, when she wasn’t present, if it hadn’t already happened.
As she sipped her wine she let herself drift into a daydream that this was her reality—that Zayed had been restored as King and she was his Queen. That they were entertaining together, as they often would, a partnership, a team. It was such a pleasant daydream, but it also created an ache in her that was painful. It hurt to let herself imagine things that would never come to pass. Even if Zayed insisted on keeping her as his Queen, she knew instinctively that he would not want the kind of loving partnership she dreamed of. But perhaps it would come in time...
Was it foolishness to hope for such a thing? Madness? Yet she did. To her own weakness and shame, she did, because she wanted to be pregnant with Zayed’s child so she could live as his Queen...whatever he felt for her.
* * *
Olivia sparkled like the most brilliant jewel. All evening Zayed had trouble keeping his eyes off her and so, he’d noticed bemusedly, did Serrat. He’d made the right decision in having Olivia attend. Serrat had relaxed, seeing the western influence in Zayed’s life, speaking his own language. Their discussions that afternoon had been tenuous and wary; France was willing to support Zayed against Malouf but wanted to be reassured that Zayed would take Kalidar in a different direction—and what better way to prove that than by taking a western wife?
When Jahmal had told him that Sultan Hassan had sent Halina away and was refusing to accept his message or his gifts, Zayed had realised he needed to think seriously about an alternative. And he had, quite suddenly, realised that Olivia was the alternative, and a good one at that...even if she wasn’t pregnant.
Admittedly, he would have preferred a wife with further-reaching connections, but Olivia’s background as a diplomat’s daughter, her ease with languages and the fact that she was European were all points in her favour. If she was carrying his child, so much the better.
It was after midnight when Serrat said goodnight, and left Zayed and Olivia alone in the dining room, the room flickering with shadows and candlelight. Zayed ached just to look at her, her slender body encased in the sheath-like evening gown, the diamanté details making her sparkle so she looked like a blue flame.
‘You were lovely tonight,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Perfect.’
‘I didn’t do much,’ Olivia answered with a little laugh. ‘Just made small talk.’
‘Which was exactly what was needed.’ Zayed had a desperate urge to make love to her. He’d been fighting it all evening; he hadn’t touched her in ten days, since that madness had overtaken them both in his study, and he’d had her on his own desk. Even now he couldn’t believe how quickly and completely he’d lost control, yet it had felt so good. So right. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of her—and why should he? She was his wife. And she could stay his wife.
‘Do you think France will support your claim?’ Olivia asked. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him and Zayed knew she felt it too. The desire twanged between them; the air felt electric. He reached forward and took her hand, her fingertips sliding along his.
‘I hope so. Serrat will return to his government with a very favourable report, I have no doubt, and in no small part thanks to you.’ He drew her towards him and she came hesitantly, a question in her eyes. ‘I want to make love to you, Olivia,’ Zayed said, a ragged note entering his voice. His need was too great to hide it. ‘I’ve been wanting to make love to you all evening. For ten days, in fact. I’m in agony.’
She laughed softly at that, and as her hips nudged his heat flared. ‘I would hate to be the cause of your pain.’
‘You are the only one who can assuage it.’ His hands cupped her face, his palms sliding over her silken skin. He could never get enough of her. She tilted her face up to gaze at him, everything about her open and trusting. When he told her he intended to keep her as his Queen no matter what, pregnancy or no, she would give no objections. Of that he was certain.
Zayed lowered his head and brushed his lips against Olivia’s. She tasted cool and swee
t and so very lovely. He deepened the kiss, loving the feel of her softness against the hard planes of his chest and thighs.
‘Zayed,’ she murmured against his mouth, a protest. He stilled, surprised. Surely she would not deny him now? She wanted this as much as he did—even more. ‘Someone will come in.’ She gestured to the table strewn with dirty dishes. ‘To clear up.’
‘Not while I’m in here,’ Zayed answered confidently, and started drawing her towards him again, aching to feel her mouth once more.
Olivia shook her head. ‘They’ll be waiting until you leave. And they’ll be tired, having served us all night. Let’s not make them wait any longer.’
‘You are thinking of my staff?’
Olivia’s eyes flashed. ‘Having worked in a royal household for four years, I have some sympathy.’
