TAMSYN HAD HEARD plenty about the ‘walk of shame’ but she’d never experienced it before. The furtive walk from a man’s bedroom back to your own, wearing last night’s clothes and praying that nobody would notice you. But how on earth was she going to manage that when she was wearing full evening dress?
Tamsyn quickly realised it was a naïve and futile hope. Not only did she pass countless servants silently scurrying through the sunlit corridors—she even had the misfortune to encounter a large group of wedding guests who were clearly being given an early-morning guided tour by one of the Sheikh’s assistants. It would have been almost comical to see their reaction to her sudden appearance, if it had been happening to anyone other than her.
The guide’s voice faded away and everyone’s mouths fell open as a barefooted Tamsyn rounded the corner, wearing a now crumpled grey evening dress and dangling her silver high-heeled shoes from one hand, while her other tightly grasped a pair of priceless diamond earrings and a matching choker. The guide seemed to recover himself—maybe he recognised her as the Sheikh’s new sister-in-law—because he cleared his throat and gave a strangled kind of smile.
‘You are lost, mistress?’
Tamsyn gave a thin smile. Yes, she was lost—but only in the emotional sense of the word, and once again wondered what on earth had possessed her to indulge in a long night of sex with a man she instinctively sensed was dangerous.
You know why. Because you couldn’t stop yourself. Because the moment he touched you, you went up in flames.
Ignoring the knowing side glances of the men and the hostile glare of the women in the group, Tamsyn gave a determined shake of her head, making her unbrushed curls fly around her shoulders like angry red corkscrews. ‘I’m just on my way back to my room,’ she said cheerily. ‘It seemed a pity not to get up early and watch the sun rise over the desert.’
They obviously didn’t believe a word she was saying, but since she would never see them again after today—who cared?
She made it back to her room at last, tearing off her dress, throwing aside the shoes and carefully putting the jewellery down, before escaping into the sanctuary of the luxurious bathroom. At least the steam of the hot shower and the rich lather of perfumed soap made her feel marginally better, but not for long, because flashback images kept coming back to haunt her. Imagines of a hard, muscular body driving down on hers and warm arms enfolding her and holding her tight. Just concentrate on what you’re supposed to be doing, she told herself fiercely as she dragged a brush through her unruly curls. She had just slithered into her old denim cut-offs and a clean T-shirt, when there was a rap at the door.
She wasn’t going to deny the leap of her heart in response, or the determined pep talk she gave herself as she walked across the palatial suite. She told herself to play it cool. If Xan Constantinides wanted her phone number then she would give it to him, but she wasn’t going to act like it was a big deal. She might never have had sex before but over the years she’d listened to how friends and colleagues dealt with the thorny issue of The Morning After. And apparently the most stupid thing a woman could ever do, was to come over all eager.
Composing her face into what she hoped wasn’t an over-the-top smile, it faded immediately when she opened the door to discover it wasn’t Xan standing there but the newly crowned Queen of Zahristan—her sister Hannah! A sister whose face was filled with anger as she walked in without waiting to be invited, pushing the door shut behind her, before assuming a grim expression of accusation which Tamsyn recognised all too well.
‘Would you like to tell me what’s going on?’ she demanded.
‘I could ask the same thing of you!’ retorted Tamsyn, reframing the accusation and turning it on its head since attack was always the best form of defence. ‘It’s the first day of your honeymoon—so what are you doing barging into my bedroom at this time in the morning? Won’t your new husband be wondering where you are?’
Hannah bit her lip and Tamsyn was shocked to see the despair which briefly darkened her sister’s eyes because she was usually cheerful, no matter what life threw at her. And despite her own predicament, Tamsyn felt her heart plummet as her worst fears began to materialise. Was Hannah’s marriage already starting to go off the rails, even though she had only been crowned Queen the previous day? She had warned her sister that it was a mistake to marry such a man as arrogant as Kulal. She’d begged her not to go through with the marriage just because she was pregnant, but Hannah hadn’t listened. What if the powerful Sheikh was being cruel to his pregnant wife—what then?
‘So where’s Kulal, Hannah?’ Tamsyn probed, as suspicion continued to stab at her heart like a dagger. ‘Doesn’t he mind you being here, quizzing me, on the first morning of his honeymoon?’
‘I’m not here to talk about my relationship!’ declared Hannah, but Tamsyn could hear the sorrow in her voice. ‘I’m here to ask whether you spent the night with Xan Constantinides.’
