Society Weddings (3 page)

Rashid frowned. Had he told her so much? ‘The very same.’

‘She must be overjoyed.’

Rashid’s mouth tightened again. She
should
be overjoyed, though her attitude had been a million miles away from the gratitude he had been expecting. But Jenna would soon learn never to try to resist his wishes again!

‘What woman wouldn’t be?’ asked Chantal sadly, before he could answer. She stubbed the cigarette out with a vicious movement of her fingers and began to unbutton her dress. ‘So this will be the last time for us,
chéri
? Or will you still have time for me once you are
married
?’

He could see the pale thrust of her breasts contrasted against the lace of the exquisite lingerie she wore and he felt his body hardening with the slow, relentless pulse of desire. But he quashed it as ruthlessly he would a scorpion which could sometimes be found lurking beneath stones in the unforgiving desert.

‘No,’ he said roughly. ‘Stop that!’

She moved her fingers beneath her dress, drifting her fingertips provocatively against herself, and her eyes widened alluringly as she began to move her hips with slow, sensual rhythm. ‘Are you sure,
chéri
?’ she whispered huskily.

A muscle worked in his cheek as he dropped the leather
case he was carrying onto the chair in front of her. ‘Yes, I am certain!’ His voice was harsh. ‘Do your dress up! Now!’

She stared into his face for a long moment and began to do as he had ordered, the pallor of her cheeks the only outward sign of her distress.

‘The apartment is yours to keep,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said heavily.

He had known that she would not refuse. ‘And I have brought you something.’ He indicated the box with a stabbing movement of his finger.

‘What is it?’

He opened it up and row upon row of glittering diamond brooches lay there in dazzling array against a backdrop of dark velvet. He saw the look of natural indulgent pleasure as she surveyed them, before lifting her eyes to his in cool appraisal.

‘For services rendered?’ she enquired, with a wry smile.

He shook his head. ‘As a small symbol of my gratitude for such an enjoyable relationship.’

The pleasure was replaced by alarm. ‘It needn’t be over, Rashid,’ she said urgently. ‘You know that.’

Yes, he knew that. She could be his for the taking, whenever and wherever he wanted. Jenna need never know, need never find out—he had countless people who would cover for him without question. It would be almost expected of him to behave as his father had done.

But he shook his head. ‘It is over, Chantal,’ he said roughly, and indicated the jewellery with a casual wave of his dark-skinned hand. ‘Take your time. Choose the one which pleases you most, and I will arrange to have the remainder collected by Abdullah.’

She nodded and stared at him. ‘So that’s it?’

‘You knew that this would happen some day. It was as inevitable as the dawn which follows night. So let us have no regrets, and let us remember the past with affection.’ He glanced down at the costly timepiece which gleamed so palely gold against his dark wrist. ‘It is time for me to leave. My plane is waiting.’

She nodded, and abruptly turned away from him. ‘Goodbye,
chéri
,’ she whispered, but he heard the hint of tears in her voice.

‘Goodbye, Chantal,’ he said softly.

He was almost at the door when she halted him with a word.

‘Wait!’

He turned around, but he didn’t need to look into her face to know what was coming next.

‘If ever—
ever
—you change your mind, you know that I’ll be here for you, Rashid.’

He gave a hard smile. ‘Goodbye, Chantal,’ he repeated, and without another word he turned on his heel and left her apartment.

A
S SOON
as Jenna emerged from the plane the blazing temperature of Quador hit her, and it was like being punched in the face by a blazing fist.

The flight had been mildly eventful merely for the fact that as soon as she had arrived at Kennedy Airport she had been upgraded to first class, and it didn’t take a genius to guess who was behind that.

She had started to protest, but then her words had tailed away uselessly and she had seen the check-in girl looking at her with ill-disguised curiosity, as if wondering who in their right mind would object to flying home in unadulterated luxury on Quador Airlines.

Abdullah, Rashid’s chief aide, was standing on the Tarmac waiting for her, next to the dark-windowed car which bore Rashid’s distinctive crest, and he bowed his head respectfully as she approached. Though not before she had seen the small triumphant gleam in his eyes.

He knows! she thought. He knows the purpose of my visit! But Abdullah was very much of the old school of courtier, and she suspected that he thought Rashid was long overdue in taking a bride for himself.

‘Did you have a pleasant flight?’ he asked courteously, as the powerful car was waved straight through all the normal barriers without question.

‘A wonderful, smooth flight,’ replied Jenna truthfully. She certainly wasn’t about to start enlightening Abdullah about the nervous churning in her stomach as she had contemplated what she was about to do.

Rashid’s palace was situated in an isolated spot just outside the main city of Riocard itself, its solitary location necessary for grim and practical reasons. There had been several assas
sination attempts on Rashid’s father, and on his predecessors too, and Jenna wondered whether Rashid had also been a target for the many fanatics who would wish to rule Quador themselves.

She turned her head to look out through the window, unprepared for the leap of distress in her heart which her thoughts caused. But she reasoned that just because she had no wish to marry the man that did not mean she would wish to see him hurt.

Rashid hurt! Jenna gave a wry smile. It seemed as unlikely and as incongruous an idea as trying to imagine Rashid being celibate!

