newness of what he was making her feel. Only when he deepened his penetration did she feel discomfort. It took her entirely by surprise and was swiftly followed by a sharp stab of pain as he completed his possession. That final pang wrung an involuntary cry from her lips.
‘Tilda…’In bewilderment, Rashad angled back from her and stared down at her. For a split second he had thought he felt a barrier, but he could not bring himself to voice what he believed would be a foolish question. Of course she could not have been a virgin. Of course it must have been his imagination. ‘Have I hurt you?’
‘No…no,’ she mumbled, scarcely knowing what she was saying for she was not in the mood for a postmortem. All momentary discomfort now forgotten, her body was tingling and aching with desire. She was on the thrilling edge of a sensual precipice, her excitement eager and ready to fly high again. That quickening sensation of overwhelming need made her feverishly impatient and she arched up to him in a wholly instinctive movement of encouragement.
With a roughened groan, Rashad succumbed to her provocative invitation and embedded himself again in the sweet oblivion of her body. The hot, virile glide of his flesh within hers submerged her in a sensual world of the purest pleasure. Enthralled by the discovery, she rose up to him and he thrust again. The potent masculine rhythm that he set increased her hunger for him, banishing all awareness of everything but the excitement he had unleashed. At a delirious peak of ravenous need, she reached a glorious climax and abandoned herself to the sweet convulsions of writhing pleasure that engulfed her.
Afterwards, enveloped in a heavy languor, she wondered abstractedly if she would ever move again. Inside she felt like warm, melting honey and buoyantly happy. She was amazed by how close she now felt to Rashad. He kissed her slow and deep and then rolled over, carrying her with him. Content to be held, she snuggled into him, revelling in the achingly familiar scent of his skin. Beneath her cheek, his heart had a steady, reassuring beat.
With a rueful sigh, Rashad eased her up level with him and subjected her to the onslaught of frowning dark golden eyes. ‘I hurt you…I’m sorry.’
‘You noticed, didn’t you? But you are so stubborn,’ Tilda murmured rather tenderly, running a slim forefinger along the taut line of his passionate mouth. ‘So stubborn that you won’t put two and two together and come up with the right answer. Well, it seems that I’ll have to do it for you. I was a virgin.’
Rashad frowned down at her in disbelief. ‘That’s not possible,’ he muttered half under his breath.
Tilda pulled herself up against the pillows and winced at the unexpected pang of tenderness that reminded her of how intimately entwined they had been just minutes earlier.
In an equally sudden movement, Rashad sat up, dislodging the bedding. He went very still when he saw the evidence of her lost innocence on the white sheet. He was so stunned to appreciate that he had not been mistaken in his suspicions that he was silenced. There could have been no other men in her life, not even one other man, or even a single serious affair. It should have been impossible but he looked down into her clear, expectant eyes and knew it was not, for there was fearlessness in that look that challenged him to disbelieve her again.
‘So now you have to explain yourself…and a little humility would go a long way,’ Tilda told him gently, positively basking in a sense of power and willing to offer helpful hints. ‘Are you just a paranoiacally jealous guy? Because I really do need to know, if that’s the problem.’
‘That’s not the problem,’ Rashad breathed stiltedly.
‘I want to see that file-’
‘That is impossible.’ Rashad could now imagine nothing more disastrous than to show her the sleazy file that had destroyed his faith in her. What an insult that would be to add to the original injury!
‘You don’t have a choice.’
‘I have wronged you. I have misjudged you.’ His head was pounding, he could barely think straight. He was fighting to absorb and contain the shock of what he had just found out. But he could not yet move beyond it because the fallout from that misjudgement five years back had been too great. ‘I can only ask for your forgiveness.’
Tilda was seriously dissatisfied with that wooden response. She did not know exactly what she had expected from him but an ongoing refusal to do as she asked was not acceptable. ‘The file?’
‘No. I’m sorry.’ In one strong movement, Rashad sprang out of bed, determined to get his head straight before he risked saying one more word to her. But, really, all he was conscious of was an enormous surge of bitterness and shame. ‘I need a shower.’
