Wedlocked: Banished Sheikh, Untouched Queen. Carol Marinelli

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СКАЧАТЬ Xavian amicably agreed; she was overwhelmed, he told himself, overwhelmed at the thought not just of dining with him, but the feast that would follow. ‘I will show you.’ But she was already walking through his desert abode, and, despite her stunning looks, Xavian felt his irritation rising as she checked and questioned everything.

      Her gorgeous eyes narrowed as she turned to Baja.

      ‘Where is my computer?’

      As the elderly woman apologised for the oversight, Xavian had had enough.

      ‘It is your honeymoon; surely you were not expecting to work…?’

      ‘Oh?’ She turned, her eyes glittering, that full mouth holding the position of that short word, and it was all Xavian could look at: lush lips that he wished would stay silent, a mouth he wanted to feed with the fruits at his table and then thoroughly kiss. But instead that mouth again challenged him. ‘I didn’t realise we were to spend the whole week getting to know each other…’ She gave a questioning smile. ‘I understood you wanted time in the desert…’

      ‘Of course I will spend my days in the desert,’ Xavian clipped. ‘It is right that I spend time with the land and that I ask for its wise counsel.’

      ‘And am I expected to join you?’ Just a hint of a frown marred her creamy brow. ‘I would be happy to…’

      ‘No!’ Xavian had to force his voice not to be husky, appalled at the very thought. ‘That time is for reflection, alone.’

      ‘I see.’ She gave a brief nod, as if to thank him, then turned to Baja.

      ‘In that case I want my computer.’

      ‘The helicopter has already left,’ a servant said, then hastily added, ‘Your Highness.’

      ‘Good.’ She withered the bold servant with a stare. ‘Then it will reach the palace soon—have it return immediately with my computer. After all…’ again she gave Xavian a smile ‘…I can hardly be expected to lounge around here doing nothing all day while my husband takes counsel from the land—I have a kingdom to run.’

      She knew she appeared aloof, knew she was being a royal pain—but that was her plan. Better that than reveal her true feelings, for Layla was, in fact, beyond nervous— terrified would be a better description of how she was feeling. The whole day had been spent on a knife-edge, standing in the palace gardens as the minutes had ticked by and still her groom had not shown. He did not want this marriage, and today’s lateness had just confirmed his low opinion of her. How she had wished she were in a position to walk away herself.

      All this she had thought as she stood there in the palace gardens, mortified beneath her veil and angry too, and then he had appeared suddenly—the man she would marry finally standing beside her as her reluctant groom—and mortification and anger had been replaced with trepidation. Oh, she had known he was good-looking, had heard about his wild reputation with women, and when the wedding had been announced she had been nervous, as any woman would, at the prospect of losing her virginity to such a reputedly formidable lover…

      But, then he had been beside her.

      There had been flurry as he’d arrived, whipping up the air as he moved to stand next to her, and then it had settled—only differently, to a new atmosphere: the tangy bergamot scent of him, the imposing height and his presence, his absolute male presence. And her anger and mortification had been replaced with a different disquiet at all a marriage entailed, at what so imminently lay ahead, and that moment was almost here!

      She walked through to the sleeping chamber, but her throat was tight and at the sight of the vast bed she looked away, pulling at a drape and looking instead into the bathroom where she would be prepared for him. Mirrors were everywhere, and a large bath was in the centre, with stools at the side from where the maidens would wash her.

      ‘Would you like me to show you the gardens now?’ His sarcasm actually brought her first genuine smile.

      ‘I admired your beautiful sand as we landed,’ Layla responded with her own humour, even as Baja frowned, clearly not getting the joke. ‘It must take a lot of work to keep it looking so fine.’

      ‘Hours!’ Xavian said, rolling his eyes, and she wanted to laugh. But she checked herself. This was no time to let down her guard; she had to set the tone.

      No matter that he was the most sensual, breathtakingly beautiful man she had ever seen, no matter that this was the man who would share her body and her bed, and no matter that she wanted to turn tail and run at the imposing sight of him. It was imperative she stay in control and state her intentions right from the very start.

      A passive queen she might appear to her people, but if Xavian thought she would quietly acquiesce, he must quickly realise his wife had a voice!

      ‘Now we will eat.’ Xavian broke into her thoughts with his clear order—so clear Layla realised it would be petty to argue. ‘Our wedding feast awaits.’

      She sat at the low table, her knees towards him, her feet behind, as a discreet servant filled two heavy gold cups with a rich sweet nectar. She knew from her readings, and from Baja’s teachings, what it was: a thick, unique strain of honey that had been mixed with twenty ground almonds and one hundred pine nuts to aid in arousal. To that rare mix ground poppyseeds had been added, to foster disinhibition, and it would be fed to them each night in the desert, as was the correct way. She let him feed her the potent brew that promised him her full arousal, and had to gulp the sticky liquid as he poured it quickly, too quickly for her taut throat and mouth. Some trickled down her chin, and her fingers caught the stray droplets. Because she must drink each last drop, as was the rule, she licked her fingers clean and realised she was shaking—realised, as she picked up the cup to feed Xavian his share of the potion, that she did not want to.

      Didn’t want to feed him or his ardour,

      He was so male.

      And soon she would be glad of that, Layla reminded herself. Soon, she would be grateful that her chosen mate had such an excellent physique, that the man who would be her only lover, who would father her children and give her Haydar’s heirs, was such a fine specimen.

      She just had to get this night over with—had to see for the first time a naked man, had to perform her wifely duty—and one day soon, Layla told herself, his body, his maleness, would not scare her so; one day soon, she promised herself, this would no longer be foreign.

      The seated musician was still gently playing the qanoon, skilfully plucking the strings far slower than her rapid heartbeat. The harp-like music was filling the tent and inflaming her nerves.

      She held the cup to his mouth and poured the brew tentatively, watching him swallow, fearing those lips that would soon be on hers and that body that would soon be pressed to her own.

      She was dizzy with a fear born of too many nights alone. Baja had told her a little of what to expect and would, she had promised, tell her more when she prepared her.

      He finished his potion and she remained by his side.

      As was correct.

      The wedding feast had been carefully prepared. Far from the lavish feast that would adorn the tables at their formal reception, this was a light, thoughtfully chosen meal for a bridal couple, so their bellies would not be full and their senses would still be СКАЧАТЬ