Читать книгу The Secret Heir Of Alazar - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 10
ОглавлениеTHE TOUCH OF his lips on hers was like a jolt of electricity to her soul. Her whole body flooded with both awareness and need. Her lips parted and his strong hands gripped her shoulders as his tongue touched hers before sweeping into her mouth. Gracie sagged against him, overwhelmed.
Malik broke the kiss, his breathing harsh and ragged as he gazed down at her. From somewhere, Gracie found a wobbly smile. ‘That was my first kiss.’
Malik’s eyes widened, and then he gave a wry smile. ‘Mine, too.’
‘What?’ Shocked, she pushed herself upright, one hand clutching the edge of the fountain for support. ‘How is that possible?’
‘How is it not?’
‘But you’re so... I mean...’ She gestured vaguely to his impressive, muscled body. ‘You must have had...’ She trailed off, too surprised and embarrassed to put it into words.
‘I have lived a sheltered life,’ Malik stated quietly. ‘Out of necessity.’ He released a long, low breath. ‘Tonight is the first time I’ve had so much as a taste of freedom.’
‘But why...?’
Malik shrugged. ‘There are reasons.’
Clearly nothing he wanted to talk about tonight. Gracie was desperately curious, but Malik’s shuttered expression kept her from asking any more questions. ‘If this is your first night of freedom,’ she said recklessly, ‘then let’s make the most of it. It’s mine, too, in a way.’
‘How so?’
Now she was the one to shrug. ‘My life has been pretty sheltered, too, living in a small town in Midwestern America. I’m the second youngest of six children, and it was always crazy and wonderful at home, but it meant we didn’t have the money for holidays or travel or even eating out. And in any case my parents have always been happy to live and die in Addison Heights. The state fair is the height of sophistication for them. I don’t mind, not really, but I’ve been waiting for adventure my whole life.’
And meeting Malik felt like the greatest adventure of all. She wanted him to kiss her again, right here by the fountain, with all of Rome before them.
Malik must have seen the wish in her eyes for his gaze dropped to her mouth, and as her lips parted, he lowered his head.
‘Gracie...’ he began, the single word a growling plea. And then he was kissing her and she clutched at the front of his shirt as she drowned in his kiss, everything inside her spinning and straining for more.
Someone nearby let out a wolf whistle and a raucous laugh. Malik tore his mouth from hers. ‘Not here...’ he muttered, and Gracie’s heart bumped again.
‘Then where?’
Malik stared at her, his expression fixed as he lifted his hand to stroke her cheek with one finger. ‘Would you come back to my hotel room? I have a suite at the Hassler, very near here.’
Her heart was now bumping its way up her throat. She knew what he was asking. It thrilled and terrified her in equal measure. This had all happened so fast.
And yet it felt so right.
It seemed like a cliché, the star-struck traveller falling for a handsome man in a foreign and romantic city. If she’d told her family or friends at home, they’d be either amazed or appalled. Sceptical, too, as they always had been of her crazy dreams.
Travelling, Gracie? But why? Everything you could ever want is right here.
Her parents hadn’t left Illinois in over a decade. As for Jenna, her best friend from high school, she wanted only to go to Illinois State and marry her high-school sweetheart. No one had really got Gracie’s desire to see more of the world, to live large and to the full.
‘Gracie?’ Malik stroked her cheek again, making her shiver. ‘You don’t have to. We can stay here.’
‘No, I want to.’ She gave him a bemused smile. ‘But you remember you were my first kiss, right? I’m not exactly experienced in this type of thing. I don’t know...’
‘Nor am I,’ Malik reminded her. ‘I just want to spend time with you. We don’t have to do anything.’
But when Malik kissed her, she wanted to do all sorts of things. Over and over again.
‘Okay,’ Gracie whispered, and he led her from the fountain.
* * *
Malik’s hand nearly shook as he swiped the key card to his hotel suite. He couldn’t wait to have Gracie in his arms again. Thank God his grandfather liked his privacy and insisted on them having separate suites. Thank God Malik hadn’t encountered anyone but a few sleepy security guards in the hotel foyer. The last thing he wanted right now was his grandfather’s icy rage or disapproval.
