suddenly assailed by a waft of scent that reached out to him.
Hauntingly familiar.
Shockingly familiar.
It made his whole body freeze, realisation kicking him hard in the gut. He knew that perfume. Sandalwood and jasmine. It was a scent he associated with one woman only. Zia.
Since when did a maid wear the same perfume as her mistress?
Unless...
Had all the lights been turned out or could he really not see even if he blinked hard? Her face was hidden, just a blur behind the veil, but even if that obstacle had been tossed aside he would still be fighting to clear his vision. Had he walked into the same trap as before? Married into the same set-up as with Sharmila? Had he really been deceived once more by a pretty face, a seductive body?
Who the hell was she?
Nabil had suddenly gone so still that Aziza felt as if everything and everyone else had evaporated, leaving them in an intense vacuum where there was only the two of them, and the shimmering haze of awareness that was building with every breath she took. Her senses swam in sensual overload as she caught the scent of his skin so close to her nostrils. The hand that held up the veil on the other side was warm and gentle, long fingers slightly calloused from the controlling grip on the reins of the wild Arabian stallions he loved to ride. Once again the thought of those hands on her body, removing her djbella, dropping it to the floor, those tiny calluses catching on the smoothness of her skin, made her burn between her legs, her mouth drying in the rush of heated awareness. So much so that she snatched at the second half of the grape he was offering her, misjudging the action so that her mouth closed around not just the fruit but also the warm, tanned fingers that were holding it to her mouth.
Oh, dear lord! The words of panic pounded inside her head as she waited to see the way he would snatch his hand away in anger at her clumsiness.
It didn’t happen. Only that total silent, shocking stillness.
All she wanted was to bring him out of it. To make him move, speak—smile if she could.
Emboldened by the fizz of excitement that bubbled through her veins, she let her tongue slip against his fingers, tasting his clean skin and the slightly musky tang that turned her insides molten.
‘Aziza...’
She had heard that note, half-groan, half-laughter, in his voice before. On the balcony. Then he had rejected her, turned and walked away from her. But today there was no room for rejection or dismissal here. She was his. She was his Queen and her head spun in the delirium that combined with the heated rush of excitement and purely feminine need she was experiencing, turning her head.
She wanted to see that response again. But more than that she wanted the taste of him on her tongue again. Hunger made her bolder, slicking away the sugary taste of the grapes and replacing it with the stronger, more basic taste of warm male skin as she swirled her tongue around those strong fingers, resting her cheek against the warmth and hardness of his other hand as she did so.
‘Aziza!’ This time it was a very different sound. The groan might still be there but every trace of the laughter had vanished, leaving his voice hard and clipped even though it was never raised above the level of a whisper. ‘Enough, lady!’
It was like being slapped in the face, jolted back into reality with a nerve-jangling rush. He pulled his hands away from her face, letting her head drop to one side as he snatched his fingers away from her mouth, the heavy gold ring he wore on his finger—his wedding finger—catching on the fine gauze of her veil so that it tugged sharply against the points where it was fastened into the ornate style of her hair, bringing tears to her eyes.
Nabil had slammed to his feet, silencing everyone around them. All conversation stopped, every head turned their way, and the hushed atmosphere suddenly felt cold and oppressive, a sensation that was made worse by the way that Nabil now towered over her, his tall, powerful frame blocking out the light from the candles.
‘Enough,’ he said again and her mind was whirling too hard, too fearfully to be able to put any interpretation on his tone this time. She had overstepped some invisible line that she hadn’t even known was drawn between them, and she didn’t know which way to react.
If she had needed any proof of how commanding, how powerful he was, then it was there in the absolute stillness of every person in the hall following that single word. The total silence as they waited for him to move, to speak again. But then he didn’t need to speak, or raise his voice in command. No one could ever have questioned the sheer force of nature that was Nabil bin Rashid Al Sharifa as he stood, tall and proud beside her, holding out his hand to her. No words, just the silence of command. A command she would be every sort of a fool to try to resist.
Slowly she put her hand into his, felt herself pulled to her feet with such force that she fell against the rock-hard strength of Nabil’s body, losing her breath in a gasp of reaction.
‘We’re out of here.’
That was the quick, dark mutter he uttered against her ear, the rest of his attention directed out into the huge hall.
‘My bride is tired...’
That was what he told their audience, all of whom seemed transfixed by this unexpected development, the suddenness of the change in his mood that went against all the ceremony and ritual that was planned.
‘I’m not...’ she managed on a croak but just a turn of his head in her direction silenced the rest. He hauled her even closer to him, the pressure of his arms crushing her against the hard heat of him.
‘We will leave...’
At the end of the hallway a door that had been left open suddenly slammed back hard into its frame, the resulting bang startling everyone and silencing Nabil abruptly. Aziza was astonished to feel the way his strong body jerked against hers, the sudden tension in that long spine. For a moment he was completely still, bringing her own heartbeat to a halt as she wondered just what had changed his mood.
‘Nabil...’
But then it seemed that his thoughts returned to the present and he lifted his head again.
It had all happened in too short a space of time for anyone else to notice, Aziza realised as she saw no echo of her own confusion on the faces of their audience of guests.
‘My wife and I are leaving now,’ he continued, ignoring her own bewilderment so completely that she felt she must have been mistaken; that the abrupt change of mood had never happened. ‘But please, continue the celebrations...’
And that was it—he was turning, heading for the door. Aziza had no choice but to go with him because she was still clamped tight against him, the strength of his arms half-walking, half-carrying her out of the banqueting hall and along the marble corridors away from the ceremonial part of the palace, towards the private, personal area.
Had she done something wrong? Aziza didn’t know if it was fear or excitement that buzzed along every nerve, making her blood pound at the base of her skull so that she was sure Nabil must see it. How could he miss the throbbing pulse in her throat that revealed the race of her heart from underneath her skin?
She was held so tightly that there was no chance to break away if she wanted to. But did she want to? What she really felt was
