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She was glad when he released her hand to cut up their lunch, it gave her the strength to tie up her belt and fight for some semblance of sanity. She wasn’t hungry, she was mortified. She hated Mahindar, but he was right, her body loved him…obsessed over him.
“Sit,” he said pleasantly, pulling out a chair for her at the dining table. She did as he asked, masking her petulance by accepting the bowl of fruit salad he placed in front of her ten minutes later.
She had to admit it was crazy that a sheikh was looking after her. He was a man whose every need was catered for and every wish was granted. His people would no doubt be shocked to see him so…attentive.
Despite telling herself she wasn’t hungry, she polished off the sweet, succulent fruit. Sex had clearly stimulated her appetite. Mahindar stood and collected her bowl along with his and placed them on the sink. When he returned he took her hand. “Come.”
Been there, done that.
She choked back sudden, hysterical laughter as she followed him into the bathroom. That she wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed this time when they took a shower together and they weren’t intimate meant she really was a mess of contractions.
Mahindar seemed focused on soaping her skin impersonally and washing her hair, then drying it and her body before drying off himself.
“I’m not a baby, I can manage,” she muttered weakly, enjoying his attention despite everything.
“Humor me,” he said. “All my life women have tripped over themselves to look after my every need. And now I’m enjoying looking after my wife.”
She wouldn’t think about his concubines or his past and present lovers. As his wife she’d be expected to turn a blind eye to that kind of goings on. And to object would look as though she cared, and she most certainly didnotcare!
After wrapping her in a big, white fluffy towel, he slung one around his hips and led her into the walk-in closet. He held up a slinky silver gown. “Dress up?” His other hand retrieved and held up sexy lingerie. “Or dress down?”
She shrugged negligently, tamping down a desire to dress up for dinner for her husband. “Dress down. After all, thatiswhat I’m here for, is it not? A honeymoon where we fuck as much as possible to get me pregnant.”
His jaw tightened. “We’ve already discussed this. Children aren’t my priority, not yet.”
“And yet I’m not on any contraception and you haven’t once used condoms.”
He sighed. “It often takes months or even years to conceive. But if we were blessed with a child earlier than expected I’d give him or her every bit of my love and devotion.”
A pang went through her chest at his declaration. No matter how she felt about him, it was nice to believe he wouldn’t be an uncaring father like hers had been. She lifted her chin. “Of course you’ll be blessed. You married me for my bloodline so that our children will one day rule your country.”
“Ourcountry,” he said succinctly. He sighed. “I’m not the big bad wolf here, Arabelle. I’m trying hard to make us work. Iwantour marriage to work.”
She softened a little at his words. That he’d said her name like it was a benediction also hadn’t gone unnoticed. And he was right, hehadbeen trying. Most men of his ilk would have used much harsher ways to pull her into line.
She managed a smile. “Then the evening gown it is.”
Chapter Eleven
Mahindar couldn’t take his eyes off his wife, whose natural beauty was enhanced by the flames of the fireplace that crackled and spat, and the light of the candles he’d lit on the dining table. She was entrancing, her fiery, stubborn will only making him want her more.
That she looked so small and delicate in her silver evening gown as she wolfed down her meal, which had been brought to them by their jeep driver from a nearby local village woman renowned for her cooking, somehow added to her appeal. How many women had he known who counted calories and refused anything fatty or sweet?
He’d always been attracted more to those who knew what they wanted and lived life their own way. It was just a pity his wife didn’t want him. And perhaps therein lay the challenge. Would his interest wane the moment she surrendered to him? Would he prefer her spitting and scratching like a she-cat to keep him amused and aroused?
No. He wouldn’t want her to change anythingexcepther mind on their marriage. He didn’t want only to possess her body, her wanted to be intertwined with her mind and soul, too.
He wanted them to be partners for life.
The three or four hours they’d wiled away chatting out on the deck while drinking wine and waiting on dinner had only cemented his desire to be with her. She wasn’t just beautiful and smart, she was driven, too. She possessed all the qualities he admired in a woman, qualities they’d both hopefully one day pass onto their children.
But she didn’t just stimulate his mind. She’d refrained from putting on any underwear and he’d been semi-aroused even since. He loved how her nipples poked against the thin bodice of her dress, despite how the fireplace warmed up the chill night air. Loved the husky note in her voice that showed, she too, wasn’t immune to their chemistry.
“This is amazing!” she said as she swallowed yet another mouthful of the homemade pasta with spiced lamb. He grinned as she patted her belly, then added wistfully, “My mother was a terrible cook. Even though I only lived in the palace with her and my father for eight years, I can still remember her occasional attempts to show my father she wasn’t just a pretty English wife.”
“Did your father berate her on the cooking?” he asked, watching her closely and keeping his tone neutral. If there was one thing he knew about Sheikh Abdul Al Hussam, it was his temper.
She smiled. “My mother could do no wrong his eyes. I think it pleased him that she made an effort to do something for him. He even ate whatever she presented him despite having his own Michelin Star chef.”
