He didn’t need her to tell him when he’d last seen his brother! ‘I don’t know that there’s enough time,’ he growled.
‘Oh, there’s time,’ she asserted softly, and pointed at his itinerary. ‘The drinks reception with the Foreign Minister finishes early. You could easily do dinner.’ She sighed as she saw that the forbidding set of his jaw hadn’t altered a bit. ‘Look, Malik, we’ve both known what it is to lose our families—but at least you’ve discovered a new one! Why don’t you use this opportunity to get to know Xavier a bit better?’
She stood there, looking so at ease and so comfortable as she gently told him what to do that Malik felt a terrible tearing pain as he caught a glimpse of another life—a life he would never lead. Where women made suggestions in order to keep the peace and worked behind the scenes to bring distant brothers together. ‘Will you stop trying to fabricate a situation which happens to fit in with your idea of Happy Families?’ he snapped.
‘I was not!’
Ebony brows were elevated into disdainful curves. ‘Or perhaps you are hoping to present the two of us as a couple? Get the seal of approval from my family before you try to persuade me to tell the rest of the world we’re together? Is that your plan?’
It was such an outrageous accusation that for a moment Sorrel thought he was joking—but one look at the darkly thunderous expression on his face told her he wasn’t. ‘How dare you suggest that, Malik? When nothing could be further from my mind!’
‘Because we are not a couple!’ he clipped out. ‘You know that and I know that—and what is more we never can be!’
‘Of course I know that!’ It was pretty obvious from the way he’d been hiding her away and…and…Her breath was coming in short, angry little gasps. ‘You have made that abundantly clear!’
The conflict accelerated his heart and made his skin prickle, the dark flush of desire arrowing in slants down over his cheekbones. Wasn’t it strange, he thought achingly, how disharmony could so accelerate desire? Anger provided an incomparable springboard for passion—which was why, he guessed, making-up sex was the very best sex of all.
The progress of his thoughts was rewarded with the hard jerk of an erection pushing against his thigh—but as always the physical evidence of his desire reminded him that this affair was different from any other. He had made it different—simply because it was Sorrel. He had held back and held back until he’d thought he would go insane—yet he wondered just how much more of this exquisite self-denial he could take.
‘Come over here,’ he instructed softly.
‘No,’ she said recklessly, but her heart was hammering against her ribcage. ‘You think you can talk to me as if I’m an idiot, and then just snap your fingers and I’ll come running?’
That was exactly what he thought. Well, not the idiot part, but certainly the rest of it. But he guessed it might not be the most diplomatic thing in the world to agree with her. ‘Don’t you know how much I like it when you try to oppose me?’ he murmured. ‘Don’t you know how much it turns me on?’
Looping a strand of hair behind her ear, Sorrel stared at him. He had her tied up in so many knots that she wasn’t sure about anything any more. So ask him. ‘Malik—’
He heard the apprehensiveness in her voice—a trait that would not usually be made known to him—but then, he had never lived in such close confinement with a member of the opposite sex before. He was used to dealing with women at their glossy and most responsive best—all perfumed and ready for love. But the moment you let a woman into your life you became aware of her moods—and her unrealistic take on life.
‘Come to me,’ he ordered softly, and this time she went into his arms, her slim, soft body fitting perfectly against his. Unseen, he closed his eyes against the golden spill of her hair, breathing in its subtle fragrance before leaning back to look down at her, a stern expression on his rugged features. ‘Now, tell me—what is troubling you?’
‘You are.’ Boldly, she lifted her hands to his face. ‘You’re driving me mad with questions about why…’ She hesitated, and then seized the courage to say it. ‘Why you don’t want to make love to me.’
He traced a thoughtful finger down to the provocative swell of her breast. ‘Isn’t that what I’ve been doing to you for the past week?’
