The Scandal Behind the Wedding

by Bella Frances

He nodded. ‘That’s how I like it. No surprises. Nothing left to chance.’

  ‘Of course there is the issue that Sheikh Salim hasn’t actually signed your contract yet.’

  He frowned—just a little. ‘True. But I’m an optimist. I’ve got to be. No point sweating about it now. I’ve worked for this for three years and I’ve even got married because of it!’

  He smiled and chuckled. Charm just oozed. She smiled back, despite herself.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I was there.’

  He almost winked at her. ‘You were a beautiful bride. You nailed it.’

  ‘I suppose as compliments go that’s a one-off.’

  Suddenly he looked serious. ‘Georgia, I know how much the institution of marriage means to you. And I’m not belittling it. But what we did...today...was a means to a very big end.’

  She looked down. It still didn’t sit right with her. It was murky and unpleasant. A lie.

  ‘Look at it another way. If you hadn’t done it—if we’d brazened it out—there’s a good chance you’d have lost your job by now. You might have been deported—or, worse, jailed. That would have made it pretty hard to clear up your sister’s debts. And there’s no point in pretending—they would have been harder on you than on me. It’s a fact of life.’

  The misery inherent in that particular outcome wasn’t lost to her. She stirred her lemon round and round again.

  ‘So what do you want to do for the next few hours? Shop? Swim?’ He opened the lid of his tablet again. ‘I’ve got a few things to deal with and then I can join you. Whatever you want?’

  She picked up the brochure she’d been flicking through.

  ‘I’ve already booked myself the Honeymoon Spa. It’s supposed to be a couples’ experience, but I’m sure they’ll understand if you’d rather spend time with your emails.’

  She didn’t mean it to sound snippy but maybe it had come out that way...a bit. He laughed. A proper rich laugh. And it even reached his eyes. He stretched his hand across and intertwined his fingers with hers.

  ‘You’re absolutely right. It’s not a good look. I’m supposed to be enjoying myself with my beautiful bride.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe stick your “out of office” on with—I will reply to your email on my return from the Honeymoon Spa. Otherwise your cover might be blown.’

  He chuckled again. ‘You don’t know my colleagues. They wouldn’t be surprised if I emailed in between speeches at my real wedding. I’m not known for my love of downtime.’

  My real wedding. She hated that those words hurt her—just a tiny bit. Of course this wasn’t a real wedding to him. Of course it was just a charade to secure a contract. And why on earth anyone would want to marry a man who was already married—to his job—was beyond her. But as she looked at her fingers in his, with the rings now back in place at his insistence—all part of the public charade, she couldn’t help releasing another of those little happiness bubbles.

  ‘So...Honeymoon Spa! I’d love to come.’

  He picked up the brochure. Skimmed through the pages.

  ‘“A rub of crushed cocoa beans”. Sounds delicious.’

  He stood up. Began to gather her towards him. His eyes told her he wanted her.

  ‘I’m hungry.’

  He did like to kiss and be kissed. That was for sure. She could live with that. He pulled her in close. She could definitely live with that. He covered her mouth with his firm soft lips. Oh, yes, even if it was only for another few days.

  * * *

  They walked round to the spa, hand in hand. He paused at the heavy mahogany door of the female changing area. Ran a finger down her cheek and smiled that darkly sinful smile he could pull from his repertoire so easily, so evocatively.

  She shivered. A curl of lust unfurled from her core. He knew.

  He opened the door for her and she slipped inside—away from him. Her clothes she folded and tucked away. She wrapped herself in the hugest, softest robe she’d ever seen and then stood, like a dumb doll, staring at herself in the mirror. What was she doing? The knowledge of her nudity and his under their robes was making her throb with sensual longing. Her excitement was growing and she wasn’t even near him. She was succumbing more and more easily to just a look or a thought of him. And it was only going to lead to trouble.

  He was a man. He was built to have fun and move on. His heart was hardened to love and his brain was attuned to winning. He was immune. And even if he felt anything like what she felt, where was it going to go? Nowhere. He had been crystal-clear about what was going to happen over the next few days. And the fact that he found her sexually attractive no doubt simply added an extra layer of sugar to his sweet little deal.

  She looked at herself, at the gaping neckline of the robe. Shortly she’d be lying on a massage bed, next to him, naked. Where was that going to lead? And could her bruised heart withstand it? Well, there was no choice—it had to. She simply had to act as he did. Like a man. As if this was a fling to be enjoyed and then dispensed with. The silver lining of her fake wedding cloud. It was that simple.

  She pulled open the door.

  ‘Hey, wife.’

  He leaned against the wall, the leader of the pack. He reached out for her hand, tucked it close to his side.

  They entered the spa room together, to meet their masseuses and prepare themselves. For a moment they were left alone to disrobe.

  He touched his belt. ‘I’m not going to lie to you, Georgia. I’m going to find this quite a challenge.’

  ‘A challenge?’

  ‘To keep things...appropriate.’ When she didn’t get it he added gruffly, ‘To keep my hands off you.’

