Jane was introduced to countless people that night, but all she could think about was the dark king by her side. A man who, for all his earlier confidences, now seemed as cool and distant as a stranger. And wasn’t the crazy thing that those confidences had whetted her appetite and made her want more of that kind of closeness, even though she knew she wasn’t going to get it?
She tried to put it out of her mind as she met with the glittering Washington crowd she guessed must frequent these kinds of parties. Her mouth was aching from smiling and she was hopeful she’d produced a convincing performance as the monarch’s consort but soon she began to long to escape from the chatter and the crowd. On her way back from the restroom, she took the opportunity to grab a moment’s respite by relaxing behind the privacy of a marble pillar when she was startled by the sound of a vaguely familiar English voice behind her.
‘Jane?’
It was strange, hearing someone use her first name when she was quickly getting used to people referring to her by one of her royal titles. She turned round to see a tall, geeky-looking man in dark-rimmed glasses standing there—a slightly amused smile on his lips.
She screwed up her eyes as a long-ago memory stirred. ‘Hello,’ she said, half questioningly.
‘You don’t remember me?’
And suddenly she did. It was David Travers, who’d studied at the School of Oriental and Asian Studies with her and shared her passion for the east. He’d been a ‘geek’ just like her, though Jane had reflected at the time that male geeks were much more popular than their female equivalent. Similarly ambitious, the two of them had spent long hours together, burning the midnight oil in the library, before they’d lost contact after leaving university.
‘Of course I remember you,’ she said, her smile widening. ‘It’s just a bit weird seeing you here—a blast from my past, when everything is mainly about my husband.’
‘Not nearly as weird as it is for me seeing the super academic Jane Smith looking like, well...like a queen!’
She smiled. ‘How lovely to see you again, David. What are you doing these days?’
He returned her smile as he walked over to join her. ‘I’m here in an official capacity. I work in Washington. I joined the Foreign Office after college and thought I’d done rather well for myself, but I must say that you’ve exceeded all expectations. A sheikha, no less.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘How are you, Jane?’
Only someone who had known you when you had nothing could have asked such a candid question and for a moment Jane couldn’t think quite how to answer. Could he read the uncertainty in her eyes? Could she bluster enough to convince him she was happy?
‘I’m fine,’ she said breathlessly, even though she didn’t feel it. Because how could she tell him the way she really felt—uncertain about her future and her growing feelings for the man she’d married? Feelings which were going to end up hurting her if she allowed them to. She forced a smile—the same cool, queen-like smile she’d been giving all evening. ‘Absolutely fine.’
‘Well, you look amazing—I hardly recognised you at first,’ David said quietly. ‘Though if you’ll forgive me for saying so—a little pale.’ He hesitated. ‘Look, would you like to go and stand outside on the balcony? I think it’s still warm enough—and the view is pretty amazing from there.’
* * *
From his vantage point on the opposite side of the ballroom, Zayed watched Jane slip outside with a man he didn’t know and was startled by the dark and inexplicable rush of jealousy which flooded through him. Inexplicable because he didn’t do jealousy. Just as he didn’t do baring his soul and talking about stuff from the past which was better left deep inside. But he had done all that, hadn’t he? Had allowed his wife to glimpse the man beneath the royal façade and was now bitterly regretting letting his tongue run away with him.
He could see her on the balcony, the wind making her hair shimmer as the stranger in glasses moved a little closer. Zayed turned his head and gave the merest elevation of his eyebrows—a gesture which was correctly interpreted by one of his staff, who came scurrying over, to inform him that the sophisticated-looking man in glasses was a diplomat at the British Embassy.
His aide spoke in rapid Kafalahian. ‘You wish me to remove him from the side of the Queen, Your Highness?’
‘No,’ said Zayed tersely. ‘I have no wish to cause any kind of scene. As it happens, I am growing a little weary. The Sheikha and I will retire before the night is much older.’
But a lifetime of protocol was hardwired into Zayed’s system and he forced himself to endure the rituals which were expected of him. Rituals so familiar he felt he could have performed them in his sleep. He’d been to hundreds of parties like this, though never with a new bride. Not that such a change in his marital status deterred the glamorous heiresses who made it clear they were more than eager to enjoy his body between the sheets. But Zayed had no appetite for brazen blondes with fake breasts and lustrous lips. His interest was not stirred by their predatory expressions or louche intentions. All he could focus on were the shadowy outlines of his virginal wife and the man with whom she stood talking on the balcony.
At last he could bear it no longer and he walked outside to see Jane’s hair being lifted from her cheeks by the light breeze and the sparkle of the Kafalahian Star rivalling the glittering stars overhead. And suddenly all his self-belief that he was not a jealous man was vanquished by the burst of sheer possessiveness he experienced as he saw her curvy body, outlined in the black dress. He could feel the wild thunder of his blood. Was that guilt he read on her face as she turned and saw him? he wondered grimly. Why else did she bite her lip and stop speaking as soon as he appeared?
‘Zayed!’ she said at last, fixing a bright smile to her lips. ‘I’d like to—’
‘We’re leaving, Jane.’
