‘You never did tell me what happened to the bra which went missing,’ Molly reminded him playfully.
Azrael winced. ‘I tore it when it caught on the towel. It was ruined, so I buried it—’
‘You buried it?’ Molly burst out laughing, tickled by his embarrassment.
‘That wasn’t an explanation I wanted to make at that point in our relationship.’ Azrael smiled down at her while he ran a seemingly lazy hand down a pale thigh and she shivered, all hot and needy in secret places.
And the silence fell, broken only by little whispers and moans and all the sounds of a happy couple fully engaged in sharing the love that blessed them. Molly told him how much she loved him. Azrael told her he loved her more. She argued, he pointed out how patiently he had tried to prove how much he cared for her without speaking the words. She told him he should have spoken up sooner. He told her she talked too much and he kissed her, and halfway through the kiss she surrendered and let him win an argument for a change.
* * *
Almost three years later, Molly strolled into the castle’s main ground-floor reception room, which had been reclaimed from office use once the new offices and conference rooms in the rear extension had opened. Since the birth of their son, Sharif, two years earlier, the royal family of Djalia had required more space. Her brother-in-law, Tahir, was hunkered down playing with toy cars and his nephew.
A regular visitor to his brother’s home, Tahir was on leave from his officer training course at Sandhurst in the UK. Prince Firuz had suffered a heart attack and his health was failing, and recently Tahir had had to take on more and more of his father’s official duties in Quarein. Working through his troubled teen years had changed the younger man a great deal. He had come back from his nervous breakdown stronger and more mature and had gone straight to military school for two years, weathering the tough regime with Azrael’s support.
‘Molly,’ he greeted her warmly. ‘Your son is very demanding. Every time I try to leave he cries and clutches at my legs.’
Molly scooped up the boisterous toddler, who had his mother’s green eyes and his father’s black hair. She had conceived almost as soon as she’d tried and, although she had had to have a C-section because Sharif was a large baby, she had had an easy pregnancy and she was thinking of trying for a second child the following year. There were so many other claims on her time, she acknowledged thoughtfully. She sat on the board of governors for the international school and, now that the pace of modern change in Djalia had become unstoppable, she was very busy.
When she needed clothes now she could shop in Jovan, and when she walked through the shopping mall and saw other young women wearing Western fashion she felt proud that she had helped Azrael bring about that transformation. Business and investment were booming in Djalia and the tourist trade had taken off like a rocket, encouraged by Molly’s enthusiastic PR campaign on behalf of her adopted country. But her proudest and happiest moments were still those she spent with her husband and son.
‘Sometimes, Sharif’s a manipulative little monster,’ she said fondly of her astute two-year-old. ‘Azrael and I are the only two people in the building who ever say no to him.’
‘Keep on saying it,’ Tahir advised wryly. ‘If I had heard that word more often when I was a kid I would never have gone off the rails.’
‘But you’re a different person now,’ Molly pointed out as he vaulted upright, looking very serious. ‘I wish you could stay for longer.’
Tahir grimaced. ‘Duty calls and I don’t mind it as much now that I can see how much my father needs me at home.’
‘Has he mellowed any?’ Molly enquired ruefully.
‘No, my father doesn’t do mellow,’ Tahir declared with amusement. ‘But we’re getting along better in spite of our differences.’
Azrael strode in, tall, dark and devastatingly handsome. A simple glimpse of Azrael still gave Molly’s susceptible heart a revitalising jolt. Her delight in him never seemed to ebb and she revelled in their closeness. Over three years into their marriage she could not have been happier. It was almost a year since her grandfather had passed away. Molly had spent most of Maurice’s last weeks with him in the UK and she had been heartbroken when she had finally had to say goodbye to the old man that she loved. Azrael had been an irreplaceable source of strength and comfort during that difficult period.
Sharif raced across the floor to throw himself at his father with a whoop of excitement. Some rough play took place and Azrael tickled him, grinning as the toddler succumbed to helpless giggles.
‘I wish I’d had that much fun growing up,’ Tahir muttered ruefully.
‘You can give your own children that fun,’ Molly told him gently.
Tahir rolled his eyes in mock horror. ‘That’s years away!’ he exclaimed, giving her a casual hug. ‘Look after yourself.’
‘And you,’ she said warmly, as ever amazed at the depth of affection she had developed for her husband’s once troubled kid brother. It had grown during the weeks he’d spent living with them and recovering from his breakdown. She had gradually come to see that Tahir had abducted her more out of a desire for her warmth and approval than from more romantic motives. Still grieving for his mother and unhappy in his home life, Tahir had made a desperate grab for what he’d mistaken for love and as the two of them had come to understand that reality their mutual discomfiture had faded to be replaced by family affection.
‘He’s turning out OK,’ Azrael pronounced with quiet pride after Tahir had departed. ‘I can see the man he will become now. Strong, steady, sensible. He doesn’t have his father’s brutal repressive streak or my hot temper.’
‘Yes.’ Molly rubbed her cheek lovingly against a broad shoulder, drinking in the familiar scent of him. ‘You’re volatile enough for both of you.’
‘I control it,’ he reminded her.
Molly grinned against his shoulder because he didn’t control that marvellously explosive, passionate streak in their bed and she was addicted to the excitement he gave her. Sharif went off with his nanny to have his tea, leaving Molly and Azrael alone.
‘I have a little surprise for you,’ Azrael told her, hustling her upstairs to their bedroom.
Azrael was a great fan of giving her surprises but he didn’t always get it right. Their first Christmas together he had bought her a piano, only to wince in surprise when he’d listened and realised that she had not played in years. Music lessons had followed and now she practised daily and could turn out a creditable performance on the keys. These days she usually only saw his Mr Grumpy expression when he was forced to travel and leave her behind. He hated being separated from his family.
‘It took a long time to track these down and considerable persuasion to get the new owners to part with them,’ Azrael told her, handing her two small boxes. ‘But I was determined that you would be reunited with your family heritage.’