‘Yes.’
The word was out of my mouth before I even had begun to think. I stood there, dazed, uncomprehending.
Bloody hell, bloody stinking hell! How did that just come out of my mouth? And more importantly, why?
Maybe, suggested a nasty little voice in my head, because he had phrased it just in that way - a way that almost sounded like a real proposal.
No! That couldn’t be the reason! Definitely not! Because that would mean I really wanted to… that I would have said yes if he asked-
No, no, no! Absolutely not!
‘Adequate.’ With a cool nod, Mr Ambrose stepped back again, the pseudo-romantic tension in the air bursting like a bubble, leaving me reeling. ‘Then we can get to the details of our disguise.’
‘D-details?’
‘Yes.’
Blast him! How did he manage to keep his voice so businesslike when mine felt like breaking any moment?
I cleared my throat. ‘Details like what, Sir?’
‘Like names and forms of address, of course. It is extremely unlikely, for instance, that a married couple would have enough sense to address one another by their surnames. And I doubt very much the female could be so well mannered as to address her husband as “Sir”.’ Reaching up, he stroked his chin for a moment - a gesture of contemplation I had never seen before. Was there a slight crease between his eyebrows? But… he never moved his facial muscles! What titanic struggle had to be taking place inside him?
I waited, my anticipation rising. Finally, he growled and jerked his head in annoyance. He looked as if he had just received news that he had to part with a thousand pounds on the spot.
‘There seems to be no way around it. For the duration of our stay in Egypt, I give you temporary leave to address me by my first name, Miss Linton.’
I blinked at him. This was what had been causing his emotional turmoil? ‘How… how very gracious of you.’
‘Yes, I know. Married people really ought to have better manners. First names. Bah!’
‘Yes - terrible! You might get the idea that they actually liked each other.’ No reaction. Not for the first time I noticed that Mr Rikkard Ambrose was impervious to sarcasm.
‘Probably using my first name won’t even be enough,’ he added sourly. ‘Newlyweds are notoriously uncourteous and informal. You had better use an abbreviated form to give an appropriate impression of conjugal familiarity.’ He considered the matter for a moment. ‘“Rick” would be an acceptable choice.’
I thought about it for a moment, rolling the name around my tongue. Then, suddenly, an idea came to me, and a grin spread over my face. ‘I’m sure there are other abbreviations for your lovely name. How about “Dick”?’
He gave me a glare that sent shivers down my back. But my smile only widened. Inside, I was rolling on the floor with laughter, gasping for air. Ha! Payback time!
‘It’s “Rick”, Miss Linton! No discussion!’
‘Just as you say,… Dick.’
His glare cooled another dozen degrees. ‘I’m your employer, Miss Linton! You are obligated to follow my orders!’
In return for his ferocious glare, I gave him back a cheerful smile. ‘Apparently, you’re not my employer. You’re my husband now, Dick. Haven’t you heard?’ My eyes were dancing. Good God, why had I been worried about this just a moment ago? This was brilliant! ‘Wives lovingly tease their husbands all the time. It’s their job. They also complain, argue and never shut up when they’re supposed to. It’s all part of the wonderful tapestry of married life.’
He took a deep breath. For a moment, I saw his little finger twitching - but then, in a movement so imperceptible you’d need a microscope to be sure it was there, one corner of his mouth lifted.
Dear God… What… That couldn’t be a sm—
He moved before I could finish the thought. Suddenly, he was right in front of me, his ice-heart energy crackling in the air around me. His dark eyes were burning. ‘Glad to see you’re embracing your role so thoroughly, Wife.’
‘Th-thank you.’
Damn the stutter! That didn’t come out nearly as sarcastically as it was supposed to! I stared up into his eyes, and he stared back, implacable, cold and very, very determined.
‘Do you know,’ he murmured, slowly leaning towards me, ‘what else is part of married life?’ I started to back away, but he moved with me, coming ever closer.
‘No. What are you talking about?’
