Sheikh's Forbidden Queen: Zarif's Convenient Queen / Gambling with the Crown

‘I do not sulk!’ Ella exclaimed furiously, her blonde head swivelling to deal a fiery glance at his lean, dark, beautiful face.

‘Oh, I can assure you that you do,’ Zarif drawled, smooth as glass. ‘But I am impervious to such moods.’

Ella undid her seat-belt fastening and shot upright as though jet-propelled. ‘I will say it once more only...I am not in a mood!’ She launched the declaration furiously down at him. ‘You’re as insensitive as a rock. Have you no concept of how difficult it is for me to leave my home to live in a foreign country with a different culture and a man who doesn’t even have the saving grace of loving me? Have you any idea how I felt today lying and putting on a fake happy-bride act for all my family and friends?’

Zarif stayed where he was and contemplated her with an immense sense of satisfaction for the Ella he knew best was back on display. Her volatile emotions and innate spirit never failed to entertain him while other women displaying similar tendencies had swiftly been dismissed from his life, he acknowledged dimly. But in a rage, Ella was magnificent, sapphire-blue eyes splintering defiance, lovely face angrily flushed, lush bee-stung lips prominent and offering pure pink invitation.

‘Are you just going to sit there saying nothing?’ Ella positively snarled, nonplussed by his stillness and lack of reaction.

‘When you get all steamed up,’ Zarif murmured huskily, ‘you look incredibly hot and sexy.’

Ella did what any sane woman would have done, because it was clear that he had not paid heed to a single word she had said. She lifted her glass of water and emptied it over his arrogant dark head. ‘Then it’s time you cooled off...’

Totally taken aback by that liquid assault, Zarif sprang upright, tawny eyes ablaze with anger and no small amount of disbelief as he flicked dripping black hair off his wide, intelligent brow. ‘You are behaving like a madwoman!’

‘No, a madwoman would have used a knife, not water,’ Ella told him succinctly. ‘Now I will say it again. I was not sulking. I’m simply nervous about the challenge of embracing a new lifestyle.’

‘And so you should be because I am no pushover when I lose my temper!’ Zarif grated as he snatched her off her feet without the smallest warning and stalked stormily down the cabin to thrust open the door at the foot.

‘Put me down!’ Ella yelled at him.

Zarif dropped her from a height down onto a bed without a great deal of bounce and she fell back against the pillows, bright honey-coloured hair rioting round her flushed features. She surveyed him in shock as he began to wrench off his jacket and haul at his tie. ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded.

‘You soaked my clothing,’ he reminded her grittily as he ripped open the buttons on the white silk shirt plastered to his muscular chest. ‘And if we’re about to have a row, we will stage it in here where it is more private.’

Ella sat up, more than a little embarrassed at the water she had thrown over him. ‘I shouldn’t have drenched you...but when you go all stony-faced and unemotional, I hate it!’

‘I am unemotional by nature,’ Zarif shot back at her as he stripped off the shirt. ‘I’m afraid you’ll just have to learn to deal with that. Assaulting me isn’t an option I’m prepared to tolerate.’

Ella’s tummy somersaulted and a slow heavy heat spread in her pelvis as she looked at him because he, undoubtedly, had the most beautiful male body she had ever seen. Roped muscle defined his broad bronzed torso. Dark whorls of hair adorned his impressive pecs, arrowing down over a flat washboard stomach to disappear below the belt encircling his lean hips. For a split second, he simply took her breath away.

‘Particularly when there are so many more entertaining possibilities on offer now,’ Zarif completed softly as he came down on his knees on the bed beside her, still bare chested, his tailored trousers pulling taut across his lean, powerful thighs.

Unnerved, Ella froze like a stone pillar. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Of course you do,’ Zarif contradicted, running a mocking fingertip along the compressed line of her mouth. ‘Freezing into stillness like an animal being hunted isn’t going to save you. You’re my wife. I can touch you, hunt you any time I like...’

That awareness had taunted Ella from the moment he whipped off his shirt without a shade of self-consciousness to expose his glowing bronzed skin and whipcord muscles. But then why would Zarif be self-conscious in any intimate situation? Ella mocked her own naivety, all too painfully aware of the many highly experienced lovers he had evidently enjoyed. He was so close now that she could have reached out and touched him and her fingers braced harder to the mattress as if she feared being tempted. And she did fear it because he had always tempted her and it would destroy her self-respect if she gave him anything more than passive compliance.