‘But—’
‘Now,’ he said, with silken emphasis, aware of the faint look of surprise on the face of her companion, but suddenly he didn’t care if he was breaking some damned protocol.
Zayed could hear her saying something to the man, but his blood was pounding so loudly in his temples that he couldn’t make out what it was. He said nothing as they bade goodnight to the Ambassador, nor as they mounted the sweeping staircase in silence, the fading strains of music from the ballroom the only sound he could hear, other than the loud thunder of his heart. But as soon as he’d dismissed the discreet posse of bodyguards who had followed them and shut the door of their suite, he turned to her, unable to dampen his outrage.
‘What do you think you were playing at?’ he demanded hotly. ‘Behaving in such an inappropriate way?’
But if he was expecting contrition, he was quickly disappointed because she rounded on him with nothing but anger spitting from her amber eyes.
‘I could say the same for you!’ she retorted. ‘I can’t believe you acted that way. Stomping up to me and dragging me away like some sort of caveman. You were so rude!’
‘Please don’t presume to lecture me on courtesy,’ he responded icily. ‘And let me ask you instead why you sneaked off to be alone with a man who is unknown to me?’
‘And whose fault is that? You didn’t exactly hang around so I could introduce you, did you?’
‘That isn’t the point, Jane.’
‘No? Then what is the point? Would you prefer to choose everyone I’m allowed to speak to for the duration of our so-called marriage?’
‘Let’s just keep to the salient facts,’ he bit back. ‘What were you saying, which required so much secrecy, which required you to sneak out onto the balcony in order to say it?’
She shook her head and stared at the carpet. ‘That wasn’t why we went outside.’
‘I want to know.’
She lifted her chin and he could read the defiance on her face. ‘David is an old friend from university and we have lots
in common—mainly a love of ancient literature. We used to study together in the university library. He’s a nice person. I simply hinted that some time in the future we might be friends again.’
‘Friends?’ he shot out. ‘Or more than friends?’
‘Who knows?’ She shrugged but the anger was still sparking from her eyes. ‘Who knows what the future holds when I am no longer your Queen?’
‘And did you tell him the truth about our marriage? Did you give him a timetable of our chaste nights and impending divorce so that he could start ticking off the days until you could leap into his bed?’
‘Of course I didn’t! We just had a normal conversation and it helped me come to a conclusion which has been bubbling away ever since I agreed to be your wife.’ She sucked in a deep breath and pulled back her shoulders. ‘I’ve realised I can’t go on the way I have been doing, just existing in the shadows, like a ghost of a woman. I’ve realised that once this is all over, I want to get out there and start living. I want to be a real woman,’ she finished slowly.
‘Is that a euphemism for having sex?’
There was a pause and when she met his eyes her expression was fearless. ‘Well, why not?’ she challenged, her voice low and true. ‘I doubt whether you’ll be signing a pledge of chastity after we get divorced, will you, Zayed? I’m not planning to be a virgin all my life.’
He could hear the sound of heavy breathing and realised it was his own, just as he realised that the erection pressing against his trousers was harder than anything he’d ever felt before. He could feel the pounding of his heart and knew he shouldn’t do what he was about to do but somehow he just couldn’t stop himself. He reached out and caught her in his arms, seeing the instant darkening of her eyes and the frantic pulse which was beating at her temple as he pulled her against him. With his thumbs he smoothed back her hair, their roughened pads brushing against each diamond clip as he stared down into her face.
‘What are you doing, Zayed?’ she croaked, her tongue snaking out to moisten her lips as if to prepare them in readiness for him.
‘What I should have done weeks ago,’ he said, lowering his mouth to hers.
Jane felt her breath catch and her heart begin a giddy dance as Zayed began to kiss her. And after all the weeks of frustration, all she was aware of was an immense sensation of joy because if she was being brutally honest—hadn’t she dreamed of this moment? Yes, she had. Night and day and at the most inappropriate moments, she’d wondered what it would be like to be in Zayed Al Zawba’s arms like this. She’d always imagined that his kiss would be brutal. That it would be hard and possessive and masterful, just as he was. That it would crush her into sexual submission by showing her exactly who was boss and who had all the experience. But she had been wrong, because this was no such thing. It was a tantalising brush which was barely there. A slow, sensual invitation as his mouth grazed hers and sent her senses spinning. ‘Oh,’ she breathed, disbelieving wonder distorting her voice as she clutched his shoulders, like someone who was in danger of sliding to the ground. ‘Oh.’
He drew back his head, his black eyes dazed as they focussed on hers. ‘Did you enjoy that, my Queen?’ he questioned unsteadily.
What was the point in lying? Why not face up to the truth of her feelings? ‘More than you’ll ever know,’ she said softly.
She saw the flicker of fire in his eyes as he resumed the kiss in a more intimate re-enactment of what had just taken place. This time his tongue flickered over her teeth, until they opened to grant him access and he deepened the kiss. And now she was on completely different territory. She was the puppet and he the master—producing in her a reaction which she didn’t know she was capable of. She could sense it in her spiralling response—in the way she wriggled her hips restlessly against the hard cradle of his, as if she were performing some ancient kind of dance which she knew without having been taught. Suddenly Zayed made a low, growling sound in the back of his throat before picking her up and carrying her over to the bed. She could see the tension on his hawkish features as he laid her down, just as she could feel the urgent swelling of her breasts in response. Her body felt as if it had suddenly become too big for the dress she was wearing—as if her breasts were going to burst right out of the too-tight bodice.