He ignored my question, moving closer still. Blast, he was just a few inches away now - close enough for me to feel the heat of his skin and the freezing, calculating ice of his gaze, mingling in one irresistible maelstrom. Too close! Far too close!
‘Do you know,’ he breathed ‘what a married couple does all the time? Especially newlyweds, who have just found each other and are still discovering all the enticing possibilities?’
‘No!’ I snapped. ‘I have no clue what you-’
He went for me. I didn’t have a hope of avoiding him. His arms were around me in a millisecond, caging me in, and then his lips came crashing down on mine. They were soft, oh so soft, yet somehow incredibly hard and demanding. They were exactly as I remembered from his last kiss!
Strange, considering you always thought that you hallucinated that one, right?
Well, apparently I was pretty good at hallucinating realistically! Bloody hell!
His mouth was voracious. It claimed mine in a race of burning need, sending shiver after shiver down my back - but shivers weren’t strong enough for this! A shock followed in their wake, paralysing me, making me go limp in his arms. Arms that were drawing me closer towards him, holding me against his rock-hard body. My knees gave way, and spots danced in front of my eyes like sparkling snowflakes.
Blimey! Was I hallucinating again?
No, you idiot! You’re not drunk this time!
Wasn’t I? I felt drunk. Drunk with a delicious heat that filled my body from tip to toe, from lips to hairclips. I wanted more of it! More of him! Desperately! But how? How?
A strong, familiar hand slipped up behind my back, gripping my neck, holding it in place. His lips pressed harder against mine, forcing them open, and he plunged into my mouth with his…
Oh…
Oh God… so that’s how!
His tongue was like a spear of desire, my mouth a gaping wound that wanted me to die from bliss. Around the clashing of our mouths, a little moan escaped me. His tongue stroked, caressed, kept in constant motion, never ceasing the attack on me. Meanwhile, his lips kept busy, holding me prisoner with a persistent, intoxicating rhythm that sent waves of delicious heat through my body.
How long did it go on?
Minutes?
Hours?
Years?
I didn’t know, and I couldn’t have cared less! I was in a daze. I felt like Tantalus must have felt when he pinched Ambrosia from the table of the gods to see what the heavenly drink might taste like. I couldn’t do or say anything, until finally, out of the steaming hot fog of my mind, slowly a thought appeared:
What… what the heck is he doing?
I wasn’t sure. It seemed, technically, as though he was kissing me, but… that couldn’t happen in reality, could it? In drink-induced fantasies in which he and I temporarily lost our minds and forgot we hated each other’s guts, maybe, but not in real life, for God’s sake! That was impossible!
Well, judging by the way he’s massaging your quail-pipe[16] at the moment, it is very, very possible!
Oh my God! He really was! He really was kissing me!
Yes, you silly tart! So you had better do something about it, and right speedily!
Of course! I had to! I was a thingummy, after all. A… what was it called again? With Mr Ambrose’s lips devouring mine it seemed rather hard to remember…
Feminist! You’re a feminist!
Right! I was a feminist, and I couldn’t just let random men kiss me! No, I couldn’t. No matter how nice it felt to have his hands exploring my…<
br />
My inner feminist screeched out in protest. Do something! Now!
Right. So… what to do?
Sliding my arms up, I pushed against Mr Ambrose’s chest. It had no effect whatsoever. I pushed harder. Still, nothing happened. Except that is, for his tongue stroking over mine again, sending another wave of delirious heat through my body, making me shiver with…
Concentrate! Damn you, concentrate!
Um… on what did I have to concentrate again?
Getting away! You want to get away from that bastard who is using you!
Oh. That’s right. I had almost forgotten that.
Once more, I pushed, harder this time. When that still didn’t yield any results, I clenched my hand, and let my fist fly! It thudded uselessly against Mr Ambrose’s rock-hard chest. Again, and again. I was pommelling him like a punching bag now, but his arms were still around me, and his lips, so soft, so seductive, still on mine. Damn him! He was as solid as a cliff, defying the waves of a thunderstorm. A cliff with a dozen splendidly naked male sirens on top, singing to me to come closer, to sink into the kiss, to stop fighting…
No! my inner feminist screamed. Bloody hell, no! Do something!