  ‘Oh,’ she breathed, very aware of the heavy sensual fog in the room. The essential oils and the musk of desire. She would have to rise to the challenge of keeping it ‘appropriate’ too. ‘Well, let’s try hard, okay?’

  She walked to one of the beds, sat with her back to him and shrugged the robe off. She slipped up onto the bed under a giant towel and lay down. Stuck her face through the cushioned gap and stared at the glass-covered turquoise water—her very own square metre of Gulf—flowing beneath her. She would keep this appropriate if it killed her.

  The masseuses re-entered and padded forward on bare feet. Barely aware of their shadows and shapes, she felt herself succumb to the scents and soothing sounds that swirled around her. Their hands worked in choreographed union, smoothing over flesh, easing aches and rendering her senses replete.

  Heavenly.

  She let all the trials of the past few hours spill away with every sweep of those hands. Her breathing slowed. Her mind cleared. Her body relaxed.

  Danny was there. She didn’t even have to look to know exactly what he looked like spread out on the bed. His long sun-and-hair-darkened legs slightly apart and lying loose. A tiny towel covering his rock-solid rear. The hands of the masseuse would be easing oil into the flesh of his back. Muscles rippling with each sweep.

  She felt as if she was out of her body, floating above him...watching. She almost saw the clever hands work down past his waist. The towel being rolled down. And there he was—almost completely naked. Paler skin. Fingers kneaded his firm gluteus muscles. One side. Then the other. He lay god-like. Then his calves. In and around the muscle. Over and up the back of his hair-roughened thighs. His legs shifted open slightly more, a dark shadow at their apex. She felt the desire to touch him, to absorb every scent, to hold him against her...

&nbs
p; Appropriate. The word sprang into her mind as if he had just whispered it. She sank back into her own moment. Felt her own flesh relax and soften.

  Minutes later she heard the whispered tones of the masseuse. They would be left alone now. Refreshments would be waiting outside if they wished.

  She heard the light slip-slap of their feet on the floor and the door close. Her senses soared like a jet above the clouds. She was suddenly and completely awake.

  She heard a louder noise—a click—a lock turning. Her head twisted, her neck still like soft putty. He was at the door. Naked. Her eyes feasted on his masculine beauty. Every limb and muscle glistening. He turned. He was already very erect. She felt her heart thunder and her blood course in readiness.

  He walked towards her, slowly. She absorbed every single moment.

  ‘Turn round. I want to look at you.’

  The word ‘appropriate’ flew out of her brain. She turned. Without question.

  The towel covered her, skimmed her thighs and the very tips of her breasts. She leaned up on her elbows. He leaned down.

  ‘Did you enjoy that?’

  She nodded. ‘It was fabulous. I’m so relaxed now. So...relaxed.’

  His arousal was huge, perfect, utterly disarming. She could focus on nothing else.

  ‘I almost felt that those were your hands on my skin.’

  She knew exactly what he meant. It felt almost spiritual—they were so in tune.

  He looked down at her. At the tiny tangle of curls that peeped from the white towel.

  ‘Open your legs. A little wider.’

  An insolent command but she immediately complied. The towel slipped higher.

  ‘That oil on your legs looks good. Smells good. All the way up to your hips—you have such white, soft skin, Georgia.’

  She couldn’t answer. She was so, so ready. Never, ever had she laid herself out like this for anyone. She was a girl who held back, modest to the last. And here she was, freed from all her good-girl inhibitions, spread out like a banquet, sure that she would do anything for him.

  He came closer. Lifted one leg, kissed her calf—roughly. Then suddenly he turned those laser-like eyes on hers. Sent a fiery flare to her heart. He placed her ankle on his shoulder and bent his head. Slowly, slowly... Eyes still burning hers, he breathed down to her knee—inside.

  Her head fell back as he started a flame trail round and down with his tongue. Then to the other leg, which lay ignored on the bed. He flopped open her inner thigh—soft, white and bare. Hot mouth...hot tongue. Her body ached for him. Her nipples hardened. She pulled at the towel but he grabbed at her wrist. Held her in place as he licked right on down.

  ‘Danny, please.’

  She jerked her hips wantonly. Desperate for him to fill her. He stopped. Dipped lower. Breathed over her. Hot breath on wet flesh. She bucked again.

  ‘You need to be patient or I’ll have to teach you a lesson.’

  She lay back like a good girl. She thought she might die of need, waiting for his touch, his tongue. Her legs lay open. The towel was still in place, resting above the V of her thighs—she was exposed to the air and to his heavy, sultry stare.

  ‘Are you going to be more obedient, Georgia?’

  Her eyes flew open. She was loving the thrill of his words.

  ‘Yes. Please.’

  ‘Because every time you show me disrespect I will have to make you lie back like this—with your legs open wide—and wait for me.’

  She felt the stirrings of an orgasm just at his words. She looked down over his torso, over the swells and ridges of hard muscle outlined so clearly.

  ‘Danny, please...please. I’ll do whatever you want. I need to feel you inside me.’

  ‘Ah, but there you are—impatient. Again.’

