CHAPTER SIX
Ballet. It was her secret passion. Secret by necessity, and passion by design. She had no control over the matter.
As a girl, she had danced until her toes bled, and her mother had indulged the fervent hobby of her only child with slavish determination. She’d taken Rebecca to ballet lessons four times a week from the age of three. By the time her parents had died, Rebecca was being courted by The Royal Ballet School. Only Winona hadn’t let her attend the auditions.
“This is just a stupid pipe dream of my sister’s, Rebecca. She was a fool to make you think you could go anywhere with dancing. Look at you. You’re too tall to ever be good at ballet. The day she married into your dad’s hoity toity family she lost touch with reality. You, a ballerina? What a joke.”
Rebecca had not, at that stage, been so totally brow beaten and she had argued, “But the headmistress herself of the RBS thinks I am good. She came to our concert last year and asked me to audition.”
“Lies, fabrications. That’s your mother for you. Always building you up only to let you fail. You can’t do it, Rebecca. Forget about it. And another thing. Your uncle Greg hasn’t worked his arse off just so he can pay tuition fees to a school like that. Get real, girl.”
And that had been the end of it. Rebecca had appeared to shelve her dreams of becoming a professional ballet dancer. And when she’d learned that one of her dearest friends from the ballet academy she had attended as a young girl had been paralysed by a fall at school, she had transferred her passion to another field completely.
But ballet was still there. Her secret joy. Her secret love. Long concealed but never forgotten.
Her argument with Tariq had left her with a strange pent up emotion. She’d tossed and turned all night, and when she had slept, it had been lightly and fitfully. At first light, before her attendants had even joined her, she dressed in a pair of black leggings and a fitted black singlet top and had crept from her room. On her first day in the palace, when she’d explored the rooms, she’d found a large empty hall that would be perfect for her needs. It had mirrors along one wall, and a corked floor. She had known instantly that it would serve as a makeshift dance studio.
As she tiptoed out of the private royal residence, a security guard emerged from a groove in the wall. “Your majesty, I am to accompany you today.” He said formally, and Rebecca felt her heart race.
“You scared me!” She exclaimed, bringing a hand to her chest while her breath steadied.
“I apologise,” he murmured.
“This was the King’s idea?” She demanded.
“Yes. New orders for your protection.”
She knew what had brought this on. Her tousle with the servant woman yesterday was no doubt something he didn’t want repeated.
She sighed with exasperation. “Very well. Come along.”
Rebecca shouldn’t take her bad mood out on this man, but she couldn’t help it. She stomped down the long corridor of the palace until she found her makeshift dance space. “Can you wait outside?” She asked once they’d reached the room.
The guard shook his head. “No, madam. I must watch you.”
“Very well.” She said again, and walked into the room. “Please close the door behind you.”
He did as she’d asked.
Well, Tariq might have wanted her to have a security guard, but she doubted her husband would have liked the fact that the man was watching her like a hawk as she stretched and warmed up. He was so used to being under constant scrutiny that he could have had no concept of how intrusive she found it.
She placed her iphone down on the table and turned the volume up as loud as she could. The sound of Giselle immediately soothed her frazzled nerves. After a sleepless night, she finally felt a sense of calm. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. It was the last ballet she had learned, and the role of Giselle was to be her audition piece. She flexed her feet and took her first step. Tentatively at first, after a fortnight’s break from dancing, but then, the movements flooded back and she lost herself in the sweet sensation of dance.
* * *
Tariq had been sure she would follow him.
Or at least that she would have come to see him the night before.
Their fight had been stupid. They were both sexually frustrated as hell and it had been easy to snap at each other. But she hadn’t weakened. And now, he scanned her room, she was gone. Already.
He frowned. It wasn’t yet seven o’clock. Where could she have crept off to so early in the morning?
Thanking heavens he’d asked for an extra security detail to shadow her permanently, he pressed the intercom buzzer and asked his personal guard to locate her. The answer surprised him. She was in the rarely used old banqueting hall.
He dressed quickly, into a suit his valet had laid out for him the night before, and shoes that had been shined to a high gloss. He was impatient to see her. To make sure everything between them was okay. Another ‘first’ for him.
What the hell was she doing at this hour, and in the disused hall? It was a fair stroll from their bedrooms and his intrigue increased with each step he took. Perhaps she’d taken her motley band of servant children and formed a temporary school, he thought with a smile. That would be just the kind of thing she would do.
The strains of classical music greeted him as he got closer and his puzzlement increased along with the volume. He quietly turned the handle, and met the eyes of a palace guard. With one hand, he silently dismissed the security agent to the exterior of the room. And then, he saw her. Eyes closed, face painfully beautiful as she experienced the emotion of the powerful ballet Giselle.
