Tycoon's Ring of Convenience

Her eyes went to him again, seeing his elegantly rakish garb, the absence of a tie, the open-necked shirt, the turned-back cuffs, all creating that raffish look, looking so sensual.

She felt a ripple of ultra-awareness go through her like a frisson. As if every nerve-ending were suddenly totally alert—quivering. And as she stood beside him she caught his scent—something musky, sweet-spiced and aromatic, that went perfectly with this desert landscape, matching the oh-so-feminine version of the perfume with which she had been adorned. It caught her senses, increasing the tension that was vibrating silently through her as she stood beside him, so aware of his presence close to her, knowing she only had to lean a little sideways for her arm to press against his. For his arm to wrap around her, pull her to him as they stood gazing out over the darkening desert.

From somewhere deep within her another emotion woke. One she should pay heed to. One that called to her to listen. But she would not listen. She refused to listen. Refused to heed it. She would only go on standing here, nestled into the strong, protective curve of Nikos’s arm, gazing out over the desert that surrounded them all about, keeping the world beyond far, far away.

She sipped her champagne, as did he, and they stood in silence until the night had wrapped them completely and the dunes had become looming, massy shapes, darker than the night itself. Overhead, stars had started to blaze like windows into a fiery furnace beyond. Behind them torches were being lit by unseen hands along the length of the terrace, and several braziers, too, to guard against the growing chill of the desert night, and the flickering firelight danced in the shadows all around them.

She turned, and realised that through the archways that pierced the inner border of the terrace more light was spilling—softer light—and the characteristic sweetly aromatic scent of Middle Eastern cuisine.

‘Ready to dine?’ Nikos asked her with a smile, and she nodded, suddenly hungry.

Lunch seemed a long time ago. Her everyday reality a long time ago.

Because this surely wasn’t real, was it? Nikos as her very own desert prince, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and she, gliding beside him like a princess, in a gown fit for royalty, her train swishing on the inlaid marble floor.

Servants were guiding them forward, smiling and bowing, ushering them into yet another room. She gave a soft cry of delight as they entered. It was a dining room, the interior constructed out of wood, fretted and inset with tessellations which glinted in the light of the dozens of candles that were the only illumination, burning in sconces on the walls and pillars all around, and on the table set for them with golden dishes, golden plates—golden everything, it seemed. The air was heavy with the fragrance of frankincense from hidden burners.

‘Jamil jaddaan—very beautiful!’ Diana exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight and indicating the exquisite room.

The servants bowed and smiled, and the steward pulled back huge carved wooden chairs, lined with silk cushions, for her and Nikos. She took her place carefully, and Nikos sat opposite her.

The meal that followed was as exquisite as the room they dined in—dishes of rich, fragrant Middle Eastern food, with delicately spiced charcoal-baked meats as familiar as lamb and as unfamiliar as goat and camel, and who knew what else besides, as tender as velvet, all served with rice enhanced with nuts and dates and raisins, sweet and savoury at the same time.

As a mindful precaution for her priceless gown Diana had called for a shawl to be brought, which she’d swathed around her upper body while she ate.

‘I couldn’t bear to mark this dress!’ She shuddered at the thought. ‘I doubt it could ever be cleaned—and even if it could the cost would be terrifying!’ She looked at it musingly. ‘I wonder when I’m ever going to have an opportunity to wear it again.’

He answered instantly. ‘When we entertain at Greymont,’ he said. ‘Once all the work is complete we can give a grand ball—and you shall wear the Princess’s gown for it.’

A vision leapt in her mind instantly. Greymont, thronged with guests, and she and Nikos descending the stairs to the hall, her hand on his arm—man and wife, side by side. As if their marriage was a true one.

For a moment longing fired within her. So fierce she felt faint with it.

What if my marriage to Nikos were real?

The thought wound its way around her senses, enticing, beguiling, sweet and fragrant—just as the fragrance of the frankincense was winding its way around her senses, along with the glowing effervescence of champagne, the deep, rich sensuality of the wine, her physical repletion after the delicately spiced foods, the soft golden light of the candles, reflected a million times in the golden dishes...

The light was setting off the man she had married a few short days ago with a golden sheen, softening the contours of his face, giving him glints like flecks of gold in his dark, long-lashed eyes.

Eyes that were resting on her.

With a message in them that was as old as time.

‘Diana.’

He said her name in a low voice, setting down his wine glass slowly, paying it no attention. All his focus was on her, now, as she sat there, held in his gaze.

‘Diana...’

He said her name again. His voice was husky now. How beautiful

she was! Like a rare, exquisite jewel, shining in this jewel box of a room. For him alone.

He got to his feet, oblivious of the servant who was instantly there, drawing back the heavy, carved cedarwood chair. He held out a hand towards Diana. Slowly, very slowly, she got to her feet. Unnoticed, her swathing shawl fell to the floor. Unnoticed, a servant stooped to pick it up, drape it gracefully around her shoulders.

Wordlessly she took Nikos’s hand. It closed over hers, warm and strong. She felt faint suddenly, and filled with a subliminal sense of anticipation. His eyes smiled at her—warm, like his handclasp.

‘Shall we look at the stars?’ he said softly.