So I did. Reaching up, I slid my hands towards his head, grabbed hold of both his ears and pulled, hard!
‘Arrr!’
To judge by the growl that escaped him, that seemed to work much better at getting his attention than punching him had. He lurched back, freeing my lips for the first time in I don’t know how long. I sucked in a deep breath, in preparation for the insults I was going to fling at him. He deserved it! He deserved every bad name in the book! How dare he kiss me like that?
I opened my mouth to hurl the first expletive in his face - and then I was suddenly charging forward, kissing his face, his throat, his sculpted chin… every part of him that I could reach!
Good God! What the heck was I doing?
Good question, that! What about your feminist principles?
My hands slid up his hard body. For the first time since he had tackled me, I really had a chance to feel him, to explore the hard ridges of muscles under the black cotton. Blimey… To hell with my principles!
‘How about this?’ I whispered sweetly, letting go of his earlobes with my hands and taking one between my teeth instead, gently nibbling. ‘Is this part of married life, too, Dick?’
‘Do not,’ he growled, his deep, ice-cold voice vibrating all the way through my body, ‘call me that!’
I smiled against his skin, pressing a soft kiss on his earlobe. ‘Just as you say, Dick!’
Suddenly, I was flying. In my shock I didn’t understand what was happening, only seeing vague shapes of furniture rushing by, and only feeling his hands around my waist, lifting me higher and higher. A moment later, my back slammed into the wall, driving all the breath out of me.
‘I told you,’ he repeated, his voice even colder now, driving a hot surge of need up inside me, ‘not to call me that. Understand?’
‘Y-yes, Sir.’
His eyes blazed, flaming fires reflected on a stormy ocean. ‘What is my name as long as we are here, Wife?’
‘Richard!’
‘Indeed it is. And for short?’
I contemplated the question for one breathless moment. Then, from between the wild strands of hair that had tumbled into my face, I grinned up at him, mischievously. ‘Dick!’
He was on me in an instant. His tongue invaded my mouth, hungry and determined. I met it with my own this time, clashing, coiling, fighting for the right to rule. That didn’t stop the hot waves of want from spreading down from my mouth all through my body. From the walls around us, the portraits of dignified Egyptian statesmen looked down at us disapprovingly. I couldn’t give a flying fig for their opinion! Let them stare! I didn’t even care for the moment that my inner feminist was swinging a protest sign. Later, I would care, I knew. Later, I would care like hell! But right now, he was kissing me and I was… floating. Blissfully.
My blissful floating was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Ripping my eyes open - somehow, they had slid shut during the kiss - I saw the figure of a dark-skinned young maid in the doorway. Her eyes went wide at the sight of us. But nowhere near as wide as my eyes went at the sight of her seeing us!
‘Oh.’ A small smile spread over her face. ‘Excuse, please, Lady, Sir. I not know anyone in here. Most sorry. I see nothing. Nothing at all.’
I opened my mouth to give some explanation, any explanation that would explain away my having my lips pressed to Mr Ambrose’s lips that didn’t involve a passionate kiss. Mr Ambrose was faster.
‘No problem,’ he said, with a dismissive wave, turning around, and bending towards me to place tender kiss on my cheek. ‘We have all the rest of the day still left, after all.’
And then he winked.
Mr Ambrose. Mr I-am-a-block-of-stone Ambrose winked! Or at least he moved his eyelid. Maybe he was just getting rid of a speck of dust. But to the maid, it sure as hell looked as if he was winking. Winking!
The maid giggled and curtsied. ‘Yes, Sir, Lady. I not interrupt again, Sir, Lady. I not see anything.’
And with that, she turned and hurried from the room, closing the door behind her.
I turned to gape up at the man beside. ‘What have you done? Now the entire hotel will think we are… we are…’
‘Married?’ he enquired.
‘Yes! No! I don’t know!’
‘Could you clarify that a little?’
‘She’s going to tell her friends, and they are going to tell their friends, and they their friends, and in half an hour it’ll be all over the hotel that we are in here doing… stuff!’
