She closed her eyes against the onslaught of memories from the hours before. The feel of his hands on her waist as they’d moved to the music, that first electric touch of his lips against hers. She would never let him know that he had been her first kiss; that would make it matter somehow.
Which it didn’t. It had just been a kiss. She closed her eyes, repeating the words silently to herself and letting the tiredness take over.
* * *
She was awoken before dawn and told that they would be travelling to the airfield immediately. The sky was still jet-black and the air frosty as she ascended the steps to a luxury jet bearing the Royal insignia of Zayyar. The Sheikh was already on board and conversing with a team of men and women in traditional Zayyari attire. He had changed into white robes and the elaborate headdress she had seen in pictures.
She was thankful that he’d had the foresight to have a small case of her belongings collected and delivered to her room during the night so that she didn’t have to wear the red dress again. She had not expected him to think of her comforts. Or, more realistically, it was his assistant who had thought of her. She took a seat near the front of the plane, swiping through the news on her phone as she waited for the meeting to end.
‘Cressida,’ a familiar deep voice called to her from within the cocoon of staff.
She stood, making her way down the wide aisle to the long conference table in the middle of the aircraft. The men and women of his staff bowed their heads, moving away and revealing their King, seated at the top of the table surrounded by official documents and paraphernalia.
‘I had not realised you planned to fly to Monteverre at first light,’ she said breathlessly, fidgeting with the hem of her simple white blouse. She felt ridiculously underdressed in her blue jeans and worn sneakers. Her more expensive royal attire was sadly out of date, considering she had not attended anything as Princess Cressida in years.
‘Change of plan.’ He looked up for the first time, pausing to sweep his gaze over her briefly. ‘We fly directly to Zayyar.’
‘You are not taking me home first?’
‘I thought it best to take you home after we are married. Which will now be in two days’ time.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘TWO DAYS? AS IN forty-eight hours from now?’
Khal had kept his tone deliberately neutral, taking in her pleasantly flushed cheeks and tied back hair. She looked younger without all the make-up from the night before, her ash-blonde hair was now swept neatly back from her face in a tight elastic band. The austere style only served to draw more attention to her wide-set blue eyes and porcelain skin. Of course, the red dress of last night had been more expertly cut to show off her curves than the plain blouse and casual jeans she now wore but he could still see the delicate dip and flare of her waist. If he thought hard enough, he could remember how good those curves had felt under his hands only hours before...
Redirecting his wayward thoughts, he cleared his throat and focused on the papers in front of him. ‘That is correct,’ he said coolly. ‘I ran your suggestion past my team last night, after you went to bed, and they took it quite to heart. It seems you may have averted us from a mistaken course of action indeed.’
‘My suggestion?’ she breathed, her eyes growing wider still.
‘The change in PR operation, of course. You alone spotted the likely backlash in public opinion. You were absolutely right to question it.’ He nodded in her direction as though congratulating her on acing a project rather than bumping forward an entire wedding. ‘You did say that you would prefer to get married as soon as possible.’
‘Yes... I did say that.’ She moved to a nearby seat and sat down heavily. She looked ashen all of a sudden, small and fragile in the large leather chair that cocooned her.
‘You have an entire bedroom to yourself for the duration of the flight,’ he said, motioning to a set of doors at the end of the main cabin. ‘You can’t have got very much sleep last night.’
She pursed her lips slightly. ‘Thank you. I could do with some more rest.’
Khal felt a momentary flash of conscience as she disappeared through the doors but pushed it away. He had done what was necessary in bringing forward the date. He had made the best decision to protect his deal. The sudden sense of urgency he’d felt—to take her far away from the life she had led in London and back to his kingdom—was purely down to expediting matters and avoiding any more risk of her going back on the agreement. The sooner Princess Cressida was his wife, the sooner he could get back to the business of growing his kingdom’s influence and doing what he did best.
Khal took the time alone to gather his thoughts, trying to shift the uncomfortable sensation that had settled in his gut. He felt completely unhinged, as though everything he had believed of himself was being challenged. This entire marriage debacle had done nothing but challenge him from the moment his advisors had suggested it as a solution to their problem with European trade.
From the start he had not been able to deny that an alliance with Monteverre made sense. The global perception of his country was vastly outdated, harking back to their war-torn history. Zayyar had enjoyed an age of peace and prosperity for almost a quarter of a century and still they hit wall after wall when it came to foreign politics. Monteverre was one of the oldest nations in the Western world; it had influence and sway and, best of all, it desperately needed help in the form of cash investments, due to years of spendin
g far beyond its means. It was simple mathematics.
What was not quite so simple was the old Zayyari law that demanded a marital alliance between two high-born members of aligning kingdoms. His advisors had already been fighting a backlash from the older generation, who disagreed with their country’s changing landscape. He needed a bride if he wished to avoid public uproar. Thankfully, King Fabian had assured him that arranged marriage for the royal descendants was still a firm practice in his kingdom. Khal was not overly fond of the King, but he had not believed him capable of coercing his own daughter to the point that she would run away to avoid a proposal.
Cressida had assured him that she was not being coerced as her sister had been, yet still he wondered what personal reasons drove her to accept a political arrangement. Clearly she had a strong sense of loyalty to her kingdom and her family. It did not take much imagination to picture her by his side, swathed in silks and jewels, hosting lunches and balls in the Zayyari grand palace for hundreds of guests from all over the globe.
The trouble was, he had imagined a cold marriage. So far, his response to his fiancée had been far from cold. He’d had a true marriage once, built on the foundations of love and companionship. He had no desire to try to recreate that, for many reasons.
But the attraction between them was a complication he had not foreseen. Five minutes with her in his arms and he had practically pulled her to the nearest private area, needing more. She had felt so good in his arms. Too good.
The moment that he had realised she was completely oblivious to his identity he had felt something awaken inside him that he had long buried. Suddenly his quiet political marriage had seemed a lot less straightforward. He had planned to sit and keep watch until she decided to leave of her own accord. Then someone had tried to dance with her and that small primitive part of him he tried his best to suppress had roared to life, moving in to claim what was his.
So much for changing his image of ruthless desert King.