Postcards From Paris: Bound by His Desert Diamond / Amorous Liaisons / The Secret to Marrying Marchesi

It was like asking a jelly to stop wobbling, but Anna did the best she could, and with her head pressed hard back against his shoulder she screwed her eyes shut. Drawing in a breath, she waited, ready to give herself over to him completely, to do with her whatever he saw fit.

It was the most glorious, astonishing, explosion of mind-altering sensations. As his finger moved inside her, it rubbed against the swollen nub of her clitoris until he was just there, in that one spot, stroking it again and again with a pressure that could never be too much and never be enough. With the agonisingly pleasurable sensation swelling and swelling inside her, it felt as if her whole world had distilled into this moment, this momentous feeling. She would trade her entire life for the concentrated pleasure of this building ecstasy.

But trying to stay still was an impossibility. Even with the weight of Zahir’s arm diagonally across her body she couldn’t help writhing and bucking.

With his breath hot in her ear, the rock-hard swell of him beneath her buttocks, there was no way she could stop her legs from parting further, her back from arching against him, her bottom from pressing down into him. And as he continued his glorious attentions the pressure built more and more until what had seemed just tantalisingly out of reach was suddenly there upon her, crashing over her, carrying her with it. And, as that wave subsided and Zahir continued to touch her, another one followed, just as intense, then another and another, until Anna thought the moment might never end and that she had left the real world for ever.

But finally his hand stilled and slowly, slowly the feelings started to subside, sending sharp twitches through her body as reminders of what she had just experienced. Anna opened her eyes to see him staring down at her.

She looked so beautiful. Never had Zahir witnessed such beauty, such wild abandonment. Removing his arm, he released her body, moving her off his lap so that he could stand up, rip off his clothes and devour her in the way that he had been so desperate to do for the past hour...for the past twenty-four hours...ever since he had first clapped eyes on her. He had told himself that he would wait until after they were married, that that would be the right thing to do. But now waiting was an impossibility. Now the right thing, the only thing, he could think of was to claim this beautiful young woman for his own. To take her now, for himself, to satisfy his immense carnal need in the only way possible. By having her beneath him and making love to her in a way that neither of them would ever, ever forget.

With his breath coming in harsh pants, his chest heaving beneath the sweater that he tugged over his head, he was down to his boxer shorts in seconds, his powerful erection straining against the black cotton fabric, swollen and painful with need. He knew Anna was watching his every move from the floor, and that only increased his fervour, fuelled the frantic craving that was coursing through him.

‘Lie down.’ He barked the order without knowing why he felt the need to be so domineering.

Primal lust roared in his ears as he watched Annalina do as she was told, stretching out on the animal-skin rug, her body so pale in the flickering light of the fire, so delicate, so desirable. Bending down beside her, he pulled the scrap of fabric that was her panties down and over her legs, screwing them into a ball in his hand. Then he removed his boxers with a forceful tug and straddled her body with his own, holding his weight above her with locked elbows on either side of her head. She seemed so fragile compared to him, so impossibly perfect, that for a moment he could only gaze down at her, the corded muscles in his arms rigidly holding him in place, defying the tremor that was rippling through the rest of his body.

‘You want this, Annalina?’ He ground out the words, suddenly needing to hear her consent before he allowed himself to take her, this most precious creature.

‘Yes.’ It was the smallest word, spoken in little more than a whisper, but it was enough. And when her hand snaked between them, tentatively feeling for his member, he closed his eyes against the ecstasy, lowering his elbows enough to reach her lips and seal their coupling with a searing kiss.

Lifting himself off her, he unscrewed his eyes to look down at her again. Her hand was circling his shaft and it was taking all of his control not to position himself and plunge right into her. His need was so great, unlike anything he had ever felt before, that his body was screaming at him just to do it, to take her as fast and furiously as he liked, anything to satisfy this infernal craving. But he knew he had to find some restraint. If Annalina was a virgin, which it seemed she was, he had to try to take it slowly, make sure she was ready, control the barbarian in him. Though if she carried on the way she was right now, her fingers exploring the length of him, caressing the swollen tip, his body was going to have severe trouble obeying his commands.

‘Is this right?’ Slowly her hand moved up and down.

Zahir let out a moan of assent. Frankly she could have done it any damned way she liked, could have done anything she wanted. He was past the point of being able to judge.

‘I don’t want to disappoint you.’

Disappoint him? That was not going to happen. He was sure about that. He moved one arm to cover her hand with his own, to position himself over her, to the place he so desperately needed to be able to enter her. His fingers strayed to find her, to part her in readiness, but then something made him hesitate. The catch in her voice, the slight tremor, suddenly permeated the lust-ridden fog of his mind and now he rapidly scanned her face for clues.

‘What is it? You have changed your mind?’ It killed him to ask but he had to be sure.

‘No, it’s not that.’

‘What, then?’ So he had been right—there was something.