Surely it was crazy to feel embarrassed talking about sex when he had seen her writhing beneath his expert fingers and his lips in just about every major city in Europe? She hadn’t felt embarrassed then, had she? Yet getting carried away in the heat of the moment was a lot easier than confronting difficult issues in the cold light of day, with a man who always ran away from discussing anything resembling feelings.
‘I meant…properly,’ she whispered, her face beginning to burn.
‘Ah!’ He stroked the palm of his hand over the pale waterfall of her hair, thinking that her stumbled questions reminded him of a butterfly emerging slowly from the chrysalis before learning how to fly. He had seen her grow in confidence day by day. But that blush—redolent of a far more profound innocence—smote deep at the conscience which still troubled him.
Had he thought that one morning he was just going to wake up and find that the doubts which still assailed him over his behaviour towards her had suddenly vanished? That he would be able to take her—to pierce through to the very heart of her? And then what? To have his fill of her before casting her aside to seek a Kharastani bride?
Could he honestly, knowingly and willingly take her virginity at such a price? It was no way to treat any woman, but especially not Sorrel—not after everything they had been to each other.
And yet the alternative was to give her away to some other man!
Malik’s mouth hardened. Never! His royal destiny had come to him late—but he’d now had two years of reigning over a large and influential kingdom, and some of that power had inevitably influenced him. He hungered for Sorrel with a fervour which far surpassed anything else he’d ever wanted. But he knew that he must not let sentimentality cloud his judgement.
As King he was above the rules of normal men, and this was fact, not arrogance. He could not, at present, see a way out of the dilemma which had snared him in its velvet claws, but until he did Sorrel would fit in with his plans and his desires. She would not question him, but consider herself grateful that he had taken it upon himself to educate her!
‘You must not question my judgement—nor my behaviour,’ he said coolly. ‘Not ever. For I am the Sheikh, whose word must not be questioned!’
Maybe in matters concerning the body he was, but she knew a bit more about emotions and relationships than this cold-hearted King. She drew a deep breath. ‘Very well, I shall not bring the subject of our sex-life up again—I will bow to your superior knowledge of the subject.’ Her blue eyes sparked. ‘But I would be failing in my supportive role if I allowed you to take a course of action which could be detrimental to the throne,’ she said quietly.
‘Meaning what, precisely?’ he snapped.
‘Just that I think it’s very bad if you don’t meet up with your brother while you’re here. If you won’t do it out of a sense of love, then at least do it out of a sense of duty. Imagine if the papers discover that you’ve avoided him—they’ll blow it up and turn it into a feud. You know the kind of thing: Sheikh rivalry threatens Kharastan’s stability! The full story of why Malik snubbed his half-brother.’
For a second a smile caught the edges of his mouth before he could stop it, but he wiped it away and glared at her instead.
She dared to say this? To him? ‘You are nothing but a manipulative minx!’ he grated.
‘Or a good mediator?’ she countered, feeling that, yes, she was doing the right thing—but it was more than that. For once she was wresting a little of the control away from Malik—because surely it couldn’t be good for him to have everything all his own way?
Malik’s eyes narrowed. Maybe she had a point. After his unexpectedly dizzy rise to power the media was still engaged in finding out a
ll about him—and how they would love to create a scandal out of nothing.
‘Very well. I will see my brother,’ he conceded slowly. ‘Have security check and book us a table for dinner.’
Sorrel nodded and picked up the phone, speaking into it rapidly, all the time aware that Malik had walked over to the door which connected the suite to the corridor and was ensuring that it was locked before turning back and walking slowly towards her, his black eyes glittering. ‘Now kiss me,’ he ordered softly.
Her lips were dry and she needed no second bidding, for she was hot and hungry for him—but her small triumph over the matter of his brother had filled her with courage. If she could assert herself over matters of state—then why the hell was she being so damned passive whenever he started making love to her?
She had been getting more and more emotionally frustrated by the one-sidedness of these erotic encounters—when Malik seemed to know exactly which sensual buttons to press and she just responded as if she’d been programmed to do so. But all the time he was so removed, so distant.
