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ed the throne room, Xan Constantinides was the first person she saw, despite the fact that the Sheikh was already at the front of the gilded throne room, waiting for his bride. Tamsyn’s heart gave a powerful lurch as she willed her face not to register any emotion.
He looked...
She swallowed against the sudden rawness in her throat. He looked delectable. In a charcoal suit which suited his colouring, he stood taller than any other man there else. Even more disturbing was the fact that he seemed to sense when she entered, because he turned his head and she was caught in that cobalt stare, making her feel as if she was imprisoned there. As if she wanted to be imprisoned there. She willed him not to come up and talk to her and then of course, she wished he would, but Tamsyn told herself to concentrate on the ceremony itself and to fix her eyes on the bride, who was just arriving.
Hannah looked gorgeous, her pregnancy bump a subtle swell and well disguised by her unusual wedding gown of beaten gold. She’d apologised for not making Tamsyn her bridesmaid, explaining that it wasn’t Zahristanian custom to do so. Not that Tamsyn had minded. Marriage had always seemed such an outdated institution to her and one which rarely lasted. More than once she’d wondered why it couldn’t be replaced by something more modern.
Yet she sensed the historical significance of the vows being made, though Hannah’s voice was so low she could barely hear them and the Sheikh looked so stern that Tamsyn was certain he felt as trapped as her sister did. But she clapped and cheered along with the other guests once the couple had been pronounced King and Queen, and she toasted their health in spiced fire-berry juice, as was traditional.
The meal which followed was far more formal than the one they’d eaten last night and Tamsyn told herself she was pleased to sit between the Sultan of Marazad and a representative from the desert kingdom of Maraban. Glad to be miles away from Xan Constantinides and relieved she didn’t have to endure his unsettling presence.
But that was a lie.
All she could think about was the Greek tycoon, and her body seemed determined to reflect her increasingly distracted thoughts. She felt as if her skin had become too tight for her body. As if her senses had suddenly become sensitised. The sound of her heart seemed amplified, its beat a million times more powerful than usual. And there was no respite from these unsettling feelings which made her feel as if she was fighting something deep inside herself. Nowhere she could escape to, because she couldn’t just get up and leave in the middle of a royal wedding. She tried to chat politely to the men on either side and not glance further down the long table to where a Hollywood actress and a female member of the British royal family were giggling like schoolgirls at something Xan was saying.
She wondered how early she could decently leave, especially when a troupe of musicians started playing in the galleried ballroom next door. She knew there would be dancing after dinner because Hannah had told her so, but Tamsyn had no intention of watching couples circling the dance floor and pretending she was fine on her own. Usually, she was—mainly because she had made self-sufficiency into an art form. She never yearned for a partner because that was the only way she knew how to function. If you didn’t yearn for something, you wouldn’t be disappointed—and anyway, relationships were a waste of time. Experience had taught her that.
Yet tonight she keenly felt the absence of something in her life. Or rather, someone. Maybe it was the inevitable sentimentality conjured up by the wedding vows, or the realisation that Hannah was now married which was making her feel so shockingly alone. Or perhaps it was the just the realisation that there was nothing waiting for her back in England other than a pile of mounting debts.
Dabbing at her lips with a napkin, she decided to slip away, just like last night. Who would notice her when there were so many important guests present? She rose from her seat and was just bending to retrieve the Dior bag Hannah had insisted on lending her, when she heard a rich voice from behind.
‘You’re not leaving?’ came the silky question.
She didn’t need to turn around to know who was speaking, but prior knowledge offered no protection against her feelings and Tamsyn’s heart was hammering as she straightened up to meet that mocking cobalt stare. He didn’t want to talk to you last night, she reminded herself—so why not continue with that state of affairs and everyone will be happy. She gave him a tight smile. ‘Oh, dear. Nobody was supposed to notice.’
‘Where are you going?’
Tamsyn shrugged. Where did he think she was going? ‘Back to my room. Or should I say—to my vast suite of rooms.’
‘But the night is young.’
She opened her eyes very wide. ‘I didn’t think people actually said that kind of thing any more.’
He raised his brows. ‘You’re implying it’s clichéd?’
‘I suspect you’re clever enough to work that one out for yourself, Mr Constantinides.’
Their gazes clashed in look which made Tamsyn feel almost playful and the desire to flirt was overwhelming. Yet she never flirted—she wasn’t sure she even knew how. She’d always been closed up and defensive because she didn’t particularly like men and she certainly didn’t trust them. So how come she was suddenly playing a game she’d never played before and finding she was comfortable with it? How come she wanted to tease this darkly impressive individual and for him to tease her back? She found herself wanting to stroke her finger over the curving lines of his sensual mouth, and...and...
And she had to stop this.
Because this was dangerous. More than dangerous. Tamsyn’s heart clenched with something which felt uncomfortably close to vulnerability, and that scared the hell out of her. ‘I have to go,’ she said.
‘Not yet.’ He laid his hand on her arm. ‘I get the distinct feeling that I really need to change your impression of me.’
Chin lifting, she offered him a belligerent gaze. ‘And why would you want to do that?’
‘Call it a peace-making move in honour of your sister’s wedding, if you like. Just a little light-hearted fun, that’s all. And the dancing has only just started,’ he observed. ‘You can’t possibly leave until you’ve had at least one dance.’
‘I didn’t think it was obligatory. I wasn’t planning on dancing with anyone.’
An arrogant smile touched the edges of his lips. ‘Not even with me?’
‘Especially not with you.’
‘Oh? And why not, agape mou? Don’t you like dancing?’
His voice had deepened and the throwaway endearment in his native tongue made him even more irresistible. Tamsyn stared into his dark blue eyes. When she was younger she had thrown herself around a dance floor with the rest of them, swaying beneath the flash of lights, to the DJ’s heavy beat. She had shaken her arms in the air and tossed her curls while her skin had glowed and grown hot. But she’d never been asked to dance by a devastatingly handsome man in a fancy ballroom, while wearing a silken dress which pooled around her ankles.
