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He turned to face her, twirling the glass of wine between his long fingers. ‘And then my parents died in a plane crash when I was sixteen and Salman twelve. Instantly we were under threat again, but this time we were more prepared as my father had enlisted warriors to keep watch over every strategic weak point in the border, so the ruler of Al-Omar couldn’t attack again.’
‘The Sultan’s father died while I was in school in England, with Salman, and for the first time we knew we might be safe. Advisors ran the country while I finished my education, until I reached the age of twenty-one and could legally take over as Sheikh and ruler…’
Iseult realised something then. ‘Jamilah must have been so young when her parents died.’
‘Yes, she was only six. She stayed here and went to school in Merkazad. I made sure she was cared for by members of our extended family.’
‘But now there’s peace? You said that you’re friends with the current Sultan?’
Nadim nodded. ‘We went to school together in England.’ He smiled. ‘At first we hated each other, and used to get into fights at every opportunity. But then we discovered a mutual interest in peace and living in a democratic and progressive society and were bonded by our ideals. After his father died we vowed to forge an iron-clad alliance that would stand for many generations to come…’
Hearing this made Iseult feel humbled. From such an early age he’d been aware of responsibility and duty. In many ways they were similar, and yet…not. Iseult’s responsibilities had been confined to a much narrower world. And when she thought of that she was reminded of the great yawning chasm between Nadim’s
life and hers. Some day he would find a suitable bride and marry again, go on to have heirs to continue his legacy, and she— Her mind halted when Nadim put down his wine glass on the table and reached for her.
As if pulled by a magnet stronger than she could resist, she went into his arms and shook with emotion—emotion that he was effortlessly arousing.
Nadim trailed a finger down the silky smoothness of Iseult’s cheek. He felt slightly shell shocked. He’d just blithely spilled his entire life’s secrets to a woman when he’d never felt the desire to do so before. Lovers had tried to get him to tell what they thought were fantastic exotic tales, but he’d seen the manipulative glitter in their eyes, as if they’d thought it would inspire more intimacy.
The only other woman who had known everything had been his wife, Sara. And that was because she’d come from here and had lived through everything they had as the daughter of one of his father’s closest allies. He felt bitterness rise when he thought of it; it was one of the reasons she’d been deemed so perfect for him.
But Iseult… What was it about this woman and the effortless feeling of kinship she evoked within him? She was looking down…away. And he jealously wanted her eyes on him… He tipped up her chin with a finger and felt her clench her jaw slightly. What he saw in her eyes was something serious and deep. It sent tendrils of trepidation through him, even amidst a heady sweet feeling he’d never experienced before.
To drive away the regret that he’d said anything at all, and the fleeting panic because he recognised the look in her eyes, he bent his head and kissed her soft mouth, willing passion to come and obliterate any intellectual thought.
Hours later—her beautiful golden dress, underwear and hair-comb long gone—Iseult lay sprawled in inelegant abandon over Nadim’s equally naked body. She was pressing little kisses over his chest. His skin was still dewed with moisture and it tasted tangy and musky.
Within seconds of Nadim kissing her out on the balcony everything had been forgotten as intense desire had taken over, obliterating anything but sating their physical needs. She had a strong suspicion that he regretted telling her all he had, but she was too lethargic right now to let that thought bother her.
Iseult put her cheek onto Nadim’s chest and felt his heart beating, strong and steadily. She’d never felt so deeply sated in all her life, as if she was drunk and yet never more sober…a heady mix.
Idly, she trailed her hand across Nadim’s chest, and then lifted her head and propped her chin on her hand. His eyes were like two dark pools, making her heart kick all over again and fresh tendrils of desire coil through her.
‘Do you know,’ she mused, ‘I’ve seen you in jeans and a T-shirt…and a suit and tie…and your traditional robes…’ She smiled and started to trail her free hand down Nadim’s chest, and lower, watching how his eyes darkened even more.
‘But I think I like you naked best of all…’ Her hand wrapped around him in an intimate caress, and she exulted when she felt him harden and swell under her touch.
He brought his hands to her arms and with an easy strength flipped them, so that Iseult was under him. He hovered over her and between her legs, where his hair-roughened thighs made her move her hips.
In an unconsciously sensual move Iseult bent one leg and ran her foot down the back of Nadim’s leg, the soft silky skin of her inner thigh against his hip.
With a growl, he caught that leg and held it. He bent his head to hers and said, ‘Remember what I said, Iseult…don’t fall in love with me.’
Iseult tried to stem the instant gush of pain, and in that second knew that it was already too late. Some where it had happened; it could have even been just now out on the balcony, when he’d told her so dispassionately about his turbulent history, or it could have been in that tent in the desert when he’d first made love to her, or it could have been that moment she’d first seen him in Ireland, but somewhere along the way she’d fallen irrevocably in love.
She knew she couldn’t deny it, and that vulnerability made her say defiantly, ‘As long as you don’t fall in love with me.’
He smiled, and to Iseult’s eyes in that moment he looked incredibly sad. He didn’t need to say it, but it was written all over his face: I won’t. And then his mouth met hers, and she twined her hands around his neck, feeling alternately angry with him and absurdly tender, and irritated that all he had to do was kiss her to scramble any rational thought.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘I’D LIKE you to come to the Sultan of Al-Omar’s birthday celebrations with me.’
Iseult just looked at Nadim. He was leaning nonchalantly against the door of Devil’s Kiss’s stable, looking far too gorgeous for his own good in faded jeans and a T-shirt. Earlier she’d watched him break in a new yearling, and it had been sheer poetry in motion.
She stood now, keeping a hand on Devil’s Kiss, as if he could keep her rooted in reality. The thought of leaving the cocoon of Merkazad was slightly threatening. ‘But…where is it? When?’
Nadim hid the dart of irritation that she wasn’t more enthralled at the prospect. ‘It starts tomorrow night in B’harani, for family and close friends, and then the main celebration is on Saturday night, when the crème de la crème of world society will come to fawn and ogle, and women will vie with one another for the Sultan’s favour.’