Zarif lowered his head and used his lips to pluck teasingly at the taut line of hers. Oxygen feathered in her tight throat and with a faint gasp she opened her mouth. But he continued to play games with her, suckling at her lower lip and then darting the tip of his tongue along the underside of her lip, setting off an astonishing flurry of reaction that slithered through her like a sweet piercing dart that went deep. She trembled, astonishingly aware of the prickling tightness of her nipples, and then all of a sudden, literally between one breath and the next, she wanted his mouth hard on hers with a ferocity that shook her. Her hands wanted to claw into his hair to drag his head down to hers.

Her head fell back on her shoulders even as she felt the faint brush of his fingers against her spine. Cooler air washed her backbone and surprise gripped her as she registered that he had unzipped her dress without her even noticing. Her lashes flew up, her gaze connecting with scorching gold fringed with lush black lashes. He had such beautiful eyes, she acknowledged, and every other thought in her head evaporated simultaneously.

Zarif tugged the perfumed weight of her honey-blonde hair forward as he eased the dress down her arms. ‘I always loved your hair... It’s the most amazing colour when the sun catches it.’

‘No sun here,’ she framed nervously, feeling alarmingly shy at being stripped down to her bra and panties. He was coolly undressing her without a hint of passion and she was so unnerved by the experience that she could not even contemplate the much greater intimacy that surely still lay ahead of her.

Hard as a rock, Zarif studied the ripe mounds of her full breasts and swiftly removed the bra to cup the lush heavy globes in his appreciative hands. He stroked the quivering tips to aching sensitivity and only then did he kiss her.

Ella quivered, her whole body alight and tingling. Her hands dug into his shoulders as he took her rosy nipples between his fingers while claiming her mouth in a long drugging kiss. He skated his tongue across the sensitive roof of her mouth and she gasped, starting to moan as he let his tongue plunge deep in a much more primitive demand. The ache in her pelvis tightened like a knot being snapped tight, every atom of control wrested from her as mindless hunger took her in a shocking surge.

Zarif tugged her down flat on the bed, deft hands releasing her from the confines of the dress creased round her hips. He kept on kissing her and, oh, he was so good at it that she was on fire, pushing closer to his lean, hard body, wanting more, her entire body stimulated to a painful degree by responses more powerful than any she had previously experienced.

Zarif lifted his head to gaze down at her while he trailed his fingers through the damp tangle of curls at the apex of her thighs. ‘I want to watch you writhe and come, habibti,’ he husked. ‘I want to hear you scream with the pleasure I give you.’

‘Don’t want to scream,’ Ella framed with the greatest of difficulty, so hard was it for her to control her breathing and her voice enough to speak.

A fingertip found the swollen bud of her clitoris and dallied. He knew exactly what he was doing. He touched and she burned with every delicate caress. Her hips rose off the mattress in a movement as old and unstoppable as time. She struggled to breathe, actually sobbed out loud as he lowered his proud dark head and captured an engorged pink nipple between his lips and teased with his teeth. As he divided his attention between her straining, unbearably sensitive breasts and the tormentingly tender bud between her thighs, the twin assault became too much for her to bear. The hollow sensation at the heart of her was getting stronger while rhythmic waves were washing through her womb until suddenly the knot of tension there sprang free, plunging her into the grip of writhing convulsions of almost intolerable pleasure.

That shattering climax and the flood of ecstasy that followed took her by storm.

Zarif stared down at her, glittering tawny eyes alight with a new knowledge that made Ella cringe. She closed her eyes in self-protection, shamed by her complete loss of control. He pulled a sheet over her.

‘Get some rest,’ he advised smoothly. ‘Tomorrow’s festivities will last even longer than today’s and tonight I would prefer you wide awake.’

Hot with mortification and with her body still liquid as melting honey from his sensual attentions, Ella lay there long after the cabin door had closed behind him. It was only Zarif she could not resist, she tried to tell herself in consolation. Other men had tried and failed to seduce her into going further than she wanted to but Zarif did not even have to try. Why was that? How would she ever look him in the face again? At least, however, he would know what he was doing even she did not, she told herself soothingly, nervous tension pinching at her as she considered the night that still lay ahead.

