by Tessa Radley
And her indecision left him in a worse, far more frustrating place than outright rejection.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he said, his voice rough with frustration.
* * *
Talking about sex had made it hard to even think about sleep.
Laurel had showered in the luxurious bathroom off her room. She should’ve changed into the nightie that Kara, in her role as sister and wedding planner, had once upon a time chosen for Laurel’s honeymoon. What on earth had possessed her to pack it? It seemed wrong to wear it now—because it had been picked out for her honeymoon with Eli.
And tonight was her wedding night…with Rakin.
So the sexy garment lay abandoned on the bed, and Laurel didn’t feel like crawling into a comfortable T-shirt. She was far too wired.
Which was why she was sitting on the stool in front of the dresser in a one of the HERS monogrammed terry robes that the hotel supplied, thinking about her provocative brand-new husband. Because of him, the idea of a marriage in name only was proving to be a little disappointing.
Why not turn the relationship between herself and Rakin into a journey of exploration, too?
Laurel stretched sinuously. In the mirror above the dresser she caught sight of her neckline, which gaped open, revealing the rising curve of her breast. When she looked up, she caught sight of her eyes sparkling with interest and excitement.
Rakin promised to be an accomplished lover. Why shouldn’t she take advantage of his suggestion?
* * *
Rakin came out the master bathroom toweling his hair, his body still damp from the shower he’d taken. He flung the wet towel onto the king bed.
He heard a gasp, and glanced up.
Laurel stood in the doorway to the master suite, her eyes wide at the sight of his nude body.
No point trying to cover up—it was far too late.
“What are you doing here?” he asked instead.
Her eyes gave her away. And instantly he was aroused.
He moved toward her. “You came for this.”
She didn’t protest as he took her into his arms. He kissed her, and her lips parted.
He paused, aware that once he started, he wouldn’t stop. “Are you certain?”
Her nod was a quick, jerky movement. Rakin smoothed his hands along the front of her bathrobe, then slid them underneath. He caressed her arms, but the terry cloth hindered him. He pushed it back. It fell from her shoulders, then to the floor.
She, too, was now naked.
Rakin drew her down to the wide space of the bed, and came down beside her. He caressed her with long slow strokes, and she relaxed with a soft sigh. His thigh brushed hers apart, and he placed his mouth over hers.
This time the kiss was ravenous.
Rakin was breathing hard by the time it came to an end, and Laurel’s eyes were wild.
Reaching out a hand, he stroked her belly; then he reached down farther…and touched her. A keening sound broke from her throat. Rakin stilled.
Laurel didn’t move. Her eyes were closed and her teeth had bitten into the soft bottom lip that he’d kissed so thoroughly. She appeared to be waiting.
Gently Rakin stroked again. Her spine arched, and her harsh gasp broke the silence simmering between them. Her eyes popped open.
“Sorry.”
Rakin took in the flood of pink on her cheeks.
“Relax,” he urged. “Don’t apologize.”
“That moan…” Laurel looked uncomfortable. “It wasn’t ladylike.” She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. “And describing it sounds much worse. Forget I said…whatever it was.”
Rakin leaned forward and took her hands in his and gave a gentle tug. When she finally lifted her head, he said, “Listen to me. I don’t need you to be the perfect lady. I want you to be yourself.”
She gave him gentle smile. “Then there’s one thing you need to understand: I am a perfect lady—I don’t think I could be an imperfect lady.”
He adored her sense of humor, the way she could laugh at herself…at the world…with him.
“Oh, I understand that.”
“It’s—” She broke off and her eyes slid away from his. She gave a breathless laugh. “I’m embarrassed.”
He knew that too. And it was holding her back. Rakin threaded his fingers through her hair and tipped her head so that he could look down into her eyes. “Why?”
“Everything feels so much…more.”
“More?”
“Stronger. More intense.” She laughed again. “Do I sound crazy or do you have this effect on all women?”
Rakin didn’t want to talk about other woman.
His bride was the only woman who interested him—and what she’d just revealed had pleased him. Maybe she wasn’t holding back at all; maybe she was progressing in leaps and bounds.
Euphoria drowned him. “Then I’ll have to prove there’s still more to come,” he growled throatily.
Her eyes glazed over in shock. “More? Is that possible?”
Laurel was a grown woman, but clearly she’d never encountered the right man to unleash her passion. Triumph swept him. He intended to change that. Lessons in seduction. She’d prove to be an eager student. He couldn’t wait.
With a slow, deliberate smile he said, “I think there’s more about adventure for me to share with you. But first I want a promise.”
“A…promise?”
He nodded. “I want you to let yourself go. No restraint. No holding back.”
Wariness shadowed her eyes. “What are you planning to do?”
The way she looked at him caused Rakin to give a crack of laughter. “Nothing too wild. All I want you to do is enjoy yourself.”
“Enjoy myself? You mean…” She spread her hands helplessly. “What exactly do you mean?”