She was mid-air, in a pirouette, and he watched, scarcely daring to breathe lest he break her concentration. Emotions darted through him. Admiration. Awe. Desire. And fear, at the difficulty of the move she was in the process of completing.
Her whole body was fluid with a kind of grace he’d never seen before. She was tall, but she was suddenly weightless, and almost flying through the air with step and twist and turn. As she landed and began to spin around and around and around her eyes opened and landed flat on him.
Not by a twitch of her body did she betray that she had seen him, and that his presence affected her. She continued to dance, like a true ballerina, and he watched, openly in awe.
The music came to a close and so did her dancing.
He clapped, slowly, his eyes hooded.
“You are superb,” he said quietly, with a shake of his head.
She waved a hand in the air, the confidence gone now the music had stopped. “Far from it. I’m not a natural dancer. But I do so enjoy it.”
He frowned. “I’ve been to a fair few ballets, Rebecca, and I’ve never been as captivated as I was just then. When.. how did you learn?”
“You’re just being kind,” she insisted modestly.
“Damn it, you drive me crazy, Rebecca. How can you not know how beautifully you dance?” She turned away from him but he grabbed hold of her. “I mean it,” he demanded. “Who was it?”
“Who was what?” She whispered, dropping her gaze.
“The idiot who told you you’re not good enough? At dancing, or anything?”
“No one,” she fibbed, not wanting to talk about her adoptive parents here. “It was just a childish fantasy. I grew out of it.”
“Obviously you didn’t.” He took a step back and raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. “I didn’t come here to pick another argument with you.”
She raised her chin. “Why did you come here?”
“I was unhappy with how things ended between us last night. I came to make sure you were okay.”
She shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“Obviously.” He looked sideways. So only he had been driven crazy replaying every moment of their interaction the day before. “Yesterday you said you’d like to be involved in discussions regarding our transport situation. Is that still the case?”
She nodded then realised he wasn’t looking at her. “Yes. Of course.”
“Good.” He turned to leave the room. “Nine o’clock sharp. Your security escort will take you.”
She heard him say something in Arabic to her guard as he disappeared through the double doors.
She felt her whole body start to shake. Just the sight of him was enough to rob her of any sense of calm. She scooped up her phone. Nine o’clock start meant she had hardly enough time to shower and prepare for the first of the meetings she hoped to get involved with.
In the end, she made it with a minute to spare. Dressed in a modest pant suit cut from a beautiful emerald green silk, paired with a crisp white blouse and white pearls, and with her blonde hair pulled back into a neat chignon, she looked far more sophisticated than she felt.
As she walked into the room, Tariq stood, and everyone followed suit. The chair to his right was empty. “Ladies, Gentlemen, my wife, Her Majesty Queen Rebecca of Assan.”
She smiled at the crowd with a false confidence and took up the seat he indicated.
For the most part, she listened, but every now and again, Tariq would turn to her and ask what she thought. Rebecca was surprised to discover her nerves quickly faded completely. Faced with the very real transportation issues gripping Assan, she relished the chance to tackle the problem head on.
The discussions went all day, but by the end of it, they’d at least agreed that arming drivers was not the way forward. As the various members of the meeting filtered through the door, Tariq remained behind, watching his wife.
“You did well,” he complimented honestly when they were alone.
She smiled at him. “So did you.”
“I have been training for meetings like this all my life. Seeing you today, I would have guessed you had likewise.”
“My job takes more diplomacy than you would imagine,” she said with a wry twist of her lips.
“I would like to hear more about your job,” he said simply. “I have dinner plans with Eric this evening. Will you join us?”
She shook her head. “Surely you’d prefer to catch up with your friend alone?”
“You are my wife, Rebecca. Eric is an old friend. I would be pleased for you to get to know one another better.” I would be pleased to get to know you better, he added silently. He was being cowardly, pursuing her company with Eric there for safety. In truth he didn’t trust himself to be alone with her. He was trying to be patient, but all day he’d been tormented by the memory of her dancing, the way she’d moved through the air, so fluid and so sexy. Even now, he could feel the tinder paper of need catching fire.
“In that case, I’d be delighted.” She gave him a tentative smile.
“We’ll dine casually, in the Ba’tuk. Monique will show you.”
He stood to leave but the irresistible smell of her perfume, a sweet jasmine and a spicy bergamot teased his nostrils. He placed a kiss on her cheek and took her hands in his. “I mean it. You were outstanding today. A natural.”
Unaccustomed as she was to praise, his lavish words made her feel a thud of surprise. “Thanks,” she nodded awkwardly.
A Ba’tuk, Monique informed her an hour later, when she was dressing for dinner, was an Assanian hut designed for outdoor eating. “We were once a nomadic people. Eating under the stars is inherent to who we are. It’s a cornerstone of our culture.”
