by Annie West
Was there even now some beauty waiting for this dinner to end so he’d come to her? Pain knifed Samira’s ribs, slashing at her, tearing her breath.
After all, she’d given him permission to take lovers. She didn’t want to believe it, not after what they’d shared, but, having experienced Tariq’s phenomenal sex drive, she doubted he’d stay celibate long.
Nothing could have reinforced the fact she was a poor second to his beloved first wife more than the way he avoided her. He treated her charmingly, always concerned for her wellbeing, but in an avuncular way, as if she was a charge to be cared for, not a wife to be cherished.
How dared he?
Fury was a pummelling beat high in her chest.
He’d seduced her for his pleasure, then left her high and dry when his interest waned. As if she could be dismissed once he’d had his fill!
How was she supposed to continue in this marriage? Better never to have given in to his seduction and lived as strangers than succumb to his charisma, fall for the man, then have him reject her.
Pain jabbed deep as realisation struck.
Fall for the man...
Samira sucked in a panicked breath. No, it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be. She’d never be foolish enough to risk her heart again by falling in love with any man. Not even Mr Almost Perfect Tariq.
Yet her anguished heart somersaulted at the very thought of the word.
Love.
Love for Tariq.
Had she fooled herself all this time, telling herself she could have everything she wanted with him but not risk her heart?
‘Your Highness, are you all right?’ The words reached her through a thick fog. ‘Your Highness?’
Slowly she dragged her head around to find Nicolas Roussel leaning close, his hair gleaming gold in the wavering darkness that edged her vision.
‘Do you need a doctor?’ The Frenchman’s voice was low and urgent. He reached as if to touch her arm, then hesitated, as if remembering her royal status. His blue eyes were concerned.
At least there was one man here who cared about her!
Even as the thought lodged, Samira knew she was being melodramatic. Tariq cared. Just not enough.
The thought brought a sob to her lips and she clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified that her emotions had her teetering on the brink.
Tariq had enjoyed her as a lover till her sexual allure faded, and he cared about her as the stand-in mother for the twins, as his consort and hostess. He just didn’t care about her the way she did him.
Love.
Samira’s heart pounded so hard it felt like it might jump out of her chest.
How long had she been pretending to herself?
How long since she’d fallen for her husband?
‘I’m calling a doctor.’ A chair scraped as Nicolas made to stand.
‘No!’ Her hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. As if from a distance she saw her fingers wrap, white-knuckled, around his arm. She couldn’t seem to let go. ‘I’m all right, truly.’
Samira tried for a smile and knew she’d failed when he looked at her doubtfully.
‘Truly.’ She tried again, her tense facial muscles stretching. ‘It’s just...’ she leaned towards him and he bent close ‘...sometimes I get a little uncomfortable.’
His gaze skated across her belly, then up again.
Samira nodded, prising her fingers loose from his arm and sitting back in her seat, willing herself to look calm despite her too-rapid pulse and the sick lurching of her stomach. It was a half-truth, after all, since she’d suffered from indigestion recently. Better to let her guest think it was that bothering her than the discovery she was in love with her husband. A husband who had rejected her.
Pain wrapped gnarled hands around her heart, squeezing tight.
‘I understand.’ Nicholas’s smile was warm. ‘My sister recently had a baby. She said sitting for too long was difficult.’
‘Ah, you do understand.’ Samira prided herself on her light tone, as if she had nothing on her mind but a little heartburn. She’d spent years learning to project grace and charm even when her private world had been a disaster. Desperately she dredged up every lesson she’d learned and gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Tell me...’ She leaned closer. ‘Did your sister have a boy or a girl?’
The next course was being served when Samira looked up to discover Tariq staring down the table. His jaw was tight, his mouth a grim line. And the look he sent Nicolas Roussel should have incinerated the charming Frenchman where he sat.
Samira’s breath stalled as hope fluttered high in her chest. Surely that incendiary stare signalled possessiveness? She’d never seen Tariq jealous, but that fixed glare held an unmistakeable threat.
Her heart took up a quick, excited rhythm.
Until Tariq’s gaze shifted to her and his face went completely blank. One minute she could have sworn she saw bloodlust in his eyes, the next she was left wondering if it had been a trick of the light.
Tariq inclined his head infinitesimally, favouring her with the small, polite smile which was the most animation she ever saw in him now.
How she hated that smile. It reminded her of all they’d once shared and all she still craved.
Then he turned to the ambassador and didn’t look her way again, clearly dismissing her from his thoughts.
Samira was surprised no one at her end of the table noticed the sound of her heart cracking wide open.
* * *
Tariq looked up from the draft treaty document as the door to his private study slammed open. One look at his wife’s taut features and he surged to his feet. She was in the final stages of pregnancy and he was constantly on tenterhooks, wary of a crisis.
‘That will be all for now,’ he told his secretary, his eyes fixed on Samira.
Never had she come to his office without invitation. Their lives proceeded in neat, contained patterns, intersecting only at official functions and when they spent time with the boys.