Gracie stepped into the suite, her eyes wide with admiration. ‘This is a lot better than the youth hostel where I’m staying.’
‘But now you are here, and this suite is for us to enjoy. So let’s enjoy it.’ He flipped on some music from the sound system discreetly hidden in a panelled cabinet. The low, sonorous notes of a solo saxophone drifted through the room. Gracie smiled, but he saw the hesitation in her eyes.
With a trembling laugh Gracie swayed a bit to the music. Malik smiled but did not join in the dance. Yet another part of his education that had been neglected. Gracie shrugged as she stopped swaying.
‘I don’t know what I’m doing,’ she admitted, and Malik laughed softly.
‘I don’t, either.’
‘Don’t you?’ She shook her head slowly. ‘It seems hard to imagine. You’re so...’ she laughed and spread her hands ‘...fit.’
‘Thank you,’ Malik said dryly. He’d never really considered his looks either way, except for how he bore himself in public, with the regal dignity required of the next Sultan of Alazar. Yes, if he was honest, he’d noticed a few admiring glances from women, quickly veiled, when he’d been out in public, but they hadn’t affected him the way that Gracie’s artless confession did. He cared what she thought. What she felt.
And the warmth he saw now in her eyes made him reach for her. She came willingly, breathlessly, her soft, slender body colliding with the hard planes of his chest and thighs and making him ache.
He didn’t kiss her, not yet; he wanted simply to savour the feel of her against him, her head tilted upwards and her smile telling him everything he needed to know.
And then, despite his uncertainty, his lack of expertise, the barricades that had been thrown up in every area of his life to keep him safe, he knew exactly what to do. He knew what he wanted to do, and he did it, stroking her face and hair, brushing the tips of his fingers feather-light across the ridge of her nose, the arches of her eyebrows. She exhaled a single, shaky breath.
‘I feel like a plateful of jelly.’
‘I feel like I am on fire,’ he answered, and trailed his finger from the curve of her cheek to the enticing hollow of her throat. Gracie bit her lip, nearly making him groan. He rested his fingertip in the hollow of her throat for another moment before sliding it to the delectable, shadowy vee between her breasts. She let out a soft gasp, and he glanced up to gauge her response.
‘Is this...?’
She nodded, her eyes huge, her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. ‘Yes.’
He’d barely begun touching her, and yet already his body ached and throbbed. He could feel the intensity of her response in the way she shuddered, her body taut and straining.
He skimmed his fingers down her front and then slid his hand around her waist, his palm moulding to the dip and curve of her body, fingers spreading and seeking.
Gracie let out a shaky laugh. ‘This is so...’
‘I know.’
She rested her head against his shoulder, her hair falling across his chest. ‘I’m shaking.’
‘Are you afraid?’
‘No. I just...feel so much.’
‘As do I.’ He put his arms around her, and they swayed to the music, her breasts brushing his chest, everything in him aching. If he could have held this moment for ever, he would have. It was breathtakingly perfect.
Except being in such close proximity to Gracie made him long for her all the more; he pulled her even closer, their hips bumping, and a soft sigh escaped her. The music ended on a long, lonely note, and Gracie tilted her head up to look at him.
One glance at her heart-shaped face, her lips slightly parted, and Malik had to kiss her again.
Her mouth opened beneath his and one hand clutched at his shirt. He felt as if he could kiss her for ever; he didn’t want to do anything else, just lose himself in her lips, in her softness.
Then her hand tightened on his chest and a little moan escaped her, and he realised he wanted so much more than kisses. And so did Gracie.
She pulled away from him a little, her expression dazed, her lips swollen. ‘Malik...’
Even though it half killed him to say it, he made himself mutter, ‘If you want to stop...’
‘Stop? No.’ A small, tremulous smile played about her mouth and she shook her head. ‘I was thinking the opposite.’
Relief poured through him, along with a tingling, electric anticipation.
‘Thank God,’ he said, and, taking her hand, he led her further into the suite, and into the bedroom.
