by Maya Blake
Almost automatically, because such occasions were bred into his bones, Zufar expertly navigated the crowd until it was time to go inside.
They were given the tour, the hospital staff beside themselves to be graced by two royals. Again Niesha lingered with the children, especially the disadvantaged ones, listening to them and reading them stories that drew smiles even from the sickest children.
When the time came for her speech, she delivered it with grace and eloquence, drawing immediate and enthusiastic applause when it was over.
But even as he experienced a satisfying swell of pride, he couldn’t shake the niggling thought that, though his wife seemed to be settling into her role as his Queen, perhaps she was also counting down the time until the five years were up.
* * *
‘You’re frowning,’ observed the deep voice.
Niesha looked up from the medical webpage she’d been reading, a little startled by Zufar’s sudden appearance.
From the moment they’d taken off four hours ago, he’d been ensconced with his advisers at the front section of the stunning royal plane, leaving her with her own smaller staff. Her meeting to go over her itinerary had lasted barely an hour, after which she’d dismissed her staff and found a quieter area towards the back of the plane.
She’d needed a moment or three with her thoughts but had declined Kadira’s suggestion that she head upstairs to the master bedroom to rest.
The thought of sliding into bed, with Zufar in such close proximity, sent several traitorous tingles through her body, a state she couldn’t seem to block no matter how much she tried.
Besides that, there was also the fact that last night she’d noticed a little spotting when she’d taken a shower. But this morning there’d been no trace of it. She’d debated whether to tell Zufar and decided to keep it to herself for now in case it was a false alarm.
Deep down though, Niesha knew the reason she was keeping quiet was because of the possibility that if she was pregnant, Zufar, with his duty done, might instigate separate bedrooms after all. Since that first time they’d made love, that remoteness had remained, even though he managed to skilfully draw sensations from her she’d never thought possible. He was an undeniable expert in the bedroom, and a huge part of her was terrified that she’d already grown addicted to her husband’s touch.
Very quickly their time in bed, especially in the dawn hours when he drew her from a restless sleep, had become the highlight of her day. And try as she might she couldn’t find the strength to give it up just yet.
So she closed her tablet and the page that gave dire predictions for spotting during pregnancy, uncrossed her legs and attempted to school her features. Thankfully, when she raised her gaze, his was on her legs. A moment later, probing eyes met hers, and his eyebrow quirked as he awaited a response.
She grimaced. ‘I unwittingly clicked on a link while I was reviewing a list of charities. I told you not everyone was enamoured of me.’
It was a smaller, safer truth in a greater list of things on her mind.
He sank onto his haunches, surprising her a little, and then set her heartbeat soaring by bringing his masculine perfection even closer. His clean, musky aftershave drifted over her, sending vivid images of how shamelessly she lost herself in it when they made love.
‘Do yourself a favour and ignore them,’ he dismissed offhandedly. ‘You don’t need the headache, and I don’t want an overwrought wife on our honeymoon.’
‘I like to think I’m made of sterner stuff than that.’
‘Then why do you have shadows beneath your eyes?’
She stiffened. ‘Is that your way of telling me I look a mess?’
‘It’s my way of saying you should’ve taken your secretary’s advice and gone upstairs to bed.’
She wasn’t even going to ask how he knew that. ‘Are you here to order me to bed?’ she retorted, cringingly noting the huskiness in her voice.
His eyes blazed for a moment before they cleared. Rising gracefully to his feet, he held out his hand. ‘That is precisely what I’m doing. We don’t land for another three hours. I’ll make sure you’re woken before then.’
Disappointment followed hard on the heels of the breathlessness that seized her. She was so busy trying to hide it she let herself be pulled up and tugged up the stairs.
The bedroom took up the whole smaller top deck of the plane, and was so dreamily, jaw-droppingly beautiful, Niesha would’ve been completely lost in it had Zufar’s riveting presence beside her not commanded her attention.
She barely heard the door snick shut behind her, but she was intensely aware of his overwhelming presence, the dizzyingly broad width of his shoulders as he drew her towards the bed. Her heart began thundering as he plucked the tablet from her hand and deftly tossed back the coverlet on the king-sized bed.
The jacket of the stylish navy trouser suit she’d worn for the flight came off neatly under his ministrations, leaving a cream silk camisole that suddenly felt too hot against her skin. Her nipples were beginning to pebble and that dragging sensation had started low in her belly.
Niesha shook her head when his hands went to her hair, intent on removing the diamond clip holding it up. ‘I really don’t need help undressing. Nor do I need to rest at all. I’m f—’
‘You’re not fine,’ he interrupted. ‘You spent the night tossing and turning.’ The grim set to his face told her he wasn’t pleased. ‘Another nightmare?’
It was easier to nod to that than admit that her suspicion of her new condition was what had disturbed her sleep. ‘I’m sorry if I bothered you.’
He dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand, and stepped forwards with renewed intention of freeing her hair. This time he succeeded. ‘How long have you had them?’