‘Nothing, really.’ She removed her hand, bringing her arms around his back. But, as they skittered over the play of his muscles, their touch was as unconvincing as her words.

‘Tell me, Annalina.’

‘Well, it’s just... I’m a bit nervous.’ Her throat moved beneath the pale skin of her throat. ‘I hadn’t realised that you would be so...large.’

‘And that’s a problem?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose it could be. I mean, there was a problem with me and Henrik, and he wasn’t anything like as big...’

Henrik. The mention of his name on her lips had the effect of pouring an icy waterfall over Zahir, at the same time as stirring a roaring tiger in his chest. Henrik. He knew what he’d like to do if he ever got his hands on that slimy creep of an individual. He couldn’t bear to think of him touching Annalina at any time, ever. But he particularly couldn’t bear to think of him now.

‘But I think we should try.’ Still she was talking, seemingly oblivious to the cold rage sweeping through him, her voice nervous but determined in the now suffocating air of the cabin. ‘Now—before we marry, I mean—to see if we can. I’m worried because of what happened with Henrik...’

‘Henrik!’ Zahir roared his name, making Annalina jump beneath him. ‘Do you really think I want to hear about Henrik?’ He moved his body off her, leaping to his feet, cursing the damned erection that refused to die, mocking him with its disobedient show of power. ‘Do you really think I want to be compared to your failed lover?’

‘Well, no, but... I just meant...’ Annalina sat up, covering her chest with her arms, her blue eyes staring up at him, wide, frightened and beseeching.

‘I know what you meant. You meant that I’m not the man that you were meant to marry, the man you wanted to marry. You meant that having sex with me was a chore that you were prepared to endure. Or maybe not.’ Another thought tore through his tortured mind. ‘Maybe you thought that if we weren’t able to have sex, if you could prove that, you wouldn’t have to marry me at all.’

‘No, Zahir, you’re wrong. You’ve got it all wrong.’

‘Because, if so, you are going to be sorely disappointed. We will marry, as planned, and we will consummate our marriage on our wedding night. And believe me, Annalina, when we do, I will drive all thoughts of Henrik from your mind. Banish all thoughts of not being able, or not being ready, or whatever other pathetic excuses you seem to be toying with. For when we do make love, when it finally happens, you’ll be thinking of nothing but me. Nothing but the way I am making you feel. And that, Annalina, is a promise.

CHAPTER NINE (#ucb4e9976-f9e7-524b-8e95-29af4088a413)

FROM INSIDE THE chapel the organ music paused and Princess Annalina’s grip on her bouquet tightened. As the strains of Wagner’s Wedding March began she felt for her father’s arm, slipping her own through the crook of it. This was it, then. There was no going back now.

Not that she had any choice. Beside her King Gustav stood rigidly to attention, his gaze fixed straight ahead. If he had any misgivings about handing over his only daughter to this warrior prince, then he wasn’t letting it show. As far as he was concerned this wedding was a business deal, a means to an end, and his job was to deliver his daughter to her fate. And to make sure that this time nothing went wrong.

Sitting side by side in the vintage car taking them the short journey from the castle to the chapel on the Valduz estate, Anna had thought maybe this would be the moment her father would say something encouraging, comforting—she didn’t really know what. Instead he had simply checked his watch a dozen times, tugged on the sleeves of his morning coat and looked distractedly out of the window at the cheering crowds that lined the route as they passed. And when her hand had reached for his he had looked at it in surprise before awkwardly patting it a couple of times and handing it back.

More than anything in the world right now, Anna wished that her mother could be here to give her a hug, to make everything better. But sadly wishes didn’t come true, even for princesses, so instead she ended up blinking back the tears as she stared out of the window, forcing herself to smile and wave at the crowds brandishing their paper flags. But inside she had never felt more lost. More alone.

The chapel doors opened to reveal the stage set for the ceremony. And it was beautiful. This was the first wedding the chapel had seen since her parents’ nuptials and no expense had been spared, though it didn’t take a genius to work out where the money had come from. With a green-and-white theme, the ancient pews were festooned with alpine flowers, their scent mingling with the incense in the air. Huge arrangements of ivy and ferns were positioned at the top of the aisle and behind the altar at the end—somewhere that Anna couldn’t look at just yet. Because that was where Zahir would be standing. Waiting. That was where, in just a few short minutes from now, the ceremony would begin that would see her signing away her life, at least the only life she had ever known. Where she would hand herself over to this man, become his wife, move to his country, to all intents and purposes become his property to do with as he saw fit.

And Anna had been left in no doubt as to what that would entail, at least as far as the bedroom was concerned. It had been four weeks since that fateful evening in the log cabin, but the brutal memory of it would stay with her for ever—the way Zahir had taken her from wild ecstasy to the pit of misery before the aftershocks of delirium had even left her body. His rage when she had mentioned Henrik had been palpable, terrifying, a dark force that had shocked her with its vehemence, leaving her no chance to try and explain why she had said it, to justify herself. Instead she had hurried to pull on her clothes and followed him out into the night, the snow falling as he had unerringly led them back to where their vehicle was parked and sat beside her in stony silence as she had driven them back to the castle.

