скачать книгу бесплатно
Loving someone meant you could lose them. They could be there one minute and gone the next.
Like his parents.
Remy sometimes found it hard even to remember what his mother and father had looked like unless he jogged his memory with a photo or a home video. He had been seven years old when they had died, and as each year passed his memories of them faded even further. Listening to their voices and seeing them moving about on those home videos still seemed a little weird, as if a tiny part of his brain recognised them as people he had once known intimately but who were now little more than strangers.
He had completely forgotten their touch.
But there was one touch he was not going to forget in a hurry.
As soon as the cleric asked Remy to join hands with Angelique, he felt a lightning zap shoot up his from his hand, travel from the length of his arm and straight to his groin as if she had touched him there with her bare hands. He hadn’t touched her even when her father had brought her with him when he had socialised with Remy’s grandfather in the years before their fall out. Being eight years older than her, Remy had occasionally been left with the task of entertaining her during one of his grandfather’s soirées. Even as a young teenager she had shown the promise of great beauty. That raven-black hair, those bewitching eyes, those lissom limbs and budding breasts had been a potent but forbidden temptation.
He had always made a point of not touching her.
Would the cleric expect him to kiss her? Not that the idea didn’t hold a certain appeal, but Remy would rather kiss her in private than in front of a small group of conservative tribesmen.
After all, he didn’t want to offend them.
Angelique’s hand was tiny. His hand almost swallowed it whole. But then the whole of her was tiny. Dainty. He felt a primal stirring in his loins when he thought of what it might be like to enter her. To possess her. To feel her sexy little body grip him tightly...
Whoa, keep it in your trousers. Remember, this is just an on-paper marriage.
The cleric went through the vows and Remy recited his lines as if he were an actor reading them from a script. No big deal. They were just words. Meaningless words.
When Angelique came to her lines she coughed them out like a cat with fur balls. She almost choked on the promise to obey him.
‘I now pronounce you man and wife.’ The cleric gave Remy a man-to-man smile. ‘You may lift the veil and kiss your bride.’
Angelique’s eyes flickered with something that looked like panic. ‘I’d really rather not.’
Remy didn’t give her time to finish her sentence in case she blew their cover. Besides, he’d kissed dozens of women. All he had to do was plant a perfunctory kiss on her lips and step back. Everyone would be happy.
Easy.
He lifted the heavy veil from her face and planted his mouth on hers.
* * *
Angelique had spent years during her teens imagining this very moment—the first time Remy kissed her. She had imagined it when other dates were kissing her, closing her eyes and dreaming it was actually Remy’s mouth moving on hers, his hands touching her, his body wanting her. Quite frankly, those mind-wanderings of hers had made some of those kisses—not to mention some of her sexual encounters—a little more bearable.
But not one of her imaginings came anywhere near to the real deal.
Remy didn’t kiss sloppily or wetly or inexpertly.
He kissed with purpose and potency.
The firm warmth of his lips, the taste of him, the feel of him was so...so intensely male, so addictive, she couldn’t stop herself from pushing up on tiptoe to keep the connection going. His mouth hardened and then she felt his tongue push against her lips just as she opened them.
His tongue slid into her mouth and found hers.
She heard him smother a groan as her tongue tangled with his.
She felt his body stir against her as he gripped her by the hips and pulled her flush against him.
She heard the cleric clear his throat. ‘Ahem...’
Remy dropped his hands. He looked slightly stunned for a moment, but then he seemed to give himself a mental shake before he grinned charmingly and rather cheekily at the cleric. ‘Almost forgot where I was for a moment.’
The cleric gave him an understanding smile. ‘It is very good to see an enthusiastic couple. It bodes well for a happy and fulfilling marriage.’
Angelique ground her teeth. Remy was enjoying this much more than he should. She could see the glint in his eyes as they reconnected with hers. She gave him an ‘I’ll get you for this later’ look but he just grinned even wider and gave her a wink.
‘The Crown Prince and his wife have a put on a special banquet in honour of your marriage,’ the cleric said.
Oh no! Don’t tell me there’s going to be a reception with speeches.
