by Lynne Graham
‘Your Serene Highness…?’ Kirsten echoed weakly, incomprehension gripping her at his form of address.
‘My princess…my beautiful princess.’ Shahir bent her forward to undo the tiny fasteners on the shift. ‘The title comes courtesy of my father.’
The shift was being peeled down over the womanly curve of her hips and she could hardly breathe for anticipation, never mind carry on a sensible conversation. The pulse of desire throbbed an insistent beat between her thighs and her face was hot. ‘I w-wasn’t expecting it,’ she stammered, shocked at the strength of what she was feeling.
‘You deserve it—and more.’ His rich drawl shimmied down her taut spine. ‘You have gone through so much since I came into your life, aziz.’
‘It wasn’t all bad,’ she confided unevenly.
‘None of it should have been,’ Shahir intoned, shedding his shirt.
Kirsten could not concentrate. Drawing her down on to the bed, he was caressing her lush little breasts with uninhibited masculine appreciation and skill. Her breath rasped back and forth in her throat as she struggled to stay in control. He lowered his proud dark head over the tormentingly tender tips that adorned the small ripe mounds and circled the stiff straining buds with the tip of his tongue. The onslaught of sensation was too much for her: her hips rose and she whimpered his name.
‘Tonight…everything must be for your pleasure.’ He straightened in one lithe movement and removed the remainder of his clothes.
Liquid heat danced over the delicate flesh at the heart of her. Even though she was taut with self-consciousness, and flushed with the shyness that even desire could not drive out, she couldn’t drag her eyes from him.
‘Why?’ she whispered.
‘The first time the pleasure was all mine.’
He had a stunning dark male beauty that mesmerised her. When she looked at him her heart pounded and she got butterflies in her tummy. His features were hard, sculpted and strong, brought to vibrant life by the dazzling dangerous gold of his eyes. He had the superb physique of an athlete. Lean muscle rippled below his bronzed skin, ebony curls delineating his powerful chest while a silky furrow of dark hair ran down in an intriguing line over his hard flat stomach. The bold thrust of his arousal ensnared her attention and filled her with sinful heat.
She was weak with longing when he came back to her, tasting her reddened mouth with hungry, marauding fervour. He worked his skilful passage down over her twisting, turning body, leaving a trail of fire wherever he lingered and parting her slender thighs. What he did next shocked her senseless, but before she could protest a wicked flood of unbearable sensation seized her and suddenly she had all the self-will of a remote controlled toy. Nothing could have prepared her for the sensual intensity of an experience that threatened to drive her out of her mind with an enjoyment so strong it came close to pain.
‘Now…’ Shahir framed with ragged force, pulling her beneath him when she could no longer stand the fierce need he had induced in her weak and unresisting body. With sure hands he tipped her up and plunged into the damp heated core of her with a harsh groan of wondering pleasure. ‘It has never, ever been like this for me before…’
The raw passion of his possession sent such a shock wave of delight pulsing through her that she reached an instantaneous peak of ecstasy. The sweet violence of release gripped her in quivering spasms of joy until she was heavy and limp with satiation.
‘Oh, Shahir…’ she mumbled shakily.
In response he withdrew from her and turned her over, rearranging her on her knees.
‘Shahir…?’ she gasped in disconcertion.
He sank into her again, hard and fast, and she heard herself cry out with the intolerable pleasure of his entrance into her newly tender flesh. She had no thought after that. In fact wild excitement knocked every single thought out of her head. She abandoned herself to delight and more delight. Once more he drove her to the heights of an explosive climax, and with a cry of rapture she surrendered to the voluptuous waves of sweet pleasure that engulfed her.
When she recovered from that incredibly intense bout of passion Shahir was cradling her close. He had both arms wrapped round her while he scanned her delicate features with slumberous dark golden eyes full of appreciation. ‘I will never let you out of my sight again, aziz. What a blessing it is that we found each other.’
