Marrying for his Royal Heir & The Terms of Their Affair (Clare Connelly Pairs Book 7)

by Clare Connelly

  He didn’t answer that directly, though the demanding red letters were burned into his mind. “Look around you, najin,” He said quietly. “Can you deny it?”

  “I…” The very idea of her bank statement filled her with a well of panic. Nausea and despair were swirling through her. How could she work so hard and still barely make ends meet? Her credit card was a black hole she seemed unable to fill.

  “I am not talking about a small sum,” he pushed throatily.

  Her eyes fluttered closed on what he was suggesting. Offering. But at what cost? “I’m not for sale.”

  “But you do want me. True?”

  She shook her head, but her body was vibrating, all for him. She groaned softly. “Not like this.”

  “So you will sleep with me without money.”

  “No!” She stood up, scraping the chair against the floor noisily. “No. Never again.” Even as she said it, her body mourned, her heart stung.

  “Had your daughter not called for you, we would be making love right now.”

  A judder of awareness travelled the length of her spine. He was right. She compressed her lips, the very idea making her blood boil. “Thank God for bad dreams,” she said softly, running her hands together and knitting them for strength.

  She heard him move before she saw him. He stood quickly, crossing towards her. His hands on her arms didn’t surprise her. He held her close to his body, his warm breath stirring the soft hair around her temples. “Look into my eyes and tell me you do not want this.”

  She dropped her gaze to the floor, burning a hole in it with the intensity of her stare. “I don’t want this.”

  “I said look at me,” he demanded, the full force of his regal command apparent in the five simple words.

  She forced her eyes to meet his, but she would not lie to him. “I won’t give in to it,” she amended with quiet determination.

  He dropped his hands, curving them around her bottom, and thrusting her forward so that his arousal was pressed against her femininity. “Will you allow me five minutes to change your mind?”

  She shook her head, but her eyes were enormous. What she wanted and what she knew made sense were two very, very different sensations.

  “Are you so afraid of what you feel, najin, that you run from me even now?”

  “I’m not the one who ran,” she said, the words a hoarse plea.

  She needed to understand. Why had he left her? Why had he walked away from her? Because he was a Sheikh and she was a nobody. Because he had been mourning his mother and once she had helped him through that he had no longer needed her.

  Was it love if it was so easily dispensed with?

  “No,” he nodded, and he reached down, scooping her up easily and carrying her to sofa.

  “What are you doing?” She asked, but the words were weak. Any challenge or anger was repressed. She spoke almost as though fascinated, like this was happening to someone other than her.

  He lay her down gently, and as he removed his hands, he curled them around her yoga pants, pulling them lower.

  Her mind was screaming at her to say something. To tell him to stop. But her dreams had wanted this for so long, and they were keeping her lips sealed, her mouth silent, but for the soft moans escaping her as his fingers teased her bare flesh.

  She had shaved her legs in the shower, and hastily rubbed cream into them, so they were as soft as satin beneath his exploration.

  He tossed her pants aside and then pulled at her knees, lowering her on the sofa.

  “This is crazy,” she murmured, but she was staring up at him, waiting, hopeful, needing.

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  His mouth on her feminine core was an invasion both fierce and sweet. So intimate, so desperately longed for. His tongue delved into her soft folds, finding her heart and tormenting it and she cried out sharply as the pleasure she had, for so long, needed and wanted, began to spiral through her. It was a hot, fierce tidal wave of need, rendering her almost unable to breathe.

  He had done this before. Pleasuring her with his mouth as though he could whisper the secrets of the universe to her this way. She arched her back, providing him with greater access, begging him for more. So much more.

  “You have always been mine,” he said darkly, the words a promise against her core.

  She shook her head, but she was trembling with the veracity of the statement. Ancient needs spun around her soul when the world had been a simpler, happier place, dug deep into her bones again now.

  “I used to be,” she grunted, finally, as he lifted his mouth, placing sweet kisses against the inner-flesh of her thigh and allowing his finger to probe her warm depths.

  “I will make you so again,” he promised with an arrogance that was borne not just of his position but of his very essence.

  His hand was her master. He moved and she felt; until she felt so much she could no longer think.

  Her body quivered as pleasure burst over her like a dam overflowing. She reached up, digging her fingers into the worn sofa behind her head, squeezing her eyes shut as wave after wave of pleasure soaked through her. Waves, intense, fierce and finally, relenting.

  As they ebbed, thought returned.

  And so too did the awful realisation of what had just happened.

  Panic was hot on realisation’s heels.

  Sarah swore beneath her breath, a violent curse that resonated around the room.

  Syed, damn him, stood, his expression impossible to interpret, his eyes locked to hers.

  She couldn’t bear it. The indignity of scrambling for her yoga pants was almost too much, and as though he understood that, he reached for them and handed them to her.

  She didn’t thank him.

  “Turn around.” A croaky request, issued as a directive.

  If he wanted to argue, he apparently thought better of it, turning from her slowly, his hands on his hips.

  Sarah dressed quickly, but when she stood, her knees were weakened by what had just happened. “I want you to get out of my house.”

