That was news. She had been quite convinced he hadn’t thought of her more than twice since they’d met.
“You’ve done an excellent job,” he said, sounding sincere. His gaze skimmed across the four hundred people dressed to the nines, jewelry sparkling and gold cutlery flashing as they dined on their first course beneath faux starlight. Landmarks were projected onto the walls beneath swathes of fabric to resemble looking out from a Bedouin tent on Zyria’s landscape. The centerpieces were keepsake lanterns amid Zyrian flora and the scent of Zyrian incense hung on the air.
“I don’t know that anyone will dare eat these chocolates, but they will certainly enjoy showing them off. Very ingenious.” He tilted the treat that decorated each place setting. It was made of camel milk by a Zyrian chocolatier and shaped like Zyria and Khalia stuck together as one piece, the border only a subtle shift in color, not a dividing line. She had prevailed on her brother to send coffee and cinnamon from Khalia to flavor their side of it while the Zyrian was spiced with nutmeg and cardamom.
“It’s a subtle yet brilliant touch.”
Brilliant?
Don’t be needy.
But she was. In her core, she was starved for validation. Which was exactly the problem with this marriage. She wanted—needed—to believe Karim valued her. That whatever he felt toward her was real and permanent.
He was in demand at all times, however. It was somewhat understandable that after his brief compliment, his attention went elsewhere. They didn’t speak again until the plates had been cleared and they moved to the adjoining ballroom to begin the dancing.
Here she’d been a little freer with the Western influences, bringing in colored lights and a DJ who played current pop tunes from around the globe, but included many of the hits by Arab bands.
Their first dance was an older ballad, however, one Karim’s mother had told her had been played at her wedding to Karim’s father. It was meant as a reassurance to the older generation that things were changing but only a little.
Karim wore his ceremonial robes and she was in several layers of embroidered silk over a brocade gown with jewels in her hair, at her wrists, around her neck and even a bejeweled broach worn on a wide band around her middle.
Karim had to be very careful as he took her into his arms. He muttered something under his breath about hugging a cactus.
“I understood it to be an heirloom that all Zyrian queens wear on special occasions,” she said, affected by his closeness despite the fact he had to maintain enough distance not to catch his robes on the piece.
“My staff was too shy to explain it was designed as a chastity belt, worn when the king was not around to protect his interests.”
“Talk about putting a ring on it,” she said under her breath.
He snorted, the sound of amusement so surprising, she flashed a look upward in time to see the corner of his mouth twitch.
“Yes, well, the king is in the house so we’ll dispense with it as soon as possible.”
Her heart swerved in the crazy jitter of alarm and anticipation she’d been suffering as this day drew nearer. It was so silly! They were familiar with each other. She knew she would find pleasure with him.
But what happened after that? Would he go back to ignoring her? She wouldn’t be able to stand it. How could she give herself to a man who would only rebuff her afterward?
* * *
Karim stole her away to her apartment as soon as he could, dismissing the staff that hovered to help undress her. He could handle that himself, thank you very much.
On his instruction, the rooms had been prepared with a fresh bath, rose petals, candles, cordial and exotic fruits. The music of gently plucked strings played quietly in the background. Silk pajamas had been left on the bed for both of them—and would be swept to the floor unused if he had his way.
Alone with his wife for the first time since she’d blown his mind in his library the other day, he was fairly coming out of his skin with anticipation—not that he would admit to it. Oh, he knew damned well that part of him had been counting the minutes until he could release himself from his self-imposed restraint, but he barely acknowledged that. It was pure weakness to feel this way, damn it, but he couldn’t put off consummation forever.
In fact, he had begun to rationalize that the reason he was growing obsessive about the moment of possession was merely because he hadn’t yet done so. Once they made love, he wouldn’t be so preoccupied by how delicious it might be.
That was the only reason urgency gripped him and put a gruff edge on his voice when he commanded her to turn around. “Let me relieve you of that thing.”
She jolted a bit and didn’t meet his eyes as she turned so he could remove the elaborate belt.