She looked tense. Was it the baby? Tension knotted his gut. He started towards her, then stopped at the look she sent him. Not pain or distress, but anger.
Tariq frowned. In all the time they’d been married he’d never seen Samira furious. In fact he hadn’t seen anger on her features since she’d been a kid. He hadn’t realised it before but even in her teens Samira had been self-contained, as if she controlled her natural volatility.
Finally they were alone, his secretary closing the door behind him.
‘Won’t you sit down?’
She lifted her chin and regarded him along her pert nose. His breath snagged. She’d never looked more beautiful, more alluring, her eyes glittering bright as gems, her lush body vibrating with passion. He wanted to reach out and stroke away the tension in her shoulders, kiss her into compliance, mould his hands to her deliciously rounded belly and...
‘You cancelled my meeting.’
Tariq blinked, trying to get his mind back into gear.
‘You’re not denying it?’ Her hands went to her hips, pulling the red silk of her loose dress tight, accentuating her heavily pregnant form. Could she feel his baby moving inside?
He cleared his throat and forced his gaze up, stoically ignoring the inevitable tension in his groin. Every time he looked at her he felt it. Every time he thought of her. Keeping his distance was killing him.
‘You’re concerned about a missed meeting?’
‘I’m concerned...’ she paused, dragged in a breath ‘...that you believe you have the right to interfere with my schedule.’
‘Ah. The meeting in the mountain villages.’
She nodded. ‘We were going to discuss the opportunities for local women. Yet I find it’s been removed from my diary with no explanation.’
‘It was to
take place at the same time as the redevelopment meeting but as I’m no longer available it will be rescheduled. Besides, it’s a long way to the mountains now you’re so far through your pregnancy. You need to be careful of yourself.’
Given her militant look he refused to admit he’d cancelled the meeting solely to prevent her travelling late in pregnancy. He wanted Samira here, where the best medical care was available.
He thrust from his mind the fact that hadn’t saved Jasmin.
Samira’s delicate eyebrows arched high. ‘I’m careful. Besides, I have people fussing around me if I so much as lift a finger.’
Tariq nodded. He was taking no chances with her wellbeing.
‘Do you have any idea when it will be rescheduled?’ Her narrowed eyes told him she wasn’t convinced.
Tariq spread his hands. ‘I leave those details to my staff but I doubt it will be soon.’
For a full minute Samira didn’t say anything and it struck him how much he missed the easy camaraderie they’d once shared. Being with her had been pure pleasure, not just in bed, but out of it too. Until she’d announced her pregnancy. Until he’d seen love shining in her eyes and known he couldn’t give her what she wanted.
Tariq looked again. It wasn’t love he read in her face.
‘Very well.’ She drew a slow breath. ‘I’ll have my secretary organise a separate meeting with the women’s representatives. I have some business proposals that won’t wait.’ Before he could voice an objection she added, ‘I’ll invite them here to the capital.’
‘An excellent idea.’ He’d prefer it if Samira reduced the hours she spent working, but at least she’d given up her plan to travel. His breathing eased.
‘I’ll ask Nicolas to attend. His expertise is invaluable.’
Tariq stiffened. Was that provocation in her bright eyes as she turned and left the room? Had she guessed how he hated the sight of her with Roussel?
It didn’t matter how often he reminded himself the man was capable, trustworthy and honest. The sight of Samira smiling with the Frenchman, so obviously attuned to him, set Tariq’s teeth on edge.
Roussel had his wife’s ear and her smiles while Tariq was forced to kick his heels at a distance. It didn’t matter that he was the one who’d rebuffed Samira. Or that caution decreed he keep his distance. The strain of holding back from her drove him close to breaking point.
Roussel, of all people! Tariq hadn’t missed the fact that the Frenchman had the blond hair, slim build and charming smile of Samira’s first lover, Jackson Brent. Clearly she was drawn to the type.
A type that was altogether different from Tariq’s towering bulk. Of course it was. She’d made no bones about the fact she’d married him for his children, not himself. And if she’d enjoyed sex with him... Well, hadn’t he made sure she did? That meant nothing.
A crash reverberated as his fist slammed into the wall. Tariq looked down, vaguely surprised at the blood scoring his knuckles. Pain wrapped round his hand and flashed up his arm.
Could he have got it wrong?
Was it possible his wife wasn’t in love with him after all?
* * *
Samira gasped as pain wrapped around her and she clung to the shower screen. All day she’d felt out of sorts, unable to settle and her back aching. Now she knew why. Her baby was coming early. What had begun as ripples of discomfort had grown into full-blown contractions so fierce she had trouble remembering to breathe.
Was it supposed to be like this so quickly? She hadn’t had time even to get out of the bathroom after trying to ease her discomfort with a warm shower.
Panic rose. If she slipped she doubted she could get up. She’d imagined a slow onset of labour, nothing so intense and overwhelming. What if something was wrong? What if her baby was in danger?
Suddenly the distance to the door seemed never ending.
Belatedly she remembered to slow her breathing, concentrate on exhaling. When at last the pain abated, her gaze snagged on the phone by the bath. Slowly, her hand groping for support, she made her way to it.