Blissfully contented, and awash with love and security as Kirsten felt at that moment, she had, however, been disconcerted by one aspect of their lovemaking. She rested her cheek against a smooth brown muscular shoulder and murmured, ‘You took precautions…’
‘Of course…I won’t run the risk of getting you pregnant again.’
Astonishment opened her green eyes to their fullest extent. ‘But don’t you want more children? I thought it sort of went with the territory,’ she confided.
‘Tazeem will have to be enough. Never again will I put you through birth…I could not do that to you,’ Shahir admitted, a shudder of recollection rippling through the long lean body entwined with her softer curves. ‘I found it very difficult to stand by while you were going through all that.’
A smile crept over Kirsten’s full mouth. She snuggled closer to him. For weeks on end she had tormented herself with the belief that Shahir valued her mainly for her capacity to give him children. But he had just shown her how wrong she had been in that assumption. ‘Is that because of what happened to your mother?’ she whispered softly. ‘Jahan mentioned how she had died.’
‘It is true that my father has often spoken of that day to me. Why not? It was the worst day of his life. But I wouldn’t have discussed that tragedy while you were carrying our child,’ Shahir countered. ‘It would have disturbed you.’
He had been really worried about her, and yet he had kept his fears to himself rather than take the risk of frightening her with the story of his mother’s sad demise. She was touched by his admission, and not for worlds would she have confided that she was just finding out that she had to be the most contrary woman alive on the planet. No sooner had Shahir assured her that Tazeem was to be their one and only child than she had decided that she wanted at least two more children. Once she’d realised that he valued her health more than her ability to have babies, her misgivings and sensitivity on that score had been vanquished for ever.
Shahir rolled her over and gazed down at her, inky black lashes low and sexy over striking dark golden eyes ‘This is our wedding night…the talk is too serious.’
‘But you’re always serious.’
‘Over the next few weeks you will learn that I have another side to my nature.’
‘Weeks? How long have I got you for?’ The instant that revealing question leapt off her tongue she wanted to cringe.
A wickedly attractive smile slashed his darkly handsome features. ‘You have got me for at least six weeks…’
The pretence of cool could not contain her delight and she gasped, ‘Six weeks? Honestly?’
‘Honestly…and I intend for us to make full use of every priceless moment.’ Matching words to action, Shahir captured her mouth with hungry urgency and let his tongue delve deep in an exploratory foray.
Tiny little darts of flame licked low in her pelvis. The tender crests of her breasts tingled. Already she wanted to feel his hands on her again. Embarrassed though she was by her susceptibility, she couldn’t resist him.
Reaching up to him in a helplessly encouraging movement, she let her fingers spear through the tousled depths of his black hair.
Shahir lifted his head again, his dark eyes reflective. ‘You see, it will take every day of those weeks for you to learn royal etiquette and the history of our family…’
Kirsten blinked. ‘I suppose…’
‘And perhaps a little more Arabic.’
She nodded, seeing the solid sense of that as well.
Looking pensive, Shahir continued to study her. ‘As my wife you should get to know the desert. The ability to ride a horse would be an advant
Kirsten turned brick-red at that low reminder. ‘It all sounds very educational.’
He unleashed his vibrant smile again. ‘And the education will continue in private as well, while you teach me what you like,’ he suggested huskily, letting a caressing hand curve to the swell of her hip as he brought her closer. ‘And I teach you what I like…’
‘But I might not have the energy to learn anything after all those lessons in etiquette, history and dancing.’ Kirsten let her fingertips forge a provocative feminine trail down his taut flat stomach.
Shahir could not conceal his surprise or his instant fascination at that first show of boldness on her part. ‘We’ll make the time, aziz, ‘ he breathed unsteadily, hauling her to him with unsubtle force. ‘Even if we have to stay here for ever!’
