Postcards From Paris: Bound by His Desert Diamond / Amorous Liaisons / The Secret to Marrying Marchesi

‘Not able to actually have sexual intercourse.’

CHAPTER SIX (#ucb4e9976-f9e7-524b-8e95-29af4088a413)

ZAHIR’S DARK BROWS LOWERED, narrowing his hooded gaze until it was little more than twin slits of glinting stone. He twisted slightly so that his knee now touched hers, moving one arm behind them and placing it palm down on the cushions so that it anchored him in place. Anna could sense it, like a rod of muscled strength, inert yet still exuding power. Even seated he was so much taller than her, so much bigger, that she felt dwarfed by him, shaded, as if weakened by his strength.

‘I don’t understand.’ He stared at her full in the face, with no trace of embarrassment or sensitivity for her predicament. She had presented him with a problem, that much was clear from the brooding intensity of his gaze, but it was a determination to get to the facts that had set his face in stone. ‘What do you mean, you can’t have sexual intercourse? Do you have some sort of physical abnormality?’

‘No!’ Anna pulled at the neckline of her dress, hoping it would dislodge the lump in her throat as well as cool herself down. The temperature in the small room seemed to have ramped up enormously. ‘At least, it wouldn’t appear so.’

‘Have you been examined by a physician?’

‘Yes, I have, actually.’

‘And what were the findings?’

‘They could find no physical reason for the...problem.’

‘So what, then? What are you trying to tell me?’

‘I’m trying to tell you that, when it actually comes to...you know... I can’t actually... I fear I’m not able to accommodate a man.’ Anna finished the sentence all in a rush, lowering her eyes against the shame that was sweeping over her that she should have to confess such a thing to the most virile, the most sexually charged, man she had ever met. A man who was now no doubt about to break off their short engagement.

There was a brief silence punctuated by Zahir’s shallow breathing.

‘Can I ask what has led you to this conclusion?’

Oh, God. Anna just wanted to make this hell go away. To make Zahir and the problem and the whole miserable issue of having sex at all just disappear. Why couldn’t she just forget men, and getting married, and go and live in spinster isolation with nothing but a couple of undemanding cats for company? But beside her Zahir was waiting, the small amount of space between them shimmering with his impatient quest for information. There was nothing for it. She was going to have to tell him.

‘Prince Henrik and I...’ She paused, cringing inside. ‘We never consummated our betrothal. You might as well know, that was why he broke off our engagement.’

‘I wasn’t aware that that was a prerequisite of a fiancée.’ His eyes scoured her face. ‘A wife, yes, but surely before marriage a woman is at liberty to withhold her favours?’

‘That’s just it, I didn’t deliberately withhold them. It turned out that I was completely...unsatisfactory.’

‘So let me get this straight.’ Oh, dear Lord, still Zahir persisted with his questions. Couldn’t he let it drop now? In a minute he would be asking her to draw him a diagram. ‘You wanted to have sex with your fiancé but for some reason you weren’t able?’

‘Yes, well, sort of.’ Since he had posed the question so baldly, Anna was forced to accept that she hadn’t actually wanted to have sex with Henrik at all. In fact, the thought of his pallid, sweaty hands fumbling around her most intimate areas still made her feel a bit sick. But the point was it had been expected of her. And she had failed.

‘It was more Henrik’s idea. He said it was important that we consummated our relationship before the wedding. “Try before you buy”, I believe was his expression.’

Zahir’s lip curled with distaste.

‘And, as it turned out, it was just as well he did.’

This produced a low growl, like the rumble of a hungry lion, then a silence that Anna felt compelled to fill.

‘I just thought you ought to know. Before we marry, I mean. In case it might prove to be a problem for us.’

‘And do you think it will, Annalina?’ Leaning forward, Zahir stretched out a hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his touch surprisingly gentle. Then, holding her chin between his finger and thumb, he tilted her face so that she had no alternative but to gaze into those bitter-chocolate eyes. ‘Do you think it will be a problem for us?’

With her whole body going into paralysis, including the beat of her heart and pump of her lungs, it was quite possible that staying alive might prove to be a problem. She stared at the sweep of his jawline—the one facial feature that probably defined him more than any other. As if hewn from granite, it was as uncompromising and as harshly beautiful as him. There was an indentation in the squared-off chin, she noted—not a dimple. A man like Zahir Zahani would never be in possession of a dimple. A strong dusting of stubble shaded its planes.

