The Sultan's Virgin Bride: A story of lust, loyalty and passionate resentment.

by Clare Connelly

  Maggie was not afraid. Though his anger was impossible to comprehend, she did not fear him. She knew the passion that ran through him found expression in sensual pleasure rather than violence. “And why would you do that?”

  He seemed to be waging some kind of silent battle, his face contorted with emotion as he struggled to silence what he knew he should not say. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” He demanded finally, his fingers firm on her shoulders.

  “Find out what?” She responded with genuine innocence.

  He hissed from between his teeth. “That you set me up!” He shook his head. “You are the lowest of the low. Worse than a prostitute, for you did not give me the decency of knowing I was a party to a business transaction.”

  She gaped, her mind blown open by his assertion. So many questions, she said the first one that came to mind. “How did you find out?”

  He shook his head, waving her question aside. “It is of no importance. I do know, and I hate you for what you did. To me, and no doubt dozens of other poor arseholes who were hooked by your gorgeous body and willing sexuality.”

  Maggie bit down on her lower lip. She’d never slept with a single one of her targets until that night. And she’d not gone on an agency job since. “It’s not like that,” she said quietly, desperation making her voice quiver.

  “Are you refuting the fact that you went to my hotel to show me in a compromising position? To advantage my ex-wife’s divorce petition?”

  Maggie’s chest was lifting and falling rapidly as each breath burned through her. What could she say? He was right to feel angry. But he was angry at having been caught.

  She tilted her chin at an angle that clearly stated her willingness to argue the point. “I didn’t do anything except show up at a bar that you happened to be in. You hit on me, publicly and obviously.” She squeezed her eyes shut as the detailed memory she’d blocked out for two years came flooding back to her. “If you were not an unfaithful pig, your wife would not have had any photographs to use, would she?”

  He exhaled an angry breath. He stood, chest pressed to her breast, mouth just an inch or so from hers. He was quiet, except for his ragged breathing, for so long that Maggie wondered if he intended to speak again. “You do not know how long I have waited for this.” And though she couldn’t see him well enough, she could hear the bitter grin in his voice.

  “For what?” She asked, her eyes trying to find his in the darkness.

  “To find you again. I’ve fantasised about how I could repay your despicable behaviour that night. I didn’t know until now what form that payback would take.”

  Bang, bang, bang, her heart was thumping against her ribcage, and a cold sweat had broken out on her forehead.

  “Oh, yes? And what form is that?” She employed her iciest tone, and somehow, managed to sound reasonably calm.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” His fingers were firm as he pushed her dress down, exposing her breasts. “You might have been working that night, but no one can fake the kind of pleasure you experienced.” He cupped her breasts with his hands, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over her nipples. He felt her harsh intake of breath and knew she was trying to calm her raging senses. “You want me, and before the night is over, I will have you again.”

  “No, you won’t,” she choked, but she moaned as he brought his mouth down to her neck and kissed the sensitive flesh where her pulse was beating like crazy.

  “Better than reclaiming you, you will be begging me to take you.”

  Maggie was in danger of doing just that now. A simple touch and her body seemed to go up in flames. She sucked in a deep breath and tried to calm her aching, throbbing body. “No,” she wailed, more to herself than him.

  “You forget, mi dolor, I know what makes you fall into incantations of need. I know your body like I know my own. I know every little inch of you.”

  “Why are you here?” She begged, trying not to cry out as he lowered a hand and once more lifted the hem of her dress.

  “I came with someone.”

  “Who?” It came out as a half-word, as he brought his palm to cup her most private centre.

  “A model I also had meaningless sex with.” His words had been designed to hurt, but he could have no idea of just how they would make her stomach ache with envy.

  Maggie tilted her head back and groaned as he pressed lightly but insistently against the cotton of her underpants. “Dante,” she whispered, lifting a hand and curling it around the back of his neck. “Dante,” she repeated, as he increased his speed and pressure.