But as it turned out it was more like a party. A dry party. Which was a crying shame, as right now Angelique needed a glass of something alcoholic—make that two glasses and to hell with the calories—because she was now officially a married woman.
Arrrggh!
The reception room was as big as a football field, or so it appeared to Angelique. How many friends did Remy have out here, or had someone rented a crowd? There were at least a thousand people. Who had a wedding that big? It was ridiculous! It was like a wedding extravaganza, a showpiece of what a celebrity wedding reception should be. The room was decked out in the most amazing array of satin ribbons, balloons and sparkly lights that hung from the high ceiling like diamonds. They probably were diamonds, she thought as she glanced up at the chandelier above her head. Yep, diamonds.
They were led to the top table where Angelique was finally introduced to the Crown Prince’s wife, Abby, a fellow Englishwoman who had met and fallen in love with Talib earlier that year. A royal baby was due in a few months, which Abby explained had given an extra boost to the celebrations. It seemed Dharbiri was in party mode and an event like this could on for days. Great.
Remy took her hand and led her out to the dance floor for the bridal waltz. ‘Loosen up, Angelique. You feel like a shop-window mannequin in my arms.’
Angelique suppressed a glare. ‘Get your hands off my butt.’
He smoothed his hand over her hip and then tugged her against him. ‘That better?’
She looked at him with slitted eyes. ‘We’re supposed to be dancing, not making out.’
‘I thought you’d be great at dancing.’
‘I am great at dancing.’
‘Then show me your footwork.’
Angelique moved in against him and let him take the lead. The music was romantic with a flowing rhythm so she let her body move in time with it. She started to feel like a princess at a ball, or a star contestant on one of those reality dance shows. They moved in perfect unison around the dance floor. The other couples—and there were hundreds—swarmed backwards to give them more room.
‘Nice work,’ Remy said once it was over. ‘Maybe we should do that again some time.’
‘You trod on my toe.’
‘Did not.’
‘Did so.’
He gave her a grin as he pinched her cheek. ‘Smile, ma chérie.’
She smiled through clenched teeth. ‘I want to scratch your eyes out.’
‘Did I tell you how beautiful you looked?’
‘I can’t breathe in this dress. And I have no idea how I’m going to fit in the bathroom. They’ll have to take the door off or something.’
He grinned again and tapped her gently on the end of the nose. ‘You’ll find a way.’
Angelique let out a breath as she watched him turn to speak to another guest. There were times when Remy took his charm into very dangerous territory...
* * *
‘You have to try this,’ Remy said as he came over with a loaded plate from the banquet a little while later.
Angelique breathed in the delicious smell of lamb with herbs and garlic. She couldn’t stop her gaze from devouring everything on his plate. Along with the juicy lamb pieces, there was a couscous salad and some sort of potato dish and flatbread. The carbs would be astronomical. ‘No.’ She gave him a tight smile for the sake of anyone watching. ‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Here.’ He forked a piece of lamb and held it in front of her mouth. ‘You have to try this. It’s amazing.’
‘I don’t want it.’
His eyes locked on hers, hard, determined. Implacable. ‘Open your mouth.’
Angelique’s belly shifted at his commanding tone but she was not going to let him win this. This was her battle, not his. She was the one who had to keep her body in top shape for her career. She had been counting calories and carbs since she had landed her first contract. Since before that, actually. It was the only thing she could control. She knew what she had to do to keep her body perfect. She was not going to allow anyone, and in particular Remy Caffarelli, to sabotage her efforts.
She gave him a flinty look. ‘I said I’m not hungry.’
‘You’re lying.’
She felt the penetrating probe of his dark-brown eyes as they tussled with hers. Heat came up from deep inside her, a liquid molten heat that had nothing to do with food but everything to with hunger.
Sexual hunger.
Angelique knew one taste would not be enough. She would end up bingeing on him and then where would that get her?
His kiss had already done enough damage.
And that dirty dance routine...
She could not afford to let herself be that vulnerable again. She was in control of her passions. She did not slavishly follow her desires. She had self-control and discipline.
She did not want him or his food or his fancy footwork.