Her spine grew taller as he released the dozen tiny hook-and-eye fasteners. She drew a deep breath as he set it aside, then, when he touched her shoulders to remove her outer robe, she stiffened again and glanced warily over her shoulder.
He hesitated, but she shrugged to help him peel it away. It was surprisingly heavy with its detailed embroidery locking in pearls and other jewels. If anything, her tension grew as he eased it away, however.
She turned and folded her arms, now in a strapless gown bedecked with a band of silver and diamonds beneath the extravagant necklace that had been his wedding gift to her. She pressed her lips together, conveying wary uncertainty.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said a little too quickly, shoulders coming up in a shrug and staying in a defensive hunch.
He moved closer and had to tilt her chin up, then wait for her gaze to come to his. A tiny flinch plucked at her brows and her gaze swept away, anxious to avoid his.
“Galila,” he murmured. “Are you being shy?” It seemed impossible, considering the intimacies they’d shared, but her mouth twitched.
She hitched a shoulder, nodding a little, lashes dropping to hide her gaze again.
“There’s no rush,” he assured her, even though it felt like a lie. Standing this close to her, feeling the softness of her cheek under the caress of his thumb, he didn’t know how he had managed to wait this long. The starving beast inside him was waking and stretching, prowling in readiness to go on the hunt.
When he started to lower his mouth to hers, she stiffened with subtle resistance.
He drew back, experiencing something like alarm. Was she teasing him on purpose?
“I’m nervous, it’s fine,” she insisted, but she was still avoiding his gaze.
Her crown had been fitted with a silver and blue veil that draped over the rich, loose waves of her hair. She reached to remove it.
“I’ll do it.” He searched out the pins that secured it, distantly thinking he should have delegated this task to the one who’d put them in. It was an intricate process and she winced a couple of times, even though he was as gentle as he could be.
He persevered and finally was able to leave the crown and veil on a table. She ran her fingers through her hair—an erotic gesture at the best of times. Tonight, she was especially entrancing. The smooth swells of her breasts lifted against the blue velvet. Her heavily decorated ivory skirt shimmered, merely hinting at the lissome limbs it hid.
“You’re so beautiful, it almost hurts the eyes.” The words came from a place he barely acknowledged within himself, one where his desire for her was a craven thing that he could barely contain.
She dropped her hands in front of her. “I can’t help the way I look.”
“It’s not a drawback,” he said drily, moving to take up her hands and set them on his shoulders. His own then went to her rib cage, finding her supple as a dancer. Her heels put her at exactly the most comfortable height to dip his head and capture her mouth with his own.
A jolt of electricity seemed to jump between them, reassuring him even as his mouth stung and she made a sound of near pain. He quickly assuaged the sensation with a full, openmouthed kiss. The kind he’d been starving for. The kind that should have slaked something in him, but only stoked his hunger.
She began to melt into him and he felt mindlessness begin to overtake him, the same loss of control that had pinned him in place while she stole every last shred of his discipline that day in his library.
He tightened his hands on her and started to set her back a step, needing to keep a clear head.
She made a noise of hurt and the heels of her hands exerted pressure, urging him to release her altogether.
His reflexes very nearly yanked her back in close. Some primitive refusal to be denied was that close to overwhelming him.
The push-pull was startling enough to freeze him with his hands still keeping her before him, so he could read her face.
“Do you not want—?” He had to look away, not ready to hear that she was rejecting him.
“I do, but—”
She did break from his hold then, brushing his hands off her and pacing away a few steps. The action raked something cold across him.
She turned back to hold out a beseeching hand. “I can’t bear the games, Karim.”
She looked stricken enough to cause a sharp sensation to pierce his heart.
“Make love to me if you want to. But don’t... Don’t tell me I’m beautiful, then act like you can’t stand how I look. Don’t kiss me like you can’t get enough, then push me away as though I’m someone you dislike. Don’t tell a roomful of people that you think I’m wonderful when you clearly think I’m not. I can’t go through those ups and downs again. I can’t.”