My bride. My wife!
Emotion washed through him—strange and unfamiliar. It was desire for her, yes—strong and powerful—but more than that too. He didn’t know what, but it was there, just as strong, just as powerful. He wondered at it, for he did not recognise it, had no experience of it.
Then the elevator doors were opening, and with eager steps he strode along the plush corridor to reach their suite, swiping the key card and going in.
She was there, by the window of the balcony, a coffee tray set out on the dining table in the embrasure where she sat with her tablet, studying the screen. She looked up with a startled expression as he walked in, carelessly tossing aside his briefcase.
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed.
For a moment there was a panicked look on her face, but Nikos didn’t register it. He walked up to her, loosening his tie as he did so, as if it were constricting him.
‘Thank God that’s over,’ he said feelingly. ‘That damned meeting!’
Diana looked at him, alarmed. ‘It didn’t go well?’
Was there strain in her voice? He hardly knew. Instead he answered directly.
‘A set-up by Sheikh Kamal’s rival for power,’ he expostulated. ‘I’m being blocked—and it’s because of an internal power struggle in the royal family.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry...’ Diana’s voice was concerned, but distracted.
He shook his head. ‘Well, it’s not that bad. Things will come about. I put my money on Kamal—he’s a smart guy and won’t be outmanoeuvred. But I’ll have to hold fire for a while.’ His expression changed. ‘In a way,’ he said, and there was a glint in his eye now, ‘it has its advantages. Gives me more free time while we’re here. We can enjoy ourselves all the more. Starting...’ there was a growl in his voice ‘...right now.’
He drew her upright, made to slide her into his arms, into his waiting embrace. It was good, so good to have her here for him. So good to feel her slender body, so pliant, so beautiful, to see her upturned face, her mouth waiting for the kisses which she had come to yearn for in their desert idyll, returning them as ardently as he bestowed them. Diana, his beautiful, exquisite Diana—his, all his, completely, all-consumingly.
‘I’ve been aching for you,’ he said, his voice a low, husky growl, his eyes alight with sensual desire. ‘Aching...’
His mouth lowered to hers, his arms around her tightening. But there was something wrong—something different. She was tensing her body, straining back from him.
‘Nikos—’
There was something wrong in her voice, too.
He drew back a moment, loosening his clasp but not relinquishing her. ‘What is it?’ he said. Concern was in his voice, in the searching frown of his eyes.
She slipped her hands from her sides to rest them against his shoulders—to brace herself against them. Hold herself away.
‘Nikos—we...we can’t!’
His frown deepened, as did his expression of concern.
‘What is it?’ he asked
again. ‘What is wrong?’
She did not answer, then carefully she drew away from him. He let her go and she walked to the far side of the dining table, as if to put it between them.
‘We need to talk.’
He stared at her. There was distress in her voice, in her face—her eyes.
His brows drew together in a frown. ‘What is it?’ he said, and now his voice was different too. Edged.
She took a breath. Cowardice bit within her. And temptation. Sweeping, overpowering temptation! The temptation not to say what she was steeling herself to say. To keep silent. To hold out her arms to Nikos and let him sweep her against him. To carry her through to that preposterous bridal bed smothered in rose petals and take her to the place they had found in each other’s arms, each other’s ecstasy.
But if she did...
Emotion devoured like the jaws of a wolf. If she succumbed, as she so longed to succumb, then what she had tried to keep at bay out in the desert, what she had denied, refused, would happen.