Maybe he took some kind of perverse pleasure in just watching her climax and then afterwards coolly walking away? Almost as if he were an observer in the act instead of a participant.
And maybe it’s best that way, said a warning voice in her head.
Because you love him, don’t you, Sorrel?
You love him, and he doesn’t feel the same way and he never will—and maybe he’s doing you a favour by staying emotionally and physically cold. Because at least it isn’t filling you full of false hope.
Damn you, she thought suddenly, as he snaked his hand around her and began to rub at the indentation of her waist. At this point she would normally just sigh and let him kiss her over and over, until there was no option but to surrender.
Why did she always let Malik take control? Well, there was an alternative! Yes, she had gone to him untutored, but surely it would only reflect badly on the teacher if sometimes his eager pupil did not show some initiative of her own?
Luxuriously, she threaded her fingers in the jet-black waves of his hair and held her face to his. Her lips were soft on his in a slow, powerful and drugging kiss when unexpectedly she thrust her hips against his—a movement she had seen some of the court dancers perform. It wasn’t the most subtle movement in the book, but it worked—because as she felt the unashamed hardness at his groin and slowly circled against it Malik tensed, black eyes wary, his fingers gripping hard at her waist.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded.
She rubbed up against him like an alley-cat, her hands daringly reaching behind his shoulders to massage the tension-knotted muscle there—touching him as she had wanted to do for so long, only had never before dared. ‘Oh, Malik,’ she purred. ‘I think you know the answer to that!’
‘Stop it, Sorrel.’ He groaned, closing his eyes as she took complete command, pushing him down onto the soft pile of floor cushions as if he was her willing captive. ‘Oh, please…stop it.’
‘You know you don’t mean that,’ she murmured, slithering her hands beneath his robes and untying the silken string woven through the loose silk trousers which all Kharastani noblemen wore. Her movements were economical, because she did not want to give him a single second of opportunity for him to stop her. But just because they were swift it did not mean that Sorrel wasn’t imaginative about this unforeseen seduction—heavens, no.
Malik had taught her much—that the body was made to be pleasured and that a man and a woman could find heaven on earth together.
How easy it was to touch him and make him moan. Not just because he had demonstrated such finesse towards her but because she wanted to please him—as he had pleased her, so many times.
She wanted to tell him how dear he was to her, how much a part of her life and her heart—but she contented herself with kisses and strokes instead, and hoped she hid her fast-mounting doubts as she slid the silk trousers off. How daunting the fully aroused sight of him, she thought! And how utterly magnificent.
‘Sorrel,’ he sighed, lying back almost helplessly—as weak at that moment as he had ever been. It was not the first time a woman had taken him in her mouth, nor the first time that he had been cupped with feather-light fingers at the same time—but usually he kept his eyes shut because the fantasy always superseded reality. This time he didn’t.
He saw the movement of Sorrel’s head, and the tresses of white-blonde hair spread out like a satin tablecloth over his thighs, and he felt himself coming. Considering that she had never done it before—he couldn’t ever remember it ever feeling quite like…like…
Afterwards, she raised her head, and the sight of her sense of wonder—of delight at what she had done—nearly blew him away as much as the act itself. Her smile was almost shy—contrasting erotically with the magic she had just worked on him.
Warning bells went off in his head as she wriggled up, leaned forward and kissed him deeply on the mouth, and he moaned, because he could taste himself on her lips, and suddenly that felt like an intimacy too far.
‘Sorrel,’ he groaned.
Steeling her heart against her overpowering desire to sink into him, she rose gracefully to her feet, heading off towards the bathroom before he realised what was happening and could seduce her into staying.
Let him see how he liked it, she thought—as she ran the cold tap and thrust her wrists beneath it.
CHAPTER NINE
THE restaurant was at the top of a tall building which sat snugly on the side of the Seine and was reached through an impossibly glamorous lobby filled with flowers, its walls crammed with photographs of past politicians and film-stars who had dined there.
