‘It’s beautiful.’ Jasmine held up the small blue glass horseshoe. It was flimsy and fragile, but had been chosen with so much care. Jasmine was delighted with her gift.
‘It is nice to see my daughter make a friend.’ As the evening concluded the King strolled on deck with Zakahr. ‘In our position friends are easy to come by—genuine friends are much rarer. I am sure it must be the same for you.’
‘It can be,’ Zakahr admitted.
They walked for a while, admired the stunning view, but even as they spoke, even as the King bade him goodnight, Zakahr’s mind was on Lavinia.
He stared unseeing across the water, realising that the King was right—though for a long time it had suited Zakahr. His position, his wealth, guaranteed he was never short of company—it had suited him, but it just didn’t feel so right now. He had suppressed a smile as Lavinia had educated the Princess as to the wonders of social networking, making her promise to post some wedding pictures online, and whether or not Jasmine was being polite, tonight she had agreed. The King was right. They were already friends, and would no doubt stay in touch after the wedding—and then he remembered what tonight he had chosen to forget.
There would be no friendship. This time next week the Kolovsky name would be mud to King Abdullah. There would be chaos, and she would be in the thick of it—he had to get her away from there.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LAVINIA smiled a mirthless smile as, after the most wonderful night, she entered her suite and saw the lit candles.
Petals were scattered on the bed, and even if there had been no alcohol on deck, down below there was champagne, cooling in a bucket. The spa was filled too—all no doubt on Zakahr’s instruction, before he’d found out she was a virgin.
She had taken the chance to slip away as Zakahr walked with the King, had said goodnight to her hosts, and now she stood alone and her smile was no longer mirthless. In fact, Lavinia laughed.
She didn’t just laugh, she peeled off her dress and shoes and absolutely refused misery, popping the champagne cork and then stripping off her bra and panties.
Zakahr heard her as he walked past and so badly he wanted to join her—to make love to her and, yes, whether she understood it now or at some time in the future, to take care of her in the only way he knew how.
He went into his suite, took off his tie. There was a large brandy waiting for him, which he downed in one, but it did not make a dent. No drink could douse his emotions tonight—but it was a different emotion that rose now, as he knocked on the adjoining door and waited.
Lavinia lay in the spa, champagne in hand, heart in her throat, more than ready to say yes, which she did in a voice that was just a little breathless.
‘You’ve been busy,’ Lavinia said as he walked in and slowly took off his jacket. ‘I thought you were walking with the King, not stripping roses of their petals and rushing around lighting candles.’
He looked at the candles, the petals, the bubbling spa, and then to her.
‘I did a good job!’ Zakahr continued the joke. ‘I didn’t know I could be so romantic.’ And then he was serious. ‘Are you sure?’
She was absolutely sure.
The bubbles were dispersing, slowly revealing her body to him, and rather than shy she had never felt more sure in her life—Zakahr was the only man she could imagine being like this with. Yes, she had stripped in the past, but she had bared only her body then. With Zakahr she could reveal herself.
‘I am a bit scared, though.’ She looked up at him and clarified her words. ‘Not of you, of it.’
‘You won’t be soon.’ It was an assured promise, and even if it still scared her she believed him.
He soaped her arms, her shoulders, her neck, till all traces of make-up were gone, and he saw just how young and vulnerable she was, even if she was tough at times too. He knew she was scared, and was grateful that it was him—because he knew that he would take care of her, knew she would be scared only till he was inside.
He pulled the plug and helped her stand. Lavinia had never been shy of her body, had revealed it too easily, but now, feeling his eyes roam her with affection rather than lust, there was a chasteness that had been missing before, tempting her to cover her breasts as she climbed out of the spa. Instead he pulled her into him, shielded her with his kiss, and feeling his mouth, feeling her hot damp body press into his shirt, for a little while she forgot to be shy.
