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‘Would you like Phillip to take you through the sales contract for the stud before you sign, Orla?’ he asked. It seemed to be a genuine offer, even though she could sense his impatience.
‘Does it contain everything we agreed?’ she asked.
‘Of course,’ he said.
She nodded as Carstairs laid out the papers. ‘I’m happy to sign it now,’ she said, having skimmed through the details. Oddly she trusted him. The perfunctory nature of their relationship so far made it very clear he viewed her as nothing more than another of his employees. Bought and paid for. He hadn’t quibbled about any of her requirements and had actually been much more generous than he needed to be. Money was clearly no object for him. She needed to view this situation as a job. And nothing more. A job she wanted to do well—she couldn’t risk him changing his mind.
She could see she had pleased him when the wrinkle that had formed on his forehead when she reacted so violently to a simple hand buzz disappeared.
‘Excellent,’ he said.
‘We’ll have the contract couriered to your sister in Kildare to sign too. I understand she has already agreed to these terms as well?’ Carstairs said as he handed her a gold pen.
‘Yes, that’s correct,’ Orla said, recalling Dervla’s joy at the news they would be able to stay in their home with no debts to pay.
Orla signed her name in bold fluid strokes. The nuns who had schooled her would be proud, she thought, grateful that her fingers had finally stopped shaking.
It wasn’t nearly as hard as she had assumed to sign away her heritage. The stud was just a business. It was the horses she loved, and her sister, and their home. The chance to get out of the shadow of debt that had been hanging over her for so long felt strangely liberating.
But then Carstairs laid out some more papers in both English and what looked like Arabic. ‘Would you like to read through these, Ms Calhoun?’ the solicitor asked. ‘This is the English translation of the traditional Zafari Engagement Contract. I’m afraid it’s a legal requirement in Mr Khan’s country of origin that the Crown Prince’s engagement must be accompanied by a binding contract, to ensure the cultural traditions as well as the economic interests of Zafar are observed and protected before the couple enter into a marriage.’
Orla nodded, then skimmed through the pages—the small type blurring before her eyes. She didn’t need to read them, because they weren’t ever going to get actually married. ‘Great,’ she said at last.
Khan’s hand rested on the small of her back, rubbing absently as he signed the original first. He handed her the pen, still warm from his fingers, and Carstairs pointed out the places where she needed to sign and initial the paperwork. She could feel Khan’s gaze focussed on her, the hand on her back like a heavy controlling weight. She doubted he was even aware of what he was doing, the caress as nonchalant as it was impersonal. But the sensation sprinting up her spine from his touch was anything but.
Her penmanship was forgotten this time as she dashed off each signature and initial as quickly as possible. She needed to get this over, before she lost her nerve—or, worse, reacted in a way that would give away, not just her lack of familiarity with Khan and their so-called whirlwind courtship, but also her complete lack of sophistication when it came to being touched with such easy familiarity by a man.
She’d shared kisses with Patrick, of course, when they’d been engaged. But she’d been a girl then—naïve and eager, sheltered and completely untried. And Patrick, although having a great deal more sexual experience than she had at the time, had been a boy, not a man like Khan, who could light bonfires across her back with a simple caress.
At last all the paperwork was done.
But then she heard Mr Carstairs laugh and murmur, ‘Perhaps you should kiss your new fiancée, Karim.’
‘Yes,’ the deep voice said beside her.
She tried to control her trembling, scared he might be able to feel it, as he turned her in his arms and rested his hands on her hips. He was studying her, the curiosity in his gaze both pragmatic and yet somehow exhilarating.
Could he see how inexperienced she was, and how much his nearness affected her? She hoped not, terrified he might annul the engagement before it had even begun.
He lifted his hand and placed it on her neck, holding her gently in place. The calluses on his palm, calluses she would not have expected, rasped across the sensitive skin, making her brutally aware of the light pressure. His thumb rubbed casually across the well in her collarbone, back and forth, as he watched her—the golden shards in the brown of his irises so vivid they mesmerised her. He lowered his head, gradually, allowing her to taste the toothpaste on his breath as it whispered across her lips. His thumb paused, and pressed into her collarbone, trapping the frantic butterfly flutters of her pulse.
She suddenly had the vision of one of Calhouns’ stable hands stroking their highly strung mare, Cliona, to quiet her for Aderyn to mount her. The thought turned the tremble into a violent shiver.
She stiffened. He had to have felt that now.
His other hand tightened on her hip, gentle, yet controlling, and even more overwhelming as he whispered for only her to hear, ‘Shh, Orla. Breathe.’
Then his lips finally settled on hers, firm, seeking, confident, commanding.
Electricity seemed to arch through her body, the yearning so swift and so strong, she forgot everything but the scent, the taste, the touch of his lips. The solid wall of his chest pressed against her aching breasts as he dragged her closer.
Her hands flattened against his waist, grasping his linen shirt in greedy fists, and holding on for dear life as the storm of sensation battered her body, while her heart thumped her ribcage and sank deep into her abdomen, throbbing painfully between her thighs.
His tongue slid across her mouth demanding entry and she opened instinctively. His guttural groan of conquest matched her sob of surrender as she melted against him, her body softening and swelling in its most intimate places as his tongue swept in.
He explored in demanding delicious strokes, and she made tentative licks back, the yearning so intense now, the longing so real and overpowering she knew that whatever it was she wanted from him, she needed it now.
He tore his lips free, and stared down at her. His hands lifted to cradle her cheeks, and tilt her face up. She saw surprise flicker in his dark eyes as he studied her, but knew it was nothing compared with the shock careering through her body. Her breathing was so ragged her lungs felt trapped in her ribcage.
