Hidden in the Sheikh's Harem: Christmas at the Castello(21)

The thought of sleeping with the prince caused a riot of mixed emotions  to take flight in her stomach and she sipped her drink to subdue them.  Should she be looking forward quite so much to joining with a man she  didn't like? And would it be as good as kissing him was, or would it be a  let down, as she'd heard other women tell of it? Somehow she knew that  it wouldn't be and she shivered.

'Cold, habiba?' Zach leant closer to her and she shook her head. She wasn't cold, she was hot. Too hot.

As if he was completely attuned to her innermost thoughts, his hand  splayed possessively across her hip. 'I'm afraid we have to leave you,  Mother. We have a honeymoon to get to.'

'Oh, how romantic. Make me lots of babies.'

Honeymoon? Babies? Farah's stomach fluttered again. All this talk of  love and seeing Imogen and Sheikh Nadir's obvious adoration for each  other was making her think strange, unwanted thoughts about things she'd  once steadfastly declared she did not want, things that would make her  just as beholden to a man as any other Bakaani woman. Things that had  her earlier panic about marriage return tenfold.                       
       
           



       

Before she could tell him she had no desire to go on a honeymoon like a  real married couple, his nose grazed the top of her head. 'You smell  delicious,' he murmured huskily. 'What scent did you bathe in?'

Farah didn't want to remember her bath. Four women had come to prepare  her for his pleasure and it had been like negotiations in a war room as  they'd massaged and plucked and waxed her body into submission. Farah  had determinedly refused to allow them to touch the hair between her  legs and they'd clucked and tsked like old hens trying to establish the  pecking order. The prince would not approve, they'd said. Good, she'd  replied, much to their consternation. Now she wondered if he would  approve and she hated the feeling of weakness that underscored that  thought, hated the desire that she wanted to please him at all. She  didn't. She didn't care what he thought of her.

She lifted her chin. 'Poison.'

'Then I will die a happy man tonight.'

His husky chuckle made her nerves tighten and Farah raised her half-empty glass to her lips. 'One can only hope.'

But he wasn't listening, instead he was frowning at her glass. 'Perhaps you should think about switching to water.'

'But I like this very much.' She tilted the glass to her lips in what  she knew was a childishly defiant gesture and drained it. 'What is it  called again?' She felt slightly dizzy from the rush of alcohol as it  hit her stomach, but it was worth it to see him scowl.

'Champagne.' His frown deepened. 'Have you even had it before?'

'Loads of times. We distil it in the hut behind my father's.'

His eyes narrowed and Farah widened hers innocently. Then he completely  surprised her by shaking his head and laughing softly. 'Okay, I  deserved that.'

And there he went again, throwing her off just when she thought she had him all worked out.

'Come, Farah, we should go.'

Oh, yes, the honeymoon.

Suddenly nerves attacked her. She'd been deliberately not thinking  about the end of the evening and what would come next. 'I think it would  be rude to leave so soon,' she said, aiming for cool and knowing she'd  missed by a mile when his lips twisted in sympathy. Sympathy!

'Actually, it's quite late.'

Heat raced through her, making her feel even dizzier than she already was.

'Where are we going?'

'So suspicious, wife.' He smiled. 'We are going to Ibiza.'

'Ib... Where?'

'It's a small, ruggedly beautiful island off the coast of Spain. You'll love it.'

She raised an eyebrow. She had always wanted to travel to faraway  places but had never imagined she'd ever get the chance. 'Because you  say I will?'

She hadn't realised she'd raised her chin until he gripped it and  tugged it down, his thumb resting on the curve of her lower lip. Her  nerves were so raw even that small contact made her insides fizz.

'I know you want another argument but I'm not going to give you one,'  he said. 'It's time to make love, Farah, not war. Wouldn't you prefer  that?' His voice was a rough caress against her ear and before she could  tell him that, actually, she was quite happy with war, he placed his  hand firmly against the small of her back. Her breath caught and a  delicious tingle of anticipation followed his fingers as they slid  upwards to grip the nape of her neck. It was a blatantly possessive hold  and spoke of domination and ownership. Farah, who had never imagined  wanting to experience either of those things, felt every one of her  bones turn to water.

