Those Wicked Pleasures (33 page)

He had proved to himself what he already knew to be true. It was Lara who was lost in him, not he who was lost in her. He dominated her with lust for hours. She submitted to his every sexual whim without a thought of doing otherwise. She was formidable. He made up his mind at that moment never to set her free. Always to keep her under his control, and not purely erotically. He adored her as his sexual slave, forgetting for the moment how much he himself was enslaved by her love and passion for him. It was too late to take her to the house he kept for his sexual pleasure in the
medina
. That would have to wait until they were married. But there he would introduce her to sexual delights she had never dreamed of. But would he? he wondered. After he had made her his wife, after she had given birth to their sons?

He tried to put out of his mind how he would reduce her to no more than a decorative vessel in his hands. But visions of her being taken not by one or two men but a dozen, a line of men, kept him crazily excited. He had done that once. Taken an amazing French nymphomaniac on safari in Africa, and as a gift had her placed naked on her knees on a camp bed, and tied comfortably down. Then he had given a whole village of men to her. He had watched them fuck Arlette in succession. It had been one of the most exciting sexual performances he had ever seen. The aftermath had been nearly fatal for the famous French beauty, but it had been
an experience which haunted them both still as the ultimate in libertinism. Or had it? Was he simply confusing fucking with fantasy?

He looked down at the sleeping Lara, and knew the closest she would ever come to that state would be as a
voyeur
. However much he could control her, she had in the past always pulled back at that moment of total submission to his whim to break her spirit, annihilate her self-esteem. Was it, he wondered, that which in the end kept them, even after all these years, so besotted with each other? The game of sex and love. She was no true libertine, but a sensualist who governed her lust by sharing it with a partner, and always, so far as he knew, a love-partner.

He kissed her awake. ‘You were dreaming. Nice dreams?’

‘Dreams about us and a wedding.’

He handed her a Moroccan robe, a silvery-grey fine-woven silk, heavy with silk braid and a multitude of matching tiny buttons in a luscious plum colour. She was clearly delighted with it. ‘There are others in the wardrobe. A lovely collection.’

She fell back among the pillows, the robe draped in front of her covering her naked breasts. She wanted more sleep. She took Jamal, who was sitting on the edge of the bed next to her, by the hand, meaning to pull him back with her. It was then that she saw he was dressed. She felt suddenly surprised and alarmed. ‘Why are you dressed?’

‘I must go.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Half-past four in the morning.’

‘Where could you possibly have to go at this hour?’

‘Home.’

‘Home?’

‘That’s where I’ll be staying until after we’re married. You will be living here.’

She sat up and, tossing the robe over her head, struggled into it, and then out of the bed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Give me half an hour. I’ll bathe and dress and we will both go home, if that’s what you prefer.’

‘No. What I prefer is that you stay here and I go home. Anything else is unacceptable. Unthinkable. It would ruin your reputation in Marrakesh if it were seen that we lived together before the wedding. And I cannot have a wife with a tarnished reputation.’

‘Well, that is rich! What about these past days at the Villa San Michele. What about my reputation then?’

‘Well,
you
chose to blow it there, didn’t you? You can act the high-class slut in Italy. But here in Morocco, high or low class, a slut is unacceptable. It’s a role you are not allowed to play.’

Lara felt as if he had slapped her. She was enraged and raised her hand to retaliate. He grabbed her wrist, and pulled her into his lap, kissing her hand, once, and then again. His grip was so tight her wrist pained her. Finally she said, ‘You’re hurting me.’

He released her wrist, but pulled her tight up against him. She knew better than to struggle with one who was too strong for her. Instead she remained rigid in his arms. ‘Don’t be angry. We are a very conservative society here, you know that. And you would be just as compromised if you were to live at my house. Forgive me, I might have put it better to you.’

‘You might. You should.’