She steeled herself against the clutch of pain confessing the truth brought. ‘For as long as I can remember. I think the only thing that will stop them is a full account of the years I lost before I ended up in the orphanage.’ She wasn’t sure why she let that slip but once it was out there, she couldn’t take it back.
He stilled. ‘Perhaps you should consider reconciling yourself to the possibility that you might never know,’ he suggested after a moment.
Hurt lanced through her. Her heart thundered louder as she took in his grim expression. Would this flaw in her lineage reap consequences down the line? Make her a damaged queen? ‘You think I haven’t tried? That I want my subconscious to keep dredging it up every night?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Calm yourself—’
Hurt built up higher. ‘That’s easy for you to say, isn’t it? You’ve had your whole life documented a few hundred different ways from the moment you drew breath. All you need to do is pluck a book off a shelf and you can refresh your memory on even the tiniest detail. Well, I’m glad you can be so glib about me forgetting my past but you’ll excuse me if I don’t feel the same!’
‘Enough, Niesha. I won’t have you distressing yourself,’ he commanded with a bite to his deep, masterful voice.
But she wasn’t in the mood to heed this warning. ‘And I won’t have you ordering me about, telling me when to go to bed or telling me how to feel!’
Perhaps it was the reality that she might be pregnant that sent her emotions into free fall. Or the dire predictions for her spotting she’d foolishly looked up on the Internet. She’d done it as a means of alleviating her worry but had ended up even more distressed.
Because thinking about the child she would possibly be having nine months from now, she’d been confronted with the fact that one day her son or daughter would ask about her past. And she wouldn’t have an answer for them. One side of their family tree would be full to brimming with generations of history, and the other side, hers, would be woefully empty.
Zufar started to raise his hand.
She shook her head wildly, knocking his hand
away. ‘I don’t want your sympathy. Or your directives. I want... I want you to leave me alone!’
He completely disregarded her request, strong hands gripping her shoulders to pull her into his hard, brick-wall body.
One hand was splayed on her back while the other captured her nape, trapping her against his impressive length. Before she could protest, both hands began a languorous kneading, digging with gentle pressure into muscles knotted tight with tension.
She parted her lips on a gasp that never made it because he was kissing her, his tongue delving between her lips to boldly stroke her tongue.
The resulting effect of the outer caress and the inner melting was so wonderfully divine, she moaned helplessly. Then kept moaning as he deepened both caresses, rending her mindless as her knees weakened and she sagged against him.
The floating effect continued even after he’d laid her on the bed and levered himself over her without breaking the kiss. His thighs bracketed hers as he continued to hold her tight against his body, ravaging her lips, flooding her whole being and especially her sex with warmth and desire and so, so much hunger.
This.
This was the addiction she already feared she would never be free of.
With a strangled cry, she spiked her fingers into his hair and threw herself into the kiss, her body writhing against his.
She was fairly sure he didn’t remain as removed or as silent this time. Or perhaps the muted growl she heard might have been the hum of jet engines.
Niesha didn’t really care.
All she wanted, all she craved was for him to keep wrecking her with his potent kiss, his magic hands. He cupped her breast, moulded her flesh before mercilessly teasing its tight peak.
‘Zufar...’ She gasped.
The plane hit a pocket of deep turbulence, rudely jarring them apart.
For an eternity Zufar stared down at her, his breathing harsh, his face a tight mask of unbridled hunger. Hunger he mastered before her stunned eyes seconds before launching himself off her to stride several steps away.
‘Zufar...’
He rounded on her, his face under even tighter control. ‘My apologies,’ he bit out thickly. ‘I didn’t mean for things to get so carried away. It won’t happen again.’
She wasn’t sure whether the chill that descended on her was because he was apologising for touching her or for the hint of self-loathing she caught in his voice. Both, she suspected.
The reality that their lovemaking was really only about duty for Zufar lanced like forked lightning through her. Every anguished cell in her body wanted to curl up in a ball. But she forced herself to remain contained, to rise and force her weak legs towards the door she hoped led to the bathroom. ‘No need to apologise. You were looking for a way to calm your hysterical wife. Don’t worry,’ she threw over her shoulder, ‘I’ll be the picture of composure by the time we land.’
With that she thrust the door open, glimpsed the porcelain sink and shower stall, and rushed inside, locking the door behind her.
She avoided her gaze in mirror as she splashed water over her wrists and face. Then, knowing she couldn’t go out and face him, not just yet, she braced her back against the door, wrapping her arms around her middle as she fought the tears that were determined to fall.
Niesha wasn’t sure how long she spent in the bathroom, but by the time she emerged he was gone. Yet relief was nowhere in sight. Not when the dawning suspicion that, far from being a thing of the past, her childhood crush on Zufar seemed to have resurfaced, and, much stronger this time, now loomed like a spectre on her horizon.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TRUE TO HIS WORD, the incident on the plane didn’t happen again. Nor did Zufar make any attempt to touch her either during the night or in the early hours of the morning as he’d previously done.
By the sixth day of their honeymoon tour, Niesha was beginning to think she was one of the unfortunate few women who wouldn’t experience the most intimate part of her honeymoon. And while a greater part of her desperately struggled with the loss of his touch, a tiny, self-preserving part of her urged her to count her blessings.