The palace itself was centuries old, with formal terraces and magnificent pillars carved with figures of Rashid’s ancestors. The grounds had been modelled on a larger scale of some beautiful English country-house garden, and the well-tended lawns were almost indecently green. A large and decorative rectangular pond glittered back the reflection of the blazing sun and Jenna found herself wishing that she could trail her fingertips through its soothing coolness.

The car slid smoothly through the vast, ornate gates which were guarded by lynx-eyed men who carried poorly concealed guns and Jenna shivered, looking around at the formal security with new eyes. If it seemed like a different world, then that was because it
was
, and she had grown accustomed to, grown to love, the freedom and ease of her life in America.

‘The Sheikh is waiting for you in his private apartments,’ said Abdullah. ‘I suggest that we do not keep him waiting.’

Suggestion, indeed! It was nothing but a smoothly broached command, and Jenna nodded, feeling a little like the sacrificial lamb going to the slaughter.

She mounted the curving marble staircase with a growing feeling of dread, and even the sight of the exquisite mosaics in every hue of blue imaginable, the priceless chandeliers which hung in crystal waterfalls from the ceiling, could do little to quell her fears. She had always loved the palace, but today it looked like nothing more than a gilded prison.

The guard outside Rashid’s apartments pushed open the heavy door.

‘Your case will be brought from the car for you,’ murmured Abdullah, and he raised his eyebrows. ‘You have travelled lightly, I note.’

Well, of course she had—she wasn’t planning on staying! ‘Very lightly,’ she agreed, with a tight smile.

‘Very well. I will take my leave of you now, mistress,’ said Abdullah, and he bowed his head.

‘Thank you, Abdullah.’

Jenna stepped inside the room, praying for the serenity to see her plan through without giving herself away. But in spite of her misgivings her mouth dried instinctively as she saw Rashid silhouetted against the window. A high-born female chaperon was sitting demurely on one of the brocade window seats close by.

Had she ever thought that her refusal to marry him was going to be easy? A piece of cake? Had she simply forgotten his magnificence, and the effect it always had on her? she wondered distractedly. Or simply trained herself not to dwell on it, because then she could disregard the fact that he still had the power to fill her with a hopeless yearning?

Even now.

Dressed in traditional flowing robes of cloth-of-gold, his muscular body seemed more vital than that of any other man she had ever laid eyes on, and her traitorous heart reminded her of how much she had once adored him. And trusted him.

He heard her enter, but he did not turn. Not immediately. She had kept him waiting for two days since his telephone call summoning her here, and now he would make her wait before she could feast her eyes on the stern face of the man to whom she would soon be joined! He felt the first stirrings of desire, but he did not allow his mind or his body to linger on such thoughts. First he must dispense his disapproval!

Jenna knew what was expected of her. Reminding herself that to anger him would not help her case, she spoke one word in the demure voice she had practised in her head over and over again during the flight from New York.

‘Sheikh.’ It was both an acknowledgment and a deference, and there was a split-second pause before she saw him half incline his proud head. And then, very deliberately, he turned around to face her, and the dryness in her mouth increased, as did the acceleration of her heart.

How
could
she have forgotten his physical presence? For he was magnificent! Utterly, utterly magnificent! The carved face so cruelly perfect, the coal-black eyes gleaming with a fierce and icy intelligence. And something else, too.

Not anger, no. Anger would be too mild a word to describe the emotion which was sizzling its way across the room at her.

Fury.

Stark, undisguised fury.

She should have been expecting it, had told herself to expect it, but even Jenna was unprepared for her shivering response to the vision of the formidable Rashid slanting her a look of total condemnation.

‘What have you been doing to yourself?’ he hissed at her, like an angry serpent who had been disturbed. He spoke in French, presumably so that the chaperon would not understand, but the soft, sensual-sounding words only reminded Jenna of his mistress, and it was as though someone had driven a stake through her heart with all the force they could muster.

She lifted her eyes to his, feigning ignorance of his question. ‘Sheikh?’ she questioned, with a very credible line in demure confusion.

Again, Rashid felt the blood heating his veins, but this time not with desire—no, certainly not that! For the woman who stood before him bore such little resemblance to the Jenna he remembered that he scarcely recognised her.

She wore tight blue jeans and a silky amber top which matched her huge eyes and emphasised the luscious swell of her breasts. High-heeled snakeskin ankle-boots made even more of the length of her long, slim legs, where the denim clung to them so provocatively. So very Westernised, he thought, in disgust, as he let his cold and disapproving gaze travel to her head, where a wide-brimmed and flower-decked
straw hat was managing to conceal all the silken splendour of her hair.

But it was the make-up which caused the little pulse to beat so forbiddingly at his temple. Quador women—and particularly high-born Quador women—did not mar their complexions with the false glitter of cosmetics!

He scowled.

There was a subtle golden glow which shimmered over the heavy lids of her deep-set eyes, and the long lashes were ebony-dark and spiked like the legs of a spider. Her full lips gleamed provocatively, highlighted with some rose-pale tint, and whilst the man in him could not deny that she looked very beautiful indeed, he also knew something else.

