had ended.
In addition, Angele could not let herself forget the offered price for this night was ultimately Zahir’s freedom. Perhaps that, if not she directly, accounted for his increased ardor in her regard. Whether or not he was willing to admit it, he clearly wanted out of their pseudoengagement.
Or had he always been attracted to her in some fashion, but unwilling to act on it because to do so would force the issue of their marriage?
She preferred that scenario to the one where he found the prospect of freedom so appealing, it alone birthed lust in him over her body.
Refusing to analyze the confusing situation any further, she brushed out her hair and changed her makeup to a neutral palette with eyes that were rimmed in kohl.
If not for the highlights in her hair and barely there underclothes, she could have been a bride of Zohra from a hundred years ago. She saw no one in the secret passageways, but heard a peal of feminine laughter as she passed the access to what must have been Amir’s rooms.
It sounded much too close to be muffled by walls. Having no desire to be caught on her way to Zahir’s room, Angele scooted into a crevice as the sound of bare feet padded down the passage she had just passed.
“Shh … the operative word here is secret,” Amir said in a loud whisper to his still giggling wife.
“How did I not know they existed all the times I stayed in this palace?”
“You were not yet my wife.”
“I am now.” Grace sounded both awed and very pleased by that fact.
“Indeed.” Amir’s voice was laced with pure possession, however.
“So, are we going to explore?”
“Would you rather do that, or return to our rooms and celebrate our marriage?”
“Guess.” Silence filled only with the sound of kissing and increasingly heavy breathing followed. Then, Grace said in a husky voice, “This week-long wedding thing is pretty neat, I must say. Western brides only get one wedding night.”
Their voices faded as the footsteps returned the way they had come and Angele released a pent-up breath. She did not know how Zahir had stood maintaining a hidden affair for so long.
One night was enough to stretch Angele’s nerves tighter than a model’s corset.
SHE made it to Zahir’s room without further incident. Then she stood in front of the lever that would swing an ancient wardrobe within the room open like a door, and gathered her courage. This was it. The moment she’d craved far longer than anyone else would ever know.
She reached out to pull the lever, but the “door” was already opening. It swung inward to a room lit by numerous candles.
Clad in the traditional wedding garments of the Zohra royal family, Zahir looked at her with an expression so serious, it made her breath catch. “I began to think you had changed your mind.”
Unable to speak, she shook her head.
“Your wedding night awaits.” He stepped back.
“Come.”
Her heart hammering, she followed him into the candlelit room, but jerked when he reached behind her, and then blushed at her jumpiness.
“Be at peace. I am only closing the access to the corridor.”
“Can just anyone come in through it?” she asked, another worry finding its place in her maelstrom of emotions.
“Only the family knows of its existence, and a select few of our security detail, those whose families have served the royal house for generations.”
“But still.” What if his brother, or father, or something, decided to make a late night visit?
“I have locked it from this side. The lever on the other side of the wall will not move.”
Relief washed over her. “Amir and Grace were in the corridor.”
Zahir’s entire body tensed. “Did they see you?”
“No.”
He nodded, relaxing a little. “It would not have been a total tragedy, but I would prefer you not to be made the object of speculation.”
She begged to differ. If she’d been seen, dressed as she was, it would have been both humiliating and a huge and total tragedy. Nothing would stop her uncle from forcing the marriage if she were caught in such a circumstance.
Thank goodness, only the royal family of Zohra knew of the passages. And her.
“How did you know I was in the corridor? Is there some kind of alarm?”
Zahir merely shrugged, but there was an odd expression in his eyes, the soft light of the candles giving his angular cheeks a burnished glow that almost looked like a blush.
He reached out and cupped her cheek. “You look beautiful.”
“You didn’t like my dress earlier?” “You know I did.” “Do I?”
“Oh, yes.” His hand slipped around her head and settled against her nape. He used the hold to gently tug her forward until their bodies were a mere breath apart. “You are a minx. How did I not realize this before?”
“Minx is such an old-fashioned word.”
“I am an old-fashioned guy.”
“You think?”
“In some ways, I am very traditional.”
Then, before she could answer, he lowered his head and she finally got the kiss she’d always wanted.
And it was every bit as tender and romantic as she could ever have hoped. Letting out a little sigh of pleasure, she let her lips part slightly.
Zahir’s tongue swept inside, claiming her mouth with unhesitating, if gentle, demand. Her arms moved of their own volition, her hands clasping behind his neck as she melted into him. His big body shuddered at the full-on contact and she could feel the evidence of a tightly leashed desire pressing impressively against her stomach.
The evidence that he did indeed want her made her bold and she tangled her tongue with his, responding to his kiss with an abandon she’d never known she was capable of.
She’d spent so many years repressing her sexual desires, they rushed through her now with the power of a California wildfire.
She moaned, moving against him, needing more than the kiss, but too involved in it to do anything about that.
As if he could read her mind, Zahir’s hands began exploring her body through the thin silk of the wedding
galabeya.
