CHAPTER EIGHT
THE SUN BURST THROUGH her bedroom with confusing brightness. She blinked and stretched, her body tender and heavy with satisfaction.
Had it been a dream?
She pushed up on her elbows, looking for anything that would answer her questions. There was no sign that Khalifa had been in her bedroom. No sign that he’d pleasured her again and again, playing her body as a virtuoso might command an instrument.
But when she stood, every single cell in her body groaned. With agony and ecstasy. With delight and desire.
He’d made love to her.
Could it be called that without love?
Without words, without promises, without anything other than the primal fulfilment of desire and need? Of urgency and passion? No. It was sex. Hard and fast and toe-curlingly satisfying.
Was this the relationship he wanted with her? Middle-of-the-night trysts that made her scream with heat and delirious pleasure but which were over almost immediately.
She padded towards the bathroom on autopilot – it was bigger than her bedroom at home had been – and lifted the nightgown off her body. There were marks on her breasts – pink abrasions – from his stubble, his fingers, his kisses and touch. A mark low down on the flesh of her stomach showed where he’d sucked her over and over, tormenting her, and left a dark circle of possession. She ran her fingers over the evidence of their time together, trying to catch the memories. But they ran like liquid gold through her fingertips; hot and unattainable. Her neck had darkened as she’d expected, proof of passion borne of rage – proof of another man’s touch.
“Sleep now, lanaria.” He’d stroked her arm gently as he’d pulled away from her and she’d been too tired to argue. Her body was heavy with pleasure and awareness, fully satiated by his expert touch.
But now, in the light of day, other emotions bubbled through her. Anger. Impotence. Frustration.
Need.
She showered and ran the loofah over her skin, covering every inch of herself with foamy water, scrubbing hard then rinsing herself all over. She washed her hair and scrubbed her nails and then, when she could put it off no longer, she stepped out of the warmth of the shower, reaching for a soft towel.
What else had he said, as he’d left? Her mind struggled to recall – she’d been on the edge of sleep. “You have a busy day tomorrow.”
Did she?
How did he know?
Had he arranged it? Or spoken to Aïna? Was he more involved in her life than she realised? Other than sneaking into her room in the small hours of the morning to take possession of her body?
She stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in the luxurious towel, distracted by her thoughts, so at first she didn’t notice that Aïna was waiting for her, with several other servants.
“Good morning, madam.”
Kylie startled, her enormous blue eyes flying across the room, her cheeks flushed pink.
“Oh!”
Aïna’s smile was kind. “Did you sleep well?”
The flush on her cheeks darkened. She nodded, thinking that she had slept well. From exhaustion at first, and then from satiation. Her gaze zipped to the bed, looking for proof of Khalifa’s company.
There was none. It had been made and now looked like it would be at home in a five star hotel. The cream and gold bed linen, the turquoise sheet and scatter cushions. It was a study of elegance and beauty.
“Fine, thank you,” she croaked, turning her attention back to Aïna and smiling politely, encompassing the other servants in the greeting. They didn’t return her smile and she remembered belatedly that doing so might get them thrown in jail.
Of all the preposterous, absurd fears!
“Your schedule today is busy,” Aïna murmured, moving closer, the kind smile not dropping from her face. “But, as with yesterday, you may tell me if it is too much and I will rearrange things.”
Kylie had no time to respond; Aïna continued. “The chef has prepared an omelette for you, per your list of meal requests. It is tomato and olive and there is also avocado on toast and freshly squeezed orange juice.”
Kylie followed Aïna’s gaze through the doors on the other side of her bedroom, and in doing so her attention hitched on the balcony. A hint of sand could be seen inside her suite, which reminded her of the incredible storm she’d fallen asleep listening to the night before.
“Aïna? The storm last night. Does that happen often?”
“Ah, the desert winds,” she nodded, her words spiced with a thicker accent. “Yes, they are a part of life here. Storms like last night’s, that come and go in a matter of hours, are not so severe. But from time to time there are events which last all day or all night and they dump sand everywhere – even in the city.”
“Incredible,” Kylie murmured. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“They are beautiful, in some ways,” Aïna agreed. “But they can also be destructive.”
“Yes – and not pleasant to be caught out in!” She thought of the way the sand had rustled up to her, so fast she didn’t realise what was happening. “I wonder if anyone was stranded in the desert last night.”
“Perhaps,” Aïna agreed. “Though most who venture out onto the sand plains know better than to do so without protection. Calico tents are designed to withstand the worst of the storms, and are quick to erect. Reading the winds is a skill our people are born with.” She winked. “These storms do not often catch us by surprise.”
“Really?”