In angry stupefaction, Tilda watched as his long, powerful golden back view vanished into the en suite bathroom. It didn’t really matter to him, she thought painfully. She felt so horribly rejected. It didn’t really matter that he had been her first lover, after all. Had she honestly believed that he would think that she was somehow more special? Wasn’t that pathetic of her? All her hurt and anger turning destructively inward, she slid off the bed. What a fool she had made of herself! Why was she always doing that with him? She loved him, he lusted after her. Nothing had changed in five years. She was still looking for what she couldn’t have, still hoping to somehow win what he didn’t have to give her!
Despising her nakedness, she snatched up the wedding kaftan and wriggled her way into it, twisting round to do up the zip with frantic hands. She angled a shamed glance back at the tumbled bed, seeing it as the scene of her humiliation. Why had she thought a wedding ring would change anything? But why, most of all, had she allowed herself to believe that sexual intimacy would somehow make everything all right between them? She was on the way back to her own room when she recalled his grudging admission that the file he had mentioned was in his briefcase. Her eyes flashed. Without hesitation, she changed direction and headed for his office suite.
In the tiled wet room, Rashad stood with clenched fists under the powerful flow of the water. What did he say to her? Where were the words that could express his regret for his lack of trust? He was convinced that there were no words adequate to such a massive challenge. Especially after what he had gone on to do to Tilda and her family. He could blame only himself for the fact that he had added the pursuit of revenge to his tally of sins. Shame cut through him as keenly as the slash of a knife. He forced his taut shoulders back against the cold tiles. A boiling knot of rage was forming in place of his usual reasoned restraint. He shuddered at the memory of that file and what it had cost her…and him.
Such slander could only have been authorised at the very highest level. Sweat broke on Rashad’s brow. He looked back five years. He remembered his father’s lukewarm attitude to the prospect of his son taking an English wife. The king had urged his son to wait and consider before embarking on such an important commitment. Accustomed to independent, decisive action, Rashad had resented the suggestion that he could not be trusted to choose his own wife. No comment had been made when Rashad had let it be known that the relationship was at an end. Now Rashad was suspicious of what he had regarded at the time as his father’s tactful silence. All his life he had awarded absolute loyalty to his parent. But he also knew that if the older man had sanctioned the sordid destruction of Tilda’s reputation, he would never be able to forgive him for it. It was an issue, he recognised bleakly, that had to be dealt with immediately.
Rifling through Rashad’s briefcase, Tilda finally came on what she sought. Swallowing hard, she withdrew the slim folder. She pushed the case back under the desk and returned to her bedroom, wondering if Rashad had noticed yet that she was missing and, if he had, what he would do about it. In the distance she could hear the sound of lively music and revelry: the royal wedding guests were still celebrating.
She sat down on the bed and opened the file. Her heart was in her mouth and she scolded herself, for all she was expecting to see was the source of the misunderstanding that she believed must have taken place-possibly, the name of a male friend had been erroneously linked with hers. Her address was given as the student house in which she had rented a room that summer. What she was not prepared to see was a fabrication of lies that listed a string of men, whom she had never heard of, and declared that they had all stayed overnight in her room. It was very precise as regards dates and times. Evidently she had been the victim of a sordid character assassination. She was devastated by the realisation that Rashad could have believed her capable of such rampant promiscuity.
Just as suddenly she was flooded with an explosive mix of rage and pain. When was enough enough? What did it say about her that she was willing to take whatever Rashad threw at her? Five years ago his rejection had destroyed her pride, her peace of mind and her happiness. Having encouraged her to care about him, he had broken her heart in the cruellest way available to him. When she had approached him recently in search of some compassion, he hadn’t had a scrap of pity to spare. He had treated her like the dirt beneath his royal feet! He had offered her the chance to pay off the debts with her body. Only her concern for her family’s future had persuaded her to agree to those degrading terms.
Yet when Rashad’s ruthless plans had run aground and blown up in his face and he had needed her support,