It was a different kiss than any they’d shared before. Zakahr held her oiled and naked and warm against him, felt her dampen his shirt, and it was another kiss he relished. His hands roamed her waist, her hips, her bottom, her wet hair against his face, till the sheen on her skin evaporated and not even his hands could warm her. He felt her shiver in a mix of exposure and want.
‘Come to bed.’
She had never expected tenderness. He pulled back the bedclothes and took off her towel, and she climbed in and lay there, nervous, though not, watching him undress. He slipped off his damp shirt, and there was only beauty tonight in the male form.
Scars and all, he was exquisite. Her eyes feasted on him, and he stood in the warmth of her gaze for a moment before climbing in beside her. For a long while he just held her. Then he turned on his pillow and his mouth found hers.
It was a different kiss again—a slow, tentative kiss to accustom her. And slowly she did—to the feel of being in bed with a man, to a naked body beside her. It was a building kiss, a kiss that spread through her body till it knew what to do. He tasted of brandy—or was it her? A luxurious mingling? Still he kissed her, and her leg slipped against his, felt the roughness of his hair and the solid strength of his thigh, and then his hand slid back to where she had once guided him. He lowered his head, his tongue sliding down her neck. She could feel the wrap of his legs around hers, the scratch of hair between the tender skin of her thighs, and the solid, warm weight of his erection, pressing into her stomach and slipping further down as his body moved. His mouth met her aching nipple and his hand moved lower. He could feel her warmth, feel her trepidation. His mouth worked her breast, and his fingers tenderly probed, and it was Zakahr who was nervous on her behalf. Always he was sheathed, but he thought of her virgin flesh and wanted to feel his way in—he wanted all of the experience, and not just for him, so wary was he of hurting her.
‘When are you due?’ His mouth moved to her ear.
‘I’m not… I’m on the pill…’
‘Never trust a man when he says this.’ Those grey eyes met hers. ‘Except me. I have never done anything before without protection.’ He never had—had sworn he never would—except he was parting her from her innocence, and he knew that tonight he needed to be more gentle, to feel his way. And he would.
She could trust him.
Not in anything else, but in this she could. And he knew she did.
He had a streetwise side to him, a knowing, a danger that for tonight was being put on hold. Yes, she could not justify it—she knew some of his depraved past—but it was trust that had led her to his bed, and trust that guided her now.
And it was the same for Zakahr.
So many women had wanted him—all of him. Had thought that a baby would change him—would mellow him. Nothing would.
His tip was moist, and with it Zakahr moistened her. He stroked himself around her and Lavinia lay, her breath high and shallow in her chest, nervous, curious. Then he lowered himself onto her, because he did want to kiss her throughout. He kissed her till she was drunk from it, and without ordered thought she was kissing him back. He kissed her till he was in just a little way, and then he kissed her some more.
He held back, but his mind surged forward to pastures new. He wanted her pleasure, he wanted her escape, and without the usual barrier the pleasure was more intense for Zakahr. That he was her first took on vital importance. He whispered words in her ear that were far more than the sweet talk he usually delivered—he whispered words that were dangerous from a man like Zakahr, words he never used.
He told her neck she was beautiful as he licked it, told her cheek he would not hurt her as he kissed it, and inched in just a little deeper, whispering into the shell of her ear that he would never hurt her, that she was safe, that she was okay, that he would make it so.
He dizzied her brain with endearments.
He slowly moved and gently she stretched. With each word, each gentle probe, she opened willingly, and when he completely filled her he showered her senses further with every word she craved. He sounded as if he meant it, so he said it some more, and he felt as if he meant it as her hips rose to greet him, and her lips gasped for air, and her head thrashed with unfamiliar sensation.
Zakahr consumed her, he filled her and he thrust now within her, and it was so breathtakingly wonderful that Lavinia actually wanted it to stop, because she hadn’t agreed to this, would never have agreed to this—to the absolute devotion her body held for him, to the complete disregard for the rules she should be abiding by. There could be no holding on to her heart when she was holding on to him.
