“Great. Thanks.” She picked up her mat and said her goodbyes to Roxanne before heading off with the other sisters.
His wife picked up her towel to wipe her face and Feraz couldn’t seem to stop staring at her flushed cheeks and the tiny bead of sweat that ran down her neck to the valley between her breasts. She’d worn a black tank top to match her yoga pants, nothing overtly revealing or tight, yet he didn’t think he’d ever seen his wife look sexier.
She chugged down half a bottle of water, then smiled up at him, her eyes narrowed. “How are you today?”
“Good. Great.” Feraz tingled with anticipation around her, which was a pleasant change for a worldly, experienced man such as himself. “How was your yoga?”
“Nice. The stretching helps me with my sore back and gets the circulation going in my feet again, which helps.”
Feraz half-listened to her as she spoke, concentrating more on his wife’s full, pink lips than her words. He didn’t know about circulation to the feet, but right now, he definitely had some increased blood flow to other parts of his body.
Then images of those lurid newspaper articles rushed back to his mind and his need was mixed with no small portion of protectiveness. He forced his mind back to the task at hand. “I was hoping if you had time later today, that we might talk about things, between us, the future.”
She picked up her yoga mat, then nodded. “I think that would be a good idea.”
* * *
Two hours later, Isabella sat in the sitting area of her suite, doing her best not to fidget as she waited for Feraz’s knock on her door. She’d had lunch in her rooms again, showered, changed, then paced the floor to try and clear her head. She’d thought the yoga might do more than stretch her muscles. She’d hoped it would help dispel the fizzing stress inside her since they’d landed in Djeva, but no such luck.
Feraz had said he wanted to talk, and that was good. She needed answers. Answers about what he saw for their future, what his plans were for after the baby was born, why he’d kissed her on the plane…
Sure, husbands and wives kissed all the time. But Roxanne and Feraz were estranged. He hadn’t seen his wife in at least six months and from what Roxanne had told Isabella there’d been no love lost between them anyway. She’d thought this was a safe bet coming here to the island with him. No fuss, no muss, no risk of any messy emotional entanglements.
Then boom. The kiss that rocked her universe.
Up until now, she’d been so busy with getting situated in the palace, meeting all his family and all the servants, becoming acquainted with a new culture and new customs, that she honestly hadn’t spent much time thinking about it, but now, alone here in the quiet, her mind ran through that kiss on endless loop. The feel of Feraz’s muscular body pressed to hers, the taste of him on her lips, the scent of his cologne, all of it created a tsunami of want inside her that threatened to draw her under if she wasn’t careful.
And in Isabella’s situation she couldn’t afford to be anything but careful.
She exhaled slowly and pushed to the edge of the sofa to get up when a brief knock sounded, followed by Feraz just walking in unannounced. She reminded herself that he thought she was Roxanne, his wife. He wouldn’t ask permission to enter his spouse’s rooms under normal circumstances. And while this wasn’t exactly normal, she didn’t want to cause any more friction between them than was necessary. She needed Feraz on her side if she wanted this to work.
“Hey,” she said, fumbling awkwardly to her feet, grunting slightly as her side pulled a bit. She’d been nervous about switching caregivers mid-pregnancy, but Dr. Phillips had highly recommended her colleague here in Djeva and reassured Isabella that all would be fine. It was too late now to worry, and she would actually be glad for a recheck the next day. The baby had been even more active than usual, almost as if there were more than one in there, and even her maternity clothes were getting tight at this point. Her eating hadn’t changed. In fact, she’d actually missed some meals due to all the chaos of traveling, so she couldn’t have gained that much weight. Maybe it
was her swelling getting worse.
“Don’t get up on my account,” Feraz said, rushing to her side. Ever the gentleman. Isabella had always liked that about him. Roxanne used to make fun of his formal ways, calling them stuffy and old-fashioned, but Isabella found them charming. He helped her back onto the sofa, then took a seat in the armchair across from her. “How are you feeling? Did you have lunch?”
“I’m fine.” She shifted slightly to relive pressure off her aching hip and forced a smile. “And I had lunch here, in my suite. Gave me a chance to catch up on my emails and stuff.”
“Good. Tomorrow we’ll have lunch together, before your doctor’s appointment, if that pleases you?”
“Yes.” She smiled again, genuine this time. “That sounds lovely. Could we go out? I’d love to see more of the city.”
“Of course.” He sat back, beaming with pride, his teeth white and even against his tanned skin when he grinned. Isabella knew from her reading how much work he’d put into restoring his country economically and he deserved to be proud of his achievements. He was a true leader, a man to be reckoned with, a sheikh. From beneath her lashes, Isabella couldn’t help studying his lithe graceful form in that fine tailored suit he wore. The way the material clung to his muscles and trim torso, his long legs stretched out before him, those hands. What she wouldn’t give to feel his hands on her again, stroking her, holding her, making her feel the same pleasure she’d felt in his arms aboard the plane.
She put an abrupt stop to that line of thinking.
Her presence here was a total charade, a lie put in motion by her dead sister and her mother to get what they needed. Isabella’s wants and needs didn’t factor into this at all. The sooner she remembered that, the better.
Silence stretched taut between them and she suppressed the urge to fidget again beneath his dark, watchful stare. Finally, she asked, “So, what did you want to talk about?”
He sat forward, drawing the material of his jacket tight across his broad shoulders. “What are your plans for after the baby is born? I’ve told you what I desire, but what do you want?”
Isabella nearly said that it didn’t matter what she wanted, but bit back the words. Instead she shrugged.
“That is not an answer, rohi.” He exhaled slowly and pushed to his feet to pace the same track she’d worn in the carpet earlier. “I did not want to tell you this, but I’m afraid you might see it elsewhere when we go out tomorrow for your appointment, so I feel I must. Those photographers yesterday were not kind to you in the papers this morning. They constantly bring up your past…indiscretions.” Isabella winced at the word. Roxanne had left a trail of men across the globe. Feraz was being kind by labeling them as only indiscretions. “I do not wish our children to be subjected to such trash about their mother.”
Neither did she. She’d expected some talk in the press about her return here to Djeva, especially with her sister’s past reputation these two years, but the impact of it hit her harder than she’d anticipated. “What did they say?”