Postcards From Paris: Bound by His Desert Diamond / Amorous Liaisons / The Secret to Marrying Marchesi
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All except one. When she had mentioned his parents, tried to tell him how sorry she was to hear of their tragic death, the look on Zahir’s face had been terrifying to behold, startling her with its volcanic ferocity. It was clear that subject was most definitely off-limits.
But, where their future was concerned, she had to persevere. She needed to find out what was expected of her, what her role would be. And, more importantly, she needed to tell Zahir about herself, her shameful secret. Before it was too late. Which was why at the end of the meal she had fought against every instinct to turn tail and run to the safety of her bed and had persuaded him to bring her here. And why she found herself being welcomed into his spartan quarters with the all the enthusiasm that would have been given to a jester at a funeral.
For spartan it certainly was. In stark contrast to the rest of the palace, the room she was ushered into was small and dimly lit, with bare floorboards and a low ceiling. There was very little furniture, just a low wooden table and a makeshift seating area covered with tribal rugs.
‘As I said.’ Briefly following her gaze, Zahir moved to put the key in the lock on this side. He didn’t turn it, Anna noticed with relief. ‘There is nothing to see here.’
‘Something doesn’t have to be all glitz and glamour for it to be interesting, you know.’ She purposefully took several steps into the room and, placing her hands on her hips, looked around her, displaying what she hoped was a suitably interested expression. ‘How many rooms do you have here?’
‘Three. This room, an office and a bedroom. Plus a bathroom, of course. I find that to be perfectly adequate.’
‘Is this the bedroom?’ Nervous energy saw her stride over to an open door in the corner of the room and peer in. In the near darkness she could just about make out the shape of a small bed, low to the ground, rugs scattered on the bare boards of the floor.
So this was where he slept. Anna pictured him, gloriously naked beneath the simple covers of this bed. He was so vital, so very much alive, that it was hard to imagine him doing anything as normal as sleeping. But she wouldn’t allow herself to imagine him doing anything else. At least, not with anyone else.
‘You obviously don’t go in for luxuries here.’
‘I do not. The basics are all I need. I find anything else is just an unwanted distraction.’
As was she, no doubt. Anna tamped down the depressing thought. ‘So why build a palace like this, then? What’s the point?’
‘Medira Palace is for the people, a symbol of the power and wealth of Nabatean, something that they can look upon with pride. I may not choose to indulge in its luxuries, but it’s not about me. The palace will be here for many generations after I have gone. And, besides, it’s not just my home. My brother lives here too, as of course will you.’
‘Yes.’ Anna swallowed.
‘You have no need to worry.’ Zahir gave a harsh laugh. ‘I don’t expect you to share these chambers. You may have the pick of the rooms of the palace, as many and as grand as you wish.’
‘And what about you? Will you be giving up these chambers and coming to live in splendour with me?’
‘I will not.’ Zahir’s reply was as bleak as it was damning. What did that mean—that they would inhabit different parts of the palace? That they would live totally separate lives, be man and wife in name only? A knock on the door meant that Anna had to keep this deeply depressing thought to herself for the time being, as a servant bearing a tray of coffee saved Zahir from further questioning. Bending down, she settled herself as best she could on the low seating area, tucking her legs under her before reaching to accept her cup of coffee from the silent servant. It was impossible to get comfortable in her high-heeled shoes so, with her coffee cup balanced in one hand, she took them off with the other, pairing them neatly on the floor beside her. For some reason they suddenly looked ridiculously out of place, like twin sirens in the stark masculinity of this room.
Raising her eyes, Anna saw that Zahir was staring at them too, as if thinking the same thing. She was relieved when he roughly pulled off his own soft leather shoes and sat down beside her.
‘So your brother.’ She decided to opt for what she hoped was a slightly safer topic of conversation, but as she felt Zahir stiffen beside her she began to wonder. ‘You say he lives here in the palace and yet I haven’t seen any sign of him.’
‘There is no reason for you to have seen him, as he occupies the east wing. Given the circumstances, I doubt that either of you are going to deliberately seek each other out.’
‘Well, no.’ Annalina pouted slightly. ‘Having said that, I don’t believe he wished to marry me any more than I did him.’