Her nails dug in his back and her ears accepted his words and her body throbbed beneath his. And then she was coming, and sucking on his skin as he spilled deep within her, and then biting on his shoulder just to stop herself from saying it—because she couldn’t, she mustn’t. Except she already did… And he was still holding her, and kissing her, and then she rolled and turned away, waiting for it to fade, for sense to prevail. And still she wanted to say it.
Zakahr pulled her warmth towards him, kissed her shoulder and lay there. She was aware for ages that he didn’t sleep, that he lay awake beside her, and so many times she had to stop herself from blurting out to the darkness, telling herself it was impossible…
Except it was possible.
She just did.
Already she loved him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
HE WOKE to the absence of regret.
Zakahr noticed because it was usually a familiar bedmate—uneasy with intimacy, he saw it as weakness and always awoke wishing she were gone. Not this morning. Faced away from her, his back exposed, he would normally roll on to his back or climb out of bed. But he had left it too late, because she had already stirred beside him. In silence he lay there, felt her cool hands on his back, felt her fingers tenderly probe his scars, and he braced himself for the inevitable—the demand for information on the strength of one night, as if he were just going to roll over and share the darkest part of his life.
He waited for her questions, but they never came.
Still her hand softly roamed him, and as her fingers explored he relived the hell of each scar, reminded himself why he was right to be here, that the plan in action was deserved. It did not have to affect Lavinia, but that meant he had to trust her, and he tensed at the very thought of it—trust was an enigma to Zakahr.
She felt him tense, but kissed his back, his shoulder, his neck. Lavinia willed him with her mouth to turn to her. Bold, she unfurled beside him, stretching into the new skin of a body that felt different this morning—aware and tender. His skin was warm next to hers, and her hands explored him, past the jut of his hips to the flat of his stomach, inching downwards till she held his morning erection in her hand and adored it. She had been scared—not just last night, maybe all her life—but with him she wasn’t any longer. All was beautiful.
Here, now, was where he would turn—here, where he would normally end the intimacy. Yet he lay there and let her explore him, closed his mind to everything but her and then turned to face her. He never wanted to get out of the bed. He felt her mouth kiss his chest and then work down, felt her lips soft, warm and tentative, and then the cool of her tongue. He wanted to give in to her, but he would not. He wanted her, and it had to be now. He slid her up the bed, hooked her leg around his and drove into her.
Last night had been slow and tender, but now there was an urgency—one Lavinia wasn’t sure she could match—but there was also an intensity there that excited her, a loss of control in this guarded man as he bucked inside her, an instant need that from nowhere somehow her body easily met in a storm not building but hitting, spreading from her centre and outwards, and she clung onto his shoulders and gripped with her legs, bit on her lip to stay quiet.
He could feel her dense orgasm capture his, felt the shatter of release as he entered a place he had never sought, as he drove hard within her. He could hear her calling his name, and he was saying hers too.
They coupled.
It was a word he had never considered, never used, but in the midst of orgasm its meaning was crystal-clear—so clear he could actually see its meaning, feel her vibrations match his as she pulled him deep into her centre. He felt her fading twitches massage the last throes from him and he did not want it to be over, still lingering even after his body was spent. He lay on top of her for a moment, and her hands were still on his back. Zakahr wanted to recoil, to climb off, to get out—because the intimacy was killing him, because somehow he had to detach. And yet still he lingered, still his body refused to obey his demand, still he kissed, still he was inside her—still she was in his head. And somehow, if he was to keep her for a little while longer, he had to trust her.
‘We should get up for breakfast…’ She lay in his arms, unfazed by his silence. ‘When do we leave?’
‘In a couple of hours.’
She picked up his wrist and glanced at his watch. ‘This time tomorrow I’ll be back at my desk,’ Lavinia grumbled.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all, he decided. Maybe this was what she’d intended.