And despite all her bravado, Tamsyn felt a shiver whisper over her skin. Was it hearing someone else say the words out loud which drove home the true nature of what she had done? After years of fiercely guarding her innocence she had let the Greek tycoon lead her back to his suite and take her virginity with barely an arrogant snap of his fingers. A man she barely knew. A man she would probably never see again.
And it had been the most amazing thing which had ever happened to her.
They had spent the night having passionate sex—over and over again. He’d said things to her in Greek she hadn’t understood and things to her in English which she had, and which made her blush just remembering them.
‘You drive me crazy. Your breasts are small but the most perfect I have ever seen,’ he had growled at one point, lifting his head from her nipple, where the lick of his tongue and the graze of his teeth had been enough to have her writhing on the bed in ecstasy. ‘And do you want to know what else about you is perfect?’
She remembered thinking how delectable he looked with his cheekbones all flushed and his black hair wild as a lion’s mane from where she’d been running her fingers through it. She remembered an instinctive feeling of sexual power flooding through her as she met his hectic cobalt gaze. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Yes, I do.’
But he had answered with the urgent thrust of his seemingly ever-present erection, and Tamsyn had almost passed with pleasure as he brought her hurtling over the edge of fulfilment, again and again and again.
She must have fallen asleep eventually, because when she opened her eyes it had been to discover herself alone in the rumpled bed with bright sunlight on her face and only a scrawled note occupying the space where Xan had lain. She had picked it up with trembling fingers and read it.
Gone riding in the desert. That was the most perfect night.
Thank you.
Xan.
Tamsyn’s heart had sunk for it had read like the farewell it was obviously intended to be. There had been no line of kisses. No phone number or email address, or invitation to have dinner with him back in London.
Well, what had she been expecting—everlasting love?
Of course she hadn’t, but even facing up to the folly of her actions didn’t make it any easier. She’d done some pretty stupid things in her time, but sleeping with Xan Constantinides must rank right up there with some of the worst decisions she’d ever made. Easy come, easy go—that was probably how he saw it. If you slept with a man without even going out on a formal date, then why would he treat you with respect? Tamsyn swallowed. Was she doomed to follow the path laid down by her own mother, despite her determination to live her life in a very different way?
Now she stared into Hannah’s aquamarine eyes which were so unlike her own. She guessed they each carried a legacy from their different fathers—both useless in their different ways—and fleetingly she wondered whether that was why they’d both made such bad choices when choosing men. Except that she hadn’t chosen Xan—he had chosen her.
And he had done a runner as soon as possible.
She shrugged her shoulders with a familiar gesture of defiance. ‘Yes, I spent the night with Xan Constantinides.’
‘But Tamsyn, why?’
For the first time Tamsyn felt like smiling as she looked at her sister. Her pale-faced sister with dark shadows under her eyes. ‘You’re honestly asking me that? You might be a married woman now—but surely you’re not completely immune to the charms of a man like Xan Constantinides.’
At the mention of marriage, Hannah flinched. ‘No, of course I’m not,’ she said quietly. ‘And that’s precisely why he’s the wrong kind of man for you, Tamsyn. He might be obscenely good-looking and have the kind of sex appeal which should carry a public health warning, but he’s known for his...his...’
‘His what?’ prompted Tamsyn, though her heart was smashing against her rib cage because she guessed what was coming.
‘Let’s just say he enjoys women! He enjoys them very much.’
‘I wasn’t expecting him to be celibate!’
Hannah sucked in a long breath, her face growing serious. ‘It’s more than that. He usually dates actresses. Or models. Or heiresses.’
‘Not waitresses on short-term contracts who are always getting fired for insubordination, you mean?’ offered Tamsyn drily.
‘And you...’
Tamsyn watched as Hannah unconsciously rubbed her enormous gold and ruby wedding band, as if reaffirming to herself that she really was married. And once again she wondered why her sister was standing here on the first morning of her honeymoon, looking like the very opposite of what a glowing newlywed should be. Why wasn’t she romping in bed with her husband? ‘I what, Hannah?’
The new Queen chewed on her lip. ‘I know you were inexperienced with men, Tamsyn,’ she breathed. ‘And by associating with someone like Xan, you’re operating right out of your league.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Tamsyn assured her airily. ‘I’m not anticipating any kind of future with him. I’m not that stupid.’
‘But what...’ Hannah sucked in a deep breath. ‘What if you’re pregnant?’
Tamsyn knew she didn’t have to have this conversation, no matter how close the two sisters had been when they were growing up. But in a way she did need to have it, because wouldn’t voicing her inner fears help put them into perspective? Like when you had a terrible nightmare and the shadows in the room seemed to symbolise all kinds of terrible things—yet when you put a lamp on you soon saw that the imagined monster was a chair, or a dressing table.
