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when the nanny hadn’t been aware he was watching her. She had seen the sadness behind his eyes too. And, yes, perhaps it was for selfish reasons also that she was interfering just a little, but the thought of someone from her own land to be beside her at these endless functions …
She knew that Emir must soon take a new sheikha queen, and if that queen happened to be Amy—well, who could blame her for giving Cupid a little nudge? She loved her new country—loved it so much—but the rivalry between the two nations, the bitterness between them and all the impossible rules she simply could not abide, and she was quite sure that Amy must feel the same.
Amy had not retired for the night as Emir was silently hoping as he walked through the palace to her room.
She had rung down for dinner and enjoyed a delicious feast—or tried to. She had been thinking about the girls, thinking about Emir and trying to picture her future without them. But it was too hard. So she had telephoned home, hoping for a long chat, but everybody must be at work because she had spoken to endless answering machines. And, yes, a night off was what she had asked for, and the Alzirz palace was as sumptuous as even the most luxurious hotel, but after an hour or two of reading and painting her toenails she had grown restless. Simply because it was there for the taking Amy put on her bikini and went for a long swim in her own private pool.
It was glorious—the temperature of the water perfect, the area shaded with date palms for complete privacy and protection from the fierce Alzirz sun during the day. Lying on her back, she could see the stars peeking through. But just as she started to relax, just as she had convinced herself to stop worrying about leaving Alzan, at least for tonight, she heard a bell ring from her suite.
Perhaps the maid had come to take her tray, Amy thought and, climbing out of the pool, went to answer the door. She had left her towel behind so she tied on a flimsy silk robe and called for the maid to come in. As the bell rang again Amy realised that perhaps she didn’t understand English and opened the door—completely taken aback to find Emir standing there.
‘It was not my intention to disturb you.’ It was close to an apology, but not quite. He was a king summoning a servant, Emir reminded himself—it was a compliment in itself that he had come to her door. ‘You are required downstairs.’
Amy frowned. ‘Is there a problem with one of the twins?’
‘Not at all.’ He felt more than a little uncomfortable, especially as two damp triangles were becoming visible where her wet bikini seeped into the silk of her gown. ‘Sheikha Queen Natasha has requested that you join in the celebrations.’
‘No, thanks.’ Amy gave a tight smile and went to close the door, but his booted foot halted it. ‘Excuse me!’ was Amy’s brittle response.
‘You don’t understand,’ Emir said, but he did remove his boot. ‘That is why I came personally—to explain things to you. The Queen is hosting the party. It is the Queen who has requested you to come down, not me. It would be rude …’
‘Rude for who?’ Amy responded—because she did not want to go down there, did not want to be Natasha’s little project for the night. She particularly did not want to spend any more time with Emir than she had to—things were already difficult enough.
Now he was at her door, and she could feel the cool wetness of her gown, knew from the flick of his eyes downwards that he had seen it too—that she might just as well not be wearing it. She was frantic to have him gone.
‘It’s rude to give me a night off and then revoke it!’ She went to close the door again, did not want to prolong this discussion.
Emir would not let things be, and unless she slammed the door in his face she’d have to stand there and listen as he spoke on.
‘If the twins were awake you would be expected to bring them down.’
‘The twins are not in my care tonight.’
‘That is not the point.’ Emir’s voice was stern. He was less than impressed with Amy’s behaviour—especially as a maid came into the corridor and bowed her head to him. He stood there bristling with indignation as she went in and retrieved Amy’s dinner tray. ‘It is not right for me to be seen standing here and arguing with …’
‘An employee?’ she finished for him. But she accepted it was not fitting behaviour, and once the maid had gone she held the door further open for him. ‘I have nothing to wear to a party. I haven’t showered. I’m not ready …’
‘That is being taken care of.’ He blocked her excuses as Natasha had blocked his. ‘Queen Natasha is having some clothes and some maidens sent here to your room.’ He turned to go. ‘I expect you to be down there within half an hour.’
‘Emir …’
There was a plea in her voice, a plea he had heard once before—the sound of her begging. He remembered her writhing beneath him and he hardly dared turn around.
‘Don’t make me do this. Go and enjoy the party on your own—make an excuse for me that is fitting. I don’t know anything about …’
‘Enjoy it?’ He did turn around then, and he wished she were dressed—wished she looked anything other than she did now. For the gown was completely see-through. Three triangles taunted him. He could see the hard peaks of her nipples, see the flush on her neck. He should not be in this room with her for a whole set of reasons other than protocol. ‘You will get dressed.’
When still she shook her head, he lost his temper. He spoke harsh angry words. It was far safer than pushing her onto the bed.
‘You really think that I want to be down there? You really think that I’m enjoying making small talk, pretending that I do not hate them? If it were not for them …’
His black eyes met hers, as angry and savage as they had been the day she had first challenged him, but it did not scare her as it had then. His anger was not aimed at her, nor his words, Amy was quite sure. This would not be of his choosing, for this remote, private man to pour some of the pain out.
‘Amy, please …’
Not once had he pleaded, not once that she knew of, and this came with a roar from the heart.
‘I am asking you to please make this night easier for me—I am in hell down there.’
And he was. He was in hell tonight and no one knew. He could not share his burden; he carried it alone for he was King. He remembered his status and was ashamed of his words, his loss of control. But there was no smart retort from Amy. This time she stood stunned, as he was at his revelation, and he could see tears pooling in her eyes. She had glimpsed a little of his pain.
It was not that her mouth found his, nor was it his mouth which sought hers. Neither initiated the kiss. They simply joined, and he felt the bliss of oblivion. The pain ended for a moment and relief was instant. There was release and escape as her wet body pressed to his. He had craved her since that night, had wanted her each minute, and her tongue as it twisted with his, the heat of her skin through the damp gown, told him she had craved him as much.
She had.
His uniform was rough beneath her fingers, his mouth desperate on hers, his erection as fierce as his passion. She could feel him hard in her centre. It was happening again and it must not.
‘Emir,’ she whimpered, pulling her mouth back from his, though she did not want him to stop kissing her. Her lips ached for more as they moved from his. Regretting their departure, they returned, speaking into his mouth. ‘We said just once.’
‘Then get dressed,’ he said, and his hands peeled off the damp robe, and his fingers worked the knot at the back of her bikini.
She moaned in his mouth as he stroked the aching peaks; his hands moved to her bottom and he pulled her up till her legs twined around him. This was way more than a kiss getting out of hand. The bed seemed an impossible distance, clothes their only barrier.
She felt the cold of brass buttons on her skin as he kissed