IT WAS JUST a wedding. That was all. Just a few more hours to get through before she could go home. That’s what Tamsyn kept telling herself as she made her way towards the grand throne room, in yet another outfit which Hannah had insisted she wear. She supposed her sister must have secretly had all these clothes made for her before she arrived, but she couldn’t deny that the long, floaty dress suited her. Unlike the dramatic emerald gown she’d worn to the rehearsal dinner last night, this one was a much gentler hue. The soft grey colour of a pigeon’s wing, the bodice and silk-chiffon skirt were sprinkled with tiny crystals which sparkled like stars as she moved.
Tonight, the jewels she’d been loaned were diamonds—some more chandelier drop earrings, along with a priceless choker which blazed like ice fire around her neck. And just like last night, when Tamsyn glanced in the mirror before leaving her suite, she didn’t recognise the image reflected back at her. To the outside world she looked sleek, expensive and polished but inside she felt....disgruntled. And although she hated the reason for her discontentment, she wasn’t deluded enough to deny it. Because wasn’t the truth that her irritation had been caused by Xan Constantinides ignoring her throughout most of the pre-wedding dinner? He’d been laughing and joking in Italian with that stunning woman on his other side and making out like she was invisible. And yes, she had been behaving in a particularly waspish manner beforehand, but even so...
She’d made her escape as soon as the food part of the evening was over. She’d gone back to her suite of rooms and run herself a deep and perfumed bath—then spent most of the night tossing and turning as the image of a man with black hair and cobalt eyes kept haunting her thoughts. More than once she’d awoken to find the tips of her breasts all pointy and aching and a molten heat throbbing between her thighs, causing her to writhe frustratedly between the fine cotton sheets. She’d told herself she needed to pull herself together and put the infuriating Greek right out of her mind, but somehow it wasn’t turning out to be that easy.
The moment she entered the throne room, Xan Constantinides was the first person she saw, despite the fact that the Sheikh was already at the front of the gilded throne room, waiting for his bride. Tamsyn’s heart gave a powerful lurch as she willed her face not to register any emotion.
He looked...
She swallowed against the sudden rawness in her throat. He looked delectable. In a charcoal suit which suited his colouring, he stood taller than any other man there else. Even more disturbing was the fact that he seemed to sense when she entered, because he turned his head and she was caught in that cobalt stare, making her feel as if she was imprisoned there. As if she wanted to be imprisoned there. She willed him not to come up and talk to her and then of course, she wished he would, but Tamsyn told herself to concentrate on the ceremony itself and to fix her eyes on the bride, who was just arriving.
Hannah looked gorgeous, her pregnancy bump a subtle swell and well disguised by her unusual wedding gown of beaten gold. She’d apologised for not making Tamsyn her bridesmaid, explaining that it wasn’t Zahristanian custom to do so. Not that Tamsyn had minded. Marriage had always seemed such an outdated institution to her and one which rarely lasted. More than once she’d wondered why it couldn’t be replaced by something more modern.
Yet she sensed the historical significance of the vows being made, though Hannah’s voice was so low she could barely hear them and the Sheikh looked so stern that Tamsyn was certain he felt as trapped as her sister did. But she clapped and cheered along with the other guests once the couple had been pronounced King and Queen, and she toasted their health in spiced fire-berry juice, as was traditional.
The meal which followed was far more formal than the one they’d eaten last night and Tamsyn told herself she was pleased to sit between the Sultan of Marazad and a representative from the desert kingdom of Maraban. Glad to be miles away from Xan Constantinides and relieved she didn’t have to endure his unsettling presence.
But that was a lie.
All she could think about was the Greek tycoon, and her body seemed determined to reflect her increasingly distracted thoughts. She felt as if her skin had become too tight for her body. As if her senses had suddenly become sensitised. The sound of her heart seemed amplified, its beat a million times more powerful than usual. And there was no respite from these unsettling feelings which made her feel as if she was fighting something deep inside herself. Nowhere she could escape to, because she couldn’t just get up and leave in the middle of a royal wedding. She tried to chat politely to the men on either side and not glance further down the long table to where a Hollywood actress and a female member of the British royal family were giggling like schoolgirls at something Xan was saying.
She wondered how early she could decently leave, especially when a troupe of musicians started playing in the galleried ballroom next door. She knew there would be dancing after dinner because Hannah had told her so, but Tamsyn had no intention of watching couples circling the dance floor and pretending she was fine on her own. Usually, she was—mainly because she had made self-sufficiency into an art form. She never yearned for a partner because that was the only way she knew how to function. If you didn’t yearn for something, you wouldn’t be disappointed—and anyway, relationships were a waste of time. Experience had taught her that.
Yet tonight she keenly felt the absence of something in her life. Or rather, someone. Maybe it was the inevitable sentimentality conjured up by the wedding vows, or the realisation that Hannah was now married which was making her feel so shockingly alone. Or perhaps it was the just the realisation that there was nothing waiting for her back in England other than a pile of mounting debts.