  And as he had done, that first night, he allowed himself to move one finger inside of her, to feel for himself her moist tightness. She bucked hard, grinding downwards, seeking and needing fulfilment.

  He removed himself just before she came. He wasn’t ready to give her that pleasure. Yet. She had a lot of payment to make before he allowed her that release. “I think it’s time you told me your name, don’t you?”

  Disappointment seared inside of her. She’d been so close. So desperate. Her body was aching with thwarted desire. “Maggie,” she husked, pulling her hand down and forming a fist by her side. “It’s Maggie.”

  “I presume you have more than one name?”

  She nodded, struck dumb by what was happening. “Maggie Carrington.”

  “Well, Maggie Carrington, I suppose I should thank you.”

  “Why?” She asked quietly, sanity returning.

  “I was already plotting an excuse to get the hell out of here. Boring parties in the middle of nowhere are not my thing. But now… things are looking up. At least I have some entertainment for the weekend. I will come to your room tonight.”

  She wanted to say something. She knew she should. But as she had been, the night they met, she was struck mute. Just as she had done then, she wanted him, and no amount of self-berating could take that away. “I’m the second room to the right, upstairs.”

  He opened the cupboard door, and now, she could see his face. Harsh, angular, with that scar she’d liked to run her tongue along. “Wait for me in your bed. Be naked. I have no patience for foreplay with you.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  His words chased around and around her mind all night.

  Somehow, she managed to make the small talk that was expected of her, and even to spend some time in the kitchen ensuring the meals went out according to plan. But all the while, she was conscious of an ache, low and deep in the pit of her stomach, as she spent the night pretending not to seek him out.

  Her eyes followed him everywhere.

  His dark, intense manner made him easy to find. Amelie’s hand, manicured and tanned, fit perfectly in the crook of his arm. And the sight of it made Maggie’s heart ache. He was the perfect party guest. Good looking, intelligent, well-known and unimpressed. She watched with cynical amusement as various guests tried, and failed, to draw him into conversation.

  Damn him, Maggie wanted him. Her body was attuned to his as she’d never known possible. As though they were magnets, drawn together despite the animosity that flowed between them.

  At one point, she found herself standing, speaking to one of Cressida’s sisters, when she felt something against her back. And she knew it was him. He made a polite apology to the social doyen and then lowered his head, to whisper against her ear, “Do you remember what it feels like to have me sucking ice cream from your body?”

  She gasped, her whole body vibrating at the memory she’d been trying to forget.

  “Yes,” she’d been able to squeeze out, before she looked away, her cheeks flaming.

  Finally, though, guests had started to leave, and Maggie had taken her opportunity. “I’m knackered, dad,” she’d said with her best approximation of a yawn. In reality, she hadn’t ever felt more alert.

  “Of course you are, sweetie. You go on up. I’ll try to hold Cressida off from waking you tomorrow.”

  Maggie was too distracted to even acknowledge the joke. Cressida was determined to make a
n equestrian out of Maggie, and had woken her for early morning rides every morning that she’d spent back at the lodge.

  “Thanks, dad. See you tomorrow.”

  As she undressed, she despised herself for acquiescing to his demands so easily. But he’d begun something, an inevitable coming together, that she was now desperate to experience.

  She rubbed a coconut moisturiser over her body, and brushed her hair until it shone like a Titian painting. She sat on the edge of her bed, feeling alternately stupid and turned on.

  Finally, an hour after returning to her room, she pulled a night shirt on and grabbed a book. It was Winter, after all.

  Two hours after returning to her room, she got the message.

  He wasn’t coming.

  But was it some sick psychological game he was playing with her? Or had he been held up? Oh, God, was he too busy with Amelie to bother coming to her room? Out of nowhere, she pictured the other woman. Beautiful, untouchable, cold, stunning, glamorous. She was perfect for a man like Dante.

