Rumours: The Billion-Dollar Brides. Lynne Graham

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ walk away. But the look on his bride’s face when he’d walked away had been frankly incredulous. Too late he was discovering the downside to marrying a woman unafraid to fight and argue with him.

      As he paced, on several occasions he strode back towards the door that separated their rooms, eager to defend himself, but each time he stopped himself and backed off again. What, after all, could he say to her? That the knowledge he was on show in front of cameras invariably paralysed him with unease? That such intense attention had never been welcome to him and that her ability to behave with cool normality had astounded him? A man, particularly a king, was supposed to be stronger than that, more disciplined, more able to perform the essential duty of public appearances. A king was not supposed to be introspective or emotional, he was supposed to be a powerful figurehead, a flawless role model and a very strong leader. While Rashad reiterated his stringent uncle’s most frequent directives inside his own head, he continued to pace in raging frustration.

      He had married a foreigner with a different set of values. A foreigner who had fired an erotic hunger in him that was stronger than anything he had ever expected or even wanted to feel. In such a situation, it was downright unnerving and absolutely outrageous to positively crave another opportunity to argue with her. Tearing his attention from the door between them, he ripped off his ceremonial robes and donned more comfortable clothing. He had stayed long enough out of view not to rouse household comment at his abandonment of his new bride, he reasoned grimly as he left the room and strode down to the stables.

      At least his horse wasn’t going to ask him unanswerable questions and pick up on his deficiencies, he reflected with bitter humour. He wasn’t sure of his ground with Polly, he acknowledged, furious at that demeaning reality. In truth his previous experience with Western women had been purely sexual and casual and nothing more than that. But he did have considerable experience of being denied sex. That Polly should do that to him when he recognised that she felt the same chemistry he did had enraged and frustrated him beyond bearing.

      What did she want from him? What the hell did she expect from him? So, he had acted weird?

      Possibly a bit stiff and silent, he interpreted as he directed his stallion, Raza, across the desert sands at a pace that his guards were stretched to match. But then Rashad had been born to the saddle and raised from the age of six within a nomadic tribe, who ranged freely across the vast desert landscape that spanned several countries and recognised no boundaries. That same innate yearning for complete freedom had been bred into his bones but the sleeker, more sophisticated man he had inevitably become wished he had paused to take a cold, invigorating shower before his departure.

      He didn’t get women, he reflected, recalling Rio once admitting the very same thing. And if Rio, an incurable playboy with vast experience of the opposite sex, didn’t understand women, how was Rashad ever to understand the woman he had married?

      Ironically he had been brought up to believe that he would own his wife’s body and soul much as he owned his horse. Maybe he should’ve thrown that at her to show how far he had travelled from the narrow-minded indoctrination of his youth. So backward had his ancestors been that they would have taken such a refusal as a justification for forcing the issue. He was fairly certain Polly would not have been impressed by that admission and he could not imagine ever wanting to physically hurt a woman. But there were other ways of harming and hurting a wife. Even by the tender age of six he had heard and seen enough in the palace of his childhood to grasp that his mother was pitied by some and blamed by others for his father’s relentless debauchery. That was why when Polly had banished him from the marital bed he had wanted to protect her reputation by waiting in the room next door.

      But, in spite of that concession, Rashad remained blazingly, scorchingly angry with his bride. What a way to embark on a new marriage! This was not what he had wanted. Separation was not a way forward and sex was not a reward for good behaviour. And what was Polly’s idea of good behaviour? Rashad hadn’t a clue. He was right back to where he had started out, utterly in the dark as to what way he had somehow contrived to fall short...

      * * *

      Eventually, and only once Polly had surrendered all hope that Rashad would reappear and discuss their quarrel, she removed her jewellery and undressed and got into the giant bed. She felt curiously overwhelmed and deflated by the reality that she was alone on her wedding night. She couldn’t even understand her own reaction, because she had asked him to leave her alone and now to feel dissatisfied on that score seemed perverse.

      In truth, she recognised ruefully, on some level inside herself she had expected Rashad to reason, persuade or even seduce her into changing her mind. But Rashad hadn’t done anything so predictable. Instead he had walked out on her. Angry? Bemused? Hurt? She discovered that she didn’t like to think that he was either hurt or confused by her behaviour. But she must have hurt his pride, she finally acknowledged unhappily, wondering why she had not foreseen that very obvious consequence.

      The next morning, she came awake with the sunlight. At some stage while she still slept her luggage had been unpacked. Her grandparents had insisted on equipping her with a new and more appropriate wardrobe to wear after the wedding. She had picked out styles she liked with a trio of Dharian designers and had been concerned by the likely cost of such exclusivity even after Hakim assured her that he was well able to afford such a generous gesture.

      Polly extracted a comfortable dress and smilingly dismissed the maid kneeling at the door ready to assist her into her clothing. The blue sundress was light and airy and, with canvas shoes on her feet, she sat down to breakfast on the terrace on the floor below, to enjoy the view of the sea while telling herself repeatedly that she was not one whit bothered by Rashad’s vanishing act. At some stage of the night that had passed, however, she had reached new conclusions about what she had done.

      When she had been getting so wound up before the wedding, Rashad had been completely absent and unable to answer or soothe any of her concerns. Her sister’s dire fear that she was making a mistake had encouraged her own insecurities, which in turn had exploded when Rashad had appeared to act differently throughout their wedding day. Had she imagined that he was different? Had she been looking for trouble, seeking a fatal flaw that would give her the excuse to step back and take stock of her new marriage? After all, what did she want from Rashad when she already knew that he didn’t love her?

      Honesty, respect, trust, caring, affection, she listed anxiously, her lovely face clouding as she acknowledged the unrealistic level of desired perfection inherent in making such a list about a man, particularly on the very first day of a brand-new marriage.

      When Rashad in person appeared out of seemingly nowhere and joined her without fanfare and with a seemingly relaxed smile to bid her a good morning, Polly was so disconcerted she almost fell off her chair in shock.

      ‘My goodness, I was wondering where you were!’ she exclaimed helplessly.

      Her attention involuntarily welded to the impressive physique outlined by a white tee shirt that hugged his muscular chest and biceps and faded jeans that outlined his narrow waist and long powerful thighs. In fact, although the sun hadn’t at so early an hour been bothering her, she heated up so much she began to perspire. ‘Last night—’

      ‘We will not discuss last night,’ Rashad broke in decisively. ‘We were both overtired after the wedding.’

      ‘Seriously...we’re sweeping the dust under the carpet?’ Polly muttered in astonishment.

      Rashad answered her in Arabic, and then with an affirmative yes, the sculpted full line of his eloquent mouth firming, his devastating dark eyes cloaked by his lashes.

      A fair brow lifted in growing disbelief. ‘And you think that’s all right?’

      ‘I СКАЧАТЬ