Dabbing at her lips with a napkin, she decided to slip away, just like last night. Who would notice her when there were so many important guests present? She rose from her seat and was just bending to retrieve the Dior bag Hannah had insisted on lending her, when she heard a rich voice from behind.
‘You’re not leaving?’ came the silky question.
She didn’t need to turn around to know who was speaking, but prior knowledge offered no protection against her feelings and Tamsyn’s heart was hammering as she straightened up to meet that mocking cobalt stare. He didn’t want to talk to you last night, she reminded herself—so why not continue with that state of affairs and everyone will be happy. She gave him a tight smile. ‘Oh, dear. Nobody was supposed to notice.’
‘Where are you going?’
Tamsyn shrugged. Where did he think she was going? ‘Back to my room. Or should I say—to my vast suite of rooms.’
‘But the night is young.’
She opened her eyes very wide. ‘I didn’t think people actually said that kind of thing any more.’
He raised his brows. ‘You’re implying it’s clichéd?’
‘I suspect you’re clever enough to work that one out for yourself, Mr Constantinides.’
Their gazes clashed in look which made Tamsyn feel almost playful and the desire to flirt was overwhelming. Yet she never flirted—she wasn’t sure she even knew how. She’d always been closed up and defensive because she didn’t particularly like men and she certainly didn’t trust them. So how come she was suddenly playing a game she’d never played before and finding she was comfortable with it? How come she wanted to tease this darkly impressive individual and for him to tease her back? She found herself wanting to stroke her finger over the curving lines of his sensual mouth, and...and...
And she had to stop this.
Because this was dangerous. More than dangerous. Tamsyn’s heart clenched with something which felt uncomfortably close to vulnerability, and that scared the hell out of her. ‘I have to go,’ she said.
‘Not yet.’ He laid his hand on her arm. ‘I get the distinct feeling that I really need to change your impression of me.’
Chin lifting, she offered him a belligerent gaze. ‘And why would you want to do that?’
‘Call it a peace-making move in honour of your sister’s wedding, if you like. Just a little light-hearted fun, that’s all. And the dancing has only just started,’ he observed. ‘You can’t possibly leave until you’ve had at least one dance.’
‘I didn’t think it was obligatory. I wasn’t planning on dancing with anyone.’
An arrogant smile touched the edges of his lips. ‘Not even with me?’
‘Especially not with you.’
‘Oh? And why not, agape mou? Don’t you like dancing?’
His voice had deepened and the throwaway endearment in his native tongue made him even more irresistible. Tamsyn stared into his dark blue eyes. When she was younger she had thrown herself around a dance floor with the rest of them, swaying beneath the flash of lights, to the DJ’s heavy beat. She had shaken her arms in the air and tossed her curls while her skin had glowed and grown hot. But she’d never been asked to dance by a devastatingly handsome man in a fancy ballroom, while wearing a silken dress which pooled around her ankles.
‘Because it’s a bad idea,’ she prevaricated.
‘Stop fighting it, Tamsyn. You know you want to dance with me,’ he said with silky perception, his hand moving to the small of her back as he propelled her gently towards the dance floor.
Even then she might have stopped him had Tamsyn not glanced up at the dais and seen the newly married Sheikh looking down on them, with what looked like bemusement in his eyes. Was he surprised she was planning to dance with such an honoured guest as his rich pal? She knew Kulal didn’t like her, just as she didn’t like him. In fact, they’d had an almighty row before the wedding when he’d turned up on her sister’s doorstep. But you had to let bygones be bygones, especially now that he was her new brother-in-law.
So why not show the Sheikh she could behave with dignity—and prove to herself that she wasn’t a total social misfit? Why shouldn’t she dance with the best-looking man in the room? With a resolute nod of her head, she allowed Xan to lead her onto the ballroom, pleased there were enough people to ensure they could just blend into the crowd. Just one dance, she told herself. One dance to fulfil her obligations and she could be off.
But life never quite conformed the way you wanted it to. One dance became two, which then somehow morphed into three, and each dance seemed to propel them closer, so that their bodies felt as if they were glued together. And Xan wasn’t saying anything. Well, neither was she, come to think of it. Tamsyn blamed the loudness of the lilting music but the truth was that she couldn’t think of anything she wanted to say other than something wholly inappropriate.
Like: I love the way you make me feel when you tighten your arms around my waist like that. Or, could you possibly press yourself a little closer?
Did he realise that, or did she somehow silently communicate her wishes to him? Because surely there must have been a reason—some defining moment—when Xan Constantinides thought it was perfectly acceptable for him to run his fingertips down her back in a way which even to her inexperienced self, spoke of careless intimacy. For several minutes, she let him do just that and she couldn’t deny how good it felt. She began to shiver each time he made the tantalisingly slow journey from the top of her neck to the base of her spine. Her heart was hammering and the rush of heat to her face echoed the molten heat which was clenching at her sex. Yet far from being disturbed by the sultry desire she was experiencing Tamsyn was aware of an intense feeling of relief. Briefly she closed her eyes as she dipped her forehead to rest on his shoulder as she felt the squirm of excitement. So she wasn’t frigid, after all. She could feel the things other women felt. Sweet heaven—could she feel them! It was as if someone had just flicked a switch and brought her body to life, so that every sinew and fibre was thrilling with the potent power of his proximity.