Angelique pulled out an old excuse but a good one; she was nothing if not a great actress when the need arose. She put a hand to her temple and gave him a part-sheepish, part-apologetic look. ‘I’m sorry, Remy, it’s just I’ve been fighting a tension headache ever since I got up. Well, actually, I didn’t get up, because I didn’t go to bed in the first place. I couldn’t sleep a wink.’
He studied her for a moment as if weighing up whether to believe her or not. ‘Maybe you’re dehydrated. Have you had enough to drink?’
‘I could kill for a glass of wine.’
He gave her a wry look. ‘You could get killed for having it.’
Angelique felt a cold hand of panic clutch at her insides. ‘We are safe now, aren’t we? I mean now we’re—’ she gave a mental gulp ‘—married?’
Remy’s expression sobered for a moment, which made that fist of panic grip a little tighter. ‘We’re safe as long as we act as if this is a real marriage. It would be foolish to let our guard down until we’re on the plane home.’
Angelique swallowed as she cast a nervous eye over the crowd of people who had joined in the wedding celebration. They looked friendly and innocuous enough, but how could she be sure one or more of them weren’t waiting for her to make a slip up?
Her stomach pitched with dread.
Never in her wildest dreams had she ever thought something like this would happen. She had wanted a face-to-face with Remy. She hadn’t given a thought to where he was or whom he was with or whether it would be convenient or politic or safe. She had focused solely on her goal to get him to hand back the deeds to Tarrantloch.
Now she was pretending to be married to him.
Not pretending, a little voice reminded her. You are married to him.
Angelique turned back to look up at Remy. ‘Why do you come out here? It’s not the sort of place I thought you would be drawn to. It doesn’t really suit your party-boy image.’
He gave a shrug of one broad shoulder. ‘The Crown Prince is a friend of mine. We went to university together. I like to visit him now and again.’
‘Do you come here often?’ Angelique gave herself a mental kick for not rephrasing that a little less suggestively.
He gave her a wicked look. ‘No single, unchaperoned women in my room, remember?’
She compressed her lips. ‘I’m being serious. How many times do you, er, visit?’
He put his plate down on a nearby table. ‘Not as often as I’d like. I only get out here once a year. Two, if I’m lucky, like this year when I came out for Talib and Abby’s wedding.’
Angelique’s eyes widened to the size of the plate he’d just put down. ‘But...but why? What’s so great about it? I don’t see anything that’s relaxing or beautiful about it. It’s just a bunch of boring old sand dunes.’
He put his hand on her elbow and led her away to a quieter area. ‘Will you please keep your opinions to yourself until we’re out of danger?’ he hissed out of the corner of his mouth.
Angelique wriggled out of his hold, not because she found it unpleasant, but because she found she rather liked it. A lot. She hadn’t realised until now how much she had come to rely on him protecting her. To come to her rescue. She had blundered into a minefield and yet he had remained calm and steady throughout. Even cracking jokes about it.
Was he scared?
If so, he had shown little sign of it until now.
‘I’m sorry, but I’m not used to this,’ she said. ‘You’ve been coming here for ages. This is my first time. I’m what you would call a desert virgin.’
‘What about that bikini shot of you I saw in New York a couple of years back? You were draped over a sand dune with a couple of camels in the background.’
Angelique mentally raised her brows. So he’d seen that, had he? And taken note of it. ‘It was staged. The sand dunes were in Mexico and the camels were cranky and smelly. One of them even tried to bite me. It was a horrible shoot. The designer was impossible to please and I ended up with a massive migraine from sunstroke.’
A frown appeared between his eyes. ‘Why do you do it?’
She felt her back come up. She’d heard this lecture before, too many times to count. The most memorable one had been from him. ‘Why do I do what?’
‘Model. Put yourself out there in nothing but a couple of scraps of fabric.’ His tone sounded starchy and disapproving. Old-fashioned. Conservative. ‘You’re capable of so much more than being some gorgeous too-perfect-to-believe image young guys jerk off to when they’re in the shower.’
Angelique gave him an arch look. ‘Is that what you do?’
