‘Then so be it.’ The last of the buttons was freed and he helped her step from the heavy dress, sucking in an instinctive breath as he saw what she was wearing. For the gown might be traditional Quadorian, but the undergarments beneath were sheer Hollywood.
An underwired bra in fine gold lace—which curved her breasts upwards into two exquisitely pale mounds—and an outrageous G-string in matching material which emphasised the darker triangular shadowing which blurred so tantalisingly before his eyes.
‘Who bought these?’ he questioned unsteadily.
She lifted her eyes to his. ‘My ladies-in-waiting instructed me to be beautiful for my wedding night. I sent to…to…America for them.’
And beautiful she most certainly was—but the haunted look in her eyes was no spur to making love to her. He turned away abruptly, afraid that the reined-in control he could feel tightening his face would only add to her trepidation.
‘Get into bed,’ he said, more harshly than he had intended, and went to stand by the window.
She did as he instructed, and some of her apprehensiveness was relieved the moment her body sank into the welcome softness of the divan. She stretched beneath the coverlet, and the tension began to seep away.
She was here and she was Rashid’s wife, waiting in his bed, and the doubts which had nagged her all day suddenly crystallised into certainty. Had he not just been gentle and considerate with her? And would she not fulfil her own worst fears if she held him at arm’s length? Wouldn’t that almost certainly drive him into the arms of another woman?
From beneath her long lashes, she
stole a look at him. His lean physique exuded the same kind of restrained power as a caged tiger, and a tiny throb of aching warmth made her limbs feel suddenly fluid.
‘Rashid?’ she questioned tentatively.
He turned around, but his face was so impassive that it appeared almost indifferent.
‘I am going to take a shower,’ he stated.
Jenna nodded, and swallowed down another doubt. Shouldn’t she have bathed herself? Come to her Sheikh scented and shining? For one mad and impetuous moment she opened her mouth, about to offer to wash his back, just like a modern, liberated woman.
Except she must remember that she was not—that her independence had only ever been an illusion. And besides, he had already stalked off into the bathroom and banged the door behind him.
Rashid stripped off his wedding clothes with a grim and ruthless efficiency and turned the shower on full, standing beneath it for long, countless moments.
When he returned, with only some of his ardour dampened by the cool jets of water, she was fast asleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JENNA awoke late the next morning, blinking her eyes in confusion as her sleep-befuddled mind struggled to work out exactly where she was, and when she did her eyes flew open.
In Rashid’s bed.
His wife!
Slowly she turned her face to the empty space beside her, and saw that the pillow lay as smooth and as untouched as it had the night before.
‘Fear not, my beauty,’ came a mocking voice from what seemed like a long way away, and she narrowed her eyes to look at the far end of the room, where Rashid stood like an imposing statue suddenly brought to life as he began to walk towards her.
He was fully dressed in silken robes of creamy buttermilk, against which his dark and golden looks appeared all the more startling. But his face was hard and impenetrable, with a certain edge to it, and there was nothing of the appearance of the eager groom about him.
Her hand flew to her heart, feeling its wild fluttering as he continued to walk towards the bed. ‘Rashid,’ she said breathlessly, ‘you are up very early.’
He made a small murmur of dissent. ‘It is almost ten, Jenna—and soon the sun will be high in the sky. We must make haste for the lodge before that happens.’
She had to know. She had to. ‘Where did you…where did you—?’
‘Sleep?’ he interrupted, his dark eyes flashing with cruel humour. ‘Why, I slept on the divan beneath the window, Jenna—for fear of disturbing your sleep.’
Beneath the silk coverlet her body trembled, her other hand moving towards her breasts. She was still wearing her fancy bridal underwear, she realised, her cheeks growing pink. She must have fallen asleep without remembering to take it off.
And Rashid had not removed it either—in fact he had not wanted even to share a bed with her. What she had been half-dreading and half-longing for had failed to materialise, and yet the fact gave her not one moment of pleasure. Better that he should have ravished her than treat her this morning with such insulting indifference!