Bound by the Sultan's Baby Page 4

  ‘Would you, now?’

  ‘You did ask.’

  ‘Are Sahara roses your favourite flower?’

  ‘No,’ Gabi said.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Sweet peas.’ She gave him a smile. ‘Marianna would faint at the idea and deny that they are sophisticated enough for the Grande Lucia, but, honestly, when arranged right...’

  Her face lit up and he smiled.

  Gabi was all fresh ideas and the zing of youth, and coupled with Marianna’s wisdom...

  But it was getting harder to think of business.

  Very hard.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ Alim offered.

  ‘I’m working.’

  And there was a slight ironic smile that dusted his lips as she mirrored his own words from earlier.

  ‘Gabi...’ Alim said, and then halted.

  He needed to think this through before he offered her this role; she had already been dragged over the coals. If she were to work for him, it could get messy. One-night stands were his usual fare and that was why he kept his personal life where it belonged.

  In bed.

  He wanted the best for his business and yet, rarely for Alim, he found that he wanted what was best for her, so he came up with an alternative.

  ‘Have you thought of going into partnership with Bernadetta?’

  ‘Partnership?’ Gabi shot him an incredulous look. ‘She would laugh me out of her office if I suggested it.’

  ‘And when she had stopped laughing, you would tell her that you’d make a better partner than rival.’

  It had never even crossed her mind.

  ‘Or, if you continue to work for her you set your limits, you tell Bernadetta only what you are prepared to do. What works for you...’

  He did not want to lose her though.

  Oh, this could get messy, yet the closer he examined it, the more it appealed.

  ‘There is another option...’

  ‘Gabi!’ Her name was said again and she turned as one of the waiters came over. ‘The photographer wants to speak with you.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Gabi said, and, ever the gentleman, Alim stood as she left.

  Alim went back into the ballroom and looked up. He saw the westerly door open and smiled at the thought of Yasmin creeping in.

  And then he turned and saw his brother.

  There were no halves where love was concerned.

  ‘Congratulations,’ Alim said.

  ‘Thank you.’

  And that was all he could offer in public.

  James’s complexion and hair were lighter but standing side by side it would be hard to miss the similarities. They had to step apart before someone made the connection.

  Alim took a call from Violetta and was told that the Sultan of Sultans would like to speak with him.

  Things were already tense between Alim and Oman.

  Oman resented Alim’s freedom, and was bitter with his lot for Fleur was the love of his life. And, in turn, Alim, though respectful with words, was silently disapproving, for he loved his mother and loathed how she had been treated.

  Alim bowed as he entered the Royal Suite and then told his father about the wedding’s progress.

  ‘Everything is going smoothly,’ Alim informed him, though that knowledge did not make things better for Oman since he could not be there to see his son marry for himself.

  ‘Where is Yasmin?’ he snapped.

  ‘We had dinner,’ Alim calmly answered, ‘and she is now in her suite. The reception will finish shortly; you will see James and Mona in the morning.’

  No doubt, Alim thought, Fleur would be here soon.

  He thought he would now be dismissed but, instead, Oman brought up an argument of old.

  One that had never really left them.

  ‘I want you home.’

  Alim was in no mood for this but he did not show his irritation. ‘I was in Zethlehan last month and I shall be back for a formal visit in—’

  ‘I mean permanently.’ Oman interrupted.

  ‘That isn’t going to happen.’

  They had had this argument many times before.

  Alim refused to act as caretaker to his country just so that his father could travel abroad more.

  He would not facilitate the shaming of his mother.

  Although he was happy for James and Mona and wished he could participate more in the celebration, tonight still felt like a betrayal to his mother.

  ‘You are thirty-two years old, Alim. Surely it is time that you marry?’

  Alim stayed silent but his eyes told his father that he did not need marriage guidance from a man who had a wife and a mistress. Alim never cheated. He was upfront in all his relationships, and there could be no confusion that what he offered was a temporary affair. Arrogant, some might say, but better that than leading someone on.

  ‘I shall select a bride for you,’ Oman said in threat. ‘Then you shall have no choice but to marry.’

  ‘We always have choices.’

  The advice he had so recently given to Gabi had been tested over and over by Alim—he had long ago set his limits with his father and told him what he was and was not willing to do.

  ‘To choose a bride without my agreement could only serve to embarrass not just the bride but our country when the groom does not show,’ Alim warned. ‘I will not be pushed into marriage,’

  ‘Alim, I am not well.’

  ‘How unwell?’ Alim asked, for he did not trust his father not to exaggerate for gain.

  ‘I require treatment. I am going to have to stay out of the public eye for six months at least.’

  Alim listened as his father went into detail about his health issues and Alim had to concede grudgingly that there was a battle ahead.

  ‘I will step in,’ Alim responded. ‘You know that.’

  It wasn’t the response his father wanted, though, and he pressed his son further. ‘Our people need good news, a wedding would be pleasing for them.’

