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His face drew closer and she remembered all the reasons why it shouldn’t, remembered how she felt, remembered the promise that she’d made to herself. ‘I already hate you.’
His nostrils flared, his eyes flared, then immediately descended into utter blackness. She knew she was playing with fire. ‘In which case, sweet princess, what is the point of waiting? Let’s finish this now.’
‘No!’ She pushed against his chest with every bit of strength she could muster, twisting away from him, almost stumbling in her hurry to get away. ‘Get out! I do not want this! I do not want you!’
‘You are fooling yourself, Princess,’ he said, his chest heaving as his eyes burned like coals. ‘Once again your body betrays you. Why shouldn’t we finish what we started?’
‘I’ll tell you why,’ she said. ‘Because if you do not leave now, if you do not go, then it will be on your own head. And you need never seek my respect or love or even the tiniest shred of civility, because I will hate you as much as it is physically possible to hate anyone if you take what is not freely given!’
There were sparks spitting fire in her eyes, there was a bright slash of colour across her cheeks, and right now he burned for her—burned for this woman who was now his wife and yet not completely. He burned bright and hot, his blood heated and heavy in his groin, and it took every bit of the restraint civilisation had wrought over the aeons upon the male mind that he did not throw her bodily to the floor and take her now.
‘Then I warn you, Princess. Do not take too long to decide to give what you must, because when it all comes down to it, for the sake of Al-Jirad, I will gladly risk your hatred!’
He left her then and his blood turned to steam, his fury a living thing, tangling in his gut, fuelling his feet into long, purposeful strides. He should never have given her time to prepare. He should have accompanied her to his suite, got their necessary coupling over and done with before returning to his studies. Instead he had got lost in the endless pages and had given her too much time, it seemed. Time to think and plan and plot how she could evade her duty.
But it would not last.
In three days he would be crowned King of Al-Jirad, and like it or not, the princess must by then be his wife in all senses of the word. He had studied the pact in detail long enough to know that, searching for any way out, for any concessions.
He headed back to the library, back to his endless books and study. There was no point wasting time thinking about a spoilt princess and her pathetic, ‘I will not sleep with anyone I do not know’ now.
She would know him soon enough.
Her resistance would not last.
He could not afford to let it.
He’d already churned his way through twenty laps when he noticed Bahir at the end of the pool, and he cursed his decision not to return to his studies.
‘You’re up early,’ his friend said, sitting himself down on the edge of the pool as Zoltan finished the lap and checked his watch. ‘Barely six a.m. Honeymoon already over?’
Zoltan glared at him as he made a rapid change of plans. The ten extra laps could wait. He put his hands on the side of the pool and powered himself out, intending to grab his towel and just keep right on walking. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone this morning, let alone one of these clowns. They knew far too much about him as it was.
‘Uh oh,’ Bahir said behind him. ‘Maybe the honeymoon hasn’t even begun.’
‘I didn’t say anything,’ Zoltan protested as he bent down to scoop up his towel.
‘Brother, you didn’t need to. It’s written all over your body language. What happened? How could the princess manage to turn down the legendary Zoltan charm? Although admittedly all that brooding intensity must be tiresome to endure.’
He glared at his so-called friend. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’
Bahir grinned. ‘So long as it’s not because she plays for the other team.’ He whistled. ‘That would be one cruel waste.’
The urge to laugh battled with the urge to growl. He didn’t want anyone speculating about his wife’s sexuality. Besides, if Bahir only knew which team she’d openly speculated they all played for he wouldn’t think it nearly as funny himself. He sighed. Clearly Bahir would not stop until he knew. ‘She says it’s because she doesn’t know me.’
‘What?’
He shrugged. ‘She says she won’t sleep with any man she doesn’t know. Apparently—’ he ground out the words between his teeth ‘—that includes her husband.’
‘But she has to. I thought you said so.’
‘I did. According to the terms of the pact she has no choice.’
‘Did you tell her that?’
He thought back to their argument and how bitter and twisted it had become at the end. ‘Under the circumstances, I really don’t think it would have helped if I had.’