On the bridge in Paris, when she had so recklessly decided to kiss him, she had been dimly aware that his skin had felt smooth, freshly shaved. But how would it would feel tonight, now, with that tempting shadow of dark beard? Suddenly she longed to find out, to feel it rasp against her cheek like the lick of a cat’s tongue. He was so very close...so very difficult to resist.

‘I don’t know.’ Finally finding her voice, Anna blinked against the erotic temptation. That was the truth: she didn’t. Right now she didn’t know anything at all. Except that she wanted Zahir to kiss her more than anything, more than she cared about her next breath. She found herself unconsciously squirming on the makeshift sofa, the rough weave of the tribal rugs scratching the exposed bare skin of her thigh as her dress rode up.

What was she doing? This had not been her plan at all. When she had summoned up her courage, faced Zahir with her guilty, frankly embarrassing, secret, it had been with the intention of letting him know what he was taking on here. That his fiancée was frigid. Anna still felt the pain of the word, hurled at her by Henrik as he had levered his body off her, before pulling on his clothes and storming off into the night. Frigid.

His accusation had torn into her, flaying her skin, leaving her staring up at the ceiling in horrified confusion. Not to be able to perform the most basic, natural function of a woman was devastating. She was inadequate, useless. Not a proper woman at all, in fact. The doctor’s diagnosis hadn’t helped. Being told there was nothing physically wrong with her, that there was no quick fix—no medical fix at all, in fact—had only added to her lack of self-worth. Neither had time softened the blow, her deficiency seeping into her pride and her confidence, leaving her feeling empty, like a hollow shell.

So what on earth was she doing now? Why was she writhing about like some sort of temptress, trying to get Zahir’s attention, setting herself up for what was bound to be a painful and embarrassing fall? Because she wanted him, that was why. She wanted his lips against hers, touching, tasting, crushing her mouth, sucking the breath out of her until she was gasping for air. She wanted him to make her feel. The way no one ever had before. The way she now knew with a dizzying certainty that he could.

Zahir stared into Annalina’s flushed face that he still held tilted up towards him. At the eyes that were heavy with a drugging sense of what appeared to be arousal. And once again he found himself wondering what the hell was going on in her head. If she had been flirting with him earlier on, this felt more like full-on seduction. And this after she had just told him she was incapable of sexual intercourse. It didn’t make any sense. But neither did the drag of lust that was weighing down his bones, making it impossible to move away from her, or the prickle of heat that had swept through his body, like he’d been plugged into the national grid. He could feel it now, right down to his finger tips that were tingling against the soft skin of her chin.

And there was something else bothering him too. It had been building ever since Annalina had started to talk about this ex-fiancé of hers, Prince Henrik, or whatever his wretched name was. Just the thought of him touching Annalina, his Annalina, had sent his blood pressure rocketing. By the time she’d got to the bit about them not being able to consummate their relationship, he had been ready to tear the man limb from limb, happy to chuck the remains of his mutilated body to the vultures without a backward glance. And this aggression for a man he had never met—nor ever would, if he wanted to avoid a life sentence for homicide. He could still feel the hatred seething inside him now: that such a man had dared to try and violate this beautiful creature, then discard her like a piece of trash. It had taken all of his self-control not to let Annalina see his revulsion.

Now Zahir spread his hand possessively under her jaw, his eyes still holding hers, neither of them able to break contact.

‘There’s one sure way to find out.’ He heard his words through the roar of blood in his ears, the throb of it pulsing in his veins. Not that he was in any doubt. He knew he could take this beautiful princess and erase the memory of that spineless creep of a creature, take her to his bed and show her what a real man could do. Just the thought of it made his hands tremble and he pressed the pads of his thumbs against her skin to steady them, rhythmically stroking up and down. He watched her eyelashes flutter against his touch and the roar inside him grew louder.

He might not be able to read Anna’s mind, but he could read her body, and that was all the encouragement he needed. The angle of her head, the slight arching of her back that pushed her breasts towards him, the soft rasp of her breath, all told him that she was his for the taking. That she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her. Well, so be it. But this time the kiss would be on his terms.