  Alim would not be manipulated and stood up to his father just as he always had. ‘Our people would surely want to see the Sultan of Sultans at such a celebration. A son’s wedding without his father’s presence would send the message that the father did not approve of his son’s choice of bride, and this could surely cause our people anxiety.’ Alim watched his father’s jaw grit. ‘Let us discuss this again when you are well.’

  His father would have argued further, but suddenly Alim sensed distraction as he saw Oman glance towards the adjoining door, and he guessed that his father’s lover had just arrived.

  ‘I shall see you in the morning for breakfast,’ Alim said, and then bowed and left.

  As he walked along the corridor, though outwardly calm, inside his mood was dark. No, he could not put off choosing a bride for ever, but he had no desire to live the life that his parents did—he thought of his mother alone tonight in the palace. Always she had put on a brave face and smiled at her children as if things were just fine.

  How could they be?

  Alim did not want a bride chosen for him by his father.

  He wanted...

  What?

  The maudlin feeling would not shift. Alim reminded himself that his friend Bastiano would be in town next week and that would likely cheer him up. But Bastiano was just another rich playboy, and the casinos and clubs did not hold their usual allure for Alim.

  In truth, he was tired of his exhausting private life. The thrill of the chase no longer existed, for after two years in Rome women sought him out.

  He walked through the foyer and, sure enough, the last of the guests were leaving.

  Alim went up the stairwell and, unlocking the door, he went onto the gallery.

  There were no signs of his sister and Alim assumed she was safely in her suite. The photographer had left some equipment so Alim made a mental note to lock the door as he left.

  Alim glanced down at the stunning ballroom.

  The staff were clearing the glasses and tables awa
y but most of it would wait for the morning.

  It was done.

  The wedding had been his gift to the couple and Fleur had engineered things so that it was held at the Grande Lucia. Yet he had not taken any significant part in the proceedings.

  Yes, it had been a wonderful wedding but for Alim it had been a wretched day and night.

  Apart from the time spent with Gabi.

  He looked down at her standing in the now-empty ballroom.

  Alim had been going to ask her to work for him but had decided that, given how he felt, at best it would be foolish to get overly involved.

  Then he smiled when he recalled her blush when she had thought he was about to ask her to dance.

  And, as of now, he was no longer working.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  GABI WANTED TO go home and hide her shame.

  Over and over she replayed it in her head—that awful moment when she had thought the suave Alim had been asking her to dance.

  She stood in the empty ballroom and surveyed the slight chaos that a successful wedding reception left in its wake.

  The staff had been in and cleared the plates and glasses, the tables had been stripped and the chairs stacked away. All Gabi had to do tonight was take the old gramophone out to her car and safely put away the grandparents’ vinyl record that the bride and groom had danced to.

  It could wait a few moments, though, and Gabi paused to look around.

  It was such a magnificent ballroom.

  The chandeliers had been switched off and it was lit now by the harsh white downlights that had come on when the music had ended and it had been time for the guests to leave.

  And, because she could, Gabi headed to the power box and one by one flicked the switches until all the lights were off.

  She did not turn on the chandeliers.

  They didn’t need electricity to be beautiful, for the moonlight came in through the high windows and it was as if the snow outside was now falling within. Even unseen trees made an appearance because the shadows of branches crept along the silver walls.

  It was like standing in an icy forest, so much so that she could imagine her breath blowing white.

  What had Alim been about to say to her?

  It might be weeks or months before she was here at the Grande Lucia again.

  Maybe she would never know.

  Gabi heard the door open and turned, assuming it was one of the staff to clear the remnants of the wedding away.

  Instead, it was Alim.

  ‘I was just...’

  Just what?

  Thinking about you.

  Gabi didn’t say that, of course.

  ‘It went very well tonight,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you.’

  And now she should collect her things and go home, yet she made no move to leave.

  She was one burning blush as he walked across the room, and she did not know where to go or what to do with herself as he approached the old gramophone.

  And then she shivered.

  Not because it was cold, for the air was perfectly warm; instead, she shivered in silent delight as she heard the slight scratch of the needle hitting the vinyl. The sounds of old were given life again and etched on her heart for ever as he turned around, walked towards her and, without a word, offered her a dance.

  And, without a word, she accepted.

  His embrace was tender but firm and, close up, the heady, musky sent of him held a peregrine note that she could not place. But, then, nothing about tonight was familiar.

  Usually his greetings were polite; tonight things had changed and, Gabi thought, even the suave Alim seemed to accept they were on the edge of something.

  ‘Listen.’ He spoke into her ear and his low voice offered a delicious warning. ‘I am trouble.’

  ‘I know that.’

  He felt her head nod against his chest and her words were accepting rather than resigned so he made things clearer. ‘If you like me, then doubly so.’

  ‘I know all of that,’ Gabi said.

  The trouble was, right now, here in his arms, Gabi didn’t care and she lifted her face to his.

  Tonight was her night.

