She felt about the size of a squirming bug on the sole of his hand crafted shoe. Her voice came out as little more than a whisper. “It wasn’t about my taste buds and you know it. They were judging me.”
His shrug was pure nonchalance. “So what, Rebecca? Many people will judge you. People judge me, too.”
She thrust her hands to her hips in a gesture of disbelief. “Oh, sure.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why does it bother you so much? You have nothing to prove.”
“Maybe not to them,” she sniped, fingering the enormous diamond choker she wore nervously. How could a man like this ever understand?
“So let me get this straight. You ate the cheek of a goat to impress me?”
She stared down at the bright white tiles of the kitchen floor. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Isn’t it?” He drawled mockingly.
She lifted her eyes to him, wondering if he’d ever felt insecure or uncertain in his whole life. Impossible, she decided quickly. He had more confidence in his big toe than most people had in their whole bodies.
She wrung her hands in front of herself. “I’m sure people wonder why you married me. A girl from England. Pale, thin, with silly yellow hair. I stick out like a sore thumb.” She dropped her eyes. “I just thought that it would help if I showed that I’m sensitive to local customs.”
His expression didn’t change as he digested her halting explanation. “You want them to accept you so that it makes things easier for me?” His lips tilted into a lopsided grin as he reached out and took her hands in his. “Rebecca, the thing the people of Assan want more than anything else is that rather important project we’re already working on.”
“A baby,” she said quietly.
Her husky statement gave him pause for thought. “You want a baby...”
She looked up at him and then across at the kitchen staff, going on about their duties as if the rulers of the country weren’t standing in the kitchen, having an intensely personal conversation. “I... I don’t want to have this discussion here.”
He breathed out through his nose. “Starting tomorrow, we will have many important discussions, my Sheikha. And for once, I will not let you put me off with half answers and quick subject changes.”
“Oh, boy, that sounds fun,” she snapped sarcastically.
He leaned down so that his lips brushed against her ear. “There will be plenty of fun, too,” he whispered. “Now, come dance with me, so that we can show our people just how happy we are together. Let’s try to act as though we’re in love, hmm?” It was his turn for sarcasm, only his words left her with a hollow ache where her heart had been.
If only she didn’t love him.
CHAPTER TEN
“You want me to get on that?” She looked dubiously at the camel that had been rigged with a bright red woven rug.
Tariq, dressed in traditional Assanian robes and looking every bit the desert King, had a perfectly serene expression in place. Only, Rebecca knew him well by now, and she was certain that he was laughing at her. “Come. This is a gentle beast.”
Rebecca looked at the enormous camel dubiously.
“I thought you wanted to show your sensitivity to Assanian customs?” He was definitely teasing her now.
“You’re enjoying this,” she muttered, finally putting her foot in the hands he held clasped before her.
“Why ever would you say that?” He chuckled, giving her the boost so that she could heave herself into the seat and take the reins. The camel gave a little two step once she was in place and Rebecca made a small sound of concern.
“There, there, girl,” Tariq ran a hand down the animal’s nose, speaking soothingly in Arabic.
“Are we going far?” She asked, looking across the flat dessert sands and seeing nothing but ... well, sand, for miles.
“It’s about an hour’s trip. Here.” He clipped a turquoise umbrella with golden tassels into a holster on the side of the saddle, then gracefully ascended the larger camel beside hers.
“I’ll lead you,” he said, and, reaching across, he took her reins into his left hand, and held his own aloft in his right.
“So I just sit here?”
“And get a little bumped about in the process,” he laughed again, and once they’d taken off, she saw what he meant. Though the camels were gentle, there was an inevitable lurching that took place with each of their loping steps.
It was still pre-dawn, and though the sun was rising, the sky was painted a lavender colour with a twinkling of stars in the distance. “It would be too hot to travel out here like this in a few hours time,” he said, following her gaze.
“It’s beautiful,” she said simply, admiring the way the white sands of the desert gave way to the early morning sky.
“I’ve rarely seen anything that’s pleased me more,” he agreed.
A little under an hour later, as the sun took over from the stars and watched their progress, a sparkling lagoon came into sight, lined with desert palms and small sand dunes. At the far edge was a large, burgundy and gold coloured tent.
Beyond the tent, there were two jeeps. Jeeps! She shot him a mutinous glare and he laughed. “Yes, we could have driven,” he responded to her unanswered question, “but that wouldn’t have been half as much fun.”
“What is this place?” Her tone was full of wonderment. Tariq brought the camels to a halt and she just stared at the scene that looked like it had leaped to life straight out of one of the storybooks her grandfather had given her.
“This is my sanctuary,” he answered simply.
“I can see why.”
He gave the camels a gentle nudge and brought them alongside the water. “Shall we walk the rest of the way?”
“Yes, please.”
He stifled a laugh at her keenness to end the camel ride.
He climbed down from the animal as though he’d been riding them all his life, which, she supposed, he probably had been. Then, he spoke a soft word in Arabic and her camel slowly folded its long legs, so that she was able to slide down its rotund belly.
More Arabic and both camels walked to the waters’ edge and began to drink.