  He nodded, but when he spun around to face her, there was a harsh determination in his face that she hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t hard to picture him as a powerful ruler. This was a different side to the man she’d known.

  “I am talking about a life-changing amount of money.”

  “I’m not for sale,” she ground out. “If you knew anything about me, you’d know I would never do what you’re suggesting.”

  Something like sorrow flickered in his gaze. “Not even for your daughter?”

  Sarah recoiled visibly. “What are you talking about?”

  “You can barely cover your bills.” She chose not to hear the scathing derision in his voice. “Don’t you think she deserves more financial security? You need help.”

  “I don’t want your help,” she snapped, but anguish tore through her. For he was right. Completely right. She had been drowning for years and the idea of a simple kindness giving her breathing space was a talisman she needed to grab with both hands.

  “Yes, you do.” He closed the distance between them, thumbing her cheek gently. “And you want me. So why not, what is it you say? Have your cake. And eat it too.”

  She stared up at him, her breath coming in fits and spurts. “Because I’d hate myself,” she whispered, finally, tears moistening her lashes. “And I’d hate you, as well.”

  His eyes narrowed with an emotion she couldn’t comprehend. “I thought you already do.”

  She swallowed and nodded. “Yes. I do. I do hate you, Syed.” Her heart squeezed tight at the acknowledgement. Words she had flung at him so many times in her dreams now groaned out of her, but they didn’t offer the satisfaction she’d expected. “How can you even suggest…”

  “I need you,” he said thickly. “I need you.”

  Sarah dropped her eyes, fluttering her lashes against her cheeks. “I don’t care.”

  “I need to be with you…”

  “Why?”

&
nbsp; Silence sparked between them, the electrical current intensifying with every second that passed.

  “Why?” She repeated urgently, in pain, hurting all over.

  “Because you are as much a fever in my blood as you were then. I need to lay this to rest once and for all.”

  Her sharp intake of breath rung with pain. “You want to sleep with me to help you forget me?” She surmised, taking no pleasure from the admittance that he still craved her.

  “I want to sleep with you to close the book on what we were.”

  “You closed that book,” she pointed out, trying her hardest to regain control of the situation. But a new form of grief was snaking through her – when she thought she had no more sadness to feel, she realised how wrong she was.

  “Apparently not.”

  There were two clear choices. One right and laced with pain and denial, one wrong and loaded with pleasure and dreams; but a fleeting pleasure that would lead to pain.

  “That you would offer me money for sex cheapens everything we once were,” she whispered huskily. She stepped away from him and the pain, as predicted, perforated her being instantly.

  “Fine. Then come with me for a night. To be with me. Because you want me. Because you’ve missed me.”

  She shook her head, but his words were wrapping around her heart, binding her to the promise of what he offered.

  He moved to her again, cupping her face with his powerful hands. They were warm and firm.

  “You have carried another man’s baby inside of you. Had he not died, he would be here with you still. I want … I need…” There was such a look of torture in his face that she was tempted to tell him the truth, but he continued before she could form the sentence. “I want you to be mine again.”

  The words wrapped around her, stealing breath from her body. When she spoke, the words were thin and high-pitched.

  “I’m not an object. A possession.”

  She bit down on her lip, knowing there was an inherent lie in what she’d said. “But I was as much yours as any person could be, at one time. And you left.” She turned away from him and walked towards the window. It looked out onto a narrow garden, and beyond it, a high, brick wall. Hardly an inspiring view, but by night, it made no difference.

  She saw her reflection.

  Thin.

  Pale.

  Gaunt.

  Half-alive. Waiting for sleep, for her dream-life, where she could be happy again.

  She swept her eyes closed. “You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

  Was she talking about her lover’s death? Anger at that idea burst through him. A desire to erase the other man from her body and heart pushed determination into his words. “One night. And a hundred thousand American dollars.”

  Her sob was not what he’d expected. She shook her head and turned to face him. “Get out.”

  Had he miscalculated so badly? He had intended to provide her with an offer that was beyond anything she could refuse. He had wanted to make it impossible for her to say no. And yet…

  “I loved you.” She swallowed the bitterness from her mouth; it tasted like burned metal and ash.

  She had loved him, and she had loved him hard. When he had been sad and broken, she had loved him until his heart sung. She had loved him when she had no clue who he was, how powerful he was, nor what he was worth.

  But it had been an impossible love, founded on the lie of who he was and what he could offer. He’d been selfish to take her virginity and more so to accept the gift of her heart, knowing that he would always have to return to Kalastan and his life there.

  He had responsibilities and duties that had superseded what he could provide for Sarah.

  According to Zahir, he still did.

  “One night,” he said with a simplicity that belied his hope; his desperation. “And all your worries will go away.”

  He was right. At least, her financial worries would be solved.

  One hundred thousand dollars was more money than Sarah could imagine.

  She could cut back at work and spend proper time with Lexi, giving her the stability she deserved. She could finally buy some of the things they so desperately needed. Maybe even afford a little holiday somewhere. Lexi could have new shoes! Her first pair of new shoes, rather than the hand-me-downs and church charity shop pairs she’d made do with. A dress, like the one she’d seen in the store last week.