Zahir had returned to Nabatean the next morning and they hadn’t seen each other since, any contact between them limited to perfunctory emails or the occasional phone call. But his parting words still clamoured in her head. We will consummate our marriage on our wedding night. It had sounded more like a threat than a promise, but that didn’t stop it sending a thrill of tumult through Anna whenever she recalled it. Like now, for example. Because tonight was the night that Zahir would fulfil his prophecy.

But first she had a job to do. Glancing behind her, she forced a smile at her attendants, four little bridesmaids and two pageboys. The daughters and sons of foreign royalty she didn’t even know, they were nevertheless taking their duties very seriously, meticulously arranging the train of Anna’s beautiful lace wedding dress, the girls bossing the boys around, straightening their emerald-green sashes for them before clasping their posies to their chests, ready to begin.

The procession started, slowly making its way down the red carpet, the congregation turning to catch their first glimpse of the blushing bride, gasping at what they saw. Because Annalina looked stunning, every inch the fairy-tale princess about to marry her Prince Charming. She wore a white lace gown, the wide V neck leaving her collarbone bare to show off the diamond necklace that had belonged to her mother. With sheer lace sleeves and a nipped-in waist, it cascaded to the floor with metres of lace and tulle that rustled with every step. Every step that took her closer and closer to the towering, dark figure that stood with his back to her—rigid, unmoving, impossible to read.

Zahir Zahani. The man she knew so little of, but who was about to become her husband. The man whose hooded gaze burnt into her soul, whose harshly sculpted face haunted her very being. The man who somehow, terrifyingly, she seemed to have become totally obsessed with. Even during the weeks when they had been apart it had felt as if her every waking moment had been filled with the overpowering sense of him. And not just her waking moments. The force of his magnetism had invaded her dreams too, seeing her writhing around in her sleep, waking up gasping for air, her heart thumping in her chest as the erotic images slowly faded into the reality of the day.

Now she took her position beside Zahir, beside this immovable mountain of a man who still stared fixedly ahead. His immaculate tailored suit only accentuated the width of his back, the length of his legs, and when Anna risked a sideways glance she saw how stiffly he held his neck against the starched white collar of his dress shirt, how rigidly his jaw was clenched beneath the smooth, olive skin.

Next to him stood Rashid, who was to serve as best man. In contrast to Zahir’s complete stillness he fidgeted, shifting his weight from foot to foot, smoothing his hands over the trousers of his suit. He shot Anna a cold glance and again she registered that same peculiar sense of unease.

And so the long ceremony began. The sonorous voice of the priest echoed around the vaulted ceiling of the chapel—a chapel full of honoured guests from around the world. But Anna was only aware of one man, so acutely aware that she thought she must shimmer with it, radiate an aura that was plain for all to see.

Somehow she managed to get through the service, the daze of hymns, prayers, readings and blessings, only seriously faltering once, when Zahir slipped the platinum wedding ring onto her finger. The sight of it there, looking so real, so final, sent her eyes flying to his face, searching for a crumb of comfort, some sort of affirmation that they were doing the right thing. But all she saw was the same closed, dark expression that refused to give anything away.

Finally the organ struck up for the last time and the bride and groom made their way back up the aisle as man and wife. As they stepped outside, they were met with a loud roar from the crowd and a barrage of flashing cameras. It seemed thousands of people had gathered to be a part of this special day, braving hours of standing in the cold to catch a glimpse of their princess and her new husband. A short distance away, the car was waiting to take them back to the castle for the wedding breakfast, but first Anna was going to spend a few minutes chatting to the crowd. They deserved that, at least. Walking over to the barrier, she bent down to accept a posy of flowers from a young child, smiling at the sight of his chubby little cheeks red from the cold. The crowd roared louder and suddenly arms were reaching out everywhere, bunches of flowers thrust at them, cameras and phones held out to capture the moment.

‘We need to get into the car, Annalina.’ Zahir was right behind her, whispering harshly into her ear.

‘All in good time.’ She politely accepted another bunch of flowers. ‘First we need to acknowledge the kindness of these people who have been hanging around for hours waiting to congratulate us.’ She could feel Zahir’s displeasure radiating from him in waves but she didn’t care. They weren’t in Nabatean now. This was her country and she was going to set the rules. She continued to smile into the crowd, accepting armfuls of flowers that she then passed to a couple of burly men who had appeared behind them. She noticed they shot a startled glance at Zahir. ‘Why don’t you go and talk to the people over there?’ She gestured to the barrier on the other side.

‘Because this is not on the schedule, that’s why.’