It was his sense of honour that had made him confess his plan to seduce India on this trip. It was also his sense of honour that demanded he now respect her supposed engagement.
‘My engagement isn’t real,’ she wanted to yell. ‘It’ll all be over publicly the minute I get back to London.’
But she couldn’t confess the truth. What would be the point?
It was a good thing Gabriel had decided not to throw a match to the tinder that piled higher with every encounter they had. The spark between them promised to blaze into a brilliant bonfire. Unhappily, India knew it was an illusion. The spark would die. The fire would fizz the second things progressed beyond a certain point and then she’d suffer the same humiliation she’d known when she’d set out to take Finn as her lover. It would be mortifying for Gabriel to know she was incapable of having a sexual relationship.
As attracted as she was to Gabriel, and no matter how her therapist tried to convince her otherwise, the truth was that no man would ever break through the psychological barriers she had to sex.
So while Eden had wished her brother had a more diluted sense of honour, India had to be relieved he possessed it at full strength. Gabriel de la Croix was a good man.
Eden’s words played over again in India’s mind. The Princess of Santaliana had wanted her brother to loosen up a little and have fun. Maybe, during this trip to Africa—so many thousands of miles away from Santaliana and from his normal daily responsibilities—India could honour the wish of her friend and show Gabriel how to have fun...
Chapter 6
‘No! Stop!’
India’s anguished cry in the middle of the night from the tent next to his had Gabriel leaping from the low-lying bunk and racing out into the night to come to her aid.
‘Wait outside,’ he told one of his bodyguards who also ran in the direction of India’s tent. ‘I’ll handle this.’
The choked crying from inside made his gut wrench. He unzipped the fly of the canvas and raced inside with his fists clenched, prepared to fight if he found an attacker. However, in the darkness, he could make out only one form—India’s. She thrashed about on her bunk bed and was quite alone.
‘India.’ He crouched down beside the low camp bed and reached out to touch her forehead. It was slick with perspiration. ‘India, wake up.’
‘No! No! Don’t!’
Despite the perspiration, she didn’t seem to be feverish.
‘India, you’re having a nightmare.’
Her eyes snapped open and she pulled away from his touch in panic. Only a little bit of light from the full moon penetrated the canvas, but his eyes had adjusted and he saw her expression of sheer terror.
‘You’re okay, India. Everything is fine.’
‘Gabe.’ He was pleased to hear the relieved recognition in her tone.
‘We’re here in Misanti,’ he told her soothingly.
Abruptly, she levered herself against the mattress and her body jarred upright. He didn’t miss her look of panic, nor the way she turned her head and peered into the darkness at the other corners of the tent. Her fear was palpable. The singlet top she wore clung to her high, pert breasts and drew his attention to every short, shallow breath she took.
‘You were having a nightmare,’ he reiterated.
Did she have them often? It wouldn’t surprise him now he knew the horrors she must’ve seen as she’d grown up.
Her hands flew up to cover her face. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ His gentle tone was at odds with the surge of anger that speared through him again as he thought how irresponsible her parents had been to drag her along on their missions when they hadn’t even sounded keen to have become parents in the first place.
Why hadn’t they seen that she would’ve been better off being raised in a stable environment with her grandmother?
‘Do you have nightmares often?’ Reaching out and placing one hand on her forearm, he felt the tremors running through her slender limb.
‘I... I haven’t had one in years.’
Perhaps talking about her childhood had brought all the traumatic memories rushing back, or maybe it was her presence here in Misanti that had reopened old wounds. ‘I’m sorry if this trip back to Misanti triggered it. Were you dreaming of your parents?’
‘No.’ The word was adamant, but was quickly followed by a shrug. ‘I... I don’t really remember what it was about.’
He looked at her as closely as he could in the semi-darkness. Every instinct told him she knew exactly what the nightmare had been about and simply didn’t want to relive it with him—or probably with anyone else, for that matter.
What sort of horrors had she seen on a daily basis in her childhood and adolescence?
‘Do you have some water in the tent?’ he asked.
‘There’s a canteen over on the washstand.’
He stood to retrieve it, then decided to wet the flannel he found beside it. ‘Here, have a drink.’
‘Thank you. I’m sorry to have disturbed your sleep.’
He hadn’t been asleep, but he had been dreaming. Dreaming of waking up beside violet eyes. Dreaming of holding India close, kissing every inch of her delectable body and driving into her until she screamed his name in ecstasy.
Now he watched as she drank from the canteen. He wanted to kiss along the graceful column of her neck moving up and down with each swallow. He wanted to lick the drop of water that fell on the bare flesh of her chest, then ran down to be absorbed by the cotton fabric of her singlet top.
‘Lie back down,’ he told her, taking the water bottle. ‘Try to get back to sleep.’
‘I don’t think I can. I... Usually, I need to stay awake—that is, I did when I used to have nightmares.’
‘I’m only guessing, of course, but if you do have these nightmares about what you saw when you were growing up, maybe you should see a counsellor?’
