by Trish Morey
Her eyes opened wide. With pleasure? Or shock? But the time for conversation was long gone, his ability to converse gone the same way, his focus required elsewhere.
He lunged into her, filling her in that heated way he did, and her mind swirled to get hold of the words he’d uttered, battling to hold onto them even as he lunged again, deeper this time, faster, more ferocious. And then his mouth was on hers, his slick body bucking into hers again and again, and she was lost. She spun away, or so it seemed, wild and out of control and weightless, his cry of triumph her trophy.
‘Come back with me,’ he urged through breath still uneven, after they’d collapsed together, heavy-limbed and exhausted.
‘I can’t,’ she replied, confused and unsure, and not knowing what it was he actually was asking of her, what it meant. ‘Your mother—’
‘You cannot stay now. Everyone will know the truth—that you have been with me. In Australia it would not matter, but here in Qusay…’
She put a hand to her head. He didn’t have to finish the sentence. He was right. Here she would pay for her recklessness, in sly looks and whispered innuendo. Hussein’s mother alone would guarantee there was a steady stream of gossip about her failed daughter-in-law after the humiliation of her ejection from the palace. But Australia?
‘Besides,’ he continued, pushing himself up on one arm, using the other to emphasise his points, ‘there is nothing for you here. Nothing but the ghosts of your past. And you will love Australia, Sera. There are deserts and endless skies, like here, but there are snow-capped mountains and tropical islands, and rainforests and cities that sprawl along the coast.’
It sounded wonderful, and she longed to see it all, especially at Rafiq’s side, but still she didn’t understand, didn’t want to read too much into his offer. It didn’t mean what her heart wanted it to mean. It couldn’t. Not given this was the man who had so recently professed his hatred for her. But maybe he didn’t hate her so much any more—at least not when they were in bed. Or maybe that was how he’d redirected all that energy…
‘You mean, like a holiday?’
‘Live with me! I have a house in Sydney that overlooks the cliffs and the sea. You should see the surf when it storms, Sera, it is spectacular—like the passion unleashed in you when you come apart in my arms.’
‘But I don’t understand what you’re saying. I thought… You said before that you would never marry me. Yet now you are asking me to live with you?’
He raked a hand through his hair. He was struggling to make sense of it too, she could tell.
‘How could I ever contemplate marriage after what happened?’ His eyes appealed to hers, the pain of her betrayal laid bare in their blue depths, and then he reached out and laced her fingers in his. ‘But I didn’t understand. I thought you wanted to marry him. I thought you wanted a rich husband and the lavish lifestyle to go with it. But I was wrong. I couldn’t see past my pain. I understand now why you acted as you did back then. I understand you had no choice. I want you, Sera, and if having you in my bed has shown me anything, it’s that whatever this attraction is between us isn’t going away any time soon. A few nights longer here won’t be enough. I want you in my bed at home.’
His words swirled and eddied in her mind. She was scared she was imagining it all. She was almost too scared to breathe.
‘Anyway,’ he continued with a shrug, his thumb making lazy circles on the back of her hand, ‘when it all boils down to it, live with me or marry me—what’s the real difference? Maybe we should get married. Then you can make a start on those six children you always wanted.’
‘What are you talking about? You said you’d never marry me. Never!’
‘That was before. Before I knew the truth. My father treated you abysmally—everyone treated you abysmally—and I was so wrong. Why not marry me and let me make up for the wrongs of the past?’
It was too much to take in, and her mind was spinning with the possibilities. Marriage to Rafiq. Bearing his children. Her heart thudded against her ribs, echoed loud in her veins, his words her every fantasy come true. Did he understand what he was offering? What an unbelievable gift he was holding out to her?
Could it mean the impossible?
Was there a chance his love for her had been revived after the crushing weight of years of hatred?
It was crazy, just crazy to imagine it. Crazy to think that after all this time they could be together, could wipe away those painful years and start over. But if he loved her…? Maybe it could work. But he hadn’t said he loved her, had he? He’d given her no inkling that love was any part of this crazy plan. No inkling at all.