‘Yes?’ The deep voice burred in her ear as another contraction began.
Samira opened her mouth but only managed a gasp.
‘Who is this?’
She clung to the receiver, her hand shaking. ‘Tariq,’ she finally managed. It was a hoarse whisper, the best she could manage, but he didn’t answer. Her phone clattered to the floor.
Fear notched high and she blinked back tears of frustration. She needed Tariq. Here. Now. To tell her everything was okay and that the baby would be fine.
Samira rode out another contraction, bracing herself against the cool tiled wall, trying to force down fear that, despite her uneventful pregnancy, she might lose this baby too.
The door crashed open.
‘Ah, habibti.’ The deep voice curled reassuringly around her. ‘It’s all right. I’m here. I’ll look after you.’
She closed her eyes as strong arms wrapped around her naked body and lifted her high against a solid chest.
‘Tariq.’ She breathed deep, inhaling that unique tang that was his, her body melting into the comfort of his embrace. ‘I thought you hadn’t heard me. I thought—’
‘Shh. It’s all right. I’ve got you. I won’t leave your side.’
* * *
Hours later Samira looked up into eyes that had darkened to moss green. That wide, proud forehead was wrinkled with concern but his smile was brilliant.
‘She looks like you,’ he murmured in a voice that brushed like velvet over her skin.
‘Right now I’m not sure that’s a good thing.’ Euphoric and still stunned at the abrupt but safe delivery of their wonderful, tiny daughter, Samira had no illusions about her appearance. She’d be exhausted if she weren’t floating in seventh heaven.
‘It’s an excellent thing.’ Tariq stepped closer, holding their child in the crook of his arm. Samira’s heart rolled over at the sight of him holding that tiny, precious life so gently. ‘You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. No one can hold a candle to you.’
Samira told herself he was being kind but the way his eyes gleamed as he looked between her and the baby stopped the words in her mouth. He looked...smitten.
She blinked, fighting back what she told herself were tears of exhaustion.
‘Samira? What is it?’ Instantly Tariq was at her side. ‘Are you in pain?’ Already he was reaching for the call button to summon medical staff.
She shook her head. ‘I’m just a little overcome.’
Not just by the birth, which had been unusually short for a first delivery. But by Tariq. He’d been with her the whole time, a rock to cling to, his words of encouragement just what she needed, his strength giving her strength.
Through it all she’d seen in his eyes something far more profound than concern for her physical wellbeing. No husband could have been more tender, more supportive or proud.
No matter what he’d said before, Tariq cared. She knew it as surely as she knew she’d just been through a life-changing experience.
Carefully he sat on the edge of the hospital bed. ‘Everything will be all right.’
Looking into his glowing eyes Samira could believe it. Surely the miracle she’d hoped for had happened? He wasn’t distancing himself now, erecting barriers between them.
He reached out to brush the hair back from her face, his touch a gentle caress of her flushed cheek.
Slowly, infinitely slowly, he leaned forward to press his lips to hers in the sweetest of kisses. Her lips parted and she tasted the intriguing salty, male tang of him. His tongue slicked hers, drawing her essence into his mouth, and she sighed at the rightness of it.
‘Sleep now, Samira.’ The words washed over her as her eyelids fluttered shut.
She smiled
. Beyond all expectation everything was going to be all right.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SAMIRA WATCHED SILENTLY from the doorway as Tariq paced the nursery with little Layla in his arms. As ever, her heart somersaulted in her chest as she saw him with their daughter. There was no doubt she was the apple of his eye, as precious to him as the twins.
He’d always been good with children, hadn’t he? It was one of the reasons Samira had married him.
Pain scored deep. Pity he wasn’t as good with wives.
Correction: with her. He’d been an adoring, devoted husband to his first wife. But then he’d doted on Jasmin, everyone said so.
Samira’s hand curled around the door jamb as anguish sucked the air from her lungs and swiped the strength from her knees.
Weeks ago in hospital, she’d mistaken Tariq’s delight in their baby for something else. She’d believed he cared for her in the way she craved. But she’d been horribly mistaken.
It was as if those moments of intimacy had never been.
She pressed the heel of her hand to the tearing ache in her chest. Yet nothing could stop the grief ripping her apart.
Terrible as it had been before Layla’s birth to know Tariq didn’t love her, she’d found the strength to bear it. But now, after her luminous joy in the hospital when she’d been so sure he cared, the awful, polite emptiness of their marriage was destroying her.
Samira couldn’t take much more. Even her bones felt brittle with the effort of holding herself together on the outside when on the inside she was a shattered, bleeding mess.
She’d given her heart to Tariq but he wasn’t interested. What she’d thought was genuine tenderness in the hospital had been a mirage, an illusion brought on by exhaustion and wishful thinking.
All her life she’d known the dreadful danger of ‘love’. She thought she’d plumbed the depths when Jackson had betrayed her and that, as a result, she’d immunised herself against its power. Only now she realised what she’d felt for her faithless lover was nothing in comparison to this soul-wrenching love for her husband.