Rakin took pity on her and he lay back on the bed, propping himself up on one elbow. “Let yourself go a little. … Don’t stress or feel awkward. Most of all I want you to forget all about being a Kincaid. You’re you. Focus on being the woman you want to be. Above all, trust that every bit of pleasure you experience, I get to live it, too.”
Laurel’s eyes brightened. “I can do that.”
“Now roll over—so that I can pleasure you.”
* * *
She must be intoxicated, Laurel decided as she drew a deep, steadying breath. But this time not tipsy from the effects of too much wedding champagne as she’d been at Kara’s wedding. Or even from the French champagne that Rakin had poured into slim crystal goblets when they’d walked into the suite. This time it was the impact of Rakin’s closeness.
He filled her senses.
The rich warm gold of his skin, the way the light caught the high blades of his cheekbones, the dark velvet eyes that could be so forceful and compelling one moment, so kind and compassionate the next. And when his hand touched hers…sensations she’d never felt before prickled through her.
His lips whispered across the soft silk of her throat. Laurel arched her neck and he rewarded her with a row of kisses until his lips reached the hollow at the base of her throat. The lick of his tongue against the tender skin caused her to arch farther, her back coming off the bed.
The sound that broke from her suddenly dry throat was raw and without restraint—and definitely not what could be expected from a Southern lady—especially not a Kincaid. Laurel was trapped in the mindless web of pleasure where nothing existed.
Except Rakin.
And the shattering pleasure she was experiencing.
Twisting her head, she closed her eyes more tightly, her fingers twisting through his hair. Rakin covered her skin again with open-mouthed kisses that inflamed her furth
er.
Her breath caught in the back of her throat as his lips closed over the tip of one sensitive breast. The sensation that forked through her was incredible. Hot. White. Spears of pleasure pierced her. Between her fingers his hair had the texture of rough, raw silk. When he broke off the caress, a sigh of denial shook her.
“Slow down,” he murmured, before giving the other breast the same treatment, trailing a row of fresh kisses over the skin he’d uncovered.
How was she supposed to slow down when he was driving her mad?
Her hands dropped from his head and dug into the counterpane, and her back arched off the bed. She fought to keep her breathing even. Not to let it escape in the great gasping pants that instinctively seemed to want to happen.
Rakin, too, seemed to lose the race. His heart was pounding against her breasts, as he moved over her. Her legs parted, and she welcomed him, her arms closing around his back, reveling in the smooth satin of his skin against her palms.
It didn’t take much more, before he came apart in her embrace.
* * *
Rakin rested his arms on the balustrade. The blackness of night enfolded him, while overhead the star-studded sky twinkled. In the master bedroom he’d silently sneaked from, Laurel slept.
He was restless.
The earth-shattering pleasure he had just experienced was not what he’d expected from his bride of convenience.
Foreboding rolled in the pit of his stomach as he stared out into the darkness.
Rakin was not accustomed to the unexpected. Despite what he’d told Laurel about letting go, every facet of his life was meticulously plotted, with careful consideration given to the outcome of each action he undertook. Being swept along by the force of the unknown was not part of his plan. It was Laurel who should be experiencing the thrall of adventure…not he.
He’d thought himself immune from the excitement of novelty. World-weary. Cynical. Not the kind of man to lose his head over a woman—not even one as beautiful as Laurel. After all, he didn’t believe in love. He’d been immunized against that lethal condition from a very young age. Not that it stopped him from appreciating—or enjoying—women.
What he didn’t do was go crazy over them or fall in love—that way led downhill to destruction.
And, even though he wouldn’t call it going crazy, he was thinking way too much about his new bride.
The softness of her skin, the curve of her cheek…the sweet taste of her mouth. And that was before he got to the passion of—
Rakin censored his wayward thoughts. He didn’t want her to stir again, not until morning.
For the rest of the night, he would let his bride sleep.
While he reminded himself why he’d married her. For business only.
Seven
Last night had been a mistake.
While Rakin had been courteous at breakfast this morning and unfailingly polite during the journey to the airport, Laurel detected a distance between them that she hadn’t encountered before.
She wasn’t imagining it.
Since they’d boarded the Learjet, she’d made a couple of light attempts to engage him in conversation, but he’d remained aloof and eventually he’d settled down on the sofa opposite and picked up the business section of the newspaper.
Her humorous, patient companion of the past few days had vanished without a trace.
And Laurel wanted to know why.
Pretending to be engrossed in a magazine, she flicked through stories about the latest celebrity scandals. But her brain couldn’t stop buzzing. Had Rakin wanted a marriage in name only? Had he felt pressured to provide a sexual adventure for her benefit last night? Or was the passion they’d shared last night what he wanted? The notion was far too awkward to broach.
The lack of a clear answer left her feeling terribly unsure.
“Would you like a glass of champagne, madam?”
The attendant’s voice jerked her out of her reverie. “No thanks.” Champagne was the last thing she needed. And with Rakin in this mood she couldn’t even joke with him about trying to get her tipsy. …
“Maybe orange juice?” suggested Rakin, looking up from his papers to her immense surprise.
