Saffy have wanted to achieve that impossibility, not if it meant returning to the uninformed, bewildered teenager she had been, incapable of consummating her marriage and having to live within the confines of the repressive regime of the late King Fareed.
Zahir phoned her full of apologies to say that he could not join her before dinner. He reappeared, vital and startlingly handsome, to study her where she sat reading on the terrace. She smiled at him, blue eyes sparkling, and his winged brows pleated in surprise. ‘I thought you’d be furious with me for leaving you alone all afternoon,’ he admitted ruefully.
And Saffy laughed. ‘I’m not eighteen any more,’ she reminded him gently. ‘And I understand that you have responsibilities you can’t escape.’
‘But not the very first day you arrive. In that spirit, I have blocked off two weeks at the end of the month purely for us,’ Zahir told her, his features suddenly very serious in cast. ‘We can travel, stay here, do whatever you like, but there will no other demands on our time.’
Saffy was impressed that he had already foreseen the necessity for them to formally make space in their schedules to spend time together as a couple. It was an effort and an opportunity he had not tried to organise five years earlier and she appreciated it. A pretty fabulous three-course meal was served to them in the dining room. There was evidently a chef in charge of the kitchens and one out to impress. While they ate, Zahir shared his ambition to promote Maraban as a tourist destination and he asked her if she would be interested in helping to put together a public relations film to show off some of Maraban’s main attractions.
‘We have beaches, archaeological sites, mountains,’ Zahir told her persuasively. ‘You could present it. You’re accustomed to being in front of the cameras.’
‘Not in a speaking role, at least only occasionally.’ But Saffy was pleased to be offered the chance to do something useful. ‘I haven’t been to any of those places though.’
Zahir frowned at the unspoken reminder that his father’s determination to conceal their marriage had left her virtually imprisoned within the palace walls. ‘Your eyes will be fresh then, your observations and expectations more realistic. We have a lot to learn about what tourists want. We don’t have many marketing people here,’ he confided. ‘In fact Maraban would still be floundering and trapped in past mistakes if thousands of our former citizens hadn’t responded to my appeal to come home after my father’s regime fell. Many professionals returned from abroad to enable us to tackle the challenge of bringing our country into the twenty-first century.’
‘It’s wonderful that people chose to come back and help,’ Saffy murmured, loving the gravity of his lean strong face, the warmth and concern he could not hide when he spoke about the country of his birth.
‘But not half as wonderful as having you here with me again,’ Zahir countered, dark golden eyes welded to her as he rose from his chair. ‘Will you come to bed with me now, Your Majesty?’
‘Call me Queenie—I’m never going to get used to the other. In answer to your question, I don’t know…’ Saffy angled her head to one side, pretending to think it over even though her heart was racing like a marathon runner’s. ‘Last night you were a no-show.’
Faint colour darkened his cheekbones. ‘On board our flight, I didn’t think I’d be welcome.’
‘Put it this way—I wouldn’t have kicked you out of bed,’ Saffy confided, turning pink.
With a flashing smile of satisfaction, Zahir crossed the room and snatched her bodily up off the carpet into his arms to carry her down the corridor, a process accompanied by much giggling from Saffy. Halfway towards their bedroom he started kissing her and an arrow of sweet, piercing heat slivered between her thighs, smothering her amusement and awakening her body to desire.
‘Being alone with you is all I’ve thought about all day,’ Zahir admitted, settling her down on the gigantic bed, which she noted was already clear of cushions and turned down in readiness for their occupation. Evidently the staff might be well acquainted with the habits of newly married couples.
As he cast off his robes and she kicked off her shoes Saffy smiled at his honesty. ‘One-track mind.’
‘Always…with you.’ Zahir nuzzled against her slender throat, kissing and licking a sensitive spot below her ear that made her quiver and tightened her sensitive nipples. Then he groaned. ‘I need a shave—’
Saffy grabbed him before he could spring back off the bed. ‘Not right now,’ she told him squarely.
Zahir laughed. ‘I don’t want to scratch you.’
‘Face facts. I won’t agree to you going anywhere right at this minute,’ Saffy told him, smoothing appreciative palms up over his broad muscular chest and then down very, very slowly and appreciatively over his six-pack abs. ‘This is my time and I’m holding on tight to you.’
In the moonlight, Zahir’s lean features were taut. ‘You mean that?’
Saffy’s fingers trailed daringly lower and closed around his bold erection.
With a roughened groan of satisfaction, Zahir flung himself back against the pillows. ‘You’re absolutely right. Nothing would move me right now.’
Saffy leant over him, her mane of hair trailing across his abdomen. He said something in Arabic. She pressed her lips to the tiny brown disc of a male nipple and moved in a southerly direction, taking her time as she kissed and stroked her way down his beautiful bronzed body.
‘This is our wedding night…’ Zahir muttered thickly. ‘I should be doing this to you.’
‘My turn later…right now, I’m in charge,’ Saffy whispered just before she found him with her mouth and his hands lodged firmly into her hair, his hips rising to assist her, and an exclamation of intense pleasure was wrenched from him. Proud of her own boldness, no longer ashamed of the desire he roused in her, Saffy was thoroughly enjoying herself.
She loved having him in her power, revelled in every response he couldn’t control and experienced a deep sense of achievement when he could no longer stand her teasing caresses and he dragged her up to him and flipped her over to ravage her lush lips with an almost savage kiss.
Making love to Zahir turned her on and no sooner had he registered that fact than he rose over her, all masculine, dominant power and energy, and thrust his engorged shaft into the silky wet tightness of her inner channel. She cried out in delight and then he was moving and stretching her, ramping up her level of excitement to an almost unbearable degree. It had never occurred to her that slow and deep could be as thrilling as fast and hard, but he wouldn’t let her urge him on and control the pace.
‘No, this we do my way,’ Zahir growled, flexing his hips, sending a shiver of exquisite sensitivity over her entire skin surface, her nipples straining as he shifted position and angle to torture her more.
He kept her straining on the edge of climax for a long time and the ripples of growing excitement were engulfing her like a flood when, in receipt of one final driving thrust, she found a wild, scorching release that shattered her into shaking, sobbing weightlessness, utterly drained by the joy of the experience. She lay there for a long time afterwards, wrapped in his arms, steeped in pure pleasure, marvelling that they were together again.
‘Now perhaps you’ll consider telling me what or who transformed you in the bedroom from the terrified
