by Kate Hewitt
Zayed began to move, each strong, sure stroke sending Olivia higher to that dizzying peak. She matched his movements, learning the rhythm, finding it naturally, as if this had always been a part of her. As if he had.
And then she reached that glittering pinnacle, a cry bursting from her like a song of joy. She buried her head against Zayed’s shoulder as the spasms of pleasure shuddered through her body before receding in a lazy tide, leaving her feeling boneless and sated.
Seconds and then minutes ticked by, slowly, and then ominously. Dimly Olivia realised they’d just had unprotected sex again. And, if she wasn’t already pregnant, she could be now.
Another few seconds ticked by, each one tenser than the last, then Zayed withdrew from her, cleaning himself up quickly before adjusting his trousers. His face looked as if it had been hewn from stone, his eyes dark and fathomless.
Olivia pulled her sundress down over her hips, smoothing the crumpled material, unable to look him in the eye. The wonderful, lazy feeling of sated desire was leaving her and only trepidation remained. What now?
‘It seems,’ Zayed said in a tight voice, ‘I cannot control myself around you.’
Olivia moistened her lips with her tongue. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You’re sorry? I am the one who should be sorry. I am the one who should be thinking of my kingdom, my people, my duty.’ His voice broke and he whirled away from her, scrubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands as if he could obliterate the memory of what they’d just done.
With a jolt Olivia realised how much of Zayed’s anger was directed at himself, rooted in guilt. He’d hinted as much, but she hadn’t really believed it. Now she saw a depth of pain in the tense lines of his body, in the torment so clearly written on his face.
‘Zayed,’ she whispered, a plea, although for what she could not say. She just wanted to offer him comfort, even though she feared she had none to give him. None he would take, except what he already had, and now they were both living with the aftermath of regret.
‘You have no idea,’ Zayed said in a low voice of anguish. ‘No idea—and how could you? No idea of what is at stake.’
‘I know your marriage to Princess Halina is very important,’ Olivia offered, wanting to show him she understood. Even now, she understood.
‘Important?’ Zayed choked out the word. ‘It isn’t important. It’s essential. To finally have a political leader publicly recognise and fight for my rightful claim...’ He closed his eyes. ‘But it’s not even that. It’s what I see every night before I go to sleep. Every time I close my eyes.’
Olivia drew a short, shocked breath. ‘What did you see, Zayed?’ she asked softly. ‘Tell me what you see.’
* * *
Zayed knew he shouldn’t say anything more. He shouldn’t tell her anything. Heaven knew, he’d told her enough, done enough, already. Even now the aftershocks of their explosive lovemaking were rippling through him, reminding him how sizzlingly potent their attraction was. It frightened him, the intensity of what he felt. When she was near him it was as if he was swallowed up by a vortex of need. He forgot everything.
‘Zayed.’ Olivia touched his arm, her fingers as light as the wings of a butterfly. ‘Please. Tell me what haunts you so much.’
He resisted, because to tell was to admit his weakness, his shame. He didn’t talk of the loss of his family to anyone. Everyone knew the facts, of course; it was a matter of national history. But no one knew about his nightmares, his helplessness. Yet some contrary, shameful part of him wanted to tell Olivia. Wanted to share the burden which, considering everything he’d already put her through, seemed more than unfair.
‘Tell me.’ Her voice was soft, a soothing balm to his fractured spirit. Her fingers stroked his arm.
Zayed let out a shuddering sigh. ‘I see my father and older brother in the helicopter. Going down. I always see them.’
‘Oh, Zayed.’ Olivia gave a sorrowful little gasp. ‘Of course. I’m so sorry.’
She knew the facts, he realised, just as everyone else did. The bare facts—the bomb that had exploded in the helicopter, the attempt on his mother’s life, his cowardly scurry to freedom. Not that anyone would say so to his face, but he knew. He knew.
‘I didn’t realise you’d seen it,’ Olivia said quietly after a moment, her hand still on his arm, as if she could imbue him with the strength he was just beginning to realise she had. The incredible strength. ‘I didn’t think you were there.’
