4
He’d pulled her into him so fast Lora almost fainted as the air was squeezed from her lungs. She felt the Sheikh’s hard chest press against her bosom, but before she could cry out his lips were on hers, warm and clean, his taste and smell enveloping her as the room and everyone in it seemed to disappear.
The Sheikh kissed her once, hard and with authority, and then he released her as suddenly as he’d pulled her in. Lora stumbled backwards, gasping for air, her head spinning. She felt someone steady her from behind, and she knew it was Carmen. Somehow she knew it would be Carmen and not Mark. She didn’t understand why she knew that. She just did.
Carmen was saying something, and so were the other friends who were part of the tour. But their words sounded like gibberish. It might as well have been animals making bizarre sounds in the woods. Still, through all of it she somehow knew Mark hadn’t said a word, hadn’t made a sound, hadn’t done a thing. Did it matter? Somehow it did matter, but in the most sickening way: It mattered because for some reason Lora was secretly glad Mark hadn’t said a thing!
She stumbled again, but Carmen was holding her tight, and finally Lora nodded and looked up from her daze. She knew she had to look at Mark, but she couldn’t face him. Was this the guilt that victims of assault felt? Or was this the guilt that a cheating whore felt? Was she a victim or a slut? Did she want that kiss or did that man force it upon her? Could both those things be true?
When she was able to focus again, the Sheikh was gone, leaving nothing but a subtle aroma of his musk, green sage and desert oak, a hint of red spice. She could still see his green eyes, wild but focused, intense but somehow still cool. “Of course you are,” he’d whispered to her before smothering her lips with his. Of course I am . . . what? A fool? A slut? A . . . queen?
And then she was whisked back to those private moments she’d spent planning the wedding. Why had she chosen a kingdom for her wedding? She’d always been a loner, a little girl lost in her books and the dreams and fantasies that came along with them. Dreams of kings and queens, fantasies of royal weddings and heirs born to rule. Oh, God, had she been subconsciously wishing for . . .
“We’re going to sue the bastard,” came Mark’s voice from her left, sharp and almost excited, breaking her out of her daydream that was part fantasy, part nightmare. “We’re talking millions here, babe. Maybe tens of millions. Hell, we’ll try for a hundred million!”
Lora turned to him, all her guilt disappearing into the dry desert air. She hated him in that moment, though part of her wasn’t sure if it was because she hated herself as well, hated herself for still thinking about that kiss, still feeling her nipples erect and firm beneath her bra, still sensing the wetness flow silently into her cotton panties beneath that yellow sundress. She didn’t know what to say to Mark. She didn’t know what she’d expected from him. Did she expect him to punch the Sheikh in the nose? No, but it bothered her that he didn’t seem to have even considered it!
“Let’s just go,” she said quietly, her voice wavering a bit as she glanced at Mark and then looked away. “Now. Please. Can we just go?”
“Yes,” said Carmen. “Come on, hon. I got you. Mark, can you call the car service that brought us here? Mark?”
But Mark was already on his cell phone, and Lora frowned when she picked up a couple of words from the conversation. He wasn’t calling the car service. He wasn’t calling the police. He was calling his goddamn lawyer back in the United States.
“Seriously, Mark,” Carmen snarled as she led Lora through the stunned wedding party and towards the staircase leading back down to the atrium. “At least pretend to give a shit about the woman you’re marrying.”
But Mark had one finger in his ear and had already stepped away from the group, nodding and half-grinning as he talked numbers with his New Orleans corporate lawyer. And when Carmen and Lora got outside and into their car, Lora once again felt that strange sense of relief and guilt when she realized she could process this alone, without the support of the man she was supposedly in love with, the man she was about to marry.