by Heidi Rice
‘What time is it?’ he asked, his voice husky to his own ears as he got up from the desk and moved towards her. ‘Shouldn’t you be in bed?’
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to come and check you were okay. And give you my condolences.’
‘What for?’ he asked, his mind groggy as he took in the simple jeans and T-shirt she wore. When had her tomboy attire become so damn appealing? The memory from yesterday, the echo of staggered sobs, the feel of her flesh, slick, swollen, ready for him as the orgasm he controlled ripped through her body, assailed him all over again. When had everything about her begun to intoxicate him?
Had it always been so? He wondered, his tired mind not quite able to figure out a coherent answer. His hand lifted out of his pocket, the urge to touch her again unstoppable, but then she turned into the light.
‘For your father, Karim,’ she said, the deep well of compassion in her eyes making him stiffen and drop his hand. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’
The brutal feeling of exposure at the softly spoken words washed through him like acid. He wanted her, not her pity.
He shrugged, the movement stiff. ‘Don’t be, I’m not.’
If she was appalled by the bitter remark, she didn’t show it, her gaze still containing that tender glow—almost as if she could see into his soul and knew he was lying.
He shouldn’t want her compassion, shouldn’t care about the sympathy she offered. He had not loved his father; he certainly wouldn’t miss the man, and he had survived very well without anyone’s care or compassion since he was a child of ten. So why on earth should he respond to that look now? Or be comforted in some weird way by the simple fact of her presence in his home? He hadn’t spoken to her since hearing of his father’s death, although he’d thought about her often while being inundated with the responsibilities involved in sorting out his business affairs to make tomorrow’s trip.
‘You should go to bed,’ he said, keeping his hands firmly in his pockets as he returned to his desk. He hated the feelings churning in his gut, making him do and say things that would make the turmoil inside him visible.
‘Okay,’ she said softly, still standing in the doorway. ‘Mrs Williams told me you’re leaving for Zafar at noon tomorrow. If I don’t get to see you, I hope… I hope everything goes well.’
His head jerked round, the vicious twist of longing making the hollow ache drop into his stomach. And suddenly he knew he wasn’t ready to let her go.
‘You need not worry about seeing me tomorrow,’ he said. ‘As you shall be accompanying me to Zafar.’
‘I… I don’t understand.’ Orla was so shocked by Karim’s bold statement she stuttered over the words.
She’d been standing in the doorway to his office watching him, for several minutes, before alerting him to her presence. He’d looked shattered. His shoulders bowed, his dark hair dishevelled, his eyes staring at the papers in his hand but clearly not reading them.
He had seemed so different from the harsh, indomitable man she had come to know, her heart had pulsed painfully in her chest.
She had no right to care about him, or what he was going through. But he’d looked so different too, from the vital, playful man who had whipped her senses into a frenzy the day before, that she hadn’t been able to control the wave of sympathy.
He’d been locked in his office ever since learning of his father’s death with a series of assistants and delegates, diplomats and executives. This was the first moment she’d been able to get him alone… Had he even slept since getting the news yesterday? The bruised shadows under his eyes made it seem unlikely.
‘I didn’t think you’d need me any more,’ she blurted out when he didn’t say anything, just pinned her with that intense glare that made her nerve-endings sizzle and spark.
Although she’d been told nothing about her situation, she’d assumed she would be returning to Kildare. Now his father was dead, why would he need a fake fiancée?
‘Did you read the engagement contract you signed?’ he said, his voice gruff.
‘Yes, but…’ The truth was she hadn’t read the contract’s every detail, but she knew what it contained.
‘Then you know the Ruling Council are expecting me to travel to Zafar with my future Queen. Breaking off the engagement so soon after my father’s death is a disruption the country can do without while it is already facing a constitutional crisis.’ He paused, and she could sense his frustration. But then his gaze met hers, and the stark challenge in his eyes made heat flush into her cheeks. ‘And I think we both know there is unfinished business between us.’
She nodded, trying to ignore the bubble of something building under her breastbone.
She’d been prepared for him to discard her, had been ready to leave his home tomorrow, perhaps never to see him again. But the truth was, her reaction to that possibility hadn’t been nearly as simple or straightforward as it should have been. She had tried to convince herself that was because he had introduced her to a world of physical pleasure she hadn’t even known existed. But as she stared back at him now, his eyes shadowed with fatigue and frustration and a grief he refused to acknowledge, she knew her reluctance to leave him was about more than just the physical connection they shared.
‘Okay, if you’re sure you need me,’ she said. ‘I’ll make sure I’m ready.’
The bubble under her breastbone turned into something that felt suspiciously like tenderness when she watched the rigid line of his shoulders soften.
Had he been expecting her to argue? To refuse to honour the terms of their agreement? Perhaps she should have. After all, there had been no mention of her travelling all the way to Zafar. And a part of her had wanted to return to Kildare, where everything was so much more simple and straightforward.
But they both knew this wasn’t just about maintaining their charade any more. Or avoiding making the constitutional crisis of his father’s death any worse.
He was right, there was unfinished business between them. And she wanted to finish it.