Her anger had barely subsided. So he sat with her cradled in his lap and rocked her gently, kissing her sweetly. He caressed her until he felt her yield to him, all anger dissolved. Then he suggested, ‘I’ve ordered hot coffee and brioches and eggs poached in a meat sauce.
I’m famished and so must you be. I had meant for us to dine out, but the sex was too good to stop. Some food, and then I’ll put you back to bed and go home. I’ll be back before you wake. Then I’ll take you out and buy you something lovely in celebration of your first day back in Marrakesh.’

A table had been set up in front of the settee. It was resplendent with flowers and food. Jamal and Lara sat next to each other and held hands while Rafik poured hot black coffee for them. Waiters arrived to serve the eggs. Then, over coffee and yet another brioche, Lara asked Jamal to send everyone from the room.

Throughout the meal, Jamal had been very aware how amazingly young and innocent Lara could look. The green eyes and the naturally silver-blonde hair, but especially the sensuous puffy lips, enchanted him. He was pleased because she wore the Moroccan robe. This was the woman he would wed in three days’ time, not the disturbing creature who behaved like a common whore in bed. And it was to that part of Lara that Jamal addressed himself. Or tried to. Because they both chose to speak at once.

‘You go,’ he said, smiling at her.

‘No, you say what you were going to say.’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I think we’ve been a little hasty about …’

Lara turned very pale. ‘My god, you’re going to jilt me.’

He began to laugh, and gathered her to him for reassurance. ‘Far from it. In fact, quite the opposite. What I was going to say – if I am permitted to continue?’ She looked relieved and nodded her consent. ‘We’ve been hasty about keeping our wedding a complete secret, as we agreed we would.’

Her face lit up with enthusiasm. ‘I don’t believe this! That is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘I’m very proud to be marrying you, Lara, and of becoming a part of the Stanton family. I have been close to Max and David for almost all my adult life. David is still my best friend, and I would like him to be a witness at the wedding. What do you think?’

Involuntary tears filled her eyes, several trickled down her cheeks. Tears of joy. For them both it was an emotional moment. One that they had obviously avoided precisely because the family was so important to them that they had been unable till now to cope with involvement with any of the Stantons.

They called David. He called Max. And thirty-six hours later the four of them were dining together in the old courtyard of the Dar Marjana restaurant. Berber-robed, turbaned, and with Berber knife, Abdel Azziz was the perfect host, his elegant Arab palace the perfect setting for their momentous reunion.

The only other person in the family to know about the wedding was Martha. She did not accompany David because the birth of their second child was imminent.

The presence of David and Max brought a new happiness to their wedding plans. The men, who had for so long been the world’s most eligible bachelors, had a shared past together. They also shared a long-time love of Lara. The three, a cousin, a brother and a lover to Lara, were more like brothers than friends. And to them all she was something precious in their lives. Each of them in his own way knew her strengths and her weaknesses. David and Max intended that she should be protected in this marriage. They knew Jamal and the down-side of his nature. No one was hiding anything. It therefore came as no surprise that they should talk openly about the coming event.

‘You guys, I’d like to know we have your blessings,’ said Jamal.

‘You do,’ David was quick to answer.

‘And mine,’ chimed in Max.

‘It did cross my mind that you might try to talk Lara out of marrying me.’

‘Talk Lara out of something? You must be kidding. Besides, she tells us she has loved you for a very long time. There is one thing though, Jamal. If you don’t make her happy, if you give her any of the shit I know you are quite capable of giving women – and mostly the ones you love – you will have the family to deal with and most especially me.’ There was a look in Max’s eyes that said he meant business.

‘Max!’

‘Sorry, La, but it had to be said. Jamal is like a brother to us. It’s best we get some things straight.’ He then added, much to her embarrassment, ‘Jamal, when Lara eloped with Sam, not one of us thought about La. We were that certain that Sam was the right husband for her. This time, David and I are thinking of her.’

To that end David suggested, ‘Why don’t we all fly back to the States, to Cannonberry Chase? You could be married there, in a very private ceremony, just the four of us present – if it’s secrecy you want. I can arrange that. And you could tell your friends and the family afterwards.’ It was a loaded suggestion, and they all knew it. The marriage would then be under United States jurisdiction. It was all about power of place. The possibility of a marriage going wrong. A court battle later. No one was surprised when Jamal declined the offer. And no one was fooled. Jamal wanted a Moroccan wedding certificate for the same reason. If there were ever to be a separation, he would want to fight the Stanton clan on his own territory.