She waited, pride almost wishing that Zahir would contradict her, tell her that of course Rashid had wanted to marry her, ‘what man wouldn’t?’.
Instead there was only a telling silence as Zahir drank the contents of his coffee cup in one gulp then reached for the brass pot to refill it.
‘There is some truth in that.’ Avoiding her gaze, he eventually spoke.
Being right had never felt less rewarding. Drawing in a breath, Anna decided to ask the question that had been niggling her ever since she had first set eyes on Rashid Zahani. ‘Can I ask...about Rashid... Is there some sort of medical problem?’
That spun Zahir’s head in her direction, the dark eyes flashing dangerously beneath the thick, untidy eyebrows. So close now, Anna could see the amber flecks that radiated from the black pupils, glowing as if they were just about to burst into flames.
‘So what are you saying? That anyone who doesn’t want to marry you must have some sort of mental deficiency?’ Scorn singed the edges of his words.
‘No, I just...’
‘Because if so you have a very high, not to say misguided, opinion of yourself.’
‘That’s not fair!’ Colour rushed to flush Anna’s cheeks, heating her core as indignation and embarrassment took hold. ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’
‘Well, that’s what it sounded like.’ He looked away and she was left staring at his harsh profile, at the muscle that twitched ominously beneath the stubble of his cheek. There was silence as she battled to control the mixed emotions rioting inside her, as she waited for her skin to cool down.
‘My brother has some personal issues to overcome.’ Finally Zahir spoke again, leaning forward to replace his cup on the table. ‘He suffers from anxiety due to a trauma he suffered and this can affect his mood. He just needs time, that’s all. When the right person is found, he will marry and produce a family. Of that I am certain.’
‘Of course.’ Anna was not going to make the mistake of questioning that statement, even if secretly she had her doubts. There was something about Rashid that she found very unnerving. On the plane journey here she had looked up to see him staring at her in a very peculiar way, almost as if he was looking right through her. ‘But does Rashid not get to choose his own wife? You make it sound as if he has no say in the matter.’
‘Like me, you mean?’ The eyes swung back, lingering this time, tracing a trail over her sensitised skin, across her cheekbones and down her nose, until they rested on her lips. Anna felt their burn as vividly as if she had been touched by a flame.
‘And me too.’ She just about managed to croak out the words of defiance, even though her heart had gone off like a grenade inside her.
‘Indeed.’ Something approaching empathy softened his voice. ‘We are all victims of circumstance to a greater or lesser extent.’
Greater—definitely greater in her case. To marry this man, tie herself for ever to this wild, untamed, warrior, had meant taking the biggest leap of faith in her life. But Anna didn’t regret it. In the same way as some inner sense had told her that she could never have married Rashid Zahani, it now filled her with nervous excitement at the thought of marrying his brother. Excitement, exhilaration and terror all rolled into one breathtaking surge of adrenaline. But there was worry too—worry that maybe once Zahir knew all the facts he might no longer want to marry her. She was beginning to realise just how devastating that would be. Because she wanted Zahir. In every sense of the word. Drawing in a shaky breath, she decided she was going to have to just plunge in.
‘About our marriage, Zahir.’ She watched the play of his muscles across his back as he leant forward to refill his coffee cup again. ‘There are things we need to discuss.’
‘I’ve told you. I will leave all the arrangements to you. I have neither the time nor the interest to get involved.’
‘I’m not talking about the arrangements.’
‘What, then?’ He settled back against the cushions, his eyes holding hers with a piercing intensity that made her feel like a specimen butterfly being pinned to a board.
She shifted nervously to make sure she still could. ‘We need to talk about what sort of marriage it will be.’
‘The usual, I imagine.’
‘And what exactly does that mean?’ Irritation and helplessness spiked her voice. ‘There is nothing usual about this marriage, Zahir. From the fact that I have been swapped from one brother to another, to your disclosure just now that we won’t be sharing the same rooms. None of it fits the term usual.’
Zahir gave that infuriating shrug, as if none of it was of any consequence to him.