‘I’ll have Jason give you all the details first thing in the morning,’ he said, picking up the papers again. ‘Get a good night’s sleep. It’s a long journey through the desert to the Palace of Kings.’
‘Will do,’ she murmured, then added impulsively, ‘Perhaps you should do the same. You look exhausted.’
He stared at her for a long moment and she wondered if she’d overstepped the mark. After all, his welfare wasn’t really supposed to be her concern. But then his lips quirked in a rueful smile. ‘Point taken,’ he said.
But as she turned to leave, stupidly pleased by the oddly domestic moment, he added, ‘By the way, Orla. Don’t worry, I won’t expect you to actually marry me once we’re there.’
She paused and turned back. The smile had disappeared, and the intense stare had returned, almost as if he was trying to gauge her reaction. She forced herself to stifle the tiny flicker of disappointment, knowing it had nothing to do with the thought of not marrying him, but rather the sudden loss of that precious moment of camaraderie.
Was he concerned that she was getting the wrong idea? That by agreeing to go with him without complaint, she was expecting more? She forced a smile to her lips and said, ‘That’s a relief. As I’m sure I’d make a disastrous queen.’
He choked out a rough chuckle and the odd sense of elation returned as the tension eased. ‘I doubt you’d make a worse queen than I will make a king,’ he said.
She knew that wasn’t true. She’d seen how hard he had been working already and how seriously he took his responsibility, to do the right thing, for his country and his people—even though he had professed a week ago to have no loyalty to either. And she couldn’t think of a man who was more confident or decisive, who wielded such an air of command or authority the way he did—all of which surely made him the perfect candidate to lead any c
ountry out of a constitutional crisis.
But she could see the weary cynicism in his eyes, and had heard the bitter edge in his tone… And she doubted anything she had to say on the subject would convince him, so she simply smiled and decided to lighten the mood instead.
‘Whatever you say, Your Majesty. I’ll see you at noon tomorrow. If nothing else this should be a grand adventure,’ she finished, pleased when she heard another tired chuckle.
‘Yeah, right,’ he murmured.
When she got back to her suite, she sent Dervla a text, telling her she was heading to Zafar, then switched off her phone.
She did not need to be bombarded with a ton of fanciful nonsense by her sister right now.
But as she put the phone down and got ready for bed, the bubble of exhilaration she hadn’t really acknowledged until this moment expanded.
Going to Zafar with Karim would be a grand adventure. So much about Karim fascinated and excited her.
Here was a chance to discover more about him, and to see where this thing, this connection, or whatever it was between them, might lead. She would be well outside her comfort zone again, but was that really a bad thing? She’d spent so many years making a place for herself—finding a purpose—in Kildare, in some ways her work there had become a prison. She’d become scared to try anything new, to move away from the comfortable, the familiar and take a chance. She’d allowed her weaknesses as well as her strengths to define her, but Karim had already shown he had confidence in her abilities. Now she just needed to be brave again. And bold. And see where this new adventure might lead her.
She sobered, recalling the flash of confusion, even vulnerability on Karim’s face when he’d lifted his head earlier to find her standing in the doorway of his study.
The death of his father had hurt Karim in ways she was fairly sure he wasn’t even aware of.
He needed her support. Even if he refused to admit it. Because however short, or fake, or fleeting their relationship, she understood what he was going through because she’d been through it herself when her own father had died a year ago. She’d had to pick herself up, deal with the conflicting emotions she felt towards a man she’d once loved and looked up to who had let her and her sister down terribly in the end. Coping with her grief in the midst of all that had been next to impossible—and the only way she’d survived it was by immersing herself in work, in caring for the horses she loved, and by leaning on Dervla and Maeve and Gerry and her other friends and colleagues.
Karim had more than enough work to keep him busy, but he didn’t seem to have any friends, anyone who could lift his spirits or look out for him when the going got really tough.
And maybe she wasn’t his friend—and he didn’t want her support—but he had rescued her once. Was it really so wrong to want to rescue him in return?
CHAPTER TEN
AS THE CHAUFFEUR-DRIVEN cavalcade of vehicles crested the rocky terrain and the minarets of Zafar’s Palace of the Kings sparkled in the setting sun in the distance, the dark thoughts that had defined so much of Karim’s boyhood and adolescence crowded into his mind.
His mother’s pale, drawn face—which looked so young now from the distance of twenty-two years. The tight thin line of his father’s lips, the spark of anger in his golden eyes—signals that Karim had displeased him again and would be punished.
Karim tensed, humiliated by the dropping sensation in his stomach—the echo of that long-ago fear—as the car rolled through the palace gates, and made its way past the honour guard of tribesmen and uniformed officers in Zafar’s red and gold livery.
A soft gasp beside him yanked him free from the bitter memories. And he turned to see Orla, her vibrant hair contrasting with her pale skin as she stared in awe at the palace’s golden walls. They passed into the lavish inner sanctum of lush planting, exotic birds and trees, elaborate fountains and deep pools of blue-green water created in defiant contrast to the barren desert that surrounded them.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ she remarked, those wide emerald eyes meeting his.