‘No.’ It was a sharp denial. ‘I mean,’ she used a more conversational tone, ‘like I said, I don’t usually have bad dreams these days, and...’ She sent him an awkward look, her teeth worrying at her lower lip in indecision. ‘I actually do see a counsellor from time to time.’
‘Good.’ She’d been hesitant to tell him, and he wanted to her to be able to tell him anything. ‘Talking about past horrors is healthy. I’m glad you’re taking positive action in dealing with all you must’ve seen as a child.’ He put the back of his hand against her forehead. ‘You’re hot, but not feverish.’ Handing her the flannel he said, ‘Here. Use this and cool yourself down.’ It was hard to pass her the cloth when he wanted to sponge her down himself. But that wasn’t his right. That was Artarmon’s right.
Be strong, he told himself. You’ve shown her so little respect up to now. For God’s sake respect the fact that she’s an engaged woman. You’ve done what you needed to do. You’ve awakened her from her nightmare and she’s fine. Now you need to go. Say goodnight. Get up and walk out of this tent.
He went to get up and her hand shot out to his arm to arrest his movement.
‘I... I...’ She swallowed. ‘I know... I shouldn’t ask, but... will you stay and talk with me for a while?’
Jesus. He wasn’t a saint.
‘India, I don’t want to leave you alone if you’re upset, but it’s hardly appropriate for me to be in your tent in the middle of the night.’
Damn it all! Her lower lip trembled and her eyes were moist.
Honour, Gabriel. Honour.
‘Why don’t we go and sit out by the fire for a while?’
‘Yes.’ The word was all breathy relief. ‘Thank you.’
He held out his hand to help her up, and was surprised at the firmness of her grip. She clung to him and was reluctant to let go when they reached the fire pit, but he needed to walk away from her and put some distance between them.
It was a mistake to think that being outside, in full view of his security team, would provide a distraction from how much he wanted to make love to India. The gl
ow from the firelight cast soft light on her face. It highlighted the graceful arch of her neck, the exquisite bone structure of her face and the lushness of her lips. When he looked into her eyes, the reflection of the fire in those violet depths was alluring.
‘Your first night in Africa.’ There was a nervous tremor in her voice as she looked away.
Gabe sat down on a log a few paces away from her. ‘I can’t believe I’ve never been.’
The smoke blew toward where she stood, and she walked closer and sat down right next to him.
Oh damn! She smelt of some exotic feminine blend. He breathed deeper and wondered whether it was the fragrance of her soap or some beauty product she’d used.
India picked up a stick and traced a pattern in the dirt with absent movements. ‘I guess you’ve been too busy with all your responsibilities to play tourist.’
With every leap of every flame, there was a corresponding leap in his libido. There was an intimacy about sitting in front of a campfire, under a sky where each star twinkled like a sparkling crystal on a black velvet background. The subdued crackle of the fire added to the seductive scene and his body warmed, but he was unsure whether it was because of the heat from the fire or awareness of the woman sitting next to him.
God, but he wanted her.
It didn’t make it any easier when her thigh brushed against his.
At the same moment, they looked at each other and their gazes meshed.
India’s lips parted.
He watched as her pupils suddenly dominated the violet irises, and her neck moved as she swallowed. Stark need was etched into every beautiful feature.
Then the palm of her hand was on his chest, dislodging a groan of need that came from deep within him.
Honour was impossible. He wanted this woman like he’d wanted no other, and right then he felt he’d die if he didn’t have her.
No. He couldn’t do it. She deserved more.
‘God help me, but I want to be your lover, India,’ he told her in a low, rasping tone. ‘I want it with an urgency that’s difficult to control.’
Long eyelashes swept down and her eyes clamped shut—tightly. A moan of regret made its way up from her throat as she stood up and moved several paces away from him. ‘I’m sorry. That was totally my fault and you’re absolutely right—we have to control this.’
He let out a long breath. ‘Artarmon,’ he grated.
‘It’s...’
‘Damn it! Why the hell are you engaged to him when there’s so much passion between us?’
‘Gabe, I think I have to tell you—’
No. He didn’t want to know what she saw in the guy. He didn’t need to know how much she cared for the guy she was going to spend the rest of her life with.
‘You’re right. This can’t happen between us. If you weren’t engaged—if you’d be happy to have an affair knowing I could never offer you marriage—maybe then...’ Frustration burnt through him as corrosively as acid. ‘No! Damn it. Even then, we couldn’t. You deserve so much more.’ He stood up and frustration made every muscle so stiff he was in physical and emotional pain. ‘Goodnight, India.’ Unable to stay, he strode angrily towards his tent.
When he was inside, with tension coiling through him, he wished he had a punching bag he could hammer relentlessly for as long as it took to work through his frustration.
Instead he paced back and forth beside the camp bed that was way too short for his frame. His hands were clenched so tightly, pain speared up his arm. The muscles of his shoulders and back set as firm as concrete.
God damn it! Why had Marco intervened all those years ago? If only he hadn’t, India may have been his lover—possibly even his wife. She’d never have met Artarmon—never been engaged to him.
But what if India had become his wife?
What would’ve happened to her?
His parents, his sister, his wife—all of them had died because of something he’d done. If there was some sort of de la Croix curse, it’d lain dormant for generations and he was the one who’d brought it back to life.