‘We used protection,’ she said quietly.
Hannah’s eyes were very big. ‘So did we,’ she whispered. ‘And look what happened.’
And suddenly Tamsyn was made very aware of how easily a woman could be trapped by her own passion. Hannah had accidently become pregnant by the Sheikh which was why she had married him. Who was to say the same thing wouldn’t happen to her? She found herself uttering a small, silent prayer. ‘We’ll just have to hope it doesn’t happen to me,’ she said quietly.
‘And what if it does?’
‘Then I’ll deal with it. But I’m not going to project like that. I’m just going to carry on as before.’
‘Doing what?’
Tamsyn patted the back pocket of her cut-offs to check she had her cellphone. ‘Doing what I always do. Adapting. Moving on.’
Distractedly, Hannah began to pace up and down the room, the silken shimmer of her flowing robes seeming to emphasise the growing differences between them. Stopping in front of one of the tall windows which overlooked the palace gardens, the streaming sunlight had turned her pale blonde hair into liquid gold and Tamsyn thought how scarily royal she looked. ‘Kulal says we might be able to find a role for you in the London Embassy.’
‘As what? The new attaché?’ enquired Tamsyn, deadpan.
‘I’m serious, Tamsyn. There are always cleaning jobs available—or we thought you might like to help the chef in the Ambassador’s private kitchen.’ Hannah gave a somewhat helpless shrug. ‘Something like that.’
‘Well, thanks but no thanks,’ said Tamsyn firmly. ‘I don’t want to be beholden to your husband and I’d prefer to make my own way in life, just like I’ve always done.’
At this, Hannah walked forward to place her hand on Tamsyn’s arm. ‘But if anything happens,’ she said fervently. ‘If you find out you are pregnant—then you will come to me for help, won’t you, Tamsyn?’
‘If I were you, I think I’d be concentrating on your life rather than mine,’ said Tamsyn sharply. ‘I’ve never seen you looking so pale. What’s the matter, Hannah—have you suddenly discovered there are serpents in paradise?’
Was her remark too close to the bone? Was that why Hannah’s face crumpled and she looked as if she was about to cry? Tamsyn felt a sudden pang of guilt as her sister turned towards the arched doorway, but any remorse was quickly cancelled out by the enormity of what her sister had just said to her. Because that was something she hadn’t even considered. Her stomach performed a sickly somersault as Hannah left the room and Tamsyn stared unseeingly at one of the priceless silken rugs. What if Hannah’s fears were true? What if she was pregnant?
She tried to put it—and him—out of her mind, though it wasn’t easy on the flight back to England. Especially when the stewardess had answered her studiedly casual query about Xan by informing her that Mr Constantinides had summoned his own jet and left Zahristan earlier that morning.
But the anxious wait to discover if she was carrying his baby was even harder when she was back in London and the whole thing seemed like a dream. Tamsyn tried all kinds of coping mechanisms. Just like she’d promised Hannah, she threw herself into her latest job—working in a steam-filled café in one of the tiny back roads near Covent Garden, which was mainly frequented by taxi drivers. It wasn’t the best-paid work she’d ever done and it certainly wasn’t the most exciting. She suspected it had been called The Greasy Spoon in an ironic sense, though it certainly lived up to is name since no meal was served unless it was swimming in its own pool of oil. But she wasn’t going to waste hours hunting for some rewarding position which was never going to materialise. She needed to be busy—doing something other than neurotically ticking off the endlessly long days as she waited for her period. She needed to focus on something other than the fact that her first and only lover had not bothered to seek her out—not even to enquire whether she had arrived home safely.
She hated the way she kept glancing at her phone. Even though she hadn’t given him her number, hadn’t part of her thought—hoped—that the Greek tycoon might have somehow tracked her down? It wasn’t outside the realms of possibility that he could have asked the Sheikh, was it? But deep down Tamsyn knew she was clutching at straws and it was never going to happen. For a man to go to the trouble of finding you, he had to like you enough to want to see you again. And you certainly didn’t have to like a woman in order to have sex with her.
But she wasn’t going to beat herself up about it. She hadn’t planned on being intimate with Xan, but she hadn’t planned to be a virgin for ever either. She had been waiting—not for a wedding band, because marriage was something she simply wasn’t interested in. No. She had been waiting for someone to make her feel desire—real, bone-melting desire—even though she’d secretly thought it would never happen. Yet it had. Xan Constantinides might not be a keeper, but she wasn’t deluded enough to deny that he’d had a profound effect on her.