‘I was. I was in the palace, watching them take off. My father and his heir.’ His lips twisted. They’d been going to do their civic duty, to speak at the opening of a hospital in another city, a landmark of Kalidar’s recent transition to national healthcare. Of course Malouf had taken that away. He’d taken away so much. ‘Perhaps you’re wondering why I didn’t go with them,’ he said, his voice harsh, his breathing ragged. Olivia’s fingers tensed on his arm.
‘No,’ she said carefully. ‘But perhaps you want to tell me?’
He didn’t, but he would, because she deserved to know. After everything, he owed her that much. The truth he’d kept from everyone else. ‘I was bored by the idea,’ he said flatly. ‘I’d just got back from Cambridge and I found the desert so very tedious. My father asked me to accompany them and I said no. Minutes later I watched them go down in flames.’
Olivia was silent for a moment. ‘Then perhaps you should be thankful,’ she said finally, ‘that you were so bored.’
He drew back from her, disgusted by the suggestion. Just as he was disgusted by his own actions all those years ago. ‘Thankful?’ he repeated, the word a sneer. ‘How can I be? I deserved to die that day!’
‘And if you had Kalidar would have no rightful King.’
‘Don’t you think I know that?’ He felt caught between fury and despair. ‘Why do you think I fight so hard? Why did I try to kidnap the Princess?’ He let out a harsh bark of laughter. ‘Everything I do, everything, is for their memory. And for mine. Because I failed my family once, and I never will again.’
‘I understand why you are so driven,’ Olivia said steadily. ‘But you did not plant that bomb in the helicopter, Zayed. You did not poison your mother.’
She knew that too, then. ‘She died in my arms a few months later. Wasted away to nothing. But the doctors didn’t even think it was the poison. She’d recovered from that. It was from grief. She had no reason to live.’ He felt a spasm of pain, like a knife thrust in his gut. For a second he couldn’t breathe, and he swung away from Olivia, hating that she could see this weakness exposed in him. See his need, his hurt.
‘I’m sorry,’ Olivia said quietly. ‘I know how painful that must have been for you.’
Something in her voice made him ask, ‘You do?’
Olivia was silent for a moment. ‘My mother died when I was young. Cancer—very quick. I don’t remember much about her, but we have photos—family photos that are so different from what I became used to as a child. Looking at them is like seeing someone else’s life.’
Zayed frowned, waiting for her to go on. ‘After she died, my father shut down. He hired a nanny and hardly ever saw me, and then sent me to boarding school as soon as he could. He was a stranger to me but, when I see those photos, I realise he wasn’t always that way. Before my mother died, he hugged me and tickled me and read me stories at night. I have the photographic proof.’ Her voice was wistful and sad. ‘And it made me realise that he chose to be a stranger. He didn’t think I was worth being something more.’
‘Perhaps he couldn’t be anything more, because of grief.’
‘Perhaps,’ she acknowledged, ‘and perhaps your mother didn’t have the strength to go on just for you. But it still hurts. It still feels like you failed somehow. Like you weren’t enough.’
Her perception left him breathless, because he knew she was exactly right. His mother’s death, the way she’d seemed to choose it over life, had been a further blow after his father and brother’s death. A further and harder grief,
because they could have held each other up, supported each other, been strong for each other. And she’d chosen for him to go it alone.
‘I’m sorry, Zayed.’ Olivia stepped closer to him, reaching up on her tiptoes to cup his cheek with her palm. Zayed closed his eyes. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘You have nothing to be sorry for, Olivia,’ he said. ‘I know that absolutely.’
‘I’m sorry all the same. For all you’ve endured, and for so long. I’m in awe of your strength. To keep fighting for all these years, to be so determined; I wish I possessed such courage. Such conviction.’
‘You are brave,’ Zayed told her, opening his eyes and giving her a small smile. ‘You have shown me that.’
‘Brave?’ Olivia shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. But I try to be useful. That’s something, at least.’