She hadn’t been able to completely expel the niggling voice that whispered she was much more invested emotionally than she was willing to admit. Because it couldn’t be true. Not so soon. Not so foolishly.
So she pushed the voice away, joined Zufar for breakfast each morning before they made whatever appearance in whatever museum or charity or luncheon they were supposed to attend, where she gazed adoringly at him, waved at the crowd and pinned the smile on her face until the photographers had their money shots.
After that he had her driven back to whatever splendid hotel or villa or mansion they were staying at while he went off to conduct business, and she was supposed to spend endless hours getting ready for another evening function.
Tonight, it was a ball being thrown in their honour by the Khalian Ambassador to Italy. They’d arrived in Venice last night and visited all the main sights this morning. After Dubai, Prague and London, the magnificent sights were beginning to blur into one. But Venice had been truly breathtaking, something she wasn’t going to forget in a hurry.
But as she dressed in a sweeping, strapless dove-grey silk gown, overlaid with soft chiffon mesh, into which delicate butterflies had been sewn, Niesha’s heartbeat began to thud faster.
Her period still hadn’t arrived.
And she really couldn’t hold back from telling Zufar any longer. For all she knew, he had the exact dates of her monthly cycle memorised. Was that another reason for his sudden lack of interest?
She tried to breathe through the heavy, unbearable weight that pressed on her chest as Halimah settled the small diamond tiara on her head. Apparently it was customary headwear for all overseas Khalian-hosted functions.
After the second day, she’d given up keeping track of protocol when it came to her attire and jewels and let Halimah take over.
Like now, she tuned out a little as she was primped and made up. But her smile of thanks was genuine, as were the butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach as she left the suite and headed to the living room.
Zufar stood at the glass window of their villa, his gaze hovering in the middle distance as he nursed a cognac. For a moment she was struck genuinely dumb at the magnificent figure he cut in his tuxedo.
Truly, no man had the right to look this good, this powerful, this rawly masculine. And yet the evidence was right there before her eyes. Irrefutable. Dangerous to her senses.
She inhaled shakily and audibly, enough to drag him from wherever he was. He swivelled to face her, and Niesha wanted to groan with the indecency of his breathtaking face.
She swallowed the sound, curled her fingers around her minuscule clutch to keep from doing something foolish like reaching out for him as he approached.
He didn’t speak. Not immediately. Instead, his gaze rested for a long time on the tiara, then conducted a lazy inspection of her from head to toe. ‘You look exceptionally beautiful,’ he breathed.
The faintest hint of cognac and mint wafted over her face and she wanted to close her eyes, taste him from the source. Instead she locked her knees. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself.’
Her words sounded stilted, even to her own ears. He didn’t react, merely inclined his head before handing off his glass to a hovering attendant and holding out his arm. ‘Shall we?’
The sleek speedboat they boarded took them smoothly down the Grand Canal and beneath the Rialto Bridge before traversing a series of smaller canals. Their destination was another architectural masterpiece that took her breath away.
The Chiesa Palace was owned by Zufar but loaned to the embassy for its residence. She knew from absorbing royal history that it had been painstakingly restored from a crumbling heap to its former glory, including the stunning cathedral windows, the priceless paintin
gs that had almost perished during wars and floods, and the chandeliers made of crystal and Murano glass.
Everything in sight glittered and gleamed as they stepped onto the red carpet and greeted the long line of guests awaiting their arrival.
Halfway down the line, her heel caught in the carpet and Niesha stumbled. Zufar immediately caught her, righting her with a sharp look.
‘Are you all right?’ he murmured, ignoring the guest in front of them waiting to be greeted.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said, somehow managing to keep the smile pinned on her face.
A moment later, Zufar’s hand settled on her back. The branding heat of his hand and the act itself was so unsettling, warmth flushed through her.
She wanted to lean into him, absorb even more of him. Which resulted in holding herself stiffly until they were in the stunning reception room of the palazzo.
‘You...you can let go of me now.’
Tawny eyes scoured her face, as if he was searching for something. A moment later, his hand dropped.
Immediately she wanted his touch back. Cursing her traitorous body, she slid into diplomatic mode, smiling and conversing, and even managing to waltz with Zufar without letting her emotions slip.
But it was a drain on her senses. So the moment they returned to their villa, and had a moment of privacy, she gathered her courage and faced him. ‘Zufar, we need to talk.’
His face tightened, and he stiffened as if bracing himself for a blow. ‘To my knowledge those words either herald catastrophe or something...different. I’ve yet to experience the latter but do go on,’ he rasped.
‘It’s up to you how you view the news that I think I’m pregnant.’
* * *
As Niesha was beginning to recognise, the wheels of royalty and privilege were programmed to turn so smoothly and efficiently, she barely noticed their motion.
Since becoming Queen, in her every waking moment, she only had to lift a finger for her tiniest request to be put into action. And sometimes even that wasn’t necessary, a seemingly telepathic connection of the staff accurately deciphering her desires before she knew about them herself.