  She flipped onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, wishing like wildflowers that they hadn’t crossed paths again.

  She had spent the last two years telling herself she’d been right to sneak out that night. To leave him before the light of day could intrude on the fog of what they’d shared.

  By the time she’d discovered she was pregnant, months had passed. By then, she’d seen in the newspapers that his divorce had gone through, and he’d returned to the bachelor scene with resounding success.

  It had become almost an obsession, tracking his love life. Living vicariously through the women who got to share his bed and know his love. Their daughter was no help, when it came to forgetting him. She was his spitting image. Even her manner was aloof, at times. For a one year old, that was no mean feat, but May managed it.

  Maggie let out a strangled sound of frustration and bashed her pillow with her fist.

  He was not coming. It was four o’clock. Practically morning. She drifted her eyes shut and tried to force him from her mind. But her dreams, ah, her dreams, how they were always tortured by him. Without fail. And that night was no different.

  She woke a little after five, a moan frozen on her lips as she opened her eyes and saw him, leaning indolently against the door.

  “Is it really you?” She whispered, her brain still lingering in a dream-like state.

  His smile was ironic. “Mmm.” That sound he made. So sexy, so him. “I was regrettably delayed.”

  Her eyes flashed, as she bit down on the desire to ask if the beautiful Amelie had been the reason for his lateness.

  “You’re here now.” She lifted her chin.

  “Yes.” He lifted his shirt over his head, exposing his broad, muscled chest. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to stare.

  “I’m tired.”

  He stepped out of his pants. “I see.” He walked towards her bed, his eyes locked mockingly on hers.

  “One kiss, then I’ll go if you want me to.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Fine.” She was determined not to let him affect her. She braced herself, but not sufficiently. Was there any way she could ever immunise herself to his total power over her?

  His tongue was a sensory invasion, waging war with hers, clashing and demanding, dictating terms. He moved his naked body over her, and lowered himself so that his arousal was pressed hard against her pelvis. With a duvet and her night gown between them, she felt her body melt with need. He ran his hands along her arms, catching her fingers in his and pinning her arms above her head.

  “Do you want me to go?” He asked, rotating his hips.

  “Screw you,” she breathed, arching her hips instinctively.

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” his grin was cold and calculating.

  He pulled aside the sheet and lifted her nightgown. He had forewarned her that he was impatient. That he didn’t want the preamble. Still, he paused only long enough to protect them from unwanted consequences (too little, too late, Maggie couldn’t help thinking!), and then he thrust deep inside of her. Her eyes flew wide with surprise, as his body invaded hers. How quickly she remembered that pleasure and began to moan as he moved. How her treacherous body embraced him, and adored him. Her hands ran over him, hungry, wishing, wanting, begging, pleading. She lifted her head, so that she could kiss his smooth, satin shoulder.

  Her orgasm was intense. All the more for the fact she hadn’t been with a man since that night.

  She bit down on her lip until blood formed in her mouth, simply to stop herself from screaming out as pleasure overcame her.

  His own release was equally quiet, but nonetheless intense. His body was wracked with the exertion of breathing as he thrust finally into her.

  He removed himself quickly afterwards, and lay beside her for just a moment.

  “You weren’t kidding about no foreplay,” she said after a while, when the silence had begun to needle her.

  He turned his head, and his eyes were cold, filled with hatred. “It is a pretence we do not need,” he responded firmly.

  Two years of abstinence had been all the foreplay Maggie needed, she agreed silently.

  “Dante,” she said, searching her mind for something to say. “What does… I mean… I know you’re angry… b-but…”

  “B-b-but?” He imitated cruelly, rolling his eyes. He slashed a hand through the air. “Angry does not even begin to explain what I am.”

  Maggie was shocked to feel tears sting at her eyes. “It was just a job,” she muttered, closing her eyes tightly, to stop the moistness from spilling down her cheeks.