Useful? It sounded like so little. Did Olivia hope for more from her life? For the love of a husband, of children? She wouldn’t get it from him, and yet...
‘I promise I will do everything in my power to make your marriage with Princess Halina go forward,’ she told him. ‘I’ll write that letter, whatever it takes.’
The letter, the damned letter. Zayed stared at her, a conviction growing inside him, crystallising into clarity. ‘No,’ he said, and Olivia’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘I don’t want you to write a letter. I don’t want to contact the Sultan, not until we know whether you’re pregnant or not.’
‘But...’
‘And, considering what we just did, we may have to wait awhile.’
‘You can’t jeopardise your country’s future—’
‘I already have. Kidnapping you has infuriated Hassan. He’s taken Halina to Italy, away from my possible clutches.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Not that I would try such a foolhardy and desperate act again.’
‘But you will contact him? You will try to make amends?’
How could he, when he already had a wife, and one who could very well be pregnant? Zayed shook his head. ‘Like I said, not until we have ascertained your condition.’
Olivia’s hand crept to her belly in a gesture as old as time. ‘And if I am pregnant?’ she asked.
‘Then,’ Zayed said, his tone brooking no argument whatsoever, ‘we stay married. The child in your belly will be my heir and the future King of Kalidar.’
CHAPTER TEN
OLIVIA GAZED OUT at the mountain peaks dusted with snow, at the sun shining brilliantly, and let out a sigh that was half happy, half discontented. They’d been in Rubyhan for nearly two weeks now and it had been a surprisingly wonderful two weeks.
Olivia, as she was wont to do, had made herself useful helping out in the administrative office—as her knowledge of both French and Italian had proved useful—and also taking care of Lahela’s baby so the new mother could get an occasional rest. The atmosphere in the palace was a surprisingly cheerful one, with everyone determined to work towards the same important goal. Zayed had an incredibly loyal team, and they believed in him utterly.
Which made Olivia understand why he was so private with them. He didn’t share his headaches or his nightmares or any of his worries or concerns, as far as Olivia could see. He presented himself as a fortress, solid and impenetrable, because everyone was depending on him. It was, Olivia suspected, a heavy burden to bear. And it made her feel more honoured that he’d shared those things with her. As impossible as it seemed, they did have a connection, one that grew deeper on her side every day. One she could no longer deny, at least to herself.
Over the last few weeks Zayed had taken time out of his busy days and spent it with her, and they’d shared several meals as well as a few sunny afternoons simply whiling away the hours and getting to know each other.
Olivia had treasured those stolen hours, the easy conversation, the glimpses of humour, the attraction that always, always simmered between them. She’d started to feel comfortable with him, known by him, and that made her desire and care for him all the more. Which was foolhardy in the extreme, because she knew it was all likely to come to an end when she found out she wasn’t pregnant.
And if she was pregnant and Zayed kept her as his Queen? That was the possibility that brought her to both the heights of hope and the depths of fear. The more time she spent with him—the more time she saw his solicitude, his moments of humour, his care for his people and even for her—she feared she was falling in love with him. And that was something that she couldn’t allow to happen. Not when she knew a marriage to Zayed would only happen for expediency’s sake, not because of love. And she didn’t know if that was something she could accept, not in the long term. But in any case, she might not even have a choice. If she was pregnant, Zayed would not let her walk away. And Olivia had no idea how she felt about that.
A knock sounded at the door of her bedroom, and Olivia turned from the stunning view. ‘Hello?’ she called in Arabic. ‘Come in.’
‘It’s me.’ Zayed appeared around the door, looking crisply attractive in a western-style business suit. When not among the tribes of the desert, he tended to wear western clothes, a preference he’d said was from his Cambridge days. Olivia had enjoyed getting to know this little detail about him, as well as countless others. He preferred coffee rather than tea, and he listened to jazz. He had glasses for reading, and a partiality for Agatha Christie, something that had made her smile.
‘Hi,’ she said now, trying to ignore the tumble of her heart simply at the sight of him. ‘How are you?’
