Royal Weddings. Annie West

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       CHAPTER FIVE

      SHE WAS AT his side as they said farewell to their guests. Her dress, the colour of sun-ripened peaches, made her glow and brought out the brightness of her warm, sherry eyes. He’d guess that no one else noticed the smudges under her eyes. If they did they’d assume it was because he’d kept her from sleep with a night of unbridled passion. Even her blush looked like that of a new bride.

      Tariq’s belly clenched. Just thinking about Samira strung him tight as a bow. It was unnatural for a man and wife to live as celibate strangers, even for a night.

      But Samira hadn’t been ready. She’d been as uptight as a virgin, her nervousness palpable despite her bravado.

      He wasn’t a man to force any woman. That flash of fear in her eyes had stopped him in his tracks.

      Yet he intended to have her as his wife in every sense. He only hoped he survived to enjoy her surrender. His hunger for her was stronger, richer, more compelling than it had been all those years ago. He ached with it.

      Because she was the woman he’d desired and never had?

      Because she’d been the object of his first real passion?

      Stretching out his hand, he placed his palm on her back as she wished a visiting princess a safe trip. Samira stiffened but didn’t move away. After a few moments, when his hand didn’t shift, he felt her tension gradually ease.

      Tariq suppressed a smile as he listened to a guest enthuse about yesterday’s wedding celebration. It was like breaking in a filly, getting Samira used to his touch, persuading her to trust him. It would take patience but the prize would be worth it.

      He glanced down, taking in her vibrant loveliness. Not just her exquisite features, but the warmth of her personality. Her hand fluttered as she emphasised a point and the delicate henna markings caught his eye. Markings that proclaimed her his.

      Tariq stiffened as need cannoned into him.

      He’d married Samira for all the sensible reasons she’d put forward, including his need to do the best for his boys. He’d responded to the desperation he’d read in Samira, the bone-deep instinct that told him she needed this, needed him, more than she was prepared to admit.

      But there was one reason above all why he’d accepted her proposal.

      He’d never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted Samira.

      The truth buffeted him, dragging the air from his lungs. It was a truth he’d tried so hard to ignore.

      At seventeen she’d been heartbreakingly lovely. Enough to send him rushing back to his homeland lest he do something unforgivable, like seduce his best friend’s innocent sister. He’d felt guilty for years, knowing how dishonourable the carnal thoughts were that plagued him. He’d even, at one point, contemplated offering marriage, till he’d heard she had her sights set on a career in fashion. Tariq had needed a wife by his side, not living in the USA or Europe.

      Yet, even in the years they’d been apart, just the sight of her photo in the press had the capacity to distract him. He’d never been able to forget her.

      So when she’d come to him for help, offering herself in marriage...

      He might be Sheikh, commander, ruler and protector of his people. But he was a man too.

      ‘I wish you well, Tariq,’ the visiting prince before him said. ‘May your sons be many and strong, your daughters as beautiful as your lovely bride and your years long.’

      Tariq clasped his outstretched hand, responding in kind.

      It struck him how hard this must be for Samira, with everyone wishing them the blessing of children when she couldn’t have any. Regret lanced him and he felt a sliver of hurt for her sake.

      Yet she didn’t flinch as one after another departing guest offered the same wishes. She was the ideal hostess, regal yet warm, charming and lovely, as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

      Tariq slid his hand in a comforting circle just above her waist. Would she realise he silently offered his support? He could do no more, not in public and not, he guessed, with a woman who guarded her emotions so closely.

      * * *

      Tariq’s gentle caress at her back was strangely soothing. After last night she’d been on tenterhooks, anticipating the next time he’d reach for her, maybe demand another kiss. But this—she shifted her weight rather than press back against his warm hand—this felt like comfort.

      At last the guests were gone and they were alone. Still his hand remained, his long fingers splaying heat across her upper back. She should move away.

      ‘How are you holding up, Samira?’

      She looked up and was surprised to read concern in Tariq’s eyes.

      ‘Okay, СКАЧАТЬ