‘Why not take some time off?’ Zakahr said. ‘Concentrate on getting Rachael.’ He saw just a smudge of a frown. ‘You could stay with me…’
‘Sorry?’
‘Move in with me.’
Lavinia laughed—she just laughed.
‘I’m serious. You just said you don’t—’
‘It was a comment, Zakahr. I was grumbling about work—not fishing. Why would you ask me to move in? Any day now I could be guardian to—’
‘Just for a while.’ He saw the smile wobble, made himself say it. ‘Till I return to the UK.’
And she’d known she could never keep him, had accepted as best she could that it could never last, but did he have to remind her so soon? She tried to sound casual, tried not to reveal that her heart was breaking. ‘And who’s going to do my job if I suddenly leave?’
‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ he said evenly. ‘I called Abigail, my PA, on Friday. She should be there by tomorrow.’
‘Oh, but I do worry.’ She sat up, pulling up her knees and whipping the sheet tightly around her, hating how easily she was being replaced. ‘I like my job…’ She shook her head. ‘I need my job—I’m not leaving.’
‘Lavinia, I tell you—you won’t have to worry…’ He reached out to caress her back, his fingers reaching for her shoulders, running the length of her prominent spine, glad now he hadn’t signed that contract—righteous, even, in his decision. She was far better out of it. ‘I like spending time with you—I want to spend time with you.’ It was an extremely unusual admission from Zakahr. ‘I’m trying to help…’ He forced the words out. ‘Soon there will be no job…’
She went to turn her head, but froze. Katina’s bitter words, which he had dismissed so readily with his assurances, now repeating.
‘You’re going to destroy—’
‘I’m closing it,’ Zakahr interrupted.
‘Destroying it.’ Her lips were white. Hugging her knees tighter, she curled up at the wretchedness of it, her mind full of Rachael, how her employment status might change things. If she did get custody, how was she supposed to support her? ‘I can’t believe you’d do this.’ The implications were trickling in now—her colleagues, Nina. The ramifications grew bigger with each cascading thought.
‘What about Jasmine…?’ Lavinia was appalled. They were here as their guests, and Zakahr was planning on closing Kolovsky! ‘She’s getting married i
n a few weeks…’
‘Lavinia—I’ve been doing this for a long time. People will be looked after—there will be redundancy packages, agreements reached. You cannot make this personal…’
‘It is personal, though!’ And she said the words she had the first day they had met. ‘It’s her wedding…’
‘Her father will be able to sort it… It’s a dress…’ This wasn’t going as well as he had hoped, and he moved to calm her. ‘You are going to be fine. You will be away from all the fall-out. You can stay with me, and I will make sure you don’t have to look for another job. When I’m gone, you will be able to concentrate on just yourself and Rachael—you can do your studies…’
Her spine straightened beneath his touch, ramrod straight, and the muscles over her shoulders tensed rigid as he named a price—a price, Zakahr surmised, that was beyond her wildest dreams, that would secure her future, so of course she was silent—of course it was a shock. And then her head turned in fury, till the blue eyes that had always smiled darkened in fury.
‘You’ll pay me to be your mistress?’
‘I want to look after you.’
‘While you’re here,’ Lavinia snarled, ‘you’ll pay me to sleep with you.’
‘You’re twisting things.’
‘I don’t have to twist anything. It’s pretty blatant.’
‘This way—’ Zakahr started. But Lavinia would not let him continue.
‘This way I’ll be your prostitute.’
‘You’re being ridiculous.’
‘Actually, no. I’m an expert on the subject—my mother was a prostitute, Zakahr. I’ve done everything I can to claw my way out of that pit, and you’d hurl me straight back in…’
‘I am offering you a chance to change your life.’
‘For the greater good?’ Lavinia scoffed. ‘What happens in ten years, when the gas bill’s late or Rachael needs schoolbooks? Will I justify it then? You’re offering me money, and at the same time you’ve taken away everything special about last night.’
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