  Gabi knew his reputation and accepted it would never be anything more than a night, yet she had carried a torch for Alim for years.

  The consequences she could live with.

  It was regret she could do without.

  His body she had craved and imagined for so long, and she rested against it now. He was lean and strong and he moved her so skilfully to the music that for the first time in her life Gabi felt not just co-ordinated but light.

  They stared deep into each other’s eyes. She never wanted to leave the warmth of his gaze, and for now she did not have to.

  They stared and they swayed and they ached within.

  His whole life, Alim had fought to keep his business and personal life separate. It had seemed the sensible thing to do, yet nothing made more sense than the thoughts that were now forming in his mind.

  One woman.

  He thought of the many upcoming trips home and he thought of returning to the Grande Lucia and to Gabi in his bed.

  Alim thought of them working together and still it did not deter him, for there would be benefits for them both.

  His head lowered, his lips brushed hers, and on contact Gabi knew she would never regret this.

  A gentle kiss had been her fantasy, perhaps one on the cheek that changed midway.

  Yet his kiss was decisive as his mouth met hers and he delivered her first kiss. She melted at the sheer bliss of it.

  It actually felt as if her lips seemed to know what to do, for they moved and melded to the soft caress of Alim’s.

  He was used to slenderness yet his hands now ran over luscious curves; he felt the press of her breasts against his chest and suddenly there was less reason for caution than he had ever known.

  He wanted Gabi in bed—and not just for this night—so he moved his mouth from hers.

  ‘Are you seeing someone?’ he asked.

  And though she was held in his arms, though he was hard against her soft stomach, his question was so matter-of-fact and so direct that it felt again, to Gabi, like an interview.

  ‘When does a wedding planner get time for a social life?’ she murmured, keen to get back to his kiss.

  ‘So it causes problems in your relationships?’

  He was fishing, shamelessly so.

  She was honest.

  And not to her detriment.

  ‘There have been no relationships.’

  Her words went straight to his groin, and Gabi felt him further harden in response to them while his hands on her hips moved her further in.

  As he met her mouth again, she felt the odd sensation of panic devoid of fear.

  The intimate taste of him was briefly shocking, the intensity and the thoroughness of his kiss was better in the flesh than in dreams. There, in imaginings, she did not know quite what to do, but here, with him, she held his breath in her mouth and swallowed it as he accepted hers.

  They made hunger.

  Illicit.

  That was the taste they made.

  The tip of her tongue was surely nectar for he savoured it, and the scratch of his jaw was a new hurt for her to relish.

  Her breasts ached against fabric as his hands roamed her curves, and she felt the dig of his fingers in her hips and the grind of him against her.

  Dignity was not Gabi’s forte.

  She slipped and fell on so many occasions.

  Tonight, though, she danced with the man of her dreams.

  It was just a dance, she told herself. Her body denied it.

  Oh, it was so much more than a dance.

  He moved her an inch, a dangerous inch for it felt as if their heat met and she was scared to let go, scared to misread the situation again, but it felt as if they were headed for bed.

  As she opened her eyes to the coolness of his cheek Gabi was ready for more.


  It was the eyes of insatiable heat that met his.

  ‘What the hell was I thinking?’ Alim asked, for he still could not believe he had sidestepped that dance.

  She did not understand the question, and since he offered no clarification Gabi did not attempt a reply.

  Alim spoke for both of them.

  ‘Come to bed.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HE TOOK HER hand and led her from the dance floor but as they reached the double doors he dropped it.

  ‘For this to work,’ he told her, ‘we must be discreet.’

  Alim was talking of the weeks and months ahead while Gabi was thinking just of this night, but nevertheless she nodded. Her cheeks were flushed and her mind was flurried with hormones like a snow-globe, and so she was grateful that he could think of sparing her blushes in the morning.

  His thoughtfulness spurred her to think of tomorrow also.

  ‘I need to get my coat, or they’ll know that I stayed the night.’

  ‘Do so, then,’ Alim told her. ‘Just say goodnight and that you are collecting some dresses...’

  He knew her routines for he had noticed her... Often, before she went home, Gabi would head up to the dressing suite, where bridesmaids and such got changed, and leave the hotel with her arms filled with tulle.

  She blinked at the fact that he knew.

  ‘I’ll head up,’ Alim said. ‘I have a private elevator...’

  ‘I know that you do.’

  ‘I shall send it back down.’

  Alim left the ballroom and a moment later so too did she.

  It was like any other night.

  He walked to his elevator and pulled open the antique gate as Gabi smiled at Silvia, the receptionist on duty tonight.

  ‘I just have to get some dresses and then I’m done,’ Gabi said. ‘Can I just get my coat?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Gabi slipped behind the desk and into the small staff cloakroom, where she collected her coat and put it on.

  And just like on any other night she walked through the foyer.

  There was a loud couple by the lifts who Gabi recognised as guests from the wedding and as she turned her head she saw a polished group coming in through the brass revolving doors.

  No one was looking at Gabi.