‘Close your eyes.’
Her eyes flew to his and she moved her face back when she realised how close they were. ‘Why? What are you going to do to me?’
‘Nothing you don’t want me to.’
Time seemed to grind to a halt as those gravelly words grazed along her nerve endings. She felt her pulse race. Those blasted magazine images wove into her consciousness and heat made her dizzy. Then she realised she was holding her breath and let it out.
‘Closing your eyes might help you feel the music,’ he suggested, watching her closely.
It might help her forget about how devastatingly handsome he was as well, so she did. On some level it made her awareness of him even more intense, but on another it did help, and before she knew it she could feel herself moving much more gracefully than she would have thought possible.
‘You’re a quick study,’ he murmured against her ear. ‘How are the feet now?’
Farah shivered and opened her eyes. She’d forgotten all about her feet but now she could feel the balls of them throbbing. ‘Not great.’
He pulled her indecently close. ‘Lean against me,’ he said roughly.
She wanted to say no, she wanted to move away, but gremlins had invaded her body and suddenly her lids drooped closed and she entered some dreamy realm where her body took over. She wouldn’t have said exactly that she was dancing because they were barely moving but it felt lovely. She could feel him against her, hard and so solid. His body was so different from her own and it amazed her how they fit together—as if they were made for each other.
When the music changed tempo her eyes drifted opened and she was embarrassed by how lost she had been in the moment. Her heart beat double time and she was shocked to realise how aroused she was just by dancing with him.
It used to be that her body was more like a machine that did her bidding: arms, legs, hands, feet. Now she was aware of useless things, like her breasts, the hollow space between her thighs, the prince’s hand on her hip and a tingling weakness at the back of her knees. Sensations that made her feel fragile and defenceless. And then she wondered if it was the same for him. Did men feel weak and defenceless when lust overtook them? Did Prince Zachim feel that right now, for her? It seemed impossible and yet more shocking was how much she wanted him to want her—she, a village girl, with all the sophistication of a desert mouse. Why, he must have had the most sophisticated lovers in the world. Women like the ones that peppered the wedding and gazed at him with a deep longing. A deep longing Farah never wanted to feel for anyone.
Suddenly feeling claustrophobic, she surprised them both by pulling out of his arms. Wanting Prince Zachim was a betrayal to her father and to everything she wanted for herself: self-sufficiency, independence. Self-respect. ‘I need to use the bathroom,’ she said, furious all over again.
‘I’ll take you.’
Of course he would, and it was a welcome reminder that she wasn’t really a wedding guest but a captive. And she no longer cared about his threats if she tried to escape.
Inside the bathroom there were no windows or back doors so she finished up quickly and returned to the ballroom with him, alert now to where the guards were.
A few men dressed in Western attire came over and talked to the prince and he turned to engage in conversation. Farah half listened and smiled politely, as if she were part of the group when she wasn’t. She noticed a small knot of women standing close by and realised they were the partners of the men talking and she was the only woman in this group—a lone gazelle in a pride of male lions.
She didn’t bother getting the prince’s permission before making her way over to them. Let him stop her if he dared. It wasn’t for her to decide how long the leash was and, although earlier she had not doubted he’d tie her dress cord around her neck as punishment for defying him, she knew now that he wouldn’t jeopardise his brother’s wedding by causing a scene. He wasn’t that uncivilised.
When one of the women she was only half listening to complained she was hot, Farah could have hugged her.
Taking charge, she suggested they walk on the terrace. Lush gardenias and roses scented the warm evening air but Farah was only interested in where the exit points were.
Cursing the torture devices on her feet, she realised she would have to leave them behind, Cinderella-like, if she got a chance to escape. Only she would be leaving both behind and she didn’t want the prince to come after her. Ever.
Making her apologies to the women, she quickstepped down the stone steps as if she knew exactly where she was going and skirted the plethora of plants in the verdant garden. Clearly water restrictions did not apply inside the palace—another black mark against the Darkhan family.