He lowered his head until their mouths were only a fraction apart. Now, a voice inside his head commanded. And Zahir obeyed. Planting his lips firmly on Annalina’s upturned pout, he felt its warm softness pucker beneath him and the resulting kick of lust in his gut momentarily halted him right there. He inhaled deeply through his nose. This was not going to be a gentle, persuasive kiss. This was going to be hot and heavy and hardcore. This was about possession, domination, a man’s need for a woman. His need for her right now.

He angled his head to be able to plunder more deeply, the soft groan as her lips parted to allow him access only fuelling the fire that was raging through him. His tongue delved into the sensual cavern of her mouth, seeking her own with a brutal feverishness that saw it twist around its target, touching, tasting, taking total control, until Anna reciprocated, the lick of her tongue against his taking him to new fervid heights. Releasing her chin, Zahir moved his fingers to the back of her head, pushing them forcefully up through her hair, feeling the combs and grips that held the tresses in their swept-up style dislodge satisfyingly beneath his touch until the thick locks of blonde hair fell free, tumbling down through his fingers and over her shoulders.

Grabbing a handful of this glorious, silken wonder, Zahir used it to anchor her in place, to hold her exactly where he wanted her, so that he could increase the pressure on her mouth still further, increase the intensity of the kiss, heighten the pleasure that was riotously coursing through him. And, when Anna snaked her hands behind his neck, pressing herself against him, her breasts so soft, so feminine against the muscled wall of his chest, it was all he could do to stop himself from taking her right there and then. No questions asked, no thoughts, no deliberation, no cross-examination. Nothing but a blind desire to possess her in the most carnal way possible. To make her his.

Which would be totally wrong. Releasing her lips, Zahir pulled back, the breath heaving in his chest, the tightening in his groin almost unbearably painful. A kiss was one thing, but to take her virginity—for surely that was what they were talking about here?—was quite another. This wasn’t the time or the place. And to do it merely to prove himself more of a man than Henrik would be morally reprehensible. Somehow, from somewhere, he was going to have to find some control.

The look of dazed desire in Annalina’s eyes was almost enough to make him claim her again, blow his new-found resolve to smithereens. But within a split second her expression had changed and now he saw a wariness, a fear almost, and that was enough to bring him forcibly to his senses. Realising that he was still clutching a handful of her hair, he let it drop and pushed himself away until he found himself on his feet, staring down at her from a position of towering authority that he felt far more comfortable with.

‘I apologise.’ His voice sounded raw, unfamiliar, as alien to him as the wild sensations that were coursing through the rest of his body. Sensations that he realised would be all too evident if Annalina raised her eyes to his groin. He shifted his position, adjusting the fit of his trousers.

But Annalina wasn’t looking at him. She was busy with her hair, combing her fingers through the blonde tresses, arranging it so that it fell over her shoulders. Then she leant forward to retrieve the clips that had fallen to the floor.

‘What is there to be sorry for?’ Now her eyes met his, cold, controlled, defiant. ‘We are engaged, after all.’ She held the largest clip in her hand, a hinged, tortoiseshell affair which now squeaked as she opened and closed its teeth, as if it was ready to take a bite out of him. ‘You are perfectly at liberty to kiss me. To do whatever you like with me, in fact. At least, that’s been the impression you have given me so far.’

There was rebellion in her voice now, matched by the arched posture, the arrogant, feline grace. But her lips, Zahir noticed, were still swollen from the force of their kiss, the delicate skin of her jaw flushed pink where his stubbled chin had scraped against her. And for some reason this gave him a twisted sense of achievement—as if he had marked his territory, claimed her. Especially as, now, everything about Annalina was trying to deny it.

‘Perhaps you would do well to remember that this is all your doing, Annalina. You have brought about this situation and you only have yourself to blame. I am merely trying to find a workable solution.’

A solution that should not involve ripping the clothes off her the moment they were alone.

‘I know, I know.’ Rising to her feet, Annalina planted herself squarely in front of him, sticking out her bottom lip like a sulky teenager. Barefoot, she seemed ridiculously tiny, delicate, her temper making her brittle, as if she would snap in two were he to reach forward and grasp her with his warrior’s hands.

‘And, whilst we’re on the subject of workable solutions, perhaps you would like to tell me how long I am expected to stay in Nabatean. I have duties in my own country, you know, matters that require my attention.’

‘I’m sure.’ Zahir gritted his jaw against the desire to close the small gap between them and punish her impertinence with another bruising kiss. ‘In that case, no doubt you will be relieved to know that you’ll be returning to Dorrada the day after tomorrow.’