At least she had practice in doing that. It seemed a lifetime ago that she’d had anyone she could lean on emotionally. Not since her mother had died when Safiyah was in her teens. She’d loved her father, but he’d never fully recovered from the loss of his wife. And her little sister had spent years battling her own demons of anxiety and depression, so Safiyah had supported her rather than the other way around.
As for Abbas…despite their physical intimacy there’d never been any question of sharing her feelings with him. He hadn’t been interested. And life at the palace had isolated her from her friends.
She swung around, caught sight of herself in a mirror, all gold and jewels, and grimaced, feeling ashamed. She had so much. She had no right to feel sorry for herself.
Nevertheless, she turned on the music her sister had given her for her last birthday—a compilation of gentle tunes harmonised with wild birdsong and even the occasional sound of water falling. Rana said it helped to relax her and Safiyah had found the same.
She switched on a couple more lamps so the room felt cosy, unhooking the heavy earrings with a sigh of relief and placing them on the waiting tray in her dressing room. Her bangles followed—ornate, old, and incredibly precious heirloom pieces.
With each piece she imagined a little more of the weight lifting from her shoulders.
She lifted her hands to the tiara, turning towards the full-length mirror that took up one wall of the dressing space.
‘Would you like help with that?’
The voice, smoky and low, rolled out of the shadows behind her.
Safiyah froze, elbows up, staring at the figure that had stepped into her line of vision in the mirror. Her pulse rocketed and the remnants of distress she’d been battling coalesced into a churning, burning nugget of fire in her abdomen.
Karim looked good—better than good. The traditional robes suited him, accentuating his height, the breadth of his chest and the purity of his strong bone structure that made his stern face so appallingly attractive. He’d discarded his headscarf and for some reason the sight of his close-cropped black hair after the formality of their wedding celebration seemed too…intimate.
As did the fact he was in her private rooms!
‘Karim!’
Safiyah swung round, her arms falling to her sides. How long had she held them up? Her hands prickled with pins and needles. Her nape too, and then her whole spine as she met those hooded eyes. His stare was intense, skewering her to the spot and totally at odds with his relaxed stance. He leaned with one shoulder propped against the doorjamb.
Safiyah swallowed, then swiped her dry mouth with her tongue. Karim didn’t move a muscle, but she sensed a change in him. The air crackled. The tingling along her backbone drove inwards, filling her belly with a fluttering as if a thousand giant moths flapped there, frantically trying to reach the glowing moon that hung in the night sky.
‘What are you doing here, Karim?’ Finally she collected herself enough to clasp her hands at her waist to conceal the way they trembled.
‘I’ve come to see you, obviously.’ He straightened and crossed towards her, making the room claustrophobically close. ‘Turn around.’
‘Sorry?’ Safiyah gaped up at the face that now hovered far too close.
His expression gave nothing away. ‘Turn around so I can help with the pins.’
‘I don’t need any help.’
Too late. He’d lifted his hands and she found herself encircled by the drape of snowy white fabric, deliciously scented with sandalwood and hot male.Veryhot male. Her cheeks flushed and something disturbing rippled through her.
Desire. Memory. The recollection of how she’d lost herself in his kiss.
He plucked at a pin, twisted another. ‘Shh…don’t fidget. Let me finish this, then we can talk.’
Relief cascaded through her. He wanted to talk. Probably about tomorrow’s festivities. She was letting her unguarded responses get the better of her.
When they talked, the first item on her agenda would be to make it clear he couldn’t stroll into her rooms whenever he felt like it. But she’d rather make her point when they were out in the sitting room. Having him in this very private space was too unsettling.
Safiyah drew a slow breath and nodded, wincing when his hold on the tiara stopped it moving with her.
‘Sorry.’
Her eyes were on a level with his collarbone and she watched, bemused, the play of muscles in his throat. How could something so ordinary look…sexy?
‘Wait. I’ll turn.’ Anything to give her breathing space.
But when she turned she was confronted with a mirror image of him looming behind her, his shoulders too wide, too masculine. Especially when the dance of his fingers in her hair felt like a deliberate caress.