‘It doesn’t work like that, Rafiq. You don’t just marry someone and have their babies because you enjoy the sex. What if you change your mind in a week or a month? What if you’ve had enough by then and we’re stuck together? It doesn’t make sense.’
He didn’t understand it either. He only knew that he wasn’t about to let Sera go. Ever. And if the best way to do that was to marry her, he’d do it. Gladly. And then he hit on the perfect way to convince her.
‘Don’t you see?’ he added, his eyes suddenly alive with excitement as he sprang up on the bed. ‘It makes perfect sense. The Marrashis want a royal marriage. We’ll provide them with one. Save all the legal hassles of renegotiating the contract terms. It’s the sensible thing to do.’
The contract. Sera felt her fledgling hopes take a dive. Rafiq was nothing if not a consummate businessman. Of course it would all be about the contract. Of course he didn’t love her.
The Marrashis had tied his hands. He could marry or face some kind of renegotiation and possibly risk the entire contract in the process. Marrying her was clearly the lesser of two evils. Sensible.
‘Sera, what do you think? Isn’t it perfect?’
Perfect? Nowhere near.
‘Aren’t you taking a lot for granted?’ She had to say something. She could not just let him steamroller her into this—not when it was for the wrong reasons. ‘You seem to assume I’d be happy to marry you.’
He frowned. ‘Would it be such a chore…?’ He ran his hand down her side, a featherlight touch all the way from her shoulder to one knee that made her quiver. ‘Putting up with me every night?’
‘But it’s not just about sex, surely?’
And his eyes took on a glacial hue, as if he was annoyed she was not falling in easily with his ever so sensible plan. ‘Who was it who came up with that condition, Sera? Who was it who led the Marrashis to believe there would be a wedding and that it would be mine? Who had those women believing that you would be that bride?’
She swallowed and looked away. ‘I didn’t tell them that—’
‘You might as well have, because that’s what they expect. You owe me, Sera. Marry me. It’s the least you can do. Say yes, before I am forced to command you.’
He was serious. He was actually serious. The concept of merely living together was forgotten. Now he was demanding she marry him as if he was calling in a debt. She swallowed down on her disappointment.
Maybe it wasn’t all bad. Okay, so he might not love her—she could hardly expect that from a man who had so recently expressed his hatred of her—but he did want her. Of that she had no doubt. Could she settle for marriage with Rafiq, bearing his children, loving him, even knowing he didn’t love her?
And she looked up into the waiting eyes, the beautiful blue eyes in the beautiful chiselled face of the man who had a place in her heart and her soul for ever, whether or not he loved her, now or ever, and she knew her answer.
‘You don’t have to command me. I’ll do it. I’ll marry you.’
Coronation morning dawned bright and beautiful. Rafiq knew this because he’d been awake and had watched the silvery-grey morning light spear through the drapes and turn Sera’s gold-tinged skin to satin. He’d lain there, watching her sleep on a pillow of her own black hair, the curve of her long lashes resting on her cheek, her lush mouth an invitation, her lips
, slightly parted.
When would he get sick of looking at her? When would he get sick of making love to her? Never, if the hunger he felt for her even now was any indication. Never, if she remained so responsive to his touch.
Sleep had confirmed last night’s brainwave. Marriage would solve everything. Sera would be safe away from here. She would be free from the ghosts of her past, able to make a new future.
But most of all she would be his.
And nothing and nobody was ever going to steal her away from him again.
He pressed his lips to hers, unable to resist their silent invitation any longer, and she stirred and stretched into sleepy wakefulness so deliciously that he could not resist kissing her again, finally groaning as he pulled away, knowing there was no time for them to make love this morning.
‘I’m having breakfast with Kareef before the coronation, and from there we’ll go to the ceremony together. I will have Akmal assign you a seat next to mine, and I will join you there after the official entrance.’
Sleep slid from her eyes like a coverlet slipping from a bed, exposing emotion so naked he almost flinched. ‘But I wasn’t planning on going to the coronation.’