  She saw he wasn’t in complete control after all. His neck was strained. She sat up and opened her mouth for him. But he shoved her down. Ripped the towel away.

  His eyes widened. Then he bent his head and licked her swollen bud with fierce, unforgiving strokes—once, twice, three times—and she screamed. She screamed and exploded and jerked as he pinned her down. Licked at her until she could take no more.

  * * *

  He wrapped her up in her gown and she yielded softly. Lifted her up into his arms and carried her to a daybed, where he sat with her, holding her, absorbing the after-waves of her pleasure. He’d never taken such joy from a lover’s climax before. And he’d never been as completely selfless. But he was relishing every melted moment she lay in his arms.

  He heard her mumble something. Stroked her head where it lay against his chest. Shushed her.

  He looked around at the spa, at the candles that floated on the sunken pool, at the clusters of palms, fronds that seemed to wave blessings at their silent, secret moment. Overwhelming. His senses were all working in unison and he’d never, ever felt so in tune with himself or another person.

  She tilted her face to look up at him. Her eyes were treacle-dark, with only rings of jade visible.

  ‘Your climax is beautiful to watch, Georgia. You open like a flower.’

  And she had—it had been as if every part of her had uncurled and shone in the intense light of his touch.

  ‘I’ve never let anyone do that to me before,’ she whispered.

  That just made it all the sweeter.

  ‘I’ve never felt so relaxed, so much trust.’

  He smiled at her. She smiled at him. He loved that smile—that mouth that was almost too big for her face. It made everything seem—right. He leaned down to kiss her. Just once.

  ‘Shall we get our handmaidens back in? Do you want anything else?’

  ‘I don’t think I can move.’ Her voice was loose and gravelly.

  ‘Sure you can.’ He shifted beside her.

  They sat up on the bed, limbs stretched out.

  ‘We could have a dip in that pool.’ The one with steps that opened out into a rocky grotto, shielded on all sides and open to the clear sky. ‘We could lounge in there all alone.’

  He tilted her chin with his finger, dipped his mouth for another of her hot, sweet kisses.

  ‘I didn’t bring any swimwear.’

  ‘You’re not going to need it.’

  He unbelted her robe and held it as she stood up and stepped out of it. She walked away and he marvelled at the lines of her body as she moved. Pale, slim and strong. She turned her head to see if he was following. Alluring. And oh, so, so sexy.

  He got up and stepped out with her, loving the lapping of the warm water on his skin. He dived under, needing to feel his muscles work, surfaced and hauled himself out onto the shaded pool-edge, where she sat like a mermaid—naked and natural.

  ‘Not sunbathing?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, not my thing. I need to keep out of the sun,’ she said. ‘I’m terrified of sun damage. It runs in my family. One of the reasons why Dubai and I are not suited.’

  He felt a faint tang of irritation. Dubai could be whatever you wanted it to be. And if what you wanted wasn’t there it soon would be—that was its unique selling point.

  ‘If you’re careful you can live out here without anything like that affecting you. And with the life we can have it’s got to be worth it.’

  She sighed. He looked at her sharply.

  ‘To be honest, for me there’s loads to love—but loads I prefer back home. It just feels slightly unreal and dreamy. And all the money—and the stuff!
Everyone is so motivated by stuff!’

  ‘Maybe some are—but most of the ex-pats I’ve met are just happy to be able to have a nice life. Most people respond to reward—and the rewards here are whatever you make them. That’s why I love it so much. No ceilings on success. It’s all down to you and what you bring to the party. What you make of yourself—not where you come from. It doesn’t all begin and end with what your name is.’

  Thank God. Because the name Ryan had been like a set of handcuffs until he’d made his way to London and then here. Over here nobody knew him. Perfect. No name...no pack drill.

  ‘Yet for me who I am is where I come from. My little corner of London and my sister are like twin anchors. It’s taken me so long to adjust to being without them. And I still feel as if I’m floating away when I’m not there.’

  ‘Does that mean you’re going to stay in London, no matter what?’

  He couldn’t think of anything worse than being tied to his home. He’d suffocate. It would be like being buried alive.

  She shook her head. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I gave it a go—out here—and it didn’t work out. I just want to crawl back under my rock for a little while.’

  ‘I can’t imagine a bigger travesty than you being hidden away under a rock.’ He trailed his broad brown hand down her arm, white-hot. ‘You’re too beautiful. You should be on display. In a glass case.’

  She laughed. ‘Palest Woman in the Middle East? That would gather a crowd.’

  ‘Ah, maybe not such a good idea.’ He kissed the bare skin of her shoulder, felt the trace of oil transfer to his lips. Went back for more. ‘You’ve kept your skin perfect. Not a trace of even a sun spot.’

  ‘Can’t risk it—I’ve been warned I might get melanomas. My mum...’ Her voice trailed away. Then, ‘She was my colouring—Babs isn’t. Babs is dark. Mum went to Australia when she left school. She didn’t think she needed to cover up. Came back and it was too late.’

  She twirled her toes in the water, lost in her silence.

  ‘That’s tough.’ But it explained a lot.