Читать книгу Modern Romance Collection: May 2018 Books 5 - 8 - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 18

CHAPTER NINE

ZAYED STILLED AND Olivia sensed the shock in him, although at what she didn’t know. Everything had spiralled out of control so rapidly—his admission of desire, the blatant invitation she’d seen in his eyes. If he hadn’t developed a migraine, who knew what would have happened? Although Olivia could imagine it all too easily—and evocatively.

‘What is it?’ she asked because Zayed still hadn’t moved.

‘I...’ His jaw bunched. ‘I can’t see.’

‘Can’t see? At all?’

‘No.’ The single word was a gasp of pain. A light sheen of sweat coated his pale face and his eyes were glazed.

‘Let me get someone—’

‘No.’ The single word was like the snick of a blade. ‘I don’t want anyone else to see me like...this.’

‘All right.’ Olivia absorbed that, along with his sudden blindness. Here, at least, she could be as useful as she knew how to be. As needed. ‘Then we’d better get you to your bed.’

Slowly they walked from the room, Zayed gripping her hand tightly as she put her arm around him and guided him with halting steps.

‘I don’t actually know where your bedroom is,’ she said in a low voice when they’d reached the thankfully empty hall outside the room where they’d been dining. ‘Can you direct me?’

‘Yes.’ Zayed drew a quick breath. ‘To the right, up the stairs, and then along the hallway.’

‘All right.’

Each step felt painstakingly slow, as Zayed felt his way and battled his pain. Olivia could tell from his tightly clenched jaw just how much pain he was in, and her heart ached for him.

On the upstairs hallway Zayed suddenly went still, then shrugged away from her, even though Olivia could see that it cost him.

‘What...?’ she began in a whisper, but Zayed shook his head, a flinch of pain crossing his face.

Then his aide, Jahmal, came down the hallway. Zayed straightened.

‘My Prince,’ Jahmal said. He gave Olivia a cursory, curious glance and then looked away, dismissing her. ‘Is everything well? I thought you were dining downstairs.’

‘I’m finished.’ Zayed spoke tersely. ‘I will work in my room. I don’t wish to be disturbed, please.’

Jahmal glanced at Olivia again, a frown marring his forehead. ‘Very well...’

‘Miss Taylor is helping me with a matter.’

Jahmal’s frown cleared. ‘The message to Sultan Hassan?’

‘Yes. Leave us now, please.’

Jahmal sketched a short bow and strode down the hallway. After a few tense seconds Zayed expelled a low breath and then leaned against Olivia again; she took his weight, wrapping her arm around his waist.

‘Get me to my room,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘Before I humiliate myself even further.’

‘There’s no shame in pain.’

‘You are wrong in that, at least for me.’

They didn’t talk further; all their energy was expended on making it down the hallway.

‘Here,’ Zayed said when they were in front of an arched door that looked like any one of the dozen others along the corridor.

‘How do you...?’

‘I counted.’

Olivia turned the handle and the door swung open into a room that was sparsely furnished and masculine in every detail. She led him to the king-sized bed in the centre, and then guided him down onto the soft mattress. Zayed stretched out with a groan, one arm thrown over his eyes.

‘Let me get you something,’ Olivia suggested quietly. ‘A damp cloth? Some tablets?’

‘There’s medicine in the bathroom.’

‘All right.’ She went into the sumptuous en suite, feeling as if she were invading his private space as she rifled through his medicine cabinet looking for the painkillers. She shook two out of the bottle and then poured a glass of water from the tap. She found a flannel and dampened it, and then brought it all back to Zayed.

‘Here,’ she said, perching on the edge of the bed. She pressed the tablets into his hand and then guided the glass of water to his lips. He swallowed in one powerful gulp and then subsided back onto the pillows. ‘And this too,’ Olivia said, and she gently laid the damp cloth across his forehead.

Zayed reached out his hand and found hers, lightly squeezing her fingers. ‘Thank you.’

‘I wish there was more I could do.’

‘This has been more than I deserve.’

Deserve? It seemed an odd turn of phrase. ‘Surely everyone deserves care when they’re hurt?’ Olivia said quietly.

‘That depends,’ Zayed murmured. Her hand was still encased in his. Olivia watched his powerful chest rise and fall in steady breaths. Outside the sun was setting, sending streaks of light sliding across the floor, the sky lit up with the most vivid pinks and purples she’d ever seen. She wondered if she should go, if Zayed wanted to be left alone.

As if sensing her uncertainty, he squeezed her fingers again. ‘Stay,’ he entreated in a low voice. ‘Stay with me.’

Something warm and wonderful unfurled in Olivia’s heart, like a hug from the inside. She realised how much she’d wanted to stay, wanted him to want her to. ‘