He cocked his head. If not for the fact that this was Mr Ambrose, a man who had as much emotion inside him as a volcano had snow, I might have thought there was amusement in his eyes. ‘Stuff?’
I felt my ears starting to burn. ‘You know! Honeymoon stuff!’
‘Which, considering the fact that we are supposed to be on our honeymoon, would be utterly scandalous, of course.’
My ears were in danger of spontaneous combustion by now. ‘You’re impossible!’
I tried to twist out of his hold, but his hands were too strong, blast him! Pulling me closer, he leaned down towards my face. His eyes darkened, and his lips opened a fraction.
‘Don’t you da-’
My protest was cut off by our mouths melding together. And I, instead of picking up the vase on bedside table beside me and smashing it over his rock-hard head, like I should have done, snaked my arms around his neck and pulled him closer.
God! What was wrong with me?
When we finally broke apart, I was panting like a panther. He, of course, was so cool and collected you’d think he was freshly imported from Iceland! His dark eyes bored into me.
‘I think we have discussed the matter of convincingly acting the married couple thoroughly enough for today, don’t you?’
His voice was just as cool as the rest of him, damn him! How was that possible? I was panting, burning up inside with a hot, persistent need to… do something, do anything! Preferably with him! And he - he just stood, there, gazing at me with those unfathomable eyes.
I raised my chin. ‘I quite agree.’
‘Adequate.’ Raising one hand, he stroked one long, lean finger down the side of my face. ‘It’s quite late. What do you say to a romantic candle-lit dinner on the hotel terrace, my dearest love?’
I fancy not many people could manage to make the words ‘my dearest love’ sound like ‘my obedient minion’. Rikkard Ambrose did it without the slightest problem.
I bridled. ‘You can take your romantic dinner and shove it up your-!’
‘Let me rephrase,’ he cut me off. His arms were like a vice around me, holding me in place. ‘We will go down and have a romantic candle-lit dinner. Now!’
I glared up at him, feeling sparks fly from my eyes. ‘And we’ll smile, and giggle and show everyone how very much
in love we are?’
‘That, and we will discuss how best to hunt bloodthirsty bandits in the desert.’
‘How very romantic!’
‘I always do my best.’ Leaning forward lightning fast, he brushed his lips against mine - hardly a touch, nothing compared to what he had done before, and yet… It was a promise. A promise of things to come.
Good Lord… What had I gotten myself into?
Releasing me from his hold and stepping away, Mr Rikkard Ambrose marched over to the door, turned and held his hand out towards me. His dark eyes seemed to gleam in the failing light.
‘Come, my love.’
The Plight of My Plighted Troth
Some things that happen to you make you feel really strange. You know the moments I mean - those moments where the world is standing on its head and everything suddenly seems unreal. Like, for instance, the time I discovered that my innocent little sister Ella had for years been conducting an illicit affair behind her family’s back. Or the time a gentleman I had been dancing with at a ball complimented me on what good a dancer I was, after I had trampled on his feet the whole evening. Or the time my aunt actually, once in her life, said something nice to me in front of witnesses.
But none of these strange and mysterious occurrences, inexplicable and awe-inspiring though no doubt they were, could in any way compete with what was happening right now. None of these events had made me feel half as strange as I felt walking down the corridor of the Hotel Luxor in a dark red silk dress, a sparkling wedding ring on my finger and a darkly handsome Rikkard Ambrose on my arm.
Oh dear, merciful God… What is happening to me?
But if I had thought it would be strange to just be walking beside Mr Ambrose, I hadn’t reckoned with the real trouble: having other people see me walk beside him. A lot of people.
After a few more yards, the corridor widened into a hallway. Passing a few potted plants obscuring our view, we stepped onto the landing of a broad, sweeping staircase that led down into a gigantic room, canopied by an ornate glass roof and countless palms, high ferns and papyrus plants, growing in gleaming copper bowls. In the gaps of the roof of green above, I could just make out a few stars twinkling in the slowly falling night outside.