In the dim lighting of the bedroom Gracie looked innocent and pure, her eyes wide as she waited for his lead. And despite his own inexperience, Malik knew what to do. What he wanted to do.
He pulled her towards him, his mouth finding hers, his tongue plundering its softness. He skimmed his hands under her shirt, the pleasure of her silky bare skin so intense he sucked in a hard breath. Her breasts were small and perfect, and he cupped them, drawing his thumbs over their peaks. Gracie shuddered.
Suddenly his clothes felt cumbersome. In one fluid movement he pulled his shirt off and Gracie’s mouth dropped open slightly.
‘Wow,’ she breathed, and then laughed softly, self-conscious.
‘Can I...?’ He gestured to her billowy T-shirt and she pulled it off. Her skin was golden and lightly freckled and Malik ached to explore every inch. Without breaking his gaze, Gracie reached behind and unsnapped her bra, dropping it to the floor. Her breasts were high and proud and perfect. Malik reached out and stroked one with his finger, felt the tremor of Gracie’s response.
In answer she placed a hand on his chest, and he felt as if he’d been branded. He pulled her towards him, groaning at the sweet collision of their bodies, and devoured her in a kiss. They moved towards the bed, bodies and mouth intertwining, and Malik lost himself to the most exquisite experience he’d ever known.
* * *
I just had sex with a stranger.
Gracie tested the words out in her mind, but they didn’t feel right. Malik wasn’t a stranger, and what they’d had wasn’t simply sex. It had been the most intimate and powerful and frankly amazing thing she’d ever done or felt. And she wanted to do it again rather soon.
But did he? Inexplicably shy considering all the things they’d done, Gracie glanced over at Malik. He lay on his back, his bronzed skin gleaming from their recent exertions, a faint smile on his proud and beautiful face.
Sensing her glance, he turned towards her. ‘Are you... Are you all right? You’re not... I didn’t hurt you?’
Gracie felt a sloppy grin spread over her face. The initial twinge of pain had been replaced by a deeper pleasure than she’d ever known. ‘I’ve never been better.’
Malik’s widening smile made her insides leap and writhe with joy. ‘I can say the same.’ He reached for her again, and Gracie went all too willingly, her body curving deliciously into his, desire and anticipation swirling in her veins like liquid gold, when the sound of the door to the suite being thrown open with force made them both freeze.
‘What the...?’ Malik began under his breath, but before he could say anything more, a man appeared in the doorway of the bedroom. Gracie registered a stern, autocratic face, a tall, gaunt body swathed in a traditional linen thobe. She shrank beneath the sheets, one hand reaching for Malik, but to her shock he pulled away from her.
‘So,’ the man said in a cold voice. ‘I leave you to your own devices for a single night and this is what happens.’ He raked Gracie with a scathing glare. ‘You bring some tramp back to your room.’
Malik rolled from the bed in one swift movement, yanking on his trousers before Gracie could even blink. ‘Let us discuss this in a civilised manner in the other room.’ He didn’t even look at Gracie as he bit out, ‘You should dress.’
Gracie watched as Malik stalked from the room, preceded by the older man. Her brain felt frozen, her whole body numb. After a few stunned seconds where she simply lay there, the sheet still drawn up protectively over her naked body, she finally forced herself into gear and rose from the bed.
Her whole body shook as she found her clothes and pulled them on, raking her fingers through her tangled hair. A glance in the mirror of the en-suite bathroom showed how wretched she looked—pale face, huge, shocked eyes, hair like a bird’s nest. She could hear low, terse voices from the next room, but she had no idea what Malik was saying. Was he defending her? Explaining to this stranger, whoever he was, that he and Gracie had a connection? Somehow Gracie feared he wasn’t. Since the awful moment that man had come in, Malik had seemed like a different person. A hard, cold stranger.
A few minutes later Malik opened the door and Gracie took an instinctive step backwards at the terribly impassive look on his face.
‘You should go.’