‘But she has to eventually, right? She has to give you heirs and she knows that?’
‘True.’
‘So don’t tell anyone in the meantime,’ Bahir said, shrugging. ‘I won’t tell if you won’t, kind of thing.’
He shook his head. ‘That won’t work. I have to swear on the book of Al-Jirad that we are married in every sense of the word. ‘
‘So lie.’
He shook his head. ‘That is hardly an honourable way to start my reign.’ He’d spent hours last night trying to work a way around the requirement—had lingered some time over that very option—until finally concluding that lying would not work even if he could bring himself to act so dishonourably. Besides, she would know the truth and she could hold that over him the entire time. It would not work if she could bring down the kingdom at any moment she chose.
His friend nodded. ‘True. Still, I can see her point of view.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Well, it has all been kind of sudden.’
‘It’s been sudden for everyone. And it’s not as if she has a choice.’
‘So maybe that’s what this is all about. She wants to feel like it is her choice.’
Zoltan looked up. ‘What are you talking about? Why should that matter?’
‘She’s a woman.’ He shrugged. ‘They think differently. Especially Jemeyan princesses.’
Zoltan looked at him. ‘So what did happen between you and her sister?’
It was Bahir’s turn to look uncomfortable. ‘It’s history. It doesn’t matter. What you have to worry about is how your princess feels right now. She’s a princess in a desert kingdom who has probably been hanging out all these years for her prince to turn up. She wants to be romanced. Instead she gets lumbered with you and told she has to make babies.’ He shrugged. ‘Frankly, who could blame her? Nothing personal, but who wouldn’t be a tad disappointed?’
‘Thank you so much for that erudite summation of the situation.’
Bahir was back to his grinning best. ‘My pleasure. So, what are you going to do?’
He snorted. ‘I don’t have time to do anything. I’ve got too much to do before the coronation as it is.’
‘Well, you’d better do something, or by the sounds of it there won’t be a coronation and Mustafa would be within his rights to come steal that pretty bride right out from under your nose—and next time he won’t leave you a window open to rescue her.’
‘I’ve been wondering about that,’ Zoltan said. ‘What was Mustafa waiting for? If he’d slept with her that would have been the end of it.’
‘Maybe,’ Bahir mused, ‘he was waiting to be married?’
Zoltan shook his head. That didn’t sound like the Mustafa he knew. ‘More likely he was so sure that nobody could find them that he thought there was no rush; he could take his time torturing her by telling her in exquisite detail exactly what he had planned for her.’
‘Then it’s lucky we found her in time.’
Was it? Zoltan wondered as he padded back into the palace. She sure as hell didn’t think so. He was still thinking about the words Bahir had used.
‘She wants to feel like it is her choice.’
‘She wants to be romanced. ‘
How could he do that? What was the point of even trying? Here in the palace it was like being in a fishbowl, full of maids and footmen and the ever-present Hamzah, uncannily always to hand when he was needed and plenty of times when he was not. How was he supposed to romance her and somehow study the necessary texts to complete the formalities he was required to before he could be crowned King?
It was impossible.
And then he remembered it—a holiday his family had taken when he was just a child, a shared holiday with his uncle, the then-King, and his family. In a spot not far from the Blue Palace, a jewel of a location on a promontory reaching a sandy finger out into the sapphire-blue sea. They had slept in tents listening to the waves on the shore at night, woken to the early-morning calls of gulls, fished, swum and ridden horses along the long, sandy beach.
Maybe he could take her there, where she could unwind and relax and forget about duty and obligation for a while and maybe, just maybe, tolerate him long enough that they could consummate this marriage.
He could only hope.
‘Where are we going again?’ Aisha asked as the four-wheel drive tore up the desert highway. Outside the car was golden sands and shimmering heat, while inside was smooth leather and air-conditioned luxury. And the scent of him beside her was mixing with the leather, evocative, damnably alluring and much too likeable—much too annoying. She was almost tempted to open her window and risk the heat if it meant she wouldn’t have to endure it.
