The Santina Crown Collection. Кейт Хьюит
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a ripe damson from the heap of fruit piled in a shallow dish? And sit there perfectly still for a moment or two afterwards, as if he was composing himself? No, Hassan certainly wasn’t immune to her, no matter how much he’d like to be.
The strangest thing was that once she had allowed herself to acknowledge that what she was feeling was sexual frustration, the feeling just grew and grew. It became so that it dominated her thoughts. So that every time she looked into Hassan’s hawk-like features, all she could remember was his helpless look of abandon as he plunged deep inside her body.
She wanted him.
She wanted him badly.
And she realised that nobody was going to make it happen except her.
Quietening the voice in her head which asked if she wasn’t crazy to consider seducing such a proud and worldly man as Hassan, she set about her plan.
Piecing together fragments of things she’d read in magazines and books back home in England, she waited until Saturday evening, because she’d learnt that Saturday was one of her husband’s lightest days, in terms of royal duties. And that he often lay in bed late on a Sunday …
Dressing carefully in a filmy azure gown which made her eyes look intensely blue, she spent ages on her hair and her makeup. Not too much makeup, because she’d also learnt that where Hassan was concerned, less was more. The ebony sweep of her lashes and rose-pink glimmer of her mouth was flattering but very natural, so that she might almost have been born that way.
As she joined him in the dining room, she was filled with a nervous kind of excitement, and a sudden realisation of what she was about to do made her momentarily reconsider whether she was being sensible. What if he rejected her?
As he rose to greet her, she heard the soft swish of his silken robes and once again she remembered the magnificent body which lay beneath. Swallowing down her fears, she quickly replaced them with determination. She would not let him reject her!
A servant poured iced water into her goblet and began to serve the meal, but Ella barely paid it any attention. She pushed various delicious slithers of neglected food around her golden plate and tried not to stare at her husband’s dark and thoughtful face.
‘You’re not eating much,’ Hassan observed suddenly.
‘Aren’t I?’ she questioned innocently.
‘No.’ He studied her through the flickering light of the countless candles which illuminated the gilded room and thought how much she bloomed as every day passed. And what hell it was to resist the temptation of taking her to his bed.
With an effort, he forced his attention back to her lacklustre appetite. ‘Are you displeased with the fare which my chefs have slaved over all day in order to impress the sheikh’s new bride?’
‘The food is delicious. As always.’
‘So why haven’t you touched it?’
‘Because I’m not …’ Her words tailed off as nerves began to get the better of her. How could she possibly seduce a man who showed no sign of wanting to be seduced, despite the fact that they were newlyweds?
She wondered what had happened to the hungry hunter who had dragged her to bed on the night of the engagement party. Maybe he was one of those men who only enjoyed sex with a woman he didn’t know. Maybe he shied away from that whole intimacy thing. Or was turned off by the fact she was pregnant.
Or maybe he just didn’t fancy her any more.
Her pulse rocketed at the thought of tackling such a daunting mission. That she, who had never seduced anyone, should be taking on one of the world’s great lovers. Yet Ella wasn’t easily defeated. There were many disadvantages to being a Jackson, but one thing it gave you was determination—and grit.
‘Not what?’ he prompted.
She pushed away her dish more heavily than she’d intended and leaned back against the brocade cushions. ‘I’m not very hungry,’ she said.
Hassan felt a pulse began to flicker at his temple. ‘You need to … eat,’ he said unsteadily, trying to ignore the fact that the position she’d now adopted meant that her breasts were looking especially lush and inviting. And hadn’t he been resolutely trying to avoid thinking about her breasts, or her lips, or indeed any part of her which reminded him of thrusting deep into her body?
Ella shifted her position a little, pleased to see that the blue silk of her robe was now clinging to her thighs like melted butter. And that Hassan seemed transfixed by the movement. She slanted him a smile, telling herself there was nothing to be gained from a lack of courage. ‘I keep thinking of you, asleep nearby.’
‘Do you?’ He wondered what she’d say if he told her that he had been getting precious little sleep of late. That oblivion stayed tantalisingly out of reach as he lay there imagining the silken touch of her skin and the enticing curves of her body.
‘Mmm. And sometimes it gets so hot.’
Did that mean she slept naked? An unstoppable image of her milky thighs and rose-tipped breasts crystallised in his mind and Hassan almost sliced the top of his thumb with the knife he had been using to peel a peach. With trembling fingers, he put both down. ‘The palace is air-conditioned,’ he growled.
‘I know it is, but sometimes I turn it off because it’s noisy. And …’ Oh, for heaven’s sake! Ella winced. What kind of a seduction was this if all they were doing was talking about the wretched air conditioning? ‘And I wish you were there with me. I’d like that.’ She hesitated as she looked straight into his eyes and drew a deep breath. ‘In fact, I’d like that very much.’
Hassan tensed as the innocent longing of her words cut through him in a way that the most seasoned seduction could never have done. He felt the tight, hard spring of an erection and silently cursed her. ‘That isn’t a good idea,’ he said thickly.
‘Why not? What’s stopping us?’
He shook his head. A fear of intimacy, that was what was stopping them. Or rather, stopping him. And a very real fear of how such intimacy could complicate this strange marriage of theirs. Should he tell her that he saw nothing but danger if they succumbed, that sex could sometimes cast a dark and distorting spell? But how could he tell her anything when she was pushing back her dark, glossy hair and he was imagining it tumbling down over her naked breasts?
‘Ella,’ he ground out.
‘What?’ she whispered, thrilled to see his formidable mask drop for once, to reveal the man beneath. To suddenly see the hard-faced desert sheikh with all the vulnerabilities and doubts of any other person.
With an effort of will which seemed only a little easier than the time he’d had to endure a full day’s ride without fresh water to sustain him, Hassan stood.
‘It has been a long day for both of us,’ he bit out. ‘Come, I will escort you to your room.’
Ella could have wept with disappointment as she realised that the formidable mask was back in place. It hadn’t worked and she had no one to blame but herself. All she’d done was to stumble out her pathetic little desire to have him sleep with her. Shouldn’t she have been a bit bolder than that? Reached out and touched him maybe? Wasn’t that what women usually did when they were trying to seduce a man?
What had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time now seemed like complete madness. Once again, she had simply reinforced all his awful prejudices about her and her family with her attempt at seduction, only she couldn’t even do that properly.
‘Very well,’ she said stiffly, rising to her feet and waving away the hand he extended to assist her. Did he think she was some kind of invalid?
In smouldering silence she walked alongside him through marbled corridors which were open on one side to the scented courtyard gardens. She heard the soft movement of their flowing robes and the sweet, high trill of a bird she thought might be a nightingale.