Farah didn’t want to remember her bath. Four women had come to prepare her for his pleasure and it had been like negotiations in a war room as they’d massaged and plucked and waxed her body into submission. Farah had determinedly refused to allow them to touch the hair between her legs and they’d clucked and tsked like old hens trying to establish the pecking order. The prince would not approve, they’d said. Good, she’d replied, much to their consternation. Now she wondered if he would approve and she hated the feeling of weakness that underscored that thought, hated the desire that she wanted to please him at all. She didn’t. She didn’t care what he thought of her.
She lifted her chin. ‘Poison.’
‘Then I will die a happy man tonight.’
His husky chuckle made her nerves tighten and Farah raised her half-empty glass to her lips. ‘One can only hope.’
But he wasn’t listening, instead he was frowning at her glass. ‘Perhaps you should think about switching to water.’
‘But I like this very much.’ She tilted the glass to her lips in what she knew was a childishly defiant gesture and drained it. ‘What is it called again?’ She felt slightly dizzy from the rush of alcohol as it hit her stomach, but it was worth it to see him scowl.
‘Champagne.’ His frown deepened. ‘Have you even had it before?’
‘Loads of times. We distil it in the hut behind my father’s.’
His eyes narrowed and Farah widened hers innocently. Then he completely surprised her by shaking his head and laughing softly. ‘Okay, I deserved that.’
And there he went again, throwing her off just when she thought she had him all worked out.
‘Come, Farah, we should go.’
Oh, yes, the honeymoon.
Suddenly nerves attacked her. She’d been deliberately not thinking about the end of the evening and what would come next. ‘I think it would be rude to leave so soon,’ she said, aiming for cool and knowing she’d missed by a mile when his lips twisted in sympathy. Sympathy!
‘Actually, it’s quite late.’
Heat raced through her, making her feel even dizzier than she already was.
‘Where are we going?’
‘So suspicious, wife.’ He smiled. ‘We are going to Ibiza.’
‘Ib... Where?’
‘It’s a small, ruggedly beautiful island off the coast of Spain. You’ll love it.’
She raised an eyebrow. She had always wanted to travel to faraway places but had never imagined she’d ever get the chance. ‘Because you say I will?’
She hadn’t realised she’d raised her chin until he gripped it and tugged it down, his thumb resting on the curve of her lower lip. Her nerves were so raw even that small contact made her insides fizz.
‘I know you want another argument but I’m not going to give you one,’ he said. ‘It’s time to make love, Farah, not war. Wouldn’t you prefer that?’ His voice was a rough caress against her ear and before she could tell him that, actually, she was quite happy with war, he placed his hand firmly against the small of her back. Her breath caught and a delicious tingle of anticipation followed his fingers as they slid upwards to grip the nape of her neck. It was a blatantly possessive hold and spoke of domination and ownership. Farah, who had never imagined wanting to experience either of those things, felt every one of her bones turn to water.
Half an hour later they were ensconced on the royal plane and she was trying not to ogle the sleek luxury of the streamlined jet. ‘Where are all the seats?’ she asked, taking in the well-spaced leather chairs and small tables.
‘This is a private plane. You’ll need to take a seat when we take off. After that you can walk around the cabin. There’s a bedroom in the back and two bathrooms. Are you okay?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Her hand went to her head. ‘I think I have a headache.’
‘Already?’ His smile was faintly mocking. ‘I’ve heard it takes wives a little longer to start producing that ex—’
‘Oh...’ Farah moaned and must have turned as green as she felt because Zach forced her head down between her knees. ‘Oh, that’s worse.’
‘It’s the champagne.’
She waited for the nausea to pass and then sat up slowly. ‘How can something that tastes so lovely make me feel so ill?’
‘You’re meant to drink it in small doses.’
‘Small doses, like small steps,’ she hiccupped.