  And all it would take was prostitution.

  Her cheeks flashed with hot anger.

  No way could Sarah sleep with a man – even this man! – so Lexi could have a new dress. How absurd!

  Only it wasn’t about a dress, or shoes, or even a holiday. For four years, she’d been running like a hamster on a wheel, trying her hardest to get her head above water. Bill after bill had knocked her back under. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d woken up without her credit card statement swimming before her eyes.

  A hundred thousand dollars? It was completely life-changing. It was an oasis of hope right in front of her, singing, taunting, flirting, promising a new life.

  But at what cost?

  “How can you even suggest this?” It was a soft, desperate request.

  “Because I want you.” And his answer was every bit as decisive as her question had been uncertain.

  She spun to face him, her hand slashing the air. “That’s not good enough. That’s not enough.”

  That muscle twitched in his cheek again.

  “I want you to the point of misery. I wasn’t lying; you are a fever in my blood. I left you and I thought … I thought I would forget you. I thought I would get over you. But here we are…”

  She drew in a deep, unsteady breath. “We’re nowhere.”

  “We’re both in hell, aren’t we?” He challenged softly.

  “Why did you leave me?” The question, the deep, burning question that had ached inside of her like a deepening wound. “I mean, I suppose I can guess, but I want to hear you say it.”

  “You were an aberration,” he said after a small pause.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  He held up a hand to silence her. “When she died –,”

  Sarah didn’t need to ask for clarification. She remembered the gash that his mother’s death had left in his heart.

  “I lost my mind. I should never have been with you.”

  Sarah’s ache was spreading. “Seriously, keep talking. This whole thing is really great for my self-esteem.”

  “It was a rare moment for me. I lost control. I shouldn’t have.”

  “Oh my God, Syed. I swear, you are not saying a single thing I want to hear.”

  His eyes, already inky, darkened to jet black. “The whole time we were together, I knew it was wrong. I knew I would have to leave you.”

  Tears ran down her cheeks. “You should have had the guts to tell me that. You ran away.”

  He had run away, she was right. For the very simple reason that he hadn’t been strong enough to look into her face and hurt her. So he’d stabbed her from behind, leaving a cowardly note and disappearing like a thief in the night.

  Shame prickled along his skin at the wrongs he’d inflicted on this woman. That he continued to inflict. Apparently, where Sarah Smith was concerned, Syed had no restraint and no judgement.

  “And now I’m back.”

  “For one night?” She demanded angrily, rightfully offended. “To get me out of your system?”

  “Do you want more, Sarah? Do you want a life with me?”

  “A life with you?” She spat, fury evident in the hushed delivery of the question. “I don’t even know who you are! How can I want a life with the man who … who …” she let the statement die, the hurt in her eyes showing him what she couldn’t say.

  Silence beat around them, heavy with accusations and hope. Then, finally, she continued. “So what? We sleep together, and then you go away again?”

  She waited, her breath held, her heart racing. And then, he nodded. A crisp, sing
le movement that confounded the tiny fragment of a dream she had left.

  “Five years ago, I was not free to be with you. It shouldn’t have happened.”

  “Because I’m not royal?” She demanded, floating her favourite of the theories that had filled her mind since that horrible morning. She liked it best because there was nothing she could do about it.

  “Partly,” he tilted his head forward, thinking of all the reasons his family had objected. Sarah Smith had been raised in a trailer park. She had no parents. No money. She hadn’t been to university. She spoke only one language. And yet, for all she had sounded unsuitable, Syed had loved her. She had been smart and kind, proud and brave. Beautiful, unique.

  “Partly,” she shook her head, the one word angering her, apparently.

  He drew back to the present with urgency. “More so, because I was engaged,” he amended.

  She froze, the words making no sense to her. Had something been lost in translation? “You mean, like, busy?”

  “No, Sarah. I mean engaged. To be married.”

  Like stones, the admission fell into the clear water of her life. Not once had she suspected anything along those lines. It had never occurred to her.

  “Engaged?”

  He nodded.

  “Jesus.” She squeezed her eyes closed. Guilt was hot, guilt was cold; it was pervasive. “So you cheated on your fiancé. With me. And then you left me and I … I was in love with you, and you were engaged to someone else?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she overrode him. “How dare you? How dare you allow me to become the other woman? That’s not what we were! Oh, God. She must hate me!”

  “I barely knew her. It was an arranged marriage. But it was a dear wish of my father and mother’s, and so I valued the union.”

  “And did you … are you …” Her eyes swept closed as bile coated her throat. “Are you married?”

  “No. It’s over. She married my cousin.”

  Sarah blinked. “Well, that’s cosy.”

  His lip twisted with genuine humour at the quick sarcasm that flowed from her beautiful, pink mouth. “Indeed.”

  “So that’s the reason?” It was a rhetorical question. “After years of wondering, I must say, I’m kind of relieved to know that it was nothing I did wrong.”