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Diana was the woman he desired for her cool pale beauty, the woman he was so close to making his own in the most intimate way.
Soon...so very soon now.
With a flexing of his muscles he executed a perfect duck-dive and disappeared under the water completely, swimming strongly to the end of the pool and back several times before needing to surface.
Diana watched him admiringly. ‘That’s amazing breath control,’ she told him as he finally broke the water.
He grinned again. ‘It’s just practice,’ he said. ‘And good lung capacity.’
Diana’s eyes went to the smooth, muscled expanse of his chest, with its perfectly honed pecs and taut solar plexus in the flat between his hard-edged ribs. She looked away hurriedly. Feasting her gaze on his near naked body was no way to behave.
She waded to the steps and clambered out, wrapping a towel around herself. ‘I’m heading indoors,’ she announced. ‘Time to shower. What’s the drill for this evening?’ Her voice held the light, bright tone she was determined to keep with him.
‘Sunset drinks on the terrace,’ he informed her. ‘No rush.’
It was just as well he’d said that, Diana discovered, for when she returned indoors she was immediately swept away by what seemed to be a whole posse of waiting women who, with a flurry of soft-footed, smiling attention, proceeded to get her ready for the evening.
For a brief moment she resisted—then relented. After all, never again would she be staying in a royal hideaway in the Arabian desert—so why not indulge in what was being so insistently offered to her?
With murmurs of ‘Shukran!’ she gave herself up to their ministrations.
* * *
Nikos stood on the wide upper-storey terrace, edged by a balustrade in the red sandstone that the whole building was constructed with, smooth and warm to the touch still, though the sun was close to setting. To the east, colour was fading from the sky, and soon stars would be pricking out in the cloudless sky. There would indeed be a spectacular show later on.
Ruminatively he sipped his drink, a cool, mint-flavoured concoction that went well with the ambience. There was champagne on ice awaiting Diana’s eventual emergence. His eyes narrowed slightly as he recalled that moment in the pool, when she’d made no secret of being oh-so-aware of his body. Finding it pleasing to her.
Anticipation thrummed softly through him. Finally...finally he was losing the ice maiden! It had taken him this long, but the thaw was underway. He felt the tug of a caustic smile at the corner of his mouth as his eyes rested on the desert vista beyond. In this heat, how could she help but thaw?
And here, now, in this the ultimate hideaway, she would melt completely, he knew.
Mentally he sent a message of thanks to the Sheikh and his romantic-souled sister. This place was absolutely ideal. The hotel might have been designed to convey the impression of Arabian Nights—but this was the real thing.
His smile lost its caustic edge and widened into one of true appreciation. An appreciation he knew Diana shared too. There was an authenticity to this place that appealed to her—it had a history, a cultural heritage. Generations had passed through it, leaving the echo of their presence, and that made it similar in essence to her own country house home. He felt it was a good omen for their stay.
A sound behind him made him turn. And as he did every thought about the edifice he was in vanished. Every thought in his head vanished except one.
It was Diana—and she looked...
Sensational.
She was walking towards him slowly. Slowly, he realised, because she was in very high heels and her dress was very tight. It must, he realised instantly, be the couture gown gifted to her by the Princess. And, oh, the Princess had chosen well!
The superbly crafted gown contoured Diana’s figure like a glove, fitting her almost like a second skin. There was nothing at all immodest in the fit—it simply skimmed over her flawlessly, the smooth, pale yellow material creating a sheen that glistened in the fading light, aglow from the setting sun reflecting off the golden dunes.
He gazed at her, riveted, as she approached, the short train of the dress swishing on the marble floor, the delicate beading rustling at her bodice and hem.
She stopped as she came up to him. ‘The Princess had this delivered here!’ she announced.
She’d been half dismayed to discover that Princess Fatima had kept to what she’d promised, and half dazzled by wearing so exquisite a gown, far in excess of what her own wardrobe ran to.
Nikos’s eyes swept over her. ‘You look fantastic,’ he breathed.
His whole body had tensed, tautened, and he could not take his eyes from her. The incredible gown—haute couture at its most extravagant best—needed no jewellery. The beading served as that, and all that had been added was a kind of narrow bandeau of the same material, embroidered all over with the delicate beading that had been woven through the elaborate coiffure of her hair. Her make-up was subdued, but absolutely perfect for her, her lips a soft sheen, her skin unpowdered, her eyelashes merely enhanced, and a little kohl around the eyes themselves. It made her look sensual and exotic.
‘It’s incredible,’ he murmured, still sweeping his gaze over her. He found himself reaching for her hands—their nails were pearlescent, with a soft sheen like her lips. Slowly he raised them to his mouth. His eyes met hers. ‘You were always beautiful,’ he said, ‘but tonight—tonight you surpass the stars themselves!’
For a moment their eyes met and mingled. Held. Something seemed to pass between them...something that she could not block—did not wish to. Something that seemed to keep her absolutely motionless while Nikos beheld her beauty.