‘Will you expect us to have full marital relations, for example?’ She blurted out the question before she had time to phrase it properly, using language that sounded far more clinical than she felt. But maybe that was a good thing.
‘Of course.’ His straightforward answer, delivered in that raw, commanding voice and coupled with the burn of amber in those hooded eyes, had the peculiar effect of melting something inside of Anna, fusing her internal organs until she was aware of nothing but a deep pulse somewhere low down in her abdomen. It was a feeling so extraordinary, so remarkable, that she found she wanted to hold on to it, capture it, before it slipped away for ever.
Zahir intended that they should have sex. That in itself was hardly surprising, considering that they were going to be man and wife. Why had it sent her body into a clenching spasm?
‘Nabatean is a young country. It is our duty to procreate, to provide a workforce for the future, to build upon the foundations we have established.’ Ah, yes: duty. They were back to that again. ‘But I don’t intend to make constant demands on you.’ He paused, thick lashes lowering to partly obscure his eyes. ‘If that is what you’re worrying about.’
Did she look worried? Anna had no idea what expression her face was pulling—she was too busy trying to control her body. And the thought of him making constant demands on her was only intensifying the peculiar feeling inside her. She needed to get a grip, and fast.
‘In that case...there is something that you need to know. Before we get married, I mean.’
‘Go on.’
Suddenly her whole body was painfully alive to him, every pore of her skin prickling with agonising awareness. The hairs on her arms, on the back of her neck, stood on end with craving, desire and the tortured anxiety of what she had to tell him.
‘I’m not sure.’ She reached for the security of a tendril of hair, twisting it round and round her finger. ‘But it’s quite possible that I am not able to...’
‘Not able to what?’
‘Not able to actually have sexual intercourse.’
CHAPTER SIX
ZAHIR’S DARK BROWS LOWERED, narrowing his hooded gaze until it was little more than twin slits of glinting stone. He twisted slightly so that his knee now touched hers, moving one arm behind them and placing it palm down on the cushions so that it anchored him in place. Anna could sense it, like a rod of muscled strength, inert yet still exuding power. Even seated he was so much taller than her, so much bigger, that she felt dwarfed by him, shaded, as if weakened by his strength.
‘I don’t understand.’ He stared at her full in the face, with no trace of embarrassment or sensitivity for her predicament. She had presented him with a problem, that much was clear from the brooding intensity of his gaze, but it was a determination to get to the facts that had set his face in stone. ‘What do you mean, you can’t have sexual intercourse? Do you have some sort of physical abnormality?’
‘No!’ Anna pulled at the neckline of her dress, hoping it would dislodge the lump in her throat as well as cool herself down. The temperature in the small room seemed to have ramped up enormously. ‘At least, it wouldn’t appear so.’
‘Have you been examined by a physician?’
‘Yes, I have, actually.’
‘And what were the findings?’
‘They could find no physical reason for the...problem.’
‘So what, then? What are you trying to tell me?’
‘I’m trying to tell you that, when it actually comes to...you know... I can’t actually... I fear I’m not able to accommodate a man.’ Anna finished the sentence all in a rush, lowering her eyes against the shame that was sweeping over her that she should have to confess such a thing to the most virile, the most sexually charged, man she had ever met. A man who was now no doubt about to break off their short engagement.
There was a brief silence punctuated by Zahir’s shallow breathing.
‘Can I ask what has led you to this conclusion?’
Oh, God. Anna just wanted to make this hell go away. To make Zahir and the problem and the whole miserable issue of having sex at all just disappear. Why couldn’t she just forget men, and getting married, and go and live in spinster isolation with nothing but a couple of undemanding cats for company? But beside her Zahir was waiting, the small amount of space between them shimmering with his impatient quest for information. There was nothing for it. She was going to have to tell him.
‘Prince Henrik and I...’ She paused, cringing inside. ‘We never consummated our betrothal. You might as well know, that was why he broke off our engagement.’
‘I wasn’t aware that that was a prerequisite of a fiancée.’ His eyes scoured her face. ‘A wife, yes, but surely before marriage a woman is at liberty to withhold her favours?’
‘That’s just it, I didn’t deliberately withhold them. It turned out that I was completely...unsatisfactory.’