That was it? Gracie blinked, opened her mouth and closed it again. ‘Malik...’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice flat and his tone not apologetic at all. ‘This was a...memorable evening. But that’s all.’ He folded his arms, biceps rippling, drawing Gracie’s gaze even now. ‘You knew that.’ Had she? What about all their talk about a connection? ‘I’ll call you a cab.’
A sudden, rolling wave of fury crashed over her. Did he think he was being generous? ‘No, thanks,’ she choked out. She stuffed her feet into her sneakers, not bothering with the laces. All her focus was on keeping from bursting into tears. She wouldn’t give Malik the satisfaction, and she could certainly do without the humiliation. But now she had to do the hideous walk of shame, holding her head high as she walked past both Malik and the older man, whose malevolent glare could have singed her hair.
‘Don’t think,’ the stranger said, his voice cold and clear, ‘that you will gain a penny from selling your story to the tabloids.’
Gracie turned, her mouth dropping open. ‘What...?’
‘This is not necessary, Grandfather,’ Malik cut across her. He was glaring at the other man; Gracie might as well have not existed.
‘You are still innocent, Malik,’ the man snapped. ‘Women like this—’
‘Why would I sell my story?’ Gracie gasped out, before he could insult her further. ‘Who are you?’
The man drew himself up. ‘I am Asad al Bahjat, the Sultan of Alazar, descended from a thousand years of princes and kings. And you,’ he said, his eyes narrowing to nasty slits, ‘are nothing but a cheap whore.’
Gracie reeled back at the insult. She looked at Malik, but his expression was unreadable. He said nothing, didn’t defend her in any way. Choking on a cry she didn’t want to give Malik the satisfaction of hearing, Gracie turned and fled.
* * *
‘You did not need to be quite so harsh.’
Malik gave his grandfather Asad a level look as the door slammed behind Gracie. The ensuing silence felt like the aftermath of a storm, the emotional wreckage all around them. The emptiness inside him he would not contemplate.
‘You do not know what she could have been capable of,’ Asad said.
‘She did not even know I was heir to the sultanate,’ Malik returned. ‘She wouldn’t have realised there was a story to sell.’ Not that he thought Gracie would do such a thing, but he knew he could not afford the naïve sentimentality of such a belief. Not with the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders, the expectation of his role. Dallying with a stranger in a strange city, where anyone could have seen them, had been stupid. Stupid yet wonderful.
And now it was over, as he’d known it would be.
‘She would have found out,’ Asad scoffed.
‘In your arrogance you revealed something that was best kept hidden.’
‘Do not think to challenge me,’ Asad began, but Malik cut him off.
‘And do not think to control me. I am not a boy any longer, subject to your cruel whims. I will be Sultan one day, and one day soon, I have no doubt.’ He raked his grandfather with a single look before turning away, furious with both Asad and himself, with the circumstances that had led to this moment. He had always known it would only be a night, but he hadn’t wanted it to end like this. And yet how else could it have ended? He had no future with Gracie Jones, American nobody. He hadn’t even wanted one.
‘Is this what a night with a woman has given you?’ Asad scorned. ‘A little boyish bravado? You probably think something stupid, like you love her.’
Malik’s mouth tightened into a hard line. ‘Of course not.’ He had no interest in the illusion of love. It had made his father weak, turned him into a hollow wreck of a man, a failure. He would never choose the same for himself.
‘You did take precautions, I hope?’ Asad asked in a sneer.
Malik swung around to stare at him, his jaw bunched, a muscle flickering in his temple. Asad made a sound of disgust. ‘How unbelievably stupid. How like your father, putting sentiment and romance above basic practical concerns.’
‘I am not like my father,’ Malik snapped. ‘In any regard.’
Azim shook his head. ‘If only Azim had lived. We would never be in such a state as this...’
It was a lament Malik had heard often over the last decade, and one he had no patience for now. If only Azim had lived, the older brother, the true heir. Over the years Asad had built up Azim into a hero, the fourteen-year-old boy stolen from his youth who would have been the perfect heir, the rightful Sultan, unlike Malik, who was there in proxy, an unwanted second choice, too like his father, according to Asad. Soft. Weak.