Because this wasn’t part of their deal, was it? They weren’t supposed to be doing this.
‘Zayed,’ she said desperately, shivering with longing as the mattress dipped beneath his weight and suddenly he was lying next to her, stroking his thumb reflectively over the silky black fabric of her gown and making her nipple grow hard. She tried to hold back her instinctive cry of pleasure. ‘We...we mustn’t.’
‘Mustn’t what?’
He stroked some more and made her squirm and although it was as much as she could do to keep her eyes open, she forced herself to meet the mockery in his gaze.
‘We’re not...we’re not allowed to have sex. You know that,’ she gasped, because now he was rucking the delicate fabric of her dress up her legs, all the way to her panties and her thighs were weak and trembling. ‘We’re not supposed to be...’ she struggled to get the words out but it was difficult when his hand was on her leg like that ‘...consummating our marriage!’
‘And we’re not going to.’
‘Then what...?’ She shuddered again as he began to circle his finger around one of her stocking tops. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Why don’t you let me take care of this?’ he said unevenly.
‘Take care of what?’
‘We’re allowed to have pleasure, surely? Just not full, penetrative sex.’ His voice grew husky as he continued to explore the band of delicate lace around her thigh. ‘But there are plenty of other things we can do which don’t cross that particular barrier.’
Jane swallowed, some warning bell in her befuddled brain telling her this wasn’t right but the sensations which were shooting through her body were making objection impossible. ‘Are you sure that’s...allowed?’
‘If the King decrees it, then it is allowed.’
‘How very arrogant,’ she breathed.
‘I never claimed not to be arrogant. Just as I never promised not to bend the rules to suit our needs.’ He touched his lips to hers so she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. ‘We’ll be sticking to the spirit of the law, if not exactly the letter.’
‘Zayed...’ Her throat now felt so thick that she could barely get the word out, especially as his finger had left her stocking top and was slowly inching towards her panties.
‘Don’t you want to have an orgasm, Jane?’ he questioned idly. ‘To come beneath my fingers and experience a bliss like no other?’
Her mouth dried and she licked her lips as she felt his fingertip brushing over the taut, damp fabric. ‘I—’
‘You’ve read all those erotic Kafalahian texts, haven’t you?’ he said. ‘I know you have, because I’ve seen them open in that book beside the bed. You’ve seen all those different acts of pleasure which are possible between a man and a woman. You know very well that fulfilment can be attained through use of the fingers, the mouth and the tongue. It’s not all about the penis, Jane.’
‘Zayed!’ she remonstrated, colour flooding into her cheeks because nobody had ever said that word to her before. Nobody.
‘Haven’t you ever thought that you might like to try some of those techniques yourself?’ he persisted softly—now stroking his finger up and down the centre panel of her panties.
Of course she had. But that was a bit like someone stuck in a land-locked country imagining what it would be like to go swimming in the sea every morning. She’d just never associated it with her. She was stolid Jane and serious Jane, but never sexy Jane. Or at least, she hadn’t been. Until now. Now she was feeling very sexy indeed and it was all down to this man.
He edged his fingertip
beneath the elastic of her panties and she shuddered as she felt his fingers touch the acutely sensitive flesh which was growing wetter by the second. ‘Zayed,’ she said faintly as she squirmed with pleasure.
‘Do you want that, Jane? Only I need you to tell me,’ he murmured. ‘I promise I won’t do anything to you unless I have your consent.’
And in that moment she hated him for his need to control and for his desire to have her capitulate when he must have known she could no more have stopped what he was doing than she could have grown wings and soared high up to the ceiling of the ambassadorial suite.
‘Yes,’ she gasped.
‘You want me to make you come?’
‘Yes! I want you to make me come. Just do it, will you, Zayed? Please.’
She could scarcely believe she’d been so bold but he stopped his teasing then. The playfulness was replaced by a brief shuttering of his eyes, as if the control which was so much a part of him was in danger of slipping away. But when he opened them again all that control was back. His mouth was hard and determined as he shifted his position slightly. Slithering her panties down over her knees and ankles, he tossed them aside before sliding his hand between her thighs once more and lowering his head to kiss her. And Jane moaned with pleasure because it was a double onslaught—the touch of his lips on her mouth and the touch of his fingers on the most intimate part of her was threatening to send her out of her mind.
Her thighs parted as he tangled his nails in the soft fuzz of hair there, before his finger dipped deeper to explore her heated flesh. He kissed away her mounting cries as he strummed against her with a practised touch and she could feel her fingernails digging convulsively into the fabric of his suit jacket. And when it happened it took her by surprise—a great whooshing feeling which gathered her up like a rising wave, before dashing her back down to a heavenly place as spasms racked her body and she said his name, over and over again.
The Sheikh's Bought Wife Page 11