‘So let me get this straight.’ Oh, dear Lord, still Zahir persisted with his questions. Couldn’t he let it drop now? In a minute he would be asking her to draw him a diagram. ‘You wanted to have sex with your fiancé but for some reason you weren’t able?’
‘Yes, well, sort of.’ Since he had posed the question so baldly, Anna was forced to accept that she hadn’t actually wanted to have sex with Henrik at all. In fact, the thought of his pallid, sweaty hands fumbling around her most intimate areas still made her feel a bit sick. But the point was it had been expected of her. And she had failed.
‘It was more Henrik’s idea. He said it was important that we consummated our relationship before the wedding. “Try before you buy”, I believe was his expression.’
Zahir’s lip curled with distaste.
‘And, as it turned out, it was just as well he did.’
This produced a low growl, like the rumble of a hungry lion, then a silence that Anna felt compelled to fill.
‘I just thought you ought to know. Before we marry, I mean. In case it might prove to be a problem for us.’
‘And do you think it will, Annalina?’ Leaning forward, Zahir stretched out a hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his touch surprisingly gentle. Then, holding her chin between his finger and thumb, he tilted her face so that she had no alternative but to gaze into those bitter-chocolate eyes. ‘Do you think it will be a problem for us?’
With her whole body going into paralysis, including the beat of her heart and pump of her lungs, it was quite possible that staying alive might prove to be a problem. She stared at the sweep of his jawline—the one facial feature that probably defined him more than any other. As if hewn from granite, it was as uncompromising and as harshly beautiful as him. There was an indentation in the squared-off chin, she noted—not a dimple. A man like Zahir Zahani would never be in possession of a dimple. A strong dusting of stubble shaded its planes.
On the bridge in Paris, when she had so recklessly decided to kiss him, she had been dimly aware that his skin had felt smooth, freshly shaved. But how would it would feel tonight, now, with that tempting shadow of dark beard? Suddenly she longed to find out, to feel it rasp against her cheek like the lick of a cat’s tongue. He was so very close...so very difficult to resist.
‘I don’t know.’ Finally finding her voice, Anna blinked against the erotic temptation. That was the truth: she didn’t. Right now she didn’t know anything at all. Except that she wanted Zahir to kiss her more than anything, more than she cared about her next breath. She found herself unconsciously squirming on the makeshift sofa, the rough weave of the tribal rugs scratching the exposed bare skin of her thigh as her dress rode up.
What was she doing? This had not been her plan at all. When she had summoned up her courage, faced Zahir with her guilty, frankly embarrassing, secret, it had been with the intention of letting him know what he was taking on here. That his fiancée was frigid. Anna still felt the pain of the word, hurled at her by Henrik as he had levered his body off her, before pulling on his clothes and storming off into the night. Frigid.
His accusation had torn into her, flaying her skin, leaving her staring up at the ceiling in horrified confusion. Not to be able to perform the most basic, natural function of a woman was devastating. She was inadequate, useless. Not a proper woman at all, in fact. The doctor’s diagnosis hadn’t helped. Being told there was nothing physically wrong with her, that there was no quick fix—no medical fix at all, in fact—had only added to her lack of self-worth. Neither had time softened the blow, her deficiency seeping into her pride and her confidence, leaving her feeling empty, like a hollow shell.
So what on earth was she doing now? Why was she writhing about like some sort of temptress, trying to get Zahir’s attention, setting herself up for what was bound to be a painful and embarrassing fall? Because she wanted him, that was why. She wanted his lips against hers, touching, tasting, crushing her mouth, sucking the breath out of her until she was gasping for air. She wanted him to make her feel. The way no one ever had before. The way she now knew with a dizzying certainty that he could.
Zahir stared into Annalina’s flushed face that he still held tilted up towards him. At the eyes that were heavy with a drugging sense of what appeared to be arousal. And once again he found himself wondering what the hell was going on in her head. If she had been flirting with him earlier on, this felt more like full-on seduction. And this after she had just told him she was incapable of sexual intercourse. It didn’t make any sense. But neither did the drag of lust that was weighing down his bones, making it impossible to move away from her, or the prickle of heat that had swept through his body, like he’d been plugged into the national grid. He could feel it now, right down to his finger tips that were tingling against the soft skin of her chin.