  “I know that now. And you were so very good at it. If I had known that your services were for sale, I would certainly have paid for another night with you.”

  Her hand seemed to fly through the air of its own accord, striking his cheek with a satisfying sound of flesh on flesh. “Don’t,” she snapped, sitting up and smoothing her nightie down over her legs.

  “Don’t what? I am simply pointing out the obvious, mi dolor, that you took money for sleeping with me. If it is upsetting to you, perhaps you should consider a change of profession.”

  “It isn’t like that.” She sat up, desperate to make him understand. “You were the only Mark I ever slept with.”

  His laugh was like a gun in the cool night air. “Mark?” He shook his head. “You mean Target? Is that how you referred to us? The men who saw you dressed like a whore and fell at your feet?”

  Her cheeks flamed, her heart broke, but she gritted her teeth. “You approached me. If you were faithful to your wife, we would never have spoken.”

  “My wife did not deserve my fidelity,” he snarled menacingly.

  “Every wife deserves fidelity,” she contradicted hotly. “As does every husband. It is a basic tenet of marriage.”

  “Not my marriage.” He reached over and pushed one sleeve of her nightie down, exposing a shoulder and the top of her breast.

  “Don’t just… you can’t just… argh!” She made a sound of frustration and pulled the sleeve back in place.

  “I can do whatever I want with you. If necessary, I will pay you for the pleasure.”

  “No,” she shook her head emphatically. “I don’t want your money.”

  His eyes glittered. “But you do want me. So stop acting like some wounded virgin and just accept that your past has caught up with you.”

  She thought of the daughter they had in common. The daughter he knew nothing about, and she felt a hot flush of guilt. It had been so easy to justify that secret. He was based in another country. He was certainly not father material. They were not compatible, beyond the bedroom. But now, guilt at what she’d kept from him ate at her stomach.

  One weekend. And then she had to hide herself away from him again.

  “This can’t go on,” she said seriously, desperately. “After this weekend, I don’t want to see you again.”

  “I would expect not,” he drawled coldly. “You will have ot
her Marks to screw over by then.”

  Her cheeks flamed. Let him think what he wanted. Her love for their daughter May meant this could never be more than a fling.

  “Good. I’m glad we understand each other.”

  He stood and pulled his clothes on quickly.

  “You’re going?” Her bravado disappeared in an instant.

  His smile was riddled with derision. “Amelie will be wanting me.”

  Maggie tried not to react, but she knew her hurt was obvious on her features. She fell back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling until he left. She had not trusted her voice to speak, in the end.

  * * *

  The eggs were sticking. She was distracted. She swore under her breath and lifted the spatula to gently flip them over on themselves. A slight brown patch, but otherwise, they were unharmed.

  “I can do this, y’know,” Annie said over her shoulder.

  Maggie shook her head. “It’s fine.” She needed the distraction. Desperately.

  “The buffet’s almost set then. Ham’s out, fruit’s out, pastries are out. Just need the eggs and sausages.”

  “Okay, two more minutes,” Maggie said with a nod, wishing that she and Rosie hadn’t sold The Darling Buds of May Café. She missed cooking every day. It was such an organic way to keep herself busy.

  She turned the eggs once more, this time before they caught the bottom of the pan, and then slid them into one of the waiting stainless steel trays. “Eggs can go,” she said quietly to one of the teenagers who’d been roped into acting as a waiter for the weekend. She turned her attention to the sausages. Though she was vegan, she insisted on the best quality. These pork Cumberland pieces were free range and reared in accordance with organic standards, and she’d heard them described as the best sausages anyone had eaten before.

  One by one, she lifted them onto the platter and then nodded at the other teenager.

  “You’re not going out?” Annie asked after a moment.

  “No.” She arranged her features into an imitation of a smile. “I had my fill of family time last night.”

  “I see.” Annie moved across the kitchen with the usual alacrity she employed. “Then you’ll have a coffee with me.”