That she looked like a tramp!

More mistress than wife!

‘How dare you come before me so attired?’ he demanded imperiously.

‘You don’t like my clothes?’ she questioned innocently.

He would like to tear them from her back! Fighting down the urge to storm across the room and do just that—for he could not ignore the watchful eye of the chaperon—he steadied himself with a deep breath.

‘You look like a tramp!’ he offered, giving voice to his thoughts.

‘Hardly,’ answered Jenna drily. ‘A tramp would ill be able to afford the cost of
this
outfit!’

‘Not
that
kind of tramp!’ he contradicted icily. ‘The kind of tramp to be found hanging around the back streets of Riocard!’

‘Oh, you mean a prostitute?’ she questioned helpfully.

Furiously, he ignored that. ‘Why did you not come to me wearing traditional Quador dress?’

‘Because this is the kind of thing I’m more used to! It’s all the rage in New York!’

‘Why?’ he snarled. ‘Does
Brad
like you to dress like that?’

Jenna realised that she was straying into dangerous and uncharted waters. And that she was supposed
not
to be antago
nising him! ‘I’ll go and change,’ she offered, but he shook his head.

‘Oh, no, you won’t,’ he said grimly. ‘You have kept me waiting too long. You will leave only when I give you leave to!’ He drew another deep breath. ‘Would you like some refreshment after your journey?’ he forced himself to say.

She felt like asking him if he was offering tea or hemlock, but thought better of it. She shook her head, and the movement drew his eye and caused another small snarl of irritation.

‘Remove your hat!’ he ordered.

This was it. The moment which would confirm her conversion from Suitable Wife to Sassy American! With one easy movement she pulled the straw hat from her head, though her heart was pounding nervously as she stared at him with an expression she prayed was not
too
defiant.

For a moment Rashid was speechless. If she had suddenly started flying around the State Apartments he could not have been more profoundly shocked.

‘But you have cut your hair!’ he observed in a strangled kind of voice.

For one bizarre and crazy moment Jenna thought that he sounded almost
sad
, but nerves must have made her imagination work overtime. And when she met the steel of his eyes she knew that she must have been mistaken.

‘Yes. Do you like it?’ she asked lightly, and felt the air-conditioning cool her newly bare neck.

‘Why?’
he demanded hoarsely as he remembered the silken strands of syrup-coloured hair which had streamed down almost to her bottom. A pulse leapt in his groin. He had imagined untying it on their wedding night, had pictured it spread out across his chest, contrasting so beautifully against the dark skin. ‘Why shave your head like that? To look like a man? No longer a woman?’

Something in his criticism made Jenna forget her vow not to anger him any more than was necessary. His look of pure censure offended some very elemental emotion deep inside her, and the look he was lancing her way made her fleetingly
wish that she had not opted for such a dramatic cut, that she could win back his approval.

Until she reminded herself of Chantal, and of all the others. Let
them
crave his approval—she would make herself tolerate his contempt!

Or would she?

Was it feminine pride which made her draw her chin up and pull her shoulders back in haughty query? The movement caused her breasts to push imperceptibly against the silk shirt, and she saw from the sudden tensing of his body that it had not escaped Rashid’s attention.

The chaperon, whose job it was to protect but not to intrude, was listening to the conversation but unable to understand it. She was not looking at them either, her hands busy with some prayer beads.

So she would have missed the look of raw, feral hunger which had darkened Rashid’s eyes to pure ebony. And the dull flush of colour which crept over his arrogantly carved cheekbones.

If a look could be X-rated, then Rashid had just invented it! Refusing to be intimidated—or tempted—by the undisguised sexual hunger which emanated from his body, Jenna stared back at him, even though she was acutely aware of the stinging of her breasts and the heated rush of some honeyed feeling which was making her knees feel very weak indeed.

‘You think I look like a man?’ she challenged softly.

Had something in the air around them changed? For the chaperon lifted her head and frowned, but Rashid paid her no heed. She was his subject, and here only to ensure that neither the man nor the woman touched each other.

‘Go back to your beads!’ he commanded in his native tongue, and the woman obeyed him instantly.

He reverted to French, and gave a small nod of his dark head in the direction of the chaperon. ‘You see? That is the kind of compliance I am used to, Jenna. The kind of compliance I expect,’ he purred, mesmerised by the tight little buds which were pushing against her shirt.

She would be responsive, his Jenna, he thought, with a sud
den heady rush of elation and power. Maybe he had always instinctively known that, but now he was certain. He would make her weep with pleasure in his arms. He would captivate and subdue her until she wanted him and only him, and he would tutor her desire until it matched his own!

‘Not from me,’ she said instantly. ‘I am not your subordinate! I have lived too long in America not to consider a man and a woman to be equals!’

He stiffened with outrage. ‘How do you dare to speak thus to your Ruler?’ he demanded incredulously. ‘When we are wed you will
naturally
take on the subordinate role of wife!’

His arrogant boast drew her up short. This wasn’t going as well as she had hoped. In fact, that was the understatement of the year! He should be gradually going off the idea of marriage to her by now. Minute by minute, his resolve should be weakening. She decided to play the equality card a little bit more.