The description weaved a spell around Rebecca, but she couldn’t have imagined the beauty and magic of the actual thing. Situated a solid ten minute walk from the royal apartments, the palace Ba’tuk was a thing of breath taking beauty. Where the palace was all splendour and grand proportions, the hut was far simpler in design. Four walls with windows like something she imagined Ali Babar had looked out of in each side, and a large fire pit it in the middle, overlooking a man-made lake that seemed to go for miles. On the edge of the lake were palm trees and bushes of tall reeds. With the sun setting and the sky being tinged with purples and oranges, and the dessert winds blowing sand gently towards her, Rebecca felt it was the most stunning scene she’d ever come across.
While she doubted she’d ever grow accustomed to the constant presence of the palace security force, she had certainly come to expect their silent watchfulness throughout the day. Therefore, their absence on this evening was conspicuous.
Rebecca raised her eyebrows as she stepped in through the doorway. Or, the hole in the wall large enough to accommodate a door, for there were no actual windows nor doors to impede the free flow of air through the hut.
Crouched on the ground, stoking the fire pit, was her husband. She gulped at the sight of him. Dressed in a traditional flowing white robe, he looked fiercely powerful. His handsome head was dipped as he concentrated on the job at hand, so that only his autocratic profile and thick dark hair was visible to her.
Nervously, she cleared her throat and rocked her foot side to side.
“Rebecca,” he stood, placing the fire poker gently onto the tiled floor before coming to meet her. His dark gaze raked her from head to toe, and his lips quirked in unconscious approval. In just a simple navy blue dress that fell to her feet, and with her blonde hair plaited into a crown of gold around her head, she looked too perfect for words.
Grateful that his robes disguised the physical proof of his insta-need for her, he settled with a chaste kiss on her cheek. “Please, have a seat. Would you like some wine? Iced tea?”
“Iced tea would be lovely, thank you,” she said a little shakily, and licked her lips as she crossed to the brightly coloured cushions that were scattered on the ground.
“Eric’s not here?” She asked as he handed her a pitcher of the refreshing liquid.
Tariq sat beside her. He pressed his palms into the ground behind them, extending his arms and leaning back. One arm was behind her, so that she could almost feel him against her body. Fighting the urge to wriggle a little further away, she took another sip of her tea.
“No. He’s been held up.” His eyes scanned her face, lightly mocking. “Does that make you nervous?”
“Nervous?” She intoned flatly. “Why would I be nervous?”
He reached across and ran a finger from her shoulder to her elbow, watching the way her skin goosebumped beneath his touch. “Because, my lovely wife, when you and I are alone together, we seem to find ourselves in exactly the same situation...”
“What situation is that?” She goaded, her eyes lancing straight through him.
He chuckled, but he knew she was throwing down the gauntlet. It would have taken a saint to resist her, and God knew, he was no saint. He came to kneel on his knees and kissed her on the lips, softly at first, but then, as always, hunger overtook him. He kissed her hard, and with his hands, he supported her shoulders and guided her so that she was lying back on the scattered cushions.
She groaned as he spread his legs so that he could straddle her, and his weight pressed against her abdomen.
“Is this situation going to end as it always does?” She asked huskily as he littered kisses along her jaw and down to her décolletage.
“With us both sexually frustrated and angry?” He quipped, his dark eyes glinting as he found the zip to her dress and eased it down her body, exposing her soft, milky skin beneath.
“Pretty much,” she nodded, and her hands were running a mission of exploration too, pulling at the belt of his robes and loosening them so that she could feel his flesh beneath her fingertips.
He eased himself up a little, so that he could stare into her eyes. “Is this really what you want, Sheikha? Are you sure of it?”
“Except that I’d like to know we weren’t going to be interrupted by the ambassador for Sweden,” she croaked with a grimace.
Tariq shook his head. “He will be a while. He has something to attend to. We are quite alone.”
She felt heat colour her cheeks and she bit her lip. Now that he had removed himself, she felt besieged by all of the old uncertainties. What if he didn’t enjoy it? She knew she didn’t have that sex gene, what if sleeping with her was just a big old let down?
What if it wasn’t, a small voice urged her onwards, and before she could give in to the self-doubts that pock marked her confidence, she pulled him by his robe.
“I’m sure.”
His eyes flared with recognition and finally, he let himself feel everything that this bewitching foreigner stirred in him. He removed her dress with a silent deference, kissing her body where the fabric had been, tasting every inch of her. He disposed of his own robes and let them lie where he threw them, not caring that they would crumple.
Naked, and unable to fight their desire any longer, he parted her legs and teased her with his strength, just nudging his cock towards her sacred heart. She whimpered beneath him, and her long legs came to curl at his back, clinging to him, trying to pull him inside.
He kissed her face, tasting the feverish sweat on her brow. With all the will in the world, he was making himself take it slowly, be gentle, when all he wanted was to plunge himself deep inside of her and feel her explode with pleasure.