He sat back. ‘Of course you are. It’s Kareef’s coronation. Why wouldn’t you be there?’
She was shaking her head, clutching her bedclothes in front of her like a shield. ‘There’s no need. Or…I can stand at the back. Because you’ll be right up at the front with your family. I don’t need—’
He took her shrouded hands in his. ‘Sera, what’s wrong?’
‘There’s just no point. I don’t need to be there, to take someone else’s seat.’
‘Sera, Cerak will not be there. She cannot hurt you now. She has been banished.’
But still Sera’s eyes looked panicked and turbulent. ‘I will go with you to Australia. Didn’t I agree to that? I’ll go today, if necessary. Oh, Rafiq,’ she said, clutching at his shoulder, ‘could we not go today? Why not leave right after the ceremony? Just slip away in all the commotion? Your plane is still here. It would be easy.’
His patience was wearing thin. Last night she’d made it seem as if marrying him would be some kind of imposition, and now she was suggesting they leave today—before the crown was barely warm on Kareef’s head, before the event he’d specifically flown all the way from Australia to attend had barely concluded?
‘Now you’re being ridiculous. It’s not as if you don’t have anything to wear.’ He headed for the bathroom. He’d wasted enough time on this meaningless discussion. If she’d played her cards right, they could have used their time much more productively. He turned at the door. ‘This is my brother’s coronation. You are going to be my wife. There will be no standing at the back. You are family now, and I expect you by my side. Is that understood?’
The conversation troubled him, even as he breakfasted with Kareef, even as he should have been focusing on his brother’s words and his needs. But Kareef seemed strangely at odds with himself too, and uninterested in Rafiq’s half-hearted talk of contracts with the tribespeople of Marrash. Or was that just because he found it hard to regain the enthusiasm for his own success after this morning’s strange conversation with Sera? It was certainly not the way he intended waking up with Sera again.
News of their impending marriage would have snagged Kareef’s attention, he was sure. But today was Kareef’s day, and there was nothing he would do to deflect attention from that. There would be time for that announcement later. Not that Kareef didn’t look as if he could do with some cheering up. Maybe if Tahir had managed to make it in time, as he’d promised? But their younger brother was nothing if not scrupulously unreliable, and, sadly, there seemed scant possibility he’d show up now.
An onshore breeze caught them as they crossed the courtyard, whipping at his robes as he walked side by side with his brother, and the cries of the crowd outside the gates interfered with his tangled thoughts. Once again he’d made the decision to don the robes of his countrymen. It was not so much to ask, he’d decided. Not so much of a stretch as he’d imagined. Maybe there were some parts of Qusay he didn’t need to forget.
Sera had turned out to be one of them.
He frowned. Would she be waiting for him inside the ancient ruin? Or had whatever had been troubling her this morning swung her mind, and she was hiding somewhere in the cloistered shadows, as she’d clearly been intending?
It didn’t make sense. Cerak had been taken care of. So what was her problem?
Today Sera had reluctantly chosen the peacock-blue gown from Marrash to wear. She had fingered her black abayas lovingly, wishing she could hide under one of those, and hopefully go unnoticed and unrecognised, but Rafiq would be upset, she knew, and already today she had angered him. And now there was colour all around her, a multitude of guests dressed in finery from one hundred nations, and still she felt achingly conspicuous as she sat in the seat Akmal had arranged for her, so close to the front that she could feel a thousand eyes at her back, a butterfly for each pair flitting inside her. She kept her own eyes to the front, not wanting to meet any of them, managing an awkward smile only when the Sheikha caught her eye. Her lover’s mother! What must she think? She wished Rafiq would get here, so that she could at least hide herself against him. He had defended her against Cerak, made sure she could not hurt her again. He made her feel safe.
She took a deep breath, tried to settle her jittery stomach and cool her damp palms. Soon he would take her away from here. Far away from Qusay and the palace and any chance of running into someone from her past. She could hardly wait.
