The Desert King’s Housekeeper Bride

‘You did plenty…’ Zakari smiled, growing in her gentle hand. ‘But even so…’ Effie stared, her heart stilling when Zakari continued as the terms of the contract suddenly shifted.

‘We’ve still got tonight.’

Why not? Zakari said to himself as her eyes widened. Why should she not have one night of perfection?

She was kissing his nipple now.

This, the wanton, sensual woman he had created.

Snaky dark ringlets danced on his chest as her tongue searched and probed, and her mouth paid him minute attention.

His fingers entwined in her hair and he could feel himself grow so hard he almost begged her mouth to follow his mind, to move her lips from the pleasure she was bestowing and deal with the rather desperate arrival.

Only there would be more pleasure in waiting.

He lifted her chin up, stared into her blue eyes as he resisted the lure of her mouth.

‘Dress for me…’

‘Sorry?’

‘Tonight—you will dress for me, like a princess.’

‘I have nothing that fits,’ Effie said, perplexed.

‘You have your pick of fabrics.’ He gestured to the organza, silk and velvet drapes. ‘Christobel’s make-up….’

Embarrassed, Effie turned on her side facing away from him. For a moment she had felt beautiful—oh, she had known it couldn’t last, but had hoped for a few more moments before normality invaded.

‘Tonight we will feast…’

His mouth was on her shoulder, kissing away the sudden knots of tension there. ‘Go now, and prepare, and I will dress for you too…for tonight at least, you will be treated as royal.’

She had never dressed for any man—let alone a king…

But it felt wonderful.

A dark purple velvet drape, the depth of colour exquisite, was her choice of fabric for tonight, and every luxury was at her disposal to fashion the material into the gown of her dreams. Simple seams and a long split at the side left a teasing glimpse when she walked, the demure scoop she had attempted for the neckline had turned into a rather magnificent empress line, yet the effect was stunning as she slithered it over her head, watching, as if by magic, her figure transformed from nondescript to hourglass.

He had given her access to his mistress’s area—and Effie had gasped as he’d let her in.

‘All these things…’ Antique, full-length mirrors glittered a welcome, along with tiny glass bottles that promised to transform.

‘Use anything…’ Zakari smiled, handing her an intricately carved silver box. ‘There are jewels…’

‘My mother has a jewellery box, just like this, at home…’

‘This is eighteenth century…’

‘Of course, it must be a replica,’ Effie conceded, tracing the familiar pattern with her nails, sure it must be a sign that her mother would, if not approve, then understand, then opening the box and gazing at the jewels, too engrossed to notice Zakari’s frown.

When he left her alone, Effie found, if she positioned them correctly, the mirrors did amazing things for her confidence. The dressing table was a delight in itself—awash with gleaming hair clasps, heavy silver combs and brushes, and velvet boxes that brimmed with make-up. It actually reminded her of her mother’s dressing table—the pretty glass-stoppered bottles filled with scents, the array of boxes filled with jewels and make-up.

Sitting on a stool, Effie didn’t know where to start. Holding the ivory make-up brushes and staring at the palette that would hopefully transform her, she truly didn’t know where to start.

Less is more.

She could hear her mother’s voice, remembered a time long ago when her mother had been ill, but had still insisted on going out, how she had instructed Effie to do her make-up.

Covering her dress, first Effie dusted her face with loose powder, then swirled a brush in a tiny silver box that held velvet brown eye shadow—her mother’s favourite colour for accentuating her blue eyes…

And it worked.

As did the kohl and the mascara. Effie stared at two blue jewels that glimmered in the mirror before her, excitement mounting as she dusted her cheeks with pretty pink, then rouged her lips, then, deciding it was too much, rubbed it off.

She was feverish with excitement. Scooping up her heavy brown curls, she twirled them with inexperienced fingers, but the banshees must have forgiven her because with just one grip of a silver clasp they held in place, just a few stray ringlets trailing down her neck and falling over her left eye.