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_02c0b2d4-e5af-586b-925c-41cd6a792c03)

THE AIRPORT LAY just outside the city of Qurzah. The jet landed to be greeted by a formal welcome in the form of a military band, a crowd of officials and a very cute little girl in a fancy frock, who curtsied and presented Ella with a bouquet. Ella was relieved that she had followed her mother’s advice and chosen a classy outfit to travel in because her mostly vintage wardrobe would not have met conservative expectations. Her blue shift dress, jacket and high heels, however, exactly fitted the bill.

Zarif watched his bride respond with beaming charm to the greetings and would have been more impressed had she once aimed those sparkling eyes and smiles in his direction. She was stubborn, capricious and paraded her moods too easily.

He marvelled that he had asked her to marry him for real only three years earlier. What had he been thinking of? Had he become obsessed by his overwhelming desire to make her his? Unlike him she had not been raised to respect the concept of duty or the rules and the restraint that went hand in hand with the exalted and privileged status of the al-Rastani dynasty. When the time came, he would be practical and he would seek a wife from one of the other Gulf royal families, one who knew exactly what he needed from her, he reflected grimly, wondering why the very prospect of that day should make his heart sink like a stone.

The limo wafted them through the crowded streets of Qurzah and he watched Ella look surprised when she saw the modern layout of the city as well as the shopping malls and the many parks adorned with fountains and sculptures. ‘It’s just like any city,’ she remarked in evident relief. ‘But rather more attractive than many I’ve visited.’

‘We are not a backward or primitive country,’ Zarif countered drily. ‘The oil wealth of decades and an education system and health service second to none have naturally made their mark.’

‘I didn’t think Vashir was backward...although you don’t let women drive here,’ Ella commented in a small aside redolent of her incredulity at such an embargo.

Zarif breathed in deep and slow and tried not to grit his teeth. He sometimes thought that his country was more famous for that restriction than for anything else and he would be changing that perverse law as soon as his uncle was no more. To do so beforehand had struck him as needlessly distressing for the old man, rousing as it would grievous memories that were better left buried.

The limo purred between lofty gates into a property surrounded by tall walls and turrets. Ella gazed in wonderment at the vast ancient building stretched out before her because with its Moorish arches, weathered and elaborate stonework and the glorious greenery softening the frontage it was very redolent of an Arabian nights fantasy dwelling. ‘I thought the palace was brand new.’

‘The new one is on the other side of the city and used for government council meetings, conferences and all official functions. This is where I grew up and I prefer to live here, certainly while my uncle is ill,’ Zarif proffered, his beautiful wilful mouth tightening as if he was waiting for her to argue.

Ella said nothing although she had pinned her confidence on staying at the new palace where she could be secure in the awareness that Zarif’s first wife could never have lived there. So much for that hope! And why should she be so oversensitive anyway? It was not as if she were in love with Zarif or jealous, she reasoned, exasperated by her odd thought train.

She slid from the car. Darkness was falling and the heat was already less oppressive than it had been at the airport where within minutes of being deprived of air-conditioning cool her dress had literally felt as though it were plastered to her damp, perspiring skin. ‘It looks like a fascinating building.’

‘Hamid will show you round.’ Zarif referred to his chief aide. ‘His father used to be in charge of running the old palace and he, too, grew up here. He knows everything about the palace’s history.’

Ella would have been more impressed had Zarif offered to conduct such a tour personally and kept her expressive eyes veiled as she reasoned that she had been shown her true importance in the grand scheme of things again. Not that she wasn’t already well aware of her lowly status. Regardless of the fleeting intimacy they had shared, Zarif remained ultra-cool and detached. Her body might still hum at the very thought of his fingers trailing across her sensitive skin but he was still as remote as the Andes.

A small crowd of women in distinctly elaborate clothing waited two steps inside the giant front doors of an echoing stone hall ornamented by a long parade of pillars.

‘I am Hanya,’ a very pretty dark-eyed brunette informed Ella in perfect English. ‘I will look after you until tomorrow.’