The sound of trumpets filled the air and the crowd hushed, heads swivelling around to where the official party gathered at the back. Relief quelled her flighty stomach. Rafiq would be among them. Soon he would be here. But for now she resisted the temptation of turning her head, waiting until the party had made their way almost to the front before she dared glance behind her.
Her gaze never made it to the official party. He was staring at her, the ambassador from Karakhistar, his burgundy sash stretched across a white dress shirt that looked a size too small for his spreading paunch. But it was the sneering look of contempt on his face that turned her stomach. The nervous butterflies were now massive moths, writhing in their death throes inside her. And she remembered the night when Hussein had ordered her to sit alongside the ambassador, her breasts practically spilling from the near-transparent top Hussein had insisted she wear, and how he had reached for her greedily, with pudgy fingers, thinking she was the entertainment, before Hussein had bundled him unceremoniously out—only to make her watch while he had tried and failed to achieve the same level of arousal as his guest, cursing her for her failure to stimulate him.
She dropped her head, her hand going over her mouth, sweat beading at her brow. She was so glad now that her heaving stomach was empty, that there was nothing to lose, nothing to further humiliate herself with. And suddenly Rafiq was there alongside her, his arm around her back.
‘What’s wrong?’ he whispered, even as the voice of Akmal could be heard as the ceremony began.
‘Take me away,’ she managed. ‘Take me away from Qusay.’
‘I will,’ he promised, his voice thick with questions that she could not answer, dared not answer, in case he changed his mind and left her here after all.
There was a stir amongst the guests, a ripple of astonishment that had heads turning once again, and a feeling that things were going off the rails. Even in the depths of her misery, Sera heard Rafiq’s muttered, ‘What the—?’
And she looked up, her mind not believing the picture her eyes were telling her. Jasmine? In Kareef’s arms? Kissing?
‘What’s happening?’ she said.
But Rafiq only scowled as Akmal uttered the fateful words, ‘Kareef Al’ Ramiz has renounced the throne. Long live King Rafiq!’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘WHAT the hell just happened in there?’ Rafiq wasn’t pacing the room, he was dev
ouring it, with giant purposeful strides that ate up the carpet and spat it out again. ‘Akmal, tell me—what the hell happened? One minute my brother is supposed to be crowned King, the next he is renouncing the throne. He cannot do that.’
‘Yes, Akmal,’ his mother added, sitting alongside a sick-looking Sera on a couch, ‘what does it mean?’
Akmal stood, eerily composed, his hands knotted in front of him, the only one in the room who seemed to have recovered from the pandemonium of the last few minutes. ‘Kareef can renounce the crown and has done so. He did that when he decided to marry Jasmine Kouri, a woman unable to bear him children.’
Rafiq was shaking his head, but there was no shutting out the crashing sound of the chains and bars of responsibility clanging shut around him. ‘But I am a businessman. I am flying home to Australia tomorrow. I cannot be Qusay’s king.’
‘You are the second son. The first has abdicated. That makes you first in line to the throne now.’ Akmal’s voice was patient and deliberate as he set out the facts, each one hammering home Rafiq’s fate.
‘But it makes no sense,’ he railed. ‘I know nothing of Qusay’s affairs. I have not lived here for more than a decade.’ He turned to Sera then, noticed her wide eyes and still ashen skin and felt himself frown. ‘Some might even call me a tourist prince…’
Instead of a smile, as he’d hoped, she winced and shrank back further into the sofa, and he remembered she’d been upset even before the ceremony. Had she known, even then, that her old friend would marry Kareef? Yet the dramatic turn of events had taken everyone by surprise, including Kareef and Jasmine, it seemed. So what was bothering her?
Akmal’s steady voice hauled his attention back. ‘It matters neither what you did before nor what you know. For it is written in your blood. Kareef has stepped aside and it is your place to become King.’
And even though he still shook his head, he knew Akmal was right. He had no choice. His blood had spoken. So much for his fly in, fly out visit—so much for being relaxed about being second in line for the throne, smug in the knowledge that soon Kareef would marry and provide the heirs that would distance him from the throne. Kareef had fairly and squarely dropped him right in it.