He took one nipple in his mouth, and while he sucked at it and flicked it with his tongue, he took the other between his thumb and forefinger and rolled it firmly. She was making keening noises of pleasure and he could feel how wet she was with his tip. As she bucked with a need too great to express with words, he pushed inside. An unmistakable barrier paused him, but her legs squeezed, pulling him tighter. “Please,” she moaned, “Please.”
With a growl, he did plunge into her then, and her body arched at the unexpected sensation. He felt her muscles, so tight and moist, stretch to accommodate him, and he had to grit his teeth to stop from coming straight away. Hell, he’d never felt anything like it.
He slowed his rhythm, intent on watching her face as she experienced her first sexual orgasm. “Look at me,” he commanded, taking her chin between his thumb and finger and holding her face. “I want to see you.”
She bit down on her lower lip, and desire rocked her body, until she tipped over into the heavenly abyss beyond, covering her whole body with the sensation of feather light kisses.
“Ohhhhhh,” she groaned, her breath laboured as she rode the wave. He had never seen anything more sensational than her release into pleasure.
She blinked up at him, a moment later, and her eyes were clouded.
“What is it, Rebecca?” He whispered against her cheek, laying delicate kisses towards the earlobe he was about to suck.
“You didn’t.... err... you haven’t....”
“Come?” He teased, revelling in her nervous inexperience.
She looked away from him and he laughed.
“I’m teasing. I’m sorry. No, I didn’t come.”
It was her worst nightmares confirmed. He hadn’t even been that turned on by her. He was trying so hard to please her, to find her attractive, but even now, in the throes of the most passionate feeling she’d ever experienced, he was left non-plussed. Capable of teasing and apologies.
She pressed her lips together and wriggled beneath him, suddenly wanting nothing more than to get away from him.
“Rebecca,” he whispered, pressing his palms against her shoulders to hold her still. “When I come, it is over. Finished.” He moved his hands and brought them back to her breasts. They fascinated him. Round yet pert, full yet small. He delighted in the way they felt cupped in his hands. “I wanted to make gentle love to you for your first time.”
“My first time...” which it was, of course, but it also made her feel like he wanted a second time. A third even.
“Now, I am going to show you what fast sex feels like,” he said with husky promise.
“Fast sex.” She repeated again, and he nodded gravely.
“Yes, my Sheikha, fast sex.” He kissed her on her lips, so hard that she tasted blood, but she didn’t care. As he pressed her down with his mouth, he began to move inside of her again, and this time, he rocked her with a speed that sent her pulses out of control. He slid his hands along her arms and trapped her wrists above her head, so she was his virtual, but oh so willing prisoner.
It was fast. It was hard. And it blew her mind. She climaxed almost immediately, and he followed after her, releasing himself into her with a guttural cry.
“Hmmm,” he exhaled, reluctantly pulling himself out of her and coming to lie at her side. “That was exquisite.”
She turned to face him. “I wasn’t sure ... I didn’t know it could be like that.”
“Nor did I,” he said honestly. “It seems our parents knew something we didn’t about chemistry,” he joked, but he had never felt more serious in his life. He’d known her for ten days, and the thought of her having refused to marry him suddenly filled him with a cold ache in his gut.
“Oh, let’s not talk about our parents right now!” She pleaded on a laugh.
He nodded. “You are right, of course.” She shifted a little so she could see him better and cringed as she did so.
Ever attentive, he placed a hand on the small swell of her hip. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head. “No. A little, at first, but then I was far too busy feeling pleasured to feel any pain.”
He smiled, baring even white teeth. “I couldn’t resist you, my pretty ballerina, for a moment longer.”
Happiness soared through her body. She zinged with relief that he was as much attracted to her as she was to him. “I’m a danseuse,” She corrected instinctively. “A ballerina is a professional.”
“Ah!” He nodded with mock seriousness. “I apologise for the incorrect terminology. It won’t happen again.”
“It had better not,” she responded in kind, but a smile played at the corners of her mouth.
“Why are you not a ballerina?” He asked stroking her naked hip and thigh as he continued to watch her.
She frowned. “I told you. I’m not good enough.”
“Says who?”
“Nobody. Everybody. Only a very few talented dancers can achieve great success in the real world. It would have been foolish and expensive to hope my hobby would translate into anything more than just that – a hobby.”
He opened his mouth to object but she pressed a finger against his lips. “Please, Tariq, I don’t want to talk about it. Especially not right now.”
She didn’t want anything negative to take away from this perfect moment. The thought of Winona and Greg still had the power to make her heart turn cold and she didn’t want to give them the ability to rob her of this moment of sheer joy and ... relief. Relief that after so many years of believing herself to be a sexless cold fish, she had met and married the most desirable man on the planet – and he desired her right back!