She heard him murmur something in her ear, it’s meaning a mystery because it was said in Greek. But then he pushed one thigh hard against hers, as if urging her legs apart and she found her super-susceptible body obeying his silent command. Her knees widened and a sudden thrill of pleasure shot through her as she felt the pressure of his hard thigh pushing against the softness of hers. Her breasts were thrusting insistently at his chest and her knees had become all wobbly and weak. She could feel the rub of her panties over a sudden honeyed slickness and felt an insistent yearning to have him touch her there...to whisper his finger over her most intimate place. To ease that escalating ache which was making her want to squirm with frustration. She swallowed, trying to ignore the heat which was flaring in her cheek—and that was when alarm bells started ringing. What was she doing? After years of being purer than the driven snow, was she really planning to make a slutty spectacle of herself on the dance floor—just because some super-smooth man was pressing all the right buttons?
Removing her hands from his shoulders she flattened her palms against his chest, trying not to be distracted by the hard wall of muscle as she stared up into his face. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded.
He didn’t look the slightest bit bothered by her furious accusation as he lifted his broad shoulders in a careless shrug. ‘I should have thought that was perfectly obvious.’
‘So suddenly you’re all over me, having ignored me all the way through dinner last night?’ she accused.
‘You were so combative that you deserved to be ignored,’ he said softly. ‘But I thought we’d agreed on a truce tonight?’
‘Does...?’ She swallowed, willing the erratic hammering of her pulse to subside. ‘Does a truce involve you coming on to me like that, in such a public way?’
‘Oh, come on, Tamsyn. Let’s not be hypocritical about what just happened. I thought you were enjoying yourself.’ He flickered her a slow smile. ‘I know I certainly was. And most people are too busy dancing to notice how close we were getting.’
Tamsyn shook her head, aware of the swing of heavy diamond earrings against her neck and nervously she touched the sleepers to check the precious jewels were secure. Which they were—unlike her. She was one seething mass of insecurity. And fear. She mustn’t discount the dominant emotion which was making her feel so scared. She felt as if she’d just stepped onto a sturdy wooden floor and it was about to give way beneath her. As if Xan Constantinides had the ability to waken something inside her—something which had been sleeping all these years. Suddenly the defiant persona she had perfected to protect herself from the kind of life her mother had lived, was in danger of crumbling before her eyes. Suddenly she was terrified of just how exposed he was making her feel. As if she was nothing but a bunch of sensitised nerve-endings which were jangling with hungry need. She shook her head again.
‘Look, I can’t do this,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry. Enjoy the rest of the party but I’m going to bed. It’s going to be a long flight tomorrow and I have a double shift on Monday. Nice meeting you, Xan,’ she said, and without another word she began to walk off the dance floor, aware of people turning to look at her as she hurriedly brushed past them.
Xan watched her go, caught in a rare moment of indecision, his eyes drawn to the bright shimmer of curls which cascaded like flames down her back. The voice of reason was urging him to let her go, because she was trouble. Anyone could see that. All mixed up and not his type. But the hunger of his body was more powerful than reason and he’d never had a woman walk away from him before—not like this. Was this how Hannah had snared the Sheikh—the two very ordinary Wilson sisters possessing a simple but effective strategy which would make powerful men lust after them?
Like a man hypnotised he found himself following her, mesmerised by the slender curve of her glittering bottom as she left the dance floor, surprised when she didn’t look back. Not once. There was no furtive side glance to check whether he was on her tail. And that was exciting, too. Her steps were determined—as if she really wanted to get away from him. This was the chase, he realised—the chase which other men spoke of but which he’d never encountered before. He could feel the tightening of his groin and hear the wild thunder of his heart, when suddenly she disappeared from sight and he was unprepared for the disappointment which flared through him. Purposefully increasing his pace, he rounded the corner and saw her—and perhaps the sound of his footsteps was enough to make her stop and turn around—a look of bewilderment on her face, as if she was genuinely surprised to see him. As if she doubted her ability to make a man follow her.
‘Xan?’ she said, creasing her forehead in a frown.
‘Tamsyn,’ he answered, and began to walk towards her, aware of her nipples pushing hard against the crystalline bodice of her dress. As he approached, he could feel the warm rush of blood pumping through his body and in that moment he felt as if he would die if he couldn’t have her.
He had reached her now and could see her darkened pupils making her green eyes appear almost black—just as the moist tremble of her lips indicated an unspoken desire to have him to crush them with his own. And he would, he thought hungrily. He would take the wildcat Tamsyn Wilson to his bed and subdue her in the most satisfactory way possible.