The three men knew exactly what was going on. Her
relatives were making it clear to Jamal that, until they turned Lara over to him in marriage, they were only interested in protecting her. That there was nothing personal in it. It hadn’t been said, but he had understood it well. Jamal, ever the diplomat, was full of charm, but firm. He and Lara would not change their plans. He could have. He thought it would have been quite agreeable to be married at Cannonberry Chase. One of his favourite places in the world, it had always had a hold on him. He was invariably delighted to return there. It did that to people: enchanted them and never let them go. Jamal could have acquiesced, because he knew it didn’t much matter where they were wed. Once the deed was done, he would never let Lara go, no matter what. There were always ways to keep her and any children in Morocco. But not to acquiesce was a matter of principle with him. Principle demanded he keep full control of Lara and their life together.

If Jamal had been taken by surprise by David’s subtle demand and Max’s warning, the Stanton men and Lara were equally surprised by Jamal’s insistence that they accept a pre-nuptial agreement he had had his lawyers draw up and which he had signed. It was in effect a waiver on his part of all claims to any of Lara’s assets, personal, family or in trust. He asked for no such understanding from her.

None of this went over her head. Although she was prepared to marry Jamal anywhere, she came down to earth long enough to realise that Jamal had given her no choice as to where or how they would wed. She filed that in the back of her mind, aware that she probably would not have realised it had David not so astutely pointed it out. And now this. All three of them had been impressed when Jamal had produced the agreement he was insisting on. But once again she had not been consulted, not been
offered a choice in the matter. It registered a warning that she thought to deal with later.

Walking behind David and Max, Jamal had whispered in Lara’s ear, ‘I think you should waive all rights to your assets too. But I won’t ask you to do that. It seems unreasonable – and unnecessary, since I will insist we live on my money, anyway. Anything you could ever want, I can afford to give you. Just think of yourself as having no money of your own, and let the interest pile up while you spend mine. You’re in my hands now, I’ll care for you. That’s what husbands do. Promise me you’ll abide by that rule. That will be enough for me.’

Lara had no idea what to make of such a suggestion. All she knew was that it wasn’t a good one. Rule? What rule? At the best of times she was uninterested in money, except when she had worked with Harland on her projects. Even then she got bored and bolted. For a young woman of her wealth she was hardly a spendthrift. She had always had enough for whatever she wanted. She could hardly think about it in the terms Jamal did. My money, your money. She could only think of all money as our money. Three years married to Sam, and she could not remember discussing anything to do with money. Not before, during or since their divorce. Really, it was quite vulgar of Jamal to bring up the subject.

Why, she wondered, was Jamal so insistent that she be financially dependent on him? Fortunately she had not had the chance to answer. They were interrupted by Max, who distracted them from the subject. Lara had a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. Had it been generosity or pride that had prompted that whisper? Or what? Whatever, it was soon lost in the excitement of the day. And cousin and brother became best man and proxy father of the bride the following day in the family house in Tangiers.

There are some women who are spoilt constantly by men. Something in their character demands it. That had been so for Lara since birth. Men were irresistibly drawn to her, they made enormous efforts to please her. No, more than that, they derived satisfaction from doting on her, spoiling her. And what was so extraordinary about Lara was that she made no demands on them for material things. In fact, she made no overt demands on men. Her need to be loved and adored by them emanated from her like a dangerous perfume.

Standing in the garden under a cobalt blue sky in the warmth of a morning sun, she was surrounded by three men who loved her more than any other woman in their lives. She was now the wife of the man whom she had always wanted to marry and make a life with. The man who had moulded her from inexperienced adolescent into sensuous woman. The man who had taught her to be proud of her sexuality, her lust for life. The man whom she had walked away from because he would not give her what she wanted. What he was giving her today: a life together for all the world to see. A marriage on which they could build something together.