“That would be nice.” Laurel smiled her thanks as the attendant poured the juice and set the glass down on the coffee table.
“Don’t hesitate to call for anything you need,” the attendant offered before disappearing through a set of heavy curtains.
The touch of Rakin’s eyes was distracting, especially with the silence that hung over them now that they were alone. Laurel swallowed. “Okay, so I know you have a grandfather who is a tyrant and a cousin. Tell me about the rest of your family.”
“There’s not much to tell. I’m an only child. My parents died in an airplane crash when I was twelve. My mother was American, my father was the eldest of two sons and four daughters all born and raised as part of the extended royal family in Diyafa. My grandfather is the youngest brother of the ruling prince.” A glint appeared in his eyes as Laurel reacted in surprise. “But never fear, I am far enough removed from the throne for the internecine politics not to rule my life.”
It was starkly delivered. The barest of information. Some of which he’d already told her. Heavens, she’d gleaned more color about him from what she’d heard from Eli over the years. Rakin had been enrolled in an English boarding school, where he’d remained in the traumatic aftermath of his parents’ sudden death. Once his schooling was finished, his grandfather had sent him to university at Harvard—which had brought him in touch with Eli…and ultimately into her life.
Yet the bare recital of facts gave her little insight into the people she was about to meet, and no glimpse into the man behind the suddenly guarded facade.
“Tell me more,” she insisted before he could retreat again. “I’ll be meeting your grandparents. I want to make a good impression.”
“You will meet them at a formal reception where it will be difficult to engage in intimate conversation, so it won’t matter if you don’t know all about my family. Try not to worry about making a good impression—just be yourself. They’re going to love you.”
Just being herself was easier said than done.
Laurel was starting to realize that she’d spent much of her life trying to be the person she thought other people wanted her to be. For her father she’d been the talented pianist, and later, the PR expert that The Kincaid Group needed. Her mother had brought out the responsible eldest daughter. With her sisters she’d been the role model. Only her childhood friendship with Eli had been free of all the posturing. Yet even that had changed once all their friends had started pairing up. . . and suddenly Laurel had again found herself playing to the expectations of others—that she and Eli should make a match of it.
It was curiously liberating to realize that with Rakin she could simply be herself.
He’d been completely honest about what he wanted from her: a wife who his grandfather would accept so that Rakin could gain control of the family business and stop it from being signed over to his cousin. Yet he was making it clear that he had no wish for her to pretend to be anyone other than the woman he’d promised to induct into a world of adventure.
She could still be herself.
And, the best thing about their deal, was that she’d had more adventure in the past few days than her somewhat staid, buttoned-up life had afforded her in the last three decades.
Raising his glass, he said, “Here’s to new friends and new destinations.”
It sounded hopeful as well as adventurous, and Laurel felt her enthusiasm rising. “I’ll drink to that.”
Their glasses filled with juice clinked together, and their eyes met over the rims in silent intimacy. The impact of it was profound. Laure
l forced herself to glance away, not to reveal her sudden burst of confusion.
As the Learjet started its descent, Laurel caught her first glimpse of Rashad, the capital city of Diyafa from the air.
The city was built on a hilly outcrop and all around stretched an endless sea of sand as far as the eye could see. Shades of ochre and soft pinks with blocks of red clay dominated the city. Domed roofs and towering minarets gave the city a spicy exoticism. Yet interspersed between the traditional domes, Laurel could also see tall, modern structures of towering glass thrusting into the sky. A mix of ancient and modern.
Excitement surged. She swung around to Rakin, only to find he wasn’t looking out the window but at her. The divide between them appeared to have been bridged. There was an expression in his midnight-black eyes that caused all her reservations about what had happened last night to evaporate, and her face broke into a wide smile.
“It looks like something from Aladdin—or rather, Aladdin meets the twenty-first century. I can’t wait to see everything!”
The formal reception that Rakin had warned her about was held at a palace in the center of Rashad that resembled something out of Arabian Nights.
Laurel had never seen anything like it.
The floors in the immense reception room were made of colored marble arranged in intricate patterns. Gilded paneling carved by a master hand decked the walls, lit by sconces that cast a glow over the crowd. Around the edges of the immense room, large ancient urns added to the grandeur while lush arrangements of flowers gave the room extra bursts of color and a heady scent. The sheer luxury of the palace’s interior took her breath away.
Its owner, Rakin’s grandfather, was equally imposing.
Facing the man with his flowing robes and fierce visage, Laurel found herself unusually tongue-tied. Their meeting was brief, and Laurel felt as though the old man’s sharp eyes were staring into her heart.
It was a far-from-comfortable experience.
Tula, Rakin’s grandmother, was more approachable. Her wrinkled face bore the evidence of a lifetime spent smiling. And the hug she gave Laurel was as warm as her husband’s greeting was suspicious.
