Tycoon's Ring of Convenience
Their studied relaxation was only interrupted by intermittent enquirie
s from their personal butler as to whether they required anything.
He asked for mineral water, so did she, and then a glass of iced coffee, and both of them picked idly at a heaped plate of freshly cut fruit.
Eventually, with sun lowering and the heat of the day easing as the afternoon wore on, he tossed his reading aside.
‘OK,’ he announced, ‘time for some exercise.’ He threw a smile at her and limbered to his feet. ‘Fancy a dip?’ he asked.
‘I’d better, I think,’ Diana agreed. ‘Otherwise I’m going to snooze off...it’s so restful here. And that will screw up my sleep patterns—jet lag’s kicking in.’
He held out his hand and she took it, because to do otherwise would look pointed in a way she did not wish it to. He drew her up as though she weighed only a feather, and then loosed his grip as they walked towards the pool.
The sun, starting to lower behind the hotel to the west, shed a deep golden light over the water, which was shimmering in the heat. The main pool was relatively empty and Nikos strolled to the edge of the deep end, executing a perfect dive into the azure water, sending up a shower of diamond drops.
Diana couldn’t help but watch him—watch the way his powerful, muscled body drove through the water, demolishing the length in seconds, only to double under in a tumble turn and head back towards her.
He surfaced, dark hair sleek around his face. ‘Come on!’ he instructed. ‘It’s warm as milk.’
To her relief, he didn’t wait to watch her slip her sarong from her, and moments later she was in the water, dipping under the surface to get her head and hair wet. It was glorious—refreshing and cooling despite the ambient temperature of the pool.
She began a rhythmic traverse, contenting herself with breaststroke, enjoying the feeling of her long hair streaming behind her in the water, aware of Nikos steadily ploughing up and down only from the splashing of his arms in a strong, rapid freestyle. Having done the number of laps she was content with, she came to a halt at the far end and realised Nikos had also paused.
‘Call it a day?’ he asked. ‘Shall we head back up and think about dinner?’
They got out of the water, put on the towelling gowns their butler had laid out for them, and headed back into the hotel. Diana was very conscious of her dripping hair, now wrapped in a turban. It would take a while to get ready.
It did, but Nikos left her to it, using the bathroom in the ancillary bedroom, obviously set aside for a child or a personal servant, leaving Diana in possession of the bridal bedroom and its palatial en suite bathroom. She was grateful for the unspoken tact with which Nikos had appropriated the other bedroom for himself.
By the time she emerged, over an hour later, she was ready for whatever demonstration of extreme opulence awaited her next. It proved to be an ultra-lavish bridal banquet, served to them in a private alcove off the main restaurant which was cantilevered out over the Persian Gulf.
The dress code, judging by the other diners, was formal, so she was glad she’d come prepared. Her silk gown, with its very fine plissé bodice, was in the palest eau-de-nil, and the soft folds of her long skirts brushed her legs as she walked in on Nikos’s arm—an extended kind of body contact she was schooling herself to get used to now that she was his wife. With practice, she would soon lose her self-consciousness about it, she knew.
Her face lit up as they approached their table. ‘Oh, how beautiful!’ she could not help exclaiming.
Over the top it might be, but the table décor was exquisite. Huge bouquets of flowers flanked it on either side, and the floor was strewn with rose petals. More covered the table, which was also set with exquisite flowers, little candles, and napery constructed into swans—an image echoed on the side table, where stood an ice sculpture of two swans, their necks entwined in a heart shape, a feast of fresh sliced fruit and champagne chilling in a silver ice bucket.
With a low murmur of an appreciative ‘Shukran!’ to the bevy of waiting staff now ushering them into their chairs, she was aware that they were drawing the eyes of the other diners as they took their places.
Nikos had opted for the restaurant’s speciality—a tasting menu. Tiny portions of exquisite and extraordinary concoctions that went on and on...and on.
‘More?’ Diana all but gave a mock groan as the waiting staff gathered to bestow upon them yet another tender trifle for their delectation.
‘Keep going,’ Nikos advised her, ‘or the chef will be out here, brandishing his knives in rage at your lack of appreciation for his genius.’
She laughed, and got stuck in to yet another delicious morsel filled with flavours that were impossible to identify but which created a fantasy inside her mouth. She gave a murmur of intense appreciation and closed her eyes.
From across the table Nikos’s gaze flickered over her. That little moan she’d given in her throat...that look of pleasure on her face...
He dragged his mind away. First their visit to the palace tomorrow, and then... Ah, then the honeymoon proper could begin. And how very much he was looking forward to that.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘YOUR HIGHNESS.’ DIANA dropped her head to the correct degree as she was formally presented to Sheikh Kamal and then his sister, Princess Fatima, who was at his side, also greeting their guests.
The Sheikh was, she had instantly appreciated, extremely handsome, with dark Arabian looks, a hawk-like nose, and piercing dark eyes from which, she suspected, little was hidden. But his manner to his guests was urbane in the extreme, and that of his sister fulsome.
Having been comprehensively briefed by one of the palace officials that morning in their hotel suite, Diana was confident she was not making any mistakes in protocol, and that her outfit of a long-sleeved, high-collared, ankle-length dress, worn with a loose but hair-concealing headscarf, was acceptable, and she found herself beginning to relax, encouraged by the warmth of their illustrious hosts’ welcoming attitude.