‘For goodness sake, Gabe! He’s just a baby. Give Dev whatever he wants.’
The memory of his father’s last words haunted him. Gabe knew if he’d just let Dev have the toy he wanted, his father wouldn’t have had his attention diverted from the road and may have been able to divert safely when the deer leapt out onto the road.
The screeching brakes, the slide of the car on icy roads before it plummeted headlong over the cliff edge replayed in his mind. The trees rushed up. Glass shattered as the car smashed straight into the trees.
‘Mama! Papa!’ Eden screamed.
Devereaux wailed.
Gabe hadn’t been able to utter a sound. From his seat he’d seen the car hurtling straight towards the branch. He’d squeezed his eyes shut, kept them shut as he’d been showered in glass from the broken windscreen. When he’d reopened them, he’d seen the branch embedded in his mother’s chest—her head lolling forward.
No sound from his father. No movement.
The sheer anguish of it all and the knowledge it was all his fault plagued him afresh as he sank onto the camp bed and buried his face in his hands. Those vivid images would never leave him. They were still as clear as if he was right back at the scene—the scene that was his crime. His crime against those he’d loved most.
With the sound of his sibling’s panicked, tortured cries still ringing in his ears, another scream sliced through his auditory memory. It was Angelique’s scream.
Over twenty years after the ill-fated holiday road trip with his family, Angelique had screamed into her mobile phone. Loud, shrill screams and cries for help until they were masked by the roar of the avalanche. Afterwards, the silence down the phone line had been even worse than the screaming. The sense of helplessness that had gripped him, knowing that his wife was buried under metres of snow while he was safe in the ski lodge by a crackling fire, was devastating.
All those deaths had been his fault, and—if he’d been firmer with Eden—if he’d refused to allow her to go and visit the drug rehabilitation centre in Paris when she’d been interested in seeing it to use it as a model for one in Santaliana, she would never have been murdered.
He wanted India.
Everything in him yearned to take her into his arms and protect her—to make sure she had a happy life that made up for the misery she must’ve been exposed to in her childhood.
The stark reality was that if he took her close to him, he wouldn’t be able to protect her.
It didn’t matter that he was a king or had vast wealth. It didn’t matter if he tried to live honourably and rule well. Ultimately, he made decisions that had cost some of the people closest to him to lose their lives.
Artarmon may seem weak and have an irritating, whining voice, but Gabe couldn’t say that India wasn’t better off with Jeremy than she would be with him.
Even though he was sure India could do better than her present fiancé, Gabe couldn’t decide that for her. Most importantly, Gabe couldn’t offer India what Artarmon did. Gabe could never offer India his name, his children and a solid future together. To do so would certainly end in disaster for her, or for their children.
His shoulders slumped. A great gaping emotional wound pulled at his flesh as it rent open again in his chest. Closing his eyes, he fought off the regrets and sought to cauterise his thoughts before they opened up the sealed compartment in his brain that housed all he truly wanted from life on a personal level.
His actions had caused too much grief. His personal desires didn’t matter. What he needed to continue to do was to work for the people in his kingdom and make sure their lives were happy. Making that his mission, his focus, would hopefully atone for his other mistakes.
Chapter 7
‘To a successful trip!’ India raised her Champagne flute a week later and clinked it against Gabriel’s. Now their time in Misanti was over and they were safely in the royal Gulfstream jet heading back to Sant
aliana, India started to relax.
‘Without a doubt the most enjoyable week I’ve ever had abroad,’ Gabriel agreed. ‘The people were wonderful and none of the documentaries I’ve seen on Africa prepared me for the raw beauty of the land.’
‘It’s a harsh, unforgiving land, but there’s nothing quite as vibrant as the burnt orange and red colours of an African sunset. I could look out at those sunsets every day and never grow tired of them.’
‘The sunsets are great, but I prefer the sky right on dusk. Every day, I find I grow more partial to violet.’
As he held her gaze with his, each of her heartbeats grew a little more irregular.
In the days following the formal opening ceremonies of the school and hospital, it’d been increasingly easier to forget that this man was a monarch and to view him just as a man. He’d chatted so easily to the people—mostly via an interpreter—and there’d been a lot of fun at times when he’d tried to communicate through miming.
India’s fingers tightened around the stem of the Champagne flute and her mouth dried. The only awkward time had been their first night when he’d roused her from her recurring nightmare. She’d been so shaken, she’d wanted the security of his embrace. She’d been desperate for his kisses to transport her away from the dark place she’d been in and craved, instead, to be off to the land of mindless ecstasy that only he’d been able to deliver. It would’ve been so easy to fall into his embrace. Thankfully he’d been stronger. He’d kept the distance between them, thinking she was committed to Jeremy.
‘I’m glad you came, India.’ Gabriel’s deep voice drew her out of her thoughts. His pitch was so rich, so seductive. ‘Nobody else would’ve persuaded me to swim with elephants in the river, nor been so impudent as to have aimed an elephant’s trunk at me knowing full well the elephant was trained to squirt water on command.’
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