So she tried to be practical rather than wistful. She would probably see him again at the naming ceremony of Kulal and Hannah’s baby, sometime in the not too distant future. And before that happened, she would need to school herself in the art of pretending not to care. If she worked on it hard enough, she might actually have achieved that blissful state by then. Her heart pounded. And if she was pregnant, what then? Then the world would look like a very different place.
But then her period arrived and for some inexplicable reason, she cried and cried. But not for long, because she knew tears were a waste of energy. She just carried on getting up every morning and going to work. It was dark when she started and dark when she finished and although spring was just around the corner, the bitter wind was harsh and unremitting.
And then she had one of those days when everything seemed to go wrong. A customer queried his change, causing the sharp-eyed manageress to watch her like a hawk, which made Tamsyn clumsier than usual. Outside, heavy rain was bashing against the window, making the steamed-up café resemble a sauna, and some inane pop quiz was blaring from the radio, the words incomprehensible above the laddish shouts of conversation. She had just muddled up two egg orders and was anticipating the kind of stern lecture which usually preceded being asked to leave a job, when the doorbell tinged and unusually, the whole place became silent.
Tamsyn looked up as a reverential hush fell over the boisterous customers and she had another of those slow motion moments. Because it was Xan. Xan Constantinides was walking into the crowded café and every single eye in the place was fixed on him.
She wasn’t surprised. Not just because his costly clothes proclaimed his billionaire status, it was more the sense that he was a super-being—somehow larger than life and more good-looking than anyone had a right to be. His rain-spattered dark overcoat was made of fine cashmere and she doubted whether any other Greasy Spoon customer had ever worn handmade shoes, or moved with such a powerful sense of purpose.
She hated the instinctive ripple of recognition which shivered through her body. Hated the sudden clench of her nipples beneath the manmade fabric of her uniform. He was walking towards her, those cobalt eyes fixed firmly on hers and Tamsyn was doing her best to look at him with the kind of politely questioning smile she would give to any other customer, even though she wanted to spit venom at him. But the manageress was literally elbowing her out of the way, surreptitiously patting the bright red perm which the steam had turned to frizz, her fifty-year-old face filled with the gushing excitement of a schoolgirl as she stepped forward.
‘Can I ’elp you, sir?’
Was Xan clued-up enough to realise the power structure which was being acted out in front of him? Was that why he turned the full wattage of his incredible smile on the manageress? Or maybe that’s just what came naturally, thought Tamsyn disgustedly. Maybe he used his remarkable charisma as a means to an end, no matter where he was.
‘You certainly can,’ said Xan, his honeyed Greek accent sounding almost obscenely erotic. ‘I was wondering if I might borrow Tamsyn for a little while?’
The woman’s smile instantly turned into a grimace. ‘She doesn’t finish her shift until seven,’ she answered unhelpfully.
And that was when Tamsyn piped up—and to hell with the consequences. She stared at Xan, determined not to be affected by the gleam of his gaze as she tried desperately to forget the last time she’d seen that powerful body. Yet how could she forget all that olive-skinned splendour as he’d held her tightly in his arms? Or discount the temporary sanctuary he’d provided as he rocked in and out of her body all night.
And then he had left her. Had walked away as if she didn’t exist. Left her open to pain and self-doubt. Was she going to keep coming back for more?
‘You can’t borrow me,’ she snapped. ‘I’m not a book you take from the library.’
‘Tamsyn! I will not have you speaking to a customer like that!’ the manageress cut in, revelling in the opportunity to administer a public telling-off.
‘Please.’ Xan’s intervention was smooth. ‘It’s no problem. I can see you’re very busy here and unable to spare her. I’ll come back at seven, if that’s okay.’
Tamsyn wanted to scream at them to stop talking about her as if she wasn’t in the room, because hadn’t that been what all those case-workers used to do when they held those interminable meetings to discover why she kept bunking off school? And she wanted her stupid, betraying body to stop reacting to the Greek. She didn’t want to look at the sensual curve of his lips and be reminded of how it had felt to have him kiss her. ‘I’m busy at seven,’ she said.
The cobalt eyes narrowed. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’ It was a lie, but Tamsyn didn’t care—because surely a small white lie was preferable to doing or saying something you might later regret. And she didn’t owe him anything.
‘Then when are you free?’ he persisted.
‘I’m not,’ Tamsyn answered. ‘There’s absolutely nothing I want to say to you, Xan. It’s over. You made that perfectly clear. So if you’ll excuse me—the kitchen has just rung the bell with another order.’
And with that, she marched over to the aluminium serving hatch to pick up the bacon butty which was already growing cold.