CHAPTER TEN
THE music Kirsten’s nimble fingers coaxed from the piano keyboard in a rich flood of virtuoso notes flowed round the room and out into the corridor where the staff stood listening. The difficult technical passages of a Rachmaninoff prelude gave way to the fast upbeat rhythm of several Gershwin pieces, and finally to a dreamy waltz that soothed in the heat of midday when there was not a hint of a breeze in the air.
‘If you hadn’t married Shahir and become a besotted wife and mother, you might have become a great classical pianist,’ her brother Daniel mused, reclining back in his seat in a lazy sprawl and sipping at a chilled lemon drink.
Kirsten laughed at the idea. Glazed doors had been folded back so that the room was open to the beautiful shaded courtyard beyond. Leaving the piano, she stepped over Squeak, who was snoozing in front of a whirling fan. She strolled out to sit down casually on a low wall beside Tazeem’s pram. ‘I’m not that good a player.’
‘Oh, yes, you are. But you would have had to struggle to make a name for yourself in the music world, and you might never have got a lucky break. Instead you became a royal princess, with several palaces, legions of staff and a magnificent grand piano,’ the young blond man quipped, watching her scoop his nephew out of the pram with loving maternal hands and proceed to cuddle him. ‘There’s no contest.’
‘It’s not all about what I’ve gained in material terms…I’m just happy,’ Kirsten proclaimed a tad defensively as she dropped a kiss down on Tazeem’s satin-smooth cheek.
‘And you should be. Shahir spoils you rotten, I’ve got an open ticket to fly out here any weekend I want to see you—’
‘Hasn’t that been marvellous?’ his sister interrupted with enthusiasm. ‘We didn’t have much time together at the wedding. But since then we’ve got to know each other again.’
‘I must admit that it’s no sacrifice to leave my student accommodation and enjoy three-course meals, a choice of swimming pools and servants on tap,’ Daniel confided with engaging honesty. ‘You are living an extraordinary life here.’
‘Yes…’ Kirsten gave him a dizzy smile.
‘You wear diamonds one day, sapphires the next, and dazzling designer outfits you change every few hours. In fact you’re better turned out than any Stepford Wife.’
Kirsten reddened and focused surprised eyes on him. ‘I make an effort to look good. Is that a crime?’
Her sibling winced, looked as though he was about to speak, then apparently thought better of the idea and fell silent.
‘What’s wrong?’ Kirsten prompted
‘Well, I wasn’t planning to comment, and maybe I should mind my own business…but sometimes it seems like you’re trying so hard to be perfect at everything that you’re stressing yourself out.’
It was such an astute comment that she paled and screened her eyes. ‘Did Shahir say something to you?’
‘Of course not.’ Daniel fielded an instant rebuttal. ‘Shahir would never dream of talking about you behind your back. Look, forget what I said. I don’t know what I’m talking about.’
An hour later, he was on his way to the airport and a return flight to London. It had been his third visit in two months, and Kirsten had thoroughly enjoyed the time they had spent together. At the same time, however, Shahir’s relatives had welcomed her warmly into their lives, and she had become particularly close to his sister, Jahan.
Shahir and Kirsten spent most weekends at Zurak, but weekdays were generally spent at the Ahmet, where they had the privacy of their own palace.
It was hard for her to believe that she had been living in Dhemen for two months on what felt like an extended honeymoon.
Those first few weeks of togetherness with Shahir at Zurak had been sheer, unadulterated bliss. The passion between them had burned hotter than hot, turning day into night and night into day. The wildness of the pleasure they had found in each other still shocked her. It was as though their desire was never fully assuaged. Shahir walked into a room and she wanted him. Sitting through a meal, getting through a polite conversation with visitors could be a private torment. Without the slightest encouragement she would find herself recalling the aromatic scent of his skin, the taste of him and the hard heat of his urgent body against hers, and occasionally it mortified her to be at the mercy of a hunger she could not control.