‘Of course.’ With a smile he reached for her hand. ‘You are talking sense, especially as I would much rather make love to you on a bed. My bed.’
Her cheeks went pink. ‘Do you really think this is a—’
‘I don’t think.’ Zayed cut her off before she could verbalise any concerns. ‘I know. I want you, Olivia, and you want me. It’s that simple.’
‘Yes, but...’ Shadows crept into her stormy eyes. ‘What about...?’
‘Shh.’ He silenced her with a kiss. ‘Tonight is for us. Only for us.’ And, as she kissed him back, he knew he had her acquiescence. Her surrender.
Silently, holding her hand, he led her to his bedroom. The corridors were dark and shadowy, the mood singing with expectation. Her hand felt small and fragile in his.
Back in his bedroom his bed had been turned down by one his staff, the lamps turned to low, the perfect setting for seduction. Except this wasn’t even a seduction; this was both of them wanting each other. Revelling in each other.
As soon as the door closed behind them Zayed turned to Olivia and she came willingly; their bodies clashed, their mouths tangled and his blood and heart both sang. He backed her towards the bed and she tripped on her dress; the fragile material tore but Zayed didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything but the woman in his arms.
A single tug of the zip and the torn garment slithered off her, leaving her in nothing but a sheer bra and pants. She shivered slightly and Zayed realised she was nervous. The last time they’d been together, it had been rushed and urgent, and the time before that it had been a consummation, a matter of expediency. Tonight felt different for both of them.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said softly as he smoothed his hand from her shoulder to her hip. ‘Utterly beautiful.’
Relief flashed across her face and then, with an impish smile, she reached for the studs on his shirt. Her fingers trembled slightly as she undid the first one but then, emboldened by the throaty growl he couldn’t help but give, she undid the others, the studs clattering to the ground, then pushed his shirt aside before resting her palms flat on his chest.
‘You’re beautiful too,’ she said softly, and the blood roared through Zayed’s veins. This woman enflamed him. He pulled her to him, wanting to be slow and deliberate but craving her too much, even now. Especially now.
They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, hands and mouth reaching for whatever bit of skin they could access. He skimmed his hand along her inner thigh and she bucked, her response overwhelming.
Zayed reached for a condom from his bedside table. This time he would be careful. Within moments he’d buried himself inside her and, as Olivia met him thrust for thrust, he forgot about everything...everything but her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘HERE YOU ARE.’
Olivia took the slim rectangular box and tried not to gulp as she stared down at the lettering on its front. Zayed met her uncertain gaze evenly, his face completely bland, grey-green eyes shuttered. She’d spent all last night lost in his arms, seeking and finding pleasure after pleasure and joy after joy, but right now she had no idea what he was thinking or feeling, and she lacked the courage to ask him. A depressing thought, considering how wonderfully intimate last night had been—far more than the last two occasions they had come together.
Even now, with Zayed standing so fathomlessly in front of her, Olivia remembered how tenderly he’d held her, the Arabic endearments he’d murmured in her ear, the way he’d touched her, so reverently, as if she were a cherished treasure...and that was how she’d felt. She’d slept in his arms all night and woken in the morning with the biggest smile on her face and in her heart.
This moment was another proposition entirely.
‘Should I...?’ She glanced down at the rather lurid pink and blue writing on the side of the box. ‘Should I take it now?’
‘I don’t see why not.’ Zayed’s voice was as bland as his face, yet in both she detected an intensity that alarmed her. Was he dreading the possibility of her being pregnant that much? If she was pregnant, would he feel trapped, tied to her in a way he might hate?
‘Right.’ Her numb fingers closed around the box. ‘Well, then...’
He nodded towards the en-suite bathroom. ‘I’ll wait here.’
Wordlessly Olivia nodded, then she turned and made for the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a final-sounding click. She laid the box on the edge of the sink, willing her heart rate to slow and her nerves to steady. She was so nervous, and she had a terrible feeling it was because she was scared she wasn’t pregnant. That she’d be sent away. Or was she worried that she was pregnant and would be made to stay? The trouble was, Olivia didn’t know which she felt. Everything was a churning, mixed-up jumble inside her, and Zayed’s inscrutable face and tone weren’t helping.