There were more photographs in the lift which took them up to the sixth floor. ‘You’re quite small fry in comparison,’ said Sorrel, as she peered at a snapshot of a past president with the restaurant’s owner.
There wasn’t a flicker of response on Malik’s face. ‘Very amusing,’ he said silkily, inhibited by the presence of one of his bodyguards—otherwise he might have kissed her. Or something. He wasn’t quite sure what. For the first time in memory, Malik felt dazed and confused, and angry too. Had that extraordinary scene back at the hotel been a demonstration of Sorrel’s newly discovered sexual power? he wondered. Or of control? She had played sexual games with him!
Because you played them with her? taunted the voice of his conscience?
The lift doors slid open and the bodyguard stepped out first, as protocol and safety dictated. Malik took the opportunity to bend his head to Sorrel’s ear.
‘You can wipe that triumphant smile off your sweet little mouth,’ he grated. ‘You may have won the temporary reprieve of a meal with Xavier and his wife—but I haven’t forgotten what took place earlier.’ Somehow he doubted that he would ever forget it—but that did not lessen his anger towards her. ‘And we shall discuss it later. Alone.’
His words were coated with a dark danger which made Sorrel’s heart pound uncomfortably, but she kept her voice light. ‘You make that sound like a threat, Malik.’
The black eyes glittered her a silent challenge. ‘Do I? It’s all in your interpretation, surely?’ he questioned, and then there was a small buzz as he walked into the restaurant, with Sorrel trailing behind him.
Had she done something she was now going to live to regret? she wondered, as she followed in his dazzling wake. Played games with a man who liked to be in total control?
She could see heads turning, even though tonight he had elected to wear one of his beautifully cut suits. In theory, the Western garb should have made him blend in with the expensive clientele more than his robes ever did—but somehow it didn’t. His tall figure was striking no matter what he wore—his jet-dark hair and olive skin even more so—and the autocratic way with which he moved across the room told even the most casual onlooker that this was a man of power and authority.
Xavier and Laura were already seated, but they rose to their feet as Malik arriv
ed, and the four of them greeted one another with the familiarity born out of the extraordinary circumstances in which they’d all met.
Sorrel had first encountered Xavier when he’d arrived at the Blue Palace—the first of the sons to be introduced to his father—and Laura had been the English lawyer who had accompanied him. Sorrel hadn’t seen them for ages, and she thought how tired Laura looked.
She found herself looking closely at Xavier and comparing him to Malik to see if she could see any family resemblance—but in reality the two men were strikingly different. Malik’s skin was darker than Xavier’s, but then he was of pure Kharastani blood, and only their statuesque physique and glittering black eyes showed any real similarities between them.
Almost as if it were yesterday Sorrel remembered when Xavier and Laura’s wedding had been announced to a country hungry for the continuity of its royal family—and to a world who wanted the inevitable glamour of a royal wedding.
The people of Kharastan had rejoiced in the marriage of the Frenchman to Laura ‘with the sunset hair’, and many had hoped that the newlyweds would choose to make their home there.
Instead, they had gone back to Xavier’s native France, where they now lived in a cosmopolitan area of Paris—although they were in the process of building a beach-house in Kardal, on the shores of the Balsora Sea because, as Laura said, they wanted to build ties with Kharastan.
‘Why did you not come to our apartment this evening instead of this fancy restaurant, mon frère?’ asked Xavier with the glimmer of a smile, as he looked around the immaculately formal room with its dazzling bird’s-eye view of night-time Paris and the perfect dome of the Sacré Coeur gleaming with light. ‘I could have cooked you moules, and Laura could have shown off how well she has mastered tarte aux pommes! She is proud of what a French housewife she has become—aren’t you, cherie?’
‘Mais, bien sûr!’ said Laura, with the carefully correct accent of someone who has learnt a foreign language as an adult.
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