Kylie lifted a finger to her wet hair, contemplating that. In Australia, she had known when a thunderstorm was brewing. She could smell the electricity in the air, detect a very faint hum in the atmosphere. It wasn’t a stretch that people adapted their skills to whichever environment they found themselves in.
“Truly.” Aïna winked. “Your maids will help you dress now.”
Kylie’s eyes lifted to the trio of servants still hovering just inside the door. They looked nice enough, but Kylie had no interest in being dressed each morning. Particularly not when her body bore the signs of Khalifa’s possession. The visible markings of how he’d made her feel the night before.
Her stomach lurched as she remembered her first orgasm. It had arrived like the sandstorm, abruptly and suddenly, but perhaps he’d seen the signs? Perhaps he knew what to look for. He certainly knew how to bring her to an incandescent level of need with almost insulting ease.
“No.” She shook her head, surprised by the word – and the commanding tone her voice achieved. For Aïna, she softened it with a small smile. “I don’t want to be dressed each day. I don’t need that s.”
Aïna arched a brow. “Some of the outfits are …elaborate. Not easy for one person to put on.”
“Then you can help me,” Kylie pointed out, almost missing the sharp intake of breath from one of the maids by the door. “Is that wrong?”
“No, madam.” Aïna’s look was warning towards the servants and then she nodded, apparently dismissing them, because when Kylie looked around they were walking through the door, bowing low as they went. When they were alone, Aïna continued.
“It is. What did I say? They looked like I’d suggested you … I don’t know. They looked like I said something wrong. What is it?”
Aïna shook her head kindly. “It is not wrong. It’s just different from our usual protocols. There is a strict hierarchy for servants of the palace. Usually, someone in my position wouldn’t…”
“Wouldn’t dress someone.” She groaned. “I’m sorry, Aïna. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Does it look as though I am offended?”
“It’s just so different to what I’d expected.” She padded towards the wardrobe, aware that Aïna was following and not bothered. “I had prepared myself for servants. I have grown up with nannies and maids and the concept wasn’t new to me. But I didn’t realise how different it would be when I arrived. Will I ever feel comfortable about having so many people in my personal space?”
“Yes,” Aïna said simply. “Of course you will. It will take time.”
“So you are my Mistress, but you’re in charge of all the other servants. So for you to do something like dress me is way below your professional grade.”
“Usually,” Aïna agreed. “But I understand you are still learning.”
“God, I’m never going to be able to do this.” The admission of defeat was surprising to both of them, but as Kylie said the words, she knew how strongly she felt them. She’d come to Argenon expecting to marry a man – a powerful man, yes, from a wealthy family, but not the King. Not the blood ruler, to whom all and sundry bowed down.
“Of course you are.” Aïna dismissed Kylie’s doubts with kind swiftness. “Life in Australia is very different. You are naturally egalitarian. This isn’t normal for you. But over time, you will learn our ways.”
She nodded slowly. She would, because she had to.
“This outfit was selected for your day,” Aïna gestured to a gown that was hanging to the side of the others. It was beautiful – red and black and gold with swirls in the fabric. She reached for it, her fingers running over the textured linen with appreciation. It looked hand embroidered. The dress itself was reasonably simple. Floor length and billowing, with a conservative neckline and sleeves that fell loosely to her elbows.
“So far as your outfits go, this is of the more casual variety.”
Kylie’s lips tweaked with amusement. “Really?”
“No bodice, no structure. It is designed for days where you will be conducting your own business within the palace, rather than being seen by anyone, or having photographs taken. You may pair it with flat shoes for ease and minimal jewellery.”
“Just like when I’m hanging around at home watching Netflix,” she quipped, her eyes showing bewilderment.
“Exactly,” Aïna agreed, winking at the joke. “Would you prefer to dress yourself today?”
“Yes,” Kylie laughed. “I think I can manage a dress.”
“I’ll wait outside then. Call if you do need me.”
Kylie stared at the dress for a few moments before dropping her towel. Belatedly, she realised she had no clue where her underwear was stored. She pulled doors open until she found folded silk lingerie and fingered through it. There was nothing simple or casual about this. Each piece was exquisite. She settled on a black lace thong and a matching camisole – both fitted her perfectly – then slipped the dress over her head.
It was even more striking on. Though she had damp hair and her face was clean of any cosmetic enhancement, the dress played to her strengths, the colour a perfect foil to her complexion. And it felt divine.
She chose a pair of simple shoes, as Aïna had suggested, then padded out into the lounge. Aïna was waiting and Kylie did a twirl for her inspection before she realised that Aïna was not alone.
As she spun, her eyes thudded onto a large, overbearing figure and she froze, all the amusement and light-hearted fun of the moment evaporating at the sight of her husband.
Did someone dress him?
She couldn’t help but wonder. Did someone else get to see him naked? Touch him? She bit back the groan.