Still, there was no point analysing her emotions until she knew the truth of the matter. Taking a deep breath, Olivia opened the box.
Three minutes later she turned over the test she’d taken to read the results, her nerves and hand both surprisingly steady. Three minutes had been an agony to wait, but now that the time had come she felt calmer because she knew she wanted to know, needed to know, for her own sake, her own sanity. She couldn’t take any more limbo. Even so, the single line, stark and vivid, felt like a smack in the face, a fist to the gut.
One line. Not pregnant.
Olivia sank down onto the edge of the sunken tub, her heart plummeting like a stone. Disappointment. That was what she felt now—like a tidal wave crashing over her and pulling her under. Total, sick disappointment. Tears stung her eyes and, impatient with herself, she blinked them away. This was a good thing. It had to be.
If she’d been pregnant, Zayed would have felt honour-bound to keep her as his wife, and theirs would have been a marriage of expediency and growing resentment, hardly the kind of environment in which to raise a child, never mind find her own happiness.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Yes, this was better. Even if her heart now felt like a leaden weight inside her, dragging her down.
‘Olivia?’ Zayed rapped on the door. ‘Surely you must have taken the test by now?’
‘Yes.’ She couldn’t let the disappointment show on her face, Olivia realised with a jolt of panic. That would be far too humiliating, to have Zayed realise she’d wanted his baby. She’d wanted to stay. ‘Yes, I’ve taken it.’
‘Well?’ Zayed sounded impatient, and Olivia couldn’t tell if there was any other emotion underneath that, hope or fear or something else.
‘I’m coming out.’ She glanced at the test one last time, the single, stark line, and then threw it into the bin. As she washed her hands she gave herself a silent and stern talking-to in the mirror.
This is for the best. It really is. You know that, Olivia, in your head, if not in your heart. You wouldn’t want Zayed to feel trapped. You wouldn’t want to feel trapped.
‘Olivia,’ Zayed prompted, a definite edge to his voice. She opened the door. His narrowed gaze scanned her from head to foot, assessing. ‘Well?’
‘I’m not pregnant,’ Olivia said quietly. Thankfully her voice was steady, as wer
e her hands, which she folded in front of her.
‘You’re not?’ Zayed sounded surprised. ‘But...’
‘But what? This was the most likely outcome, really.’ She made her mouth turn up in a smile. ‘It’s a relief for both of us, I’m sure.’
‘Yes.’ Zayed’s lips pressed together in a firm line. ‘Yes,’ he said again.
Olivia took a deep breath, willing this moment onward. ‘So,’ she said, prompting him to make that painful cut she knew was necessary. Zayed simply stared at her, eyes still narrowed. ‘You will resume negotiations with Sultan Hassan,’ Olivia continued. ‘And I will...’ She paused, wondering just what she would do. Where she would go from here. The future felt like a void. ‘I’ll make my plans.’
Zayed’s eyes narrowed further, to silvery-green slits. ‘And what plans are you thinking of making?’
Olivia tilted her chin. ‘That’s not your concern any more, is it?’
‘You’re my wife. Of course it’s my concern.’
‘Don’t, Zayed.’ She didn’t think she could take one of his autocratic dictates right now, never mind his playing the marriage card. ‘You know I’m not your wife like that.’ Never like that.
‘You’re my wife in every way possible at the moment,’ Zayed returned. ‘Or have you forgotten last night?’ Heat simmered in his eyes and Olivia felt as if the very air between them had tautened.
Olivia knew she’d live with the memory of last night for the rest of her life. ‘Of course I haven’t.’
‘Until this issue is resolved to my satisfaction, you will make no plans,’ Zayed ordered.
‘Your satisfaction?’ Was he actually going to keep her prisoner? She didn’t think she could bear it. ‘And what about mine?’
‘And yours,’ Zayed allowed. ‘I will make sure you are provided for, no matter what. But we are not finished here, Olivia. Not yet.’
‘How can we not be?’ His words, flatly delivered as they were, offered her a shred of hope that she knew she should refuse. Far better for him to release her, free her, so she could start to recover and heal. Staying with him would prolong the agony of wanting something she now knew she could never have. ‘You need to focus on Princess Halina,’ Olivia pressed on. ‘And Sultan Hassan. I’m no help there, Zayed.’