And there was something else bothering him too. It had been building ever since Annalina had started to talk about this ex-fiancé of hers, Prince Henrik, or whatever his wretched name was. Just the thought of him touching Annalina, his Annalina, had sent his blood pressure rocketing. By the time she’d got to the bit about them not being able to consummate their relationship, he had been ready to tear the man limb from limb, happy to chuck the remains of his mutilated body to the vultures without a backward glance. And this aggression for a man he had never met—nor ever would, if he wanted to avoid a life sentence for homicide. He could still feel the hatred seething inside him now: that such a man had dared to try and violate this beautiful creature, then discard her like a piece of trash. It had taken all of his self-control not to let Annalina see his revulsion.
Now Zahir spread his hand possessively under her jaw, his eyes still holding hers, neither of them able to break contact.
‘There’s one sure way to find out.’ He heard his words through the roar of blood in his ears, the throb of it pulsing in his veins. Not that he was in any doubt. He knew he could take this beautiful princess and erase the memory of that spineless creep of a creature, take her to his bed and show her what a real man could do. Just the thought of it made his hands tremble and he pressed the pads of his thumbs against her skin to steady them, rhythmically stroking up and down. He watched her eyelashes flutter against his touch and the roar inside him grew louder.
He might not be able to read Anna’s mind, but he could read her body, and that was all the encouragement he needed. The angle of her head, the slight arching of her back that pushed her breasts towards him, the soft rasp of her breath, all told him that she was his for the taking. That she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her. Well, so be it. But this time the kiss would be on his terms.
He lowered his head until their mouths were only a fraction apart. Now, a voice inside his head commanded. And Zahir obeyed. Planting his lips firmly on Annalina’s upturned pout, he felt its warm softness pucker beneath him and the resulting kick of lust in his gut momentarily halted him right there. He inhaled deeply through his nose. This was not going to be a gentle, persuasive kiss. This was going to be hot and heavy and hardcore. This was about possession, domination, a man’s need for a woman. His need for her right now.
He angled his head to be able to plunder more deeply, the soft groan as her lips parted to allow him access only fuelling the fire that was raging through him. His tongue delved into the sensual cavern of her mouth, seeking her own with a brutal feverishness that saw it twist around its target, touching, tasting, taking total control, until Anna reciprocated, the lick of her tongue against his taking him to new fervid heights. Releasing her chin, Zahir moved his fingers to the back of her head, pushing them forcefully up through her hair, feeling the combs and grips that held the tresses in their swept-up style dislodge satisfyingly beneath his touch until the thick locks of blonde hair fell free, tumbling down through his fingers and over her shoulders.
Grabbing a handful of this glorious, silken wonder, Zahir used it to anchor her in place, to hold her exactly where he wanted her, so that he could increase the pressure on her mouth still further, increase the intensity of the kiss, heighten the pleasure that was riotously coursing through him. And, when Anna snaked her hands behind his neck, pressing herself against him, her breasts so soft, so feminine against the muscled wall of his chest, it was all he could do to stop himself from taking her right there and then. No questions asked, no thoughts, no deliberation, no cross-examination. Nothing but a blind desire to possess her in the most carnal way possible. To make her his.
Which would be totally wrong. Releasing her lips, Zahir pulled back, the breath heaving in his chest, the tightening in his groin almost unbearably painful. A kiss was one thing, but to take her virginity—for surely that was what they were talking about here?—was quite another. This wasn’t the time or the place. And to do it merely to prove himself more of a man than Henrik would be morally reprehensible. Somehow, from somewhere, he was going to have to find some control.
The look of dazed desire in Annalina’s eyes was almost enough to make him claim her again, blow his new-found resolve to smithereens. But within a split second her expression had changed and now he saw a wariness, a fear almost, and that was enough to bring him forcibly to his senses. Realising that he was still clutching a handful of her hair, he let it drop and pushed himself away until he found himself on his feet, staring down at her from a position of towering authority that he felt far more comfortable with.