Zarif's Convenient Queen

‘But those stupid prawn appetisers would have wrecked your wedding night anyway,’ Belle pointed out sympathetically. ‘And at least Zarif knows the truth now.’

It was only then that it actually occurred to Ella that it was her wedding night and she flushed, amazed that she had so easily forgotten what had earlier dominated her every thought. She exchanged fond goodbyes with her new sisters-in-law and promised to visit them when she was next in London—whenever that might be. As they departed she slid out of the high bed, keen to go for a shower and freshen up. That was when Zarif chose to reappear.

‘I’m going for a shower,’ she told him tightly, murderously conscious of the horribly old-fashioned and shapeless white nightdress that she had been put in after her collapse and hoping very much that Zarif had not been involved in undressing her.

Zarif scanned her tense figure and anxious face. Sheathed in a white cotton gown that could only have belonged to someone either very old or very modest, she looked like an angel with her wealth of blonde hair tumbling round her shoulders and her blue eyes big and bright above her pink cheeks. Doubtless she was worried that he might be selfish enough to try and claim his marital rights regardless of her weakened condition and he straightened his broad shoulders.

‘I’ll sleep elsewhere tonight,’ he told her flatly.

Ella added two and two and made four. ‘This is your room?’

Zarif nodded, brilliant dark golden eyes veiled as if he was reluctant to remind her that she was his wife and that this was their wedding night.

‘I wouldn’t dream of putting you out of your room,’ Ella declared, tense with discomfiture and determined not to prove any more of a nuisance than she had already been. ‘Stay—we’re grown-ups, surely we can share the bed?’

Without another word, she vanished into the bathroom, which she was relieved to discover was infinitely more modern than the one she had used at the start of the day. Indeed the jets

from the power shower stung her out of her lethargy and soon had her reaching for a towel. She had no choice other than to don the same old-fashioned nightie when she was dry. The bedroom was empty when she emerged and she wasted no time in climbing into the bed.

About ten minutes later, Zarif returned to the bedroom, naked but for the towel knotted round his narrow hips. Water droplets still clung to the dark curls of hair scattered across his virile pecs and his hair was still damp, spiked up by a rough towelling. Her attention roamed to the muscled planes of his strong brown back and lean hips before straying without her volition to his heavily muscled torso and the hard, corrugated slab of his flat stomach.

Her mouth ran dry as he extracted something from a drawer and let the towel drop carelessly to the floor, exposing taut brown buttocks. Muscles rippling, he yanked on a pair of black boxers and she suddenly closed her eyes tight, embarrassed that she had been spying on him, ashamed that she could be twenty-four years old and still that naively curious about the male body.

Wouldn’t everything have been easier had she been more experienced? Sleeping with Zarif would then have been no big deal, she told herself. Only to change her mind as she lifted her lashes half a sneaky inch and watched him stroll towards the bed with the predatory grace of a prowling panther, almost stopping her heart dead with excitement in the process. She swallowed hard as he doused the lights and the bed gave beneath his weight.

‘You know if you want to, you can... I’m feeling fine now,’ she told him with startling abruptness, utterly fed up with the ridiculous level of nervous tension he inspired in her and ready to do virtually anything to put it to flight.

Perplexed by that unexpected offer, Zarif flipped over on his side to peer at her, his dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight. ‘I can wait until you’re back to full strength. After the day we’ve had, you must be tired. I know I am.’

Heat surged up from Ella’s throat to her hairline and mortification almost choked her. She gritted her teeth. So, he was too tired to be tempted by her. Well, she had offered and he had turned her down. Let it not be said that she could not take rejection on the chin. Punching the pillow beneath her head, she turned her back on him and curled up, eyes wide and stinging like mad.

* * *

When Ella wakened she was alone in the big bed. Rising, she went through the closets and drawers until she found her own clothing. Leaving out lingerie and a sundress, she went into the bathroom to freshen up. When she emerged wrapped in a towel, a maid was changing the bed and as soon as she saw Ella the young woman curtsied and swept open a communicating door to indicate the table laden with dishes in the room next door.

‘Good morning, habibti,’ Zarif drawled, springing upright from the table.

Ella hovered. ‘Good morning. I’d better get dressed.’

‘There is no need. We won’t be disturbed and I would assume that you don’t want cold hot chocolate.’

Taste buds watering, Ella took a step forward. ‘You have hot chocolate?’

A wolfish grin slashed Zarif’s darkly handsome features and his tawny eyes gleamed. ‘I have hot chocolate and croissants for you...’

Ella gave him a huge natural smile and closed the door behind her, tucking in the towel knotted above her breasts and sinking down into a chair. ‘When did you get up?’

‘I go into the office about six and answer my emails while it’s quiet. I like to enjoy a leisurely breakfast.’ He poured the hot chocolate and the rich aroma of it made her sniff in appreciation as she reached for a croissant.

Ella was disconcerted that he had remembered two of her favourite things. The past beckoned and she struggled to fend off memories of their bittersweet time together three years earlier. Back then she had been utterly convinced that he was a romantic and she had been so much in love that even the feel of his hand enclosing hers had lit her up inside like a firework display. She blinked, pushing away the unproductive memories and all recollection of the dreaming, trusting girl she had been. Then as now, she told herself, it had all been about sex and she had better not forget that for a moment.

Zarif withdrew the ring box from his pocket and set it in front of her. ‘I intended to give this to you yesterday but there was no opportunity.’

Ella opened the box to stare down at the magnificent sapphire and diamond ring. ‘What’s it for?’

‘I heard the child at our English wedding ask why you had no engagement ring. I bought it for you three years ago,’ Zarif admitted ruefully.

‘And you don’t mind me wearing it?’ Ella had flushed. He had very much disconcerted her.