Rebecca fell into step beside Tariq.
“I believe this is the first time we’ve been truly alone together,” he remarked thoughtfully.
“Alone except for the staff,” she drawled, nodding towards the jeep.
“No. We are alone.”
Rebecca’s heart lurched fiercely at this news. She had thought he used the term loosely –f or when was he ever alone. “But – what about your ever present security?”
“Not necessary out here. This is palace land. You needn’t be worried.”
She wasn’t worried about perceived security threats. She was however, suddenly, inexplicably worried about the prospect of being totally alone with this man for any period of time.
Reading her mind, he slanted her a knowing smile. “Uh huh. The thought of us alone together makes you nervous?”
“A little,” she surprised him by answering honestly.
“Me too,” he acknowledged with a wry grimace. “I find it hard enough to control myself when there’s an army of palace officials milling around. Already I’m longing to remove that delightful scrap of fabric and revel in your beautiful body.”
His words created a rush of sensation in the pit of her stomach.
They’d reached the tent and he parted a swathe of thick fabric and stood back to allow her entry. From the outside, the structure was reasonably unassuming. Large, certainly, but very rustic in design. Inside, it was sumptuous, glorious, royal. Thick carpets were spread across the floor, and furniture was set up to give it the appearance of being just another room of the palace, only more sensual.
“Breakfast,” he nodded towards a low-level table on the far side of the tent, where a platter of fruits and cold meats had been set out.
“I’m starving,” she nodded, heading straight for the pomegranates. She sat down on the
ground, her legs folded beneath her, and Tariq watched her enjoy the red fruit.
“Do you like your engagement ring?” He asked distractedly, while she ate.
She paused, spoon halfway to her mouth, and looked down at the enormous diamond that graced her ring finger.
“I haven’t really thought about it.” She shrugged her slender shoulders. “It’s very big.”
“Yes. I think if ours had been a normal relationship, and I’d met you before proposing, I would have chosen differently.”
She leaned back against the goose feather cushions. “Oh? You don’t think it suits me?”
“No.” He responded simply. “It’s a little ostentatious for you.”
She dropped her eyes. Of course it was too beautiful for her. She swallowed down on the bitterness that his words had unconsciously prompted. A commoner like her shouldn’t be toting around a ring this size. It was almost indecent. But she wasn’t a commoner anymore. She was his wife, Queen of Assan, and the ring was befitting of such a role.
Tariq had learned to be observant, and he was now especially observant of his wife. His comment had offended her, and yet he knew she didn’t like the ring either. He had frequently caught her looking at it with a frown playing about her lips. The four carrat diamond dwarfed even her long, slender fingers. If he could have chosen, he would have selected something more delicate, and with a blue gemstone to mirror her spectacularly crystal eyes.
But this weekend, he wanted to learn what made her face withdraw like that. What unpleasant thought took her away from him, and where she went to.
“Come,” he held a hand to her, and saw that her mood was still introspective. He squeezed her hand when she placed it in his. “Lie on the bed.”
She threw him a reproachful look, and he grinned wolfishly.
“It’s not what you think.”
“Very well,” she said, curious in spite of herself. She went across to the bed that had been made on the floor of the tent. It was softer than a cloud. She sighed a little as she sank back into the pillows. Tariq, holding a small vial in the palm of his hand, straddled her hips and gently undid the waist tie of her robes. He parted her clothes, and Rebecca sucked in a deep breath as his hands pressed into her naked stomach.
“Not what I think, huh?” She said a little breathlessly, desire hot in her body.
“No,” he traced the circle of her belly button wistfully. “I am going to massage you. Turn over.”
“Oh...” she rolled a little inelegantly, as he only lifted himself up from her waist just enough to make it possible. When she was back on the bed, he dribbled the liquid from the vial over her back.
“It’s warm!” She squealed as it trickled down her sides.
He murmured his agreement. Then, strong, firm hands pressed into her shoulders, tenderly rubbing her flesh, kneading her body.
She sighed as his ministrations moved from her shoulders to the small of her back, and his thumbs worked in circular motions to relieve the muscular tension that pooled there. Then, lower still, his thumbs crept into the waist band of her underpants and pressed into the surprisingly tender flesh just above her buttocks.
“The camels,” he said, when she bucked a little at the pressure. “They aren’t particularly kind to the arse.”
Then, he massaged the back of her thighs, her calves, and finally, her feet, rubbing the soles until she was more relaxed than she could imagine.
“This is heaven,” she sighed quietly.
She was relaxed. Good. That had been his aim. It was a test of his stamina to resist kissing her now. She looked so perfect, like his own elfin goddess, but resist he must.
“Roll over,” he said, clearing his throat.
Languidly, like her body suddenly lacked sufficient bones, she flipped on to her back. Somehow, he’d disposed of her bra, and she didn’t even remember that happening. Tariq began to work backwards, now, starting with her delicate ankles, he rubbed her shins, and her thighs. His thumbs brushed against her underwear, teasing her entrance. He watched, fascinated as she bit down on her lower lip as he got close, and he desperately wanted to satisfy her there, now.