The least vain of people, she was shocked when she stared into the dusky mirror, shocked by the beautiful woman she saw—the sensual being he had made her. Pulling the stoppers out of bottle after bottle, she took for ever to make her choice, inhaling each fragrance deeply, each scent so potently divine. At the second-last bottle the choice was made, the heady notes of musk and amber the perfect match to her mood, and Effie rubbed the glass stopper on her pulse points, remembering every kiss he had placed there as she did so, and hoping for more of the same.

She felt no shame.

Not a single jot as she dressed for her man.

So much so that she retreated to the staff quarters and took her mother’s necklace from the tissue she had wrapped it in and boldly clipped it on. The heavy pink jewel looked stunning settled in her cleavage and somehow, Effie knew, she now had her mother’s blessing in this—her virginity gone to the very best of causes.

She would feast with Zakari and then they would make love.

Tonight was hers.

CHAPTER FOUR

SHE was different, so very different from the sleek, groomed women Zakari was becoming too used to. Effie expected nothing from him, which, he reflected, made him want to do things for her.

Different things, like stand before a mirror and shave.

Normally he returned to the palace from the desert unshaven, yet for the first time in days Zakari shaved—for the first time in fact, Zakari shaved himself!

He applied cologne and chose his robe with more care than usual—black, with gold braid—enjoying the game for as long as it could last. These past few hours had proven just the elixir he needed after the tumultuous months and it never entered his noble head that he might be dressing to impress!

But something irked.

She had opened that jewellery box with ease—with practised ease, Zakari had noted. Which meant little alone, except it was a difficult clasp; he knew that, because many women had asked his assistance, and yet Effie had popped it open with one practised turn.

A cheap replica didn’t normally stretch to such nuances.

And then there was her mother’s recollection of the pool at Kionia. He had put it down to a flight of Effie’s imagination at the time, but now?

In his search for the jewel, he had studied the rumours that Aegeus had taken a palace maid as a lover, yet despite following that lead his search had turned up nothing. Either the rumours were false or Aegeus had covered his tracks well.

But why would he? Zakari reasoned.

There was no real scandal attached to a prince or king accepting the warmth of a woman’s body—Zakari was living proof of that. Scandal only abounded when emotions were involved…

When kings or princes looked after the women who kept them warm.

The edge of his mouth curved in an iniquitous smile—there would be no problem getting Effie to open up to him.

But there was no rush; he would take his time. Tonight, duty was also going to be a pleasure.

As Zakari headed out from his quarters he surveyed the table she had prepared. Effie had been busy! It was laden with delicacies, the crystal glasses gleaming along with the silverware in the candlelight, the air fragrant with incense. There was nothing for him really to do, yet he headed to the empty kitchen, adding his own finishing touch to the feast, then smiling as, shy, nervous yet incredibly, breathtakingly beautiful, Effie walked in.

How, Zakari begged to himself as she stood for a nervous moment, could he have not seen her beauty?

How, that first day she had arrived, could he have even entertained feeling disappointed?

Regal—it was the first word that came to his mind. The purple velvet that sheathed her body showed off her stunning curves to perfection, her dark wavy hair was piled on top of her head, gleaming ringlets framing her pale face, and all Zakari could think was, as gorgeous as it looked, all he wanted to do was take it down, to unclip each curl and run it through his fingers one by one. Those stunning, piercing blue eyes were nervous as they sought his reaction, and he felt something else too—a stir of something unfamiliar inside him as he registered the approval in her eyes: she approved of him.

‘You look beautiful.’ It should have been his line, but that it was hers swelled that unfamiliar feeling in his chest. He didn’t recognise it as pride, pride that his efforts had been noted, as confident now under his gaze she walked over to him. Her fingers traced his now smooth chin. ‘And you smell divine!’

‘You do too.’ He took her cool cheeks in the palms of his hand and kissed her.

She was shaking with nerves, yet still she was bold for him, and that touched him. His hands held her shoulders, his eyes holding hers for the longest time—stunned at the magic they had created this day and looking forward to the magic they would create tonight.

And then his heart stopped.