‘No.’ The palace interior’s temperature was even and comfortable, the air sweet with the faint hint of incense. No doubt thick walls would keep the interior bearable on even the hottest day.
‘Then what’s wrong?
‘Tell me,’ he insisted, when still she hadn’t answered. ‘You’re my responsibility now.’
‘It’s probably nothing—it’s just your cousin, Saleem; I get the impression he doesn’t like me.’
‘He will have to get used to you.’
‘Do you think so? In just four weeks?’ Khaled glared sharply down at her as he led her through a wide marble pillared reception hall.
‘Well, if he doesn’t like me now, I’m not sure what I can do to change things in barely a month.’
‘It will pay you not to upset Saleem. He is family. Things are different here to how they are done in Milan or even in Australia.’
Sapphy opened her mouth to protest that Saleem already seemed upset enough with her without her doing a thing, but then snapped it shut before uttering a word. What was the point? He was right. Things were bound to be different here. It would just be easier if she didn’t feel such an intruder—Saleem had made it crystal clear that he didn’t welcome her presence.
But it was only for four weeks after all, maybe less if she could complete the dress early. So the sooner she got stuck into making the wedding dress, the sooner she could return to Milan.
After walking along passageway after passageway, Khaled finally showed her into a reception-cum-sitting room, large and spacious. ‘This is your study,’ he said, waving his arm over the luxurious lounge suite and the substantial desk, complete with paper and writing tools. ‘And this,’ he said showing her through into an adjoining room, ‘is your workshop. I trust you have everything you need. If not, just ask.’
Sapphy’s eyes opened in wonder as she followed him. The room was enormous, at least twice the size of her apartment in Milan and then some. Worktables were arranged at intervals, many topped with sewing machines, all serious industrial models, she noticed as she wandered between them, not simple home dressmaking machines. Bolts of fabric lined the walls—silk, satin, brocade and laces in every bridal colour and tone imaginable. Tubs of beads and sequins, pearls and buttons were stacked on a bench. She’d seen fabric shops with less stock.
‘It’s incredible. How did you know?’ she asked, her eyes still wide with wonder as she attempted to take it all in.
‘Gianfranco told me what you might need. It was then a simple matter to have it delivered.’
‘No,’ she said, turning her eyes up to his. ‘How did you know I would come? You couldn’t be sure I would agree until today.’
Something fused, deep in his eyes, as he eliminated the distance between them with three quick-fire steps. All at once she was craning her neck up to where he stood before her. A muscle worked in his jaw as he reached out a hand. For a moment she flinched, not wanting him to grab hold of her as he’d done earlier in the car, but this time his touch was feather light as he traced a slow line from her forehead to her jaw with just the pads of his long fingers.
‘I was sure. I knew you would come.’
His voice was low with a husky new quality that sent tremors through her, compounding the sensations he’d stirred in her skin. She sucked in a breath that was too light on oxygen, too heavy on raw male sexuality. The pad of his thumb brushed over her lips and she tasted him, his salty heat further stirring her senses into disarray.
Her mind was a mess. Thoughts came and collided with no hint of logic or resolution. How could he have known she would come to Jebbai when she hadn’t even known herself? How could he have been so certain?
And why did just one look from his dark eyes make her feel so liquid?
His fingers tilted her chin, so there was no way she could avoid his searing gaze, no way she couldn’t notice his wide lips, slightly parted, no way she couldn’t imagine what they would feel like on hers.
Anticipate them on hers.
‘What I didn’t know,’ he said, his breath curling around her in the space between them, warm and hypnotic, ‘was just how perfect you would be.’
She read his last words on her lips as his mouth descended over hers, warm and gentling, and the contrast in the man struck her. He appeared so strong and hard, upright and defiant, he looked every part the ruler of his kingdom, and yet his kiss was so tender, so sweet, it seemed to squeeze something from her even as it rocked her to her soul. The power was there, lurking just below the surface, but there was so much more besides, so many nuances, so many textures to experience—the softness of his lips, the nip of his teeth, the rasp of his shadowed chin…
She felt her internal thermostat reset itself to slow burn as his mouth gently plundered her own, exploring, manipulating.
She felt his hands at her shoulders, behind her neck, down her back, their gathering touch strangely compelling. They invited her closer and she complied, leaning into the kiss and feeling the press of his firm chest against her own tight breasts.
Then he was gone from her and she blinked, swaying and throwing out a hand to the neighbouring table to steady herself, embarras
sed and ashamed as she realised just how easily she’d let herself be manipulated into that kiss. Hardly the mark of a professional on her first day on the job.
‘That was a mistake,’ she whispered, her voice unusually thick, her hand covering lips still excruciatingly sensitised.
‘We had to stop,’ he said, one side of his mouth kicked up in a lazy grin. ‘Saleem is waiting for me.’