‘A place called Belshazzah on the coast,’ Zoltan said without shifting his gaze from the road. The tracks of her nails, thankfully, were fading on his cheek. He stared at the road ahead, dodging patches of sand where the dunes crept over the road on their inexorable travels. A man in control, she thought, looking at him behind the wheel. A man used to taking charge, she guessed, unable to let someone else drive for him, so that the necessary bodyguards were forced to squeeze into the supply vehicles that trailed behind them. He looked good, his dark hands on the wheel, the folded-back sleeves of his white shirt contrasting with his corded forearms and that damned scent everywhere.
‘How far is it?’
‘Not far from the Blue Palace. No more than two hours away.’
Aisha buzzed down her window a few inches and sniffed.
‘Are you cold?’ he said, immediately moving to adjust the temperature.
‘Not really,’ she said, gazing out behind her dark glasses at a horizon bubbling under the desert sun. Not at all. When he’d turned up at her door this morning and asked if she’d like to accompany him to the beach encampment, she’d remembered the things he’d said to her last night and how close he’d come to forcing himself upon her and she’d almost told him where he could shove his beach encampment.
But something had stopped her. Whether it was the look in his eyes, that this unexpected invitation was costing him something, or whether it was just because for the first time he was actually asking if she would accompany him rather than telling her and riding roughshod over her opinions and views as was his usual tactic—whatever it was—she’d said yes.
‘And remind me again why we’re going there?’
He shrugged. ‘The palace is too big, filled with too many people, too many advisers. I thought you might appreciate somewhere a little quieter.’ He turned to her then. ‘So we could get to know each other a little more.’
Even from behind his sunglasses she could feel the sizzle his eyes sent her all the way down to her toes.
‘You mean so you can finally get what you expected you would get last night?’
He didn’t look at her, but she caught his smile behind the wheel. ‘Do you really think I need go to so much trouble when the palace is full of dark corners and secret places? Not exactly the kind of places you want to hang around and hold a meaningful conversation, but perfectly adequate for other, more carnal pleasures.’
Her window hummed even lower. She did not want to hear about dark places and carnal pleasures. Not when it made her body buzz with an electricity that felt uncannily like anticipation.
Impossible.
‘It’s not going to happen, you know,’ she said, as much for her benefit as his.
‘What?’
‘I’m not going to sleep with you.’
‘So you said.’
‘I hate you.’
‘You said that too. You made that more than plain last night.’
‘Good. So long as we understand each other.’
‘Oh,’ he said, taking his eyes off the road to throw her a lazy smile, ‘we may not know each other, but I think we understand each other perfectly.’
Dissatisfied with the way that conversation had ended, she fell silent for a while, looking out at the desert dunes, disappearing into the distance in all directions. She shuddered when she remembered another desert camp. ‘How do you know Mustafa’s not out here somewhere, waiting for you to make a mistake so he can steal me away and take the crown before you? Aren’t you worried about him?’
‘Are you scared, Princess? Are you worried now you should have consummated this marriage last night when you had the chance?’
She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her gaze pointedly out the window again. ‘Definitely not.’
‘Then you are braver than I thought. But you have nothing to fear. My sources say he’s moved out of Al-Jirad for now.’
‘So he knows he’s beaten and given up?’
‘Possibly.’
‘And he won’t be at the coronation?’
His jaw clenched, his hands tightening on the wheel. ‘He wouldn’t dare show his face.’
She hoped he was right. If she never saw the ugly slug again, it would be too soon. She looked around, wondering at the words he had spoken, about the punch his words had held. She wondered why he was so certain, and she guessed it was not all to do with her kidnapping.
‘What did he do to you?’
There was a pause before he spoke. ‘Why do you ask that?’
‘You clearly hate him very much. He must have done something to deserve it.’
He snorted in response to that. ‘You could say that. I grew up with him. I got to see how his twisted mind works first-hand.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Are you sure you want to hear this, Princess?’
‘Is it so bad?’
‘It is not pretty. He is not a nice person.’