‘Is it?’ he said as the familiar spike of desire and yearning—and something more debilitating, an emotion he couldn’t and wouldn’t name—accosted him. He quashed it, as he had so many times in the last ten hours, ever since he’d met her on the heliport in Belgravia.
Just knowing she was with him, tucked in a seat at the back of the private jet reading a book, had helped to calm him down while he worked with his advisors during the long plane journey. But being in this damn car with her for two hours, for the drive from Zafar’s main airport, had been nothing short of torture. The phantom sound of soft sobs, the very real scent of her permeating his senses, had put his whole body on high alert while he was supposed to be concentrating on how the hell to navigate the next few days, weeks, God help him, probably even months…
She’d caught him at a weak moment the night before, and he’d given in to the need coursing through his body—to have her by his side while he dealt with this new reality. But it wasn’t just the familiar surge of heat that accosted him as she stared back at him, her eyes seeing so much more than he wanted her to see. Just as they had last night.
‘I’m sorry you don’t think so,’ she said.
The intuitive remark made the vice around his ribs—which had dogged him ever since he’d learned of his father’s death—tighten.
Why had he really wanted her here? Was it just to finally satisfy the sweaty erotic dreams that had pursued him for days now? Or the expediency of not creating a diplomatic incident by terminating the engagement too soon…? Or was it more than that?
Why had he been incapable of leaving her behind, when he’d never had a problem facing his demons alone before now?
One thing was for sure. He would have her tonight—and put at least one damn demon to rest.
‘Once the official introductions are concluded, I’ll have you escorted to my quarters,’ he said, the tightness in his chest joined by the much more familiar spike of desire.
The blush hit her cheeks. ‘Okay,’ she said softly.
The breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding gushed out at the indication that she was still willing.
Perhaps he hadn’t been wrong to bring her with him. His motives didn’t have to be that complicated. It would have been hard to explain her absence to the Ruling Council. And Orla, with her wide eyes, wild hair, lush lips and glorious body, had always been an excellent distraction. Perhaps she was smarter and funnier and more engaging than he had realised, her wry wit and willingness to challenge him a turn-on he hadn’t expected. But he was going to need some light relief over the next few days, maybe even weeks, and Orla seemed the ideal person to supply it—in so many ways.
‘I have no doubt the Ruling Council will have lined up a series of tedious meetings and briefings which I will be unable to escape today,’ he said.
He lifted her hand, allowing himself to touch her for the first time since their escapade two long days ago in the car journey back from Hammonds. She jerked, as he brought her fingers to his lips and kissed the knuckles. A rueful smile tilted his lips as he released her and registered her heightened breathing. Good to know he wasn’t the only one being tortured by the enforced celibacy of the last few days. ‘But I’ll join you as soon as I can,’ he finished, unable to disguise the husky promise in his voice.
She nodded, her cheeks now a beguiling shade of scarlet.
He had to bite his tongue, to contain the rough chuckle of satisfaction that wanted to burst out of his mouth.
Damn but he wanted her. So much. Surely satisfying this driving hunger would simplify his feelings for her? Feelings that had become unnecessarily complicated, just like every other thing in his life right now.
‘The madness should settle down in a couple of days,’ he added, or maybe in a couple of weeks. ‘Then we can discuss your future.’
After this much anticipation, he doubted either one of them would be satisfied too quickly. He wanted to explore every inch of her fragrant flesh, to see her lose herself again, but this time while he was embedded inside the tight wet warmth of… He dragged his mind away from the thoughts that had been crucifying him for days.
Not helping, Karim. Not when you have several hours ahead of you of tedious bureaucracy before you can finally make her yours.
He cleared the blockage in his throat. ‘I expect you’ll want to return to Kildare?’ he said, trying to keep the conversation on practicalities to drown the heat.
Something flickered across her face that looked oddly like disappointment. He dismissed it, along with the idiotic leap in his chest. They’d already agreed that this was a temporary arrangement, which suited them both.
‘Yes,’ she said.
He nodded, glad when the car finally cruised to a stop, in front of the dramatic Moorish structure that towered above them like a glowering giant.
A row of dignitaries and diplomats, including the delegation who had turned up in London two days ago, stood in their ceremonial robes waiting to greet him.
One of the palace servants rushed forward to open the door.
The traditional wailing cries of the local tribesmen, punctuated by the ceremonial cannon fire from outside the palace walls to celebrate the arrival of the new King, became deafening as he struggled to ignore the provocative promise in Orla’s eyes and step out of the car.
She joined him a few moments later. He had to place his hand on her hip, far too aware of her tremble of response and the effect it had on him, as he guided her through the introductions to a never-ending line of dignitaries.
As they finally neared the end, and approached the line of palace staff, he knew he’d had enough. The journey had been tiring for them both, and, even though he’d managed to get some much-needed sleep last night, having her so close was taxing his resolve, not to mention the last remaining reserves of his patience. He needed to get Orla safely ensconced in his rooms, if he were to have any hope of surviving the next few hours without sporting an erection the size of the tower above them.