Asad had done his best to mould Malik, sending him to military school, beating duty into him whenever he could. Malik had learned the lessons all too well, but he refused to be cowed now. Not this time. Not ever again. Perhaps that would be the legacy of his one night with Gracie.
‘Alas, he did not live,’ Malik said coldly. ‘And there is little we can do to change matters at present, unless you have powers I am unaware of.’
‘And if she’s pregnant?’ Asad demanded. ‘Have you considered that?’
Malik clenched his jaw, hating that his grandfather had caught him out. If Gracie was pregnant... Why had he not considered such a possibility? They’d both been so inexperienced, so overwhelmed by passion.
‘The possibility of her pregnancy is extremely unlikely,’ Malik said with more conviction than he actually felt. ‘But if she is, I am sure she will attempt to be in touch and I will handle the matter then.’
‘How?’ Asad demanded. ‘By parading your bastard child in front of the press? By polluting a thousand years’ lineage of princes and kings with some American half-blood brat?’
‘That is enough,’ Malik snapped. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. ‘I will do what I feel is best.’
‘You do realise how this kind of publicity could affect our country?’ Asad demanded in a low voice. At that moment he looked every inch his seventy-six years, uncertainty and genuine fear flickering in his faded eyes. ‘Our trade agreements, our relationships with the Bedouin tribes...everything is built on the bedrock of a stable monarchy. Alazar is a traditional country. They cannot have a sultan who acts like a Western playboy. If you do anything to make people doubt or wonder...’
Malik nodded, a terse assent of all his grandfather had both said and implied. He knew his duty, and he would fulfil it. He would not shame either himself or his country by chasing after a slip of a woman, even if she had possessed more life and given him more joy than he’d ever known. ‘I will not, Grandfather,’ he said quietly. ‘I will never.’
* * *
Rome had lost its magic. Back at the youth hostel where she’d left her bags what felt a lifetime ago, Gracie showered and changed. She shouldered her backpack and paid for her accommodation before heading out into the sultry, suffocating heat of a summer’s day. What had been beautiful and wondrous a day before now looked dirty and crowded.
A moped sped by her in a gust of diesel and someone pushed her shoulder hard. Gracie stumbled back a few steps before righting herself. Taking a deep breath, she hefted her backpack more securely on her shoulders and started walking towards the Termini rail station.
By mid-afternoon she was in Venice and had secured a place in a new hostel. She wandered along the Grand Canal, wanting to be captivated by the magic of the beautiful, crumbling city with its many canals of blue-green water and yet utterly unable to. Inside she felt both leaden and numb, filled with the memory of how Malik had pushed her away from him, told her to leave, his expression so cold, almost contemptuous...
There had been no connection. He probably used that line on every eager woman he saw. And as for his confession that it had been his first kiss? Laughable. She should have seen through that immediately. He’d kissed her with far too much expertise and assurance to be as inexperienced as she was. He’d known how to touch her from the first.
Added to all that, he was the heir to a kingdom. A man of some significance, he’d called his grandfather. As if. Clearly he’d been doing nothing but amusing himself with an American bumpkin. She was so stupid. Stupid and naïve.
Gracie trudged through another few weeks of travelling, but the joy and sense of adventure she’d had when she’d started out had left her completely. All she wanted to do was hightail it home, to a place where people knew and loved her. But then the thought of all the triumphant I-told-you-sos from friends and family who hadn’t seen the point of her going at all was enough to stiffen her resolve. She would get over Malik al Bahjat, heir to the throne of Alazar. It wasn’t as if her heart had been destroyed. Just her pride, she assured herself, along with her innocence.
Then, in a tiny village in Germany, with rain sleeting down over the Black Forest, she threw up her breakfast. She rested her head on the edge of the toilet, her stomach still heaving, the noisy sounds of the hostel echoing around her. Cold sweat prickled on her scalp and she closed her eyes. The last thing she needed was the stomach flu while backpacking through Europe.
Then she threw up the next morning, and the morning after that, and her breasts started feeling tender, fatigue crashing over her at every opportunity. It took another week for Gracie to realise the appalling, obvious truth: she was pregnant.