‘Oh, fine.’ He braced one shoulder against the doorway, surveying her bedroom with a distracted yet strangely purposeful air. Olivia wondered what he wanted. Although he’d made a point of seeing her every day, he’d never come to her bedroom first thing in the morning. She felt a little frisson of fear. Was this odd sort of honeymoon period over already?
‘It’s been two weeks,’ Zayed said, and there was an intractable note in his voice. Olivia stilled, one hand resting on the stone windowsill.
‘Yes,’ she agreed cautiously. ‘Thirteen days, to be exact.’
His agate gaze searched hers. ‘You should take a pregnancy test tomorrow, then.’
‘Is there one available?’ Olivia asked as lightly as she could. Her heart had started to hammer just at the thought of taking such a test. And, as luxurious as their accommodation was, they were in the middle of nowhere. How would Zayed procure a pregnancy test?
‘I’m having it flown in.’
She swallowed. ‘Oh.’
‘Better to know than not.’
Which sounded rather awful, and she couldn’t tell anything from his expression. ‘Yes, I suppose.’
So as soon as tomorrow this could all be over. He’d send her away and reopen negotiations with Sultan Hassan for Halina. Why, oh, why, did that thought have to hurt so much?
‘I’m having dinner with a government official from France tonight,’ Zayed said abruptly. Olivia looked at him in surprise.
‘Here?’
‘He’s flying in.’
‘Along with the pregnancy test?’ she couldn’t help but quip, and Zayed gave her a tight smile. ‘On the same helicopter, as it happens, although obviously two very separate requests. I thought you could join us for dinner.’
‘You—what?’ Now she was really flummoxed. Although she’d enjoyed her time at Rubyhan, and had socialised and interacted with just about everyone there, she still felt as if she were being hidden away from the rest of the world, Zayed’s unfortunate mistake, his dirty little secret. She’d hardly expected to be introduced to someone important, someone who expected Zayed to be married to Princess Halina and not a governess nobody.
‘You speak French,’ Zayed pointed out. ‘You told me a few days ago.’
‘Yes, but...’
‘And having you there will make the dinner less formal, which is important at this stage.’
‘This stage of what?’
‘France might be willing to support me against Malouf,’ Zayed explained. ‘This is their initial approach.’
‘Okay.’ She didn’t understand the ins and outs of the politics, but she accepted that Zayed did, and if he wanted her there, she would go. ‘How...how are you going to introduce me?’
‘Simply as my companion. I do not think Pierre Serrat will ask any awkward questions. He is a diplomat, after all.’
Olivia nodded, unsure how she felt about any of this. It was so unexpected, yet the last few weeks had been filled with unexpected things.
They’d been exciting, she acknowledged, and she’d known more happiness here than she ever had in the Sultan’s palace, a fact which made her feel a little sad. When and if Zayed sent her away, she would do something different with her life, she vowed. She would go to Paris, get a job, live independently as she never had before. The prospect made her wilt inside. She was falling in love with him, she acknowledged despondently. With every moment, every second she spent in his company, she tumbled a little bit further. And there was nothing she could do about it.
‘I’ll send Anna to you later,’ Zayed said. ‘To prepare for tonight.’ Olivia nodded, and he paused in the doorway. ‘Thank you, Olivia.’
‘You’re welcome.’ The words were squeezed out. Zayed nodded once, then he was gone. She stared at the empty doorway for a moment, wishing she knew what was in his head. Was he hoping that she wasn’t pregnant, so he could get rid of her as soon as possible?
Of course he is, you ninny.
No matter how pleasant the last two weeks had been, and they’d been very pleasant for her, Zayed was a man on a mission, one he’d explained to her himself, one she understood and sympathised with. He needed Sultan Hassan’s cooperation too much to jeopardise it by staying married to her.
She was so foolish, half daring to dream about a life with a baby and a husband at her side. A man, she reminded herself ruthlessly, who would be there only by duty, not by desire. Far better for her as well as for Zayed if she hadn’t fallen pregnant. She knew that, even if in her weaker moments she didn’t feel it.