But, again, he didn’t. Sex was easy for them. Talking was more difficult. A sure fire way to emerge from the weekend with no greater knowledge of what made his wife tick was to give in to his bodily craving. Oh, he’d be satisfied as hell physically, but he was starting to realise that without a better understanding of her mind, they would always be at a cross purpose.
With monumental will power, he transferred his attentions to her breasts. He poured more of the warm orange oil onto her beautiful mounds and concentrated on rubbing it into the soft skin. “Tariq...” she whispered, her eyes flying wide to stare at him.
“I can stop, if you want me to.” His smile was teasing and it made her heart flip over in her chest.
“No,” she breathed out slowly, sucking her lip between her teeth. “Don’t stop.”
She lowered her lashes and breathed in deeply as his ministrations pleased and relaxed her at the same time. Unbelievably, she felt her eyes getting heavy and she struggled to look up at her husband. He was watching her, his handsome face expressionless, his eyes glinting appraisingly in his face.
“I’m tired!” She accused with a small, nervous laugh.
“The first time a woman has fallen asleep in my bed,” he drawled cynically.
She felt embarrassment flare inside of her but she was not going to indulge it. Their night had been late and the morning early.
“Sleep, dear Rebecca,” he echoed her thoughts. “You look exhausted.”
As Rebecca felt herself slide into the heavenly land of nod, his words barbed a little, but she was too wrecked to refute the insult. He was right, she did look exhausted, but she wished for the hundredth time that she weren’t so plain and ordinary looking. How much better she would have felt in their marriage if she could have at least believed that he would have been proud to have her on his arm.
In a conventional relationship, such silly considerations would not matter, but theirs was no ordinary match. To Tariq, he would never be able to get past the idea that she’d only married him to secure a share of his wealth. Rebecca, on the other hand, would always feel that she’d trapped him into a marriage that he wished had never been made. He’d married her out of respect and duty to his parents, and out of a Kingly obligation to secure the lineage. They were unpleasant ruminations to shuffle through and even in her sleep, Rebecca, tossed and turned, letting out a pained murmur occasionally that had Tariq looking over sharply from the small laptop he’d brought to work on.
The smell of charcoal and a heady blend of spices woke Rebecca some time later. She blinked her eyes, trying to guess from the lighting what time it was. It was bright, daylight, somewhere in the middle of the day. The heat was disorienting and it took her a moment to rediscover her bearings as she slowly regained consciousness. The luxurious tent – a sanctuary, Tariq had called it – was empty, but she could hear hissing from outside.
She slid from the bed, and, realising that she was still half-dressed, pulled a cotton dress on for modesty. Tariq had assured her this was a private bolthole, but she wasn’t going to risk it. He was sitting beneath a large palm tree, a coal barbecue in the sand, with fish flaming on top.
He heard her part the heavy curtains of the tent and he watched her slow progress towards him. He didn’t smile. In a simple dress, with her hair down and face free of make up, she looked very young, very innocent, and very beautiful.
He flipped one of the fish purely as a distraction.
“This smells beautiful,” she said once she’d reached his makeshift fire. “I didn’t realise you could cook.”
“This is not cooking so much as flaming. It’s as easy as it gets,” he said with a shrug, pointing to the charred skin.
“Ah, and for a moment there I was feeling special.” She said with a hint of self-mockery, sitting herself down across from him. She surveyed the scene ove
r her shoulder. Sand dunes, so white they almost hurt the eyes to look at, and a sky of the deepest azure, bled into the turquoise oasis just by their feet. She was squinting when she turned her attention back to him.
“Here,” he removed his sunglasses and handed them to her immediately. “You have the sun in your eyes,” he stalled her rejection and thrust them towards her once more.
“Thank you.” She slipped them onto her eyes, feeling instantly better for the glare having been shielded. “What time is it?”
“Noon.”
He lifted the fish from the coals and placed them on one large wooden plate. Wordlessly, he handed her a fork and held the platter towards her.
She was suddenly ravenous and she lifted a little of the delicate white flesh to her mouth, inhaling the combination of spices before biting into it. “Delicious,” she said approvingly. “I don’t care what you say, I call this cooking.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Are you saying I might be able to find a job as a chef if my first choice of career fails?”
She threw him a droll smile. “That might be stretching it a little.”
He clasped his hands to his chest, pretending to have been wounded by her words, earning a genuine smile from Rebecca.
They ate in a companionable silence until the fish was all gone. “This whole place, you cooking fish,” she gestured towards the oasis, “It’s like something out of a fairytale.”
“Do you believe so?” He queried lightly, pouring them a blackcurrant tea spiced with quince peel.
“Something my grandfather used to tell me, when I was a small girl.” She twirled her hair while she tried to recall the gist of a tale told many times but long ago. Like whispers in the dark, she could hardly catch the thread of the story. “A malevolent genie who threatened a fisherman... and somehow ends in multicoloured fish being cooked in the royal kitchens...”
“I know it well.” He nodded slowly. “Did your grandfather read you Arabian children’s books often?”
“Yes, looking back, I suppose he did. Perhaps as a result of his friendship with your father.” She said thoughtfully.
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