Half an hour later they were ensconced on the royal plane and she was  trying not to ogle the sleek luxury of the streamlined jet. 'Where are  all the seats?' she asked, taking in the well-spaced leather chairs and  small tables.

'This is a private plane. You'll need to take a seat when we take off.  After that you can walk around the cabin. There's a bedroom in the back  and two bathrooms. Are you okay?'

'I'm not sure.' Her hand went to her head. 'I think I have a headache.'

'Already?' His smile was faintly mocking. 'I've heard it takes wives a little longer to start producing that ex-'

'Oh...' Farah moaned and must have turned as green as she felt because  Zach forced her head down between her knees. 'Oh, that's worse.'

'It's the champagne.'

She waited for the nausea to pass and then sat up slowly. 'How can something that tastes so lovely make me feel so ill?'

'You're meant to drink it in small doses.'                       
       
           



       

'Small doses, like small steps,' she hiccupped.

'Exactly.' She heard the smile in his voice but kept her eyes closed.

'I think I'm okay now.'

'Just lie back.'

The plane chose that moment to accelerate down the runway and Farah's  stomach revolted as they were lifted into the air. 'Oh, no I- Oh!'

Before she registered what was happening, she was in Zach's arms and  then she was bent over a toilet bowl and emptying the contents of her  stomach-which was thankfully very little, since she'd been too nervous  to eat during the reception.

'I think I hate champagne,' she mumbled, so wretched she couldn't even muster any embarrassment.

His soft laugh was vaguely reassuring. 'I thought you loved it.'

'Not any more.'

'Unfortunately, you're likely to feel even worse tomorrow.'

'Please feel free to shoot me if I do.'

'I don't want to shoot you, habiba,' he said so softly she almost didn't catch it.

She took the glass of water he offered and drank deeply. When she was  finished, she was only vaguely aware of him lifting her and carrying her  to a cool, flat surface. She buried her head against something warm and  firm. A pillow?

She felt her hair being released from the confines of her twist and moaned softly when he threaded his fingers through it.

'I love your hair.'

She frowned but didn't open her eyes. 'You do?'

'Yes. And your eyebrows.' He swept a finger over each one. 'Like the wings of a raven in full flight. And your nose-'

'My nose is too prominent.'

He ran his finger down the fine blade. 'It suits your face. And your mouth...'

Farah yawned and snuggled further into the pillow that smelled just  like the prince. For some reason she felt completely relaxed and safe,  as if she didn't have anything in the world to worry about. It was such a  novel experience she let it wash over her. 'What about my mouth?' she  asked, her mind drifting toward sleep.

'Your mouth.' He paused. 'Let's just say your mouth keeps me up nights.'

'Mmm, that's nice.'

He chuckled. 'I'm glad you think so.'

He stoked her hair and Farah floated into another realm, trying to  cling on to whatever it was the prince was saying, but quite unable to  do so.

* * *

When she finally regained consciousness she was instantly flooded with  alarm. She should be helping to get water down by the well; she should  be fixing breakfast. Then the softness of the bed she was in permeated  her hazy state and she opened her eyes and saw floaty white curtains  across the room being ruffled by a gentle breeze. Used to gaging her  surroundings by scent, she breathed in deeply. The air was humid rather  than dry and held a tinge of brine to it. A balminess.

Her mind started recollecting all the moments that had led to this one  but there was a gaping hole between her throwing up on Zach's  luxuriously appointed plane to lying in a bed that was as big as her  whole room growing up.

And where was he? Because she could already tell that he had not slept  beside her last night. Rising up on her elbows, she gingerly shifted her  head from side to side to test the headache. Fortunately it didn't hurt  but her mouth felt like she'd stuffed cotton into it and she was  thirsty. Which was probably why she'd woken up thinking about water.

Pushing the linen sheet aside, she frowned when she realised she was  only wearing her underwear. Did that mean Zach had undressed her last  night or did he have an army of servants in this place, as well?