No onlooker would ever have guessed that Shahir was not in love with his wife, for he managed to act as though Kirsten was the centre of his world. He had shared so much more with her than a bed, she acknowledged, wanting to give honour where it was due. He had taken her into the desert to see the sun go down in crimson splendour, and there he had introduced her to the exquisite and unforgettable love poetry of Kahlil Gibran. He had also tried commendably hard not to laugh when she ran screaming from a lizard she had mistaken for a snake.
He rarely came home without a gift for her or Tazeem. It might be a single flower, a book, a toy for their son or an extravagant jewel, but he gave with immense generosity. He had told her about the harsh routine of the military school he had attended, and the rather disconcerting freedom that had been his when he’d later studied business at Harvard. She had begun to understand the forces and influences that had forged his reserve.
On a visit to a Beduoin encampment she had watched him take part in a sword dance and a camel race, and she had secretly savoured that glimpse of the wild side of his volatile temperament which he kept under such fierce control. They had spent the night in a tent bedecked with ancient rugs, and he had spread her out on the floor and made passionate love to her until dawn, masking her every moan with his mouth so that they would not be heard. In the morning she had watched him fly his peregrine falcon high and free, and he had told her that that was how she made him feel in bed.
She was madly in love with him, but she tried not to think too much about that. Such reflections tended to make her dwell on the fact that he was not in love with her. She tried not to remember that dreadfully stilted exchange on their wedding day, when he had tried to lay her fears about Faria to rest. She was willing to believe that he had never spoken a word of forbidden love to his gorgeous foster-sister. And she thought it was equally likely that Faria had no idea of how Shahir felt about her. But Kirsten was constantly aware that the man she loved had given his heart to another woman, and no matter how happy she was that knowledge was like a raw place on her soul that would not heal.
Somehow her brother had sensed that kernel of insecurity buried deep down inside her. She did strive to be the perfect wife. She took great care of her appearance and, although her cheeks warmed at this reflection, she knew she had been a fast learner in the bedroom. As she had a husband who was currently suffering considerable ribbing from his family for flying back from London just to spend two hours with her before leaving again, she was fairly certain she was meeting the right targets in that area of their relationship. She was equally diligent with lessons in Arabic and etiquette, and already knew more about the history of Shahir’s family than he did.
‘Kirsten…?’ Shahir appeared in the doorway.
Her green eyes lit up. She flew down the length of the grand reception room and flung herself at him. He caught her up in his arms, but instead of kissing her as he usually did he set her gently and carefully back from him. Lean strong face grave, he rested his hands on her slim shoulders and surveyed her with strained dark golden eyes.
‘What’s wrong?’ she pressed, a sliver of unease fingering down her spine.
‘Pamela Anstruther is here in person to plead her case with you. Do you wish to see her?’
‘Pamela…Lady Pamela?’ Her smooth brow divided. ‘Plead her case? What are you talking about?’
Shahir straightened to his full commanding height. ‘I was planning to tell you tonight that the allegation of theft that was laid against you at Strathcraig has finally been disproved.’
Her lashes fluttered wide, her astonishment palpable. ‘Has it?’
‘Unfortunately neither of the two women who accused you had anything to gain from admitting the truth. Both had committed a criminal offence. That is why it has taken such a long time to sort out this matter,’ Shahir explained heavily.
‘But you kept on trying?’ Kirsten was impressed by the commitment he had brought to the challenge of refuting the charges made against her.
‘Yes, of course I did. Unfortunately the continual round of interviews and questions carried out by my personal staff did not appear to be bearing fruit.’
‘But they were still working on it all the same. I was afraid to ask you what was happening in case you’d given up,’ Kirsten confided in a rush.
His clear eyes met hers levelly. ‘I would not have done that.’
‘How has the theft charge been disproved?’
‘I understand that the assistant housekeeper, Morag Stevens, finally confessed yesterday that she had lied. She accepted a financial bribe from Pamela Anstruther to plant the pendant in your locker and act as a false witness against you.’
Kirsten could not hide her disgust. ‘So why did Morag confess after all this time?’
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