“Aïna.” His word, gruff and low, was a simple command and Aïna was back to being pure business. She bowed low, first towards Khalifa and then towards Kylie, only the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth showed any of their joking camaraderie that had developed.
“Back again?” She drawled, pleased at how the words came out slightly sarcastic and dismissive.
Disapproving, even.
But he wasn’t listening.
His eyes were burning through her, first skimming her face, her still-wet hair that was falling in blonde ringlets down her back, then the dress, which she was suddenly incredibly glad to be wearing. If she’d still had just a towel on she might have dropped it and begged him to make love to her again.
The very idea sent iron into her spine.
“Well,” she prompted, the words like ice. “Did you want something?”
A flicker of amusement on his lips as he roused himself from his appreciative inspection. “We have an appointment.”
“We have an appointment,” she repeated, her eyes showing confusion. “Who with?”
“No. You and I have an appointment.”
“We have an appointment with each other.”
He pulled a face. “Am I saying something wrong? Is it not obviously what I mean?”
“Oh, no, yes.” She winced. If anything, it was Kylie who was being unclear. “But why do we need an appointment? We’re married. We even have the secret doorway to prove it.”
Amusement bubbled in his chest. He suppressed it. “My days are busy. My nights too. It will be necessary for us to schedule time as required.”
“Right. How … intimate.” This was the man who’d come to her room in the middle of the night and made love to her until she was burning up. For that, they didn’t need an appointment, but for anything else?
So this was the space she was to be accorded in his life, was it?
She was a fool. A fool for thinking she could step into an arranged marriage and have any say whatsoever over how it would operate. He wasn’t her husband because he liked her, loved her, or even respected her. What did she damned well expect?
She turned away from him so he wouldn’t realise the complex emotions that were chasing across her face.
“I have thirty minutes. Aïna tells me you have not eaten. I will join you for breakfast.”
Her pulse hammered in her throat. She threw him a look over her shoulder. “I was going to dry my hair.”
He frowned as he looked at the tangled mess that was surrounding her face. “Leave it.” A surprisingly throaty request. Was it a request, actually, when he was technically ordering her?
She opened her mouth to say something sassy but he spoke again, forestalling any reply. “Your hair is so blonde. I didn’t expect that.”
She lifted fingers to it self-consciously. It was true, her hair was so light it was almost white at times. The ends though were golden and when it was wet, before she’d tamed it with her blow-dryer and straightener, it was a little darker. He followed her movement, his face very still, his body seeming charged with electricity.
Or was that hers?
One of them was throbbing with power and awareness. She felt the crash of heat and trembled, turning away from him again.
“Thirty minutes, you said?” The words were waspish. She didn’t care.
She moved through the apartment, towards the sitting room Aïna had shown her the day before. It was a glorious space – she’d been too wound up to notice it properly, and the steady stream of appointments had robbed her of the mental capacity to really take in the details.
Now, her eyes absorbed the floral arrangements, their sweet fragrance nothing compared to the exotic brightness of their blooms. Sticks with colourful spouts and leaves that seemed to shimmer with glitter. She fingered one as she passed it, grabbing a flower and rubbing it between her finger.
The table had been set for two.
All along? Or only since Khalifa had appeared?
Nervous suddenly, she was grateful for the distraction of food. And she was starving, though she hadn’t noticed until that moment.
“Coffee?”
She nodded, but she’d learned her lesson the day before. “Um, American, please.”
The Argenese version of coffee was as thick as tar and strongly spiced. It was passably okay, but it wasn’t what she craved first thing in the morning.
He nodded, moving to a machine in the corner and pressing a button.
“So, you can make coffee,” she murmured, taking a seat at the table.
“And even pour water,” he agreed, amusement crinkling his eyes before he smothered it. “I didn’t want servants here today.”
“Why not?”
The question caught him by surprise, mainly because he had no easy way of answering it. He couldn’t actually have said why he wanted privacy, only that it had seemed like a good idea at the time.
He handed her a cup of coffee without speaking, taking the seat opposite and regarding her breakfast choices with interest.
“Vegetarian?”
She shrugged. “Not intentionally.”
He nodded. Silence thickened around them, heavy and woollen. Ravenous, she was, but suddenly anxiety about eating in front of him held her still. She sipped her coffee instead, the taste so exactly what she’d been craving that she moaned a little.
And his brows flexed upwards at the little noise, so perfectly did it echo the sounds she’d made only hours earlier.
The memories stiffened his body, and a desire he hadn’t expected to feel troubled him. It was an inconvenience. Nothing more.
He was stronger than something so juvenile.
He ignored the way her lips pouted over the rim of the fine bone-china mug, and the way her eyes closed with undisguised appreciation as she sipped the warmth.
“Twenty-seven minutes,” she said with the kind of control he was starting to envy, shaking him out of his sensual reverie.
He sat back in his chair, studying her more fully. “Largely, you will be left to settle into your position here. You should make yourself at home in the palace.”
She took another sip of the coffee simply because it kept her fingers still and prevented him from seeing how they shook.
“However, there are obligations you’ll need to meet from time to time.”
“Such as?” She prompted, finally trusting herself to place the coffee cup down and lifting up the fork.
“Generally, the Sheikha of Argenon is a patron of at least one charity. Aïna will provide you with a list of suitable options and help you choose…”
Kylie thought about the volunteer work she’d done back home in Sydney, ever since she was a teenager, and shook her head.
“I think I’ll be able to make a decision without help,” she said softly.
“Oh, yes?” He scanned her face thoughtfully. “Because altruism is something you’ve placed such importance on in the past?”
She startled at the hint of sarcasm in his words. “Actually, yes. I’ve been heavily involved in a local charity. I’m sure there’s something similar here.”
“What charity?” No sarcasm now, just undisguised interest.
Kylie thought about ignoring the question. About obfuscating and changing the subject. But why? She was proud of what she’d achieved; proud too of her commitment. Managing her full-time studies on top of the several evenings and mornings she’d spent at the charity’s meeting rooms had taken a lot of commitment.
“Little Minds,” she said, spearing a piece of egg with her fork and lifting it to her mouth. He watched as she chewed and swallowed, silently imploring her to continue.
“It’s a wellbeing program for orphans,” she said finally, keeping her eyes lowered to hide the depth of her own emotions on the subject.
“I see,” he murmured.
She suspected he didn’t, and she heard herself continue, “When I was young, I spent some time there. Not long after my parents … after it happened.” Her voice thickened at the admission. “It was … important to me. Helpful.” She shrugged. “Talking to people who’d been through what I was going through, who understood me… it was the only place I felt like I could be myself. For a very long time.”
He was surprised. He took care not to express the emotion, knowing somehow that it would offend and alienate her, but he hadn’t expected the admission. Still, she’d been five years old when her parents had died unexpectedly. Old enough to know and love them, and certainly old enough to feel their absence from the bottom of her being.
“So we do therapy and activities, and sometimes just talk and look at photos.” She shrugged. “The hardest part about suddenly not having any parents is that you lose a part of yourself alongside them. Parents are your bookends and your roots. It can be hard to remember that you still belong to something special when there’s nothing of that ‘special’ left. You have to remember what’s in here.” She pressed a hand to her chest.
Khalifa was watching her, his expression intense, his eyes darker than normal.
“What do you remember about your parents?”
She hadn’t expected the question, but she tilted her head to the side, giving it thought. “I remember my mother’s singing voice – it was so beautiful, and she sung all the time. Old songs, from the seventies. Janis Joplin, Stevie Nicks.” Kylie sighed. “And she was so pretty. She would spend hours getting ready when they were going out, choosing outfits and doing her hair. She had so many dresses. Floaty and long. I don’t think I ever saw her in pants. My dad wasn’t home much. He worked long hours. But he came in and kissed my forehead every night.”
Her smile was wistful, her heart twisting.
“So you see, Khalifa, my memories of them are so beautiful, I can’t bear to disappoint them, even in death.”
He sipped his own coffee, keeping his eyes locked to her face.
“I get that the whole arranged marriage thing is weird to you. I get that you find it strange. But when I agreed to go through with it, I felt closer to them.”
Khalifa, for perhaps the first time in his life, bit back the opinion that had come to his lips. Her parents might have loved her, but they’d still sold her into a family that was as mysterious as it was duplicitous. They had banked on political and financial reward and he couldn’t ignore that.
But it wasn’t Kylie’s fault. She’d made a decision he wasn’t sure he’d ever understand, but somehow, talking to her was making it clearer.
He frowned, focussing on their conversation – the point of their meeting.
“We have several charities that are similar to this,” he said finally. “Aïna will provide you with the information and you may select whichever most closely aligns with your ideas. Becoming their patron will endow them with an annuity and a higher profile.”
“That’s amazing,” she said after several seconds. “Funding was something we really struggled with back home. I mean…orphans. It’s not exactly a sexy charity. It’s so sad and bleak and funding was incredibly hard to come by. We needed more therapists. More play spaces and sports programs. I love the idea of finally being able to make a difference.” A thought occurred to her and she spoke without thinking. “Could I… could be a patron for that charity? For Little Minds?”
He sat further back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “You are my wife. A Sheikha of Argenon. Your focus must be here.”
She nodded. He was right, of course. A sense of disappointment was swallowed by awareness, when he reached over and put his hand on hers. “This is your life now. It is better that you forget about Sydney, and look to the future.”