Oh, dear lord! The words of panic pounded inside her head as she waited to see the way he would snatch his hand away in anger at her clumsiness.
It didn’t happen. Only that total silent, shocking stillness.
All she wanted was to bring him out of it. To make him move, speak—smile if she could.
Emboldened by the fizz of excitement that bubbled through her veins, she let her tongue slip against his fingers, tasting his clean skin and the slightly musky tang that turned her insides molten.
‘Aziza...’
She had heard that note, half-groan, half-laughter, in his voice before. On the balcony. Then he had rejected her, turned and walked away from her. But today there was no room for rejection or dismissal here. She was his. She was his Queen and her head spun in the delirium that combined with the heated rush of excitement and purely feminine need she was experiencing, turning her head.
She wanted to see that response again. But more than that she wanted the taste of him on her tongue again. Hunger made her bolder, slicking away the sugary taste of the grapes and replacing it with the stronger, more basic taste of warm male skin as she swirled her tongue around those strong fingers, resting her cheek against the warmth and hardness of his other hand as she did so.
‘Aziza!’ This time it was a very different sound. The groan might still be there but every trace of the laughter had vanished, leaving his voice hard and clipped even though it was never raised above the level of a whisper. ‘Enough, lady!’
It was like being slapped in the face, jolted back into reality with a nerve-jangling rush. He pulled his hands away from her face, letting her head drop to one side as he snatched his fingers away from her mouth, the heavy gold ring he wore on his finger—his wedding finger—catching on the fine gauze of her veil so that it tugged sharply against the points where it was fastened into the ornate style of her hair, bringing tears to her eyes.
Nabil had slammed to his feet, silencing everyone around them. All conversation stopped, every head turned their way, and the hushed atmosphere suddenly felt cold and oppressive, a sensation that was made worse by the way that Nabil now towered over her, his tall, powerful frame blocking out the light from the candles.
‘Enough,’ he said again and her mind was whirling too hard, too fearfully to be able to put any interpretation on his tone this time. She had overstepped some invisible line that she hadn’t even known was drawn between them, and she didn’t know which way to react.
If she had needed any proof of how commanding, how powerful he was, then it was there in the absolute stillness of every person in the hall following that single word. The total silence as they waited for him to move, to speak again. But then he didn’t need to speak, or raise his voice in command. No one could ever have questioned the sheer force of nature that was Nabil bin Rashid Al Sharifa as he stood, tall and proud beside her, holding out his hand to her. No words, just the silence of command. A command she would be every sort of a fool to try to resist.
Slowly she put her hand into his, felt herself pulled to her feet with such force that she fell against the rock-hard strength of Nabil’s body, losing her breath in a gasp of reaction.
‘We’re out of here.’
That was the quick, dark mutter he uttered against her ear, the rest of his attention directed out into the huge hall.
‘My bride is tired...’
That was what he told their audience, all of whom seemed transfixed by this unexpected development, the suddenness of the change in his mood that went against all the ceremony and ritual that was planned.
‘I’m not...’ she managed on a croak but just a turn of his head in her direction silenced the rest. He hauled her even closer to him, the pressure of his arms crushing her against the hard heat of him.
‘We will leave...’
At the end of the hallway a door that had been left open suddenly slammed back hard into its frame, the resulting bang startling everyone and silencing Nabil abruptly. Aziza was astonished to feel the way his strong body jerked against hers, the sudden tension in that long spine. For a moment he was completely still, bringing her own heartbeat to a halt as she wondered just what had changed his mood.
‘Nabil...’
But then it seemed that his thoughts returned to the present and he lifted his head again.
It had all happened in too short a space of time for anyone else to notice, Aziza realised as she saw no echo of her own confusion on the faces of their audience of guests.
‘My wife and I are leaving now,’ he continued, ignoring her own bewilderment so completely that she felt she must have been mistaken; that the abrupt change of mood had never happened. ‘But please, continue the celebrations...’
And that was it—he was turning, heading for the door. Aziza had no choice but to go with him because she was still clamped tight against him, the strength of his arms half-walking, half-carrying her out of the banqueting hall and along the marble corridors away from the ceremonial part of the palace, towards the private, personal area.
Had she done something wrong? Aziza didn’t know if it was fear or excitement that buzzed along every nerve, making her blood pound at the base of her skull so that she was sure Nabil must see it. How could he miss the throbbing pulse in her throat that revealed the race of her heart from underneath her skin?
She was held so tightly that there was no chance to break away if she wanted to. But did she want to? What she really felt was a very sensual, very feminine need to continue to be held this way. To be imprisoned in the arms of this powerful man.
And she had thought that now she would be freer! That this marriage would win her a new liberty; a chance to be herself, no longer subject to her father’s tyrannical will. But, if there was one thing that this hasty, determined departure from the formal celebration of their wedding had shown her, it was that the only thing that had changed was that she was no longer subject to her father’s rules—but instead bound by what her husband demanded of her. And when Nabil decided on something there was no chance at all that she could say no. What he wanted, he got. But what was it that he wanted now?
She had been so fearful that she had put a foot wrong that any other answer never occurred to her. It was only when Nabil flicked a hand in another autocratic gesture towards the attendants who dogged their footsteps that a flash of insight, like a fork of lighting, came from the back of her mind to illuminate her thoughts and leave her shaking in apprehension in a new and very different way. This was not about doing something wrong. It was about something deeper, darker, much more primitive. It was about the most basic connection between a man and a woman.
‘Nothing at all.’ Nabil stated inflexibly. ‘Leave us! My wife and I want to be alone.’
My wife and I...
The full truth dawned in the moment that Nabil swung her round into a new corridor, dragging her with him, kicking the heavy carved door into place behind them and making a rough sound of satisfaction as it slammed fast.
And it was that sound, so very different from the way he had reacted when the door had slammed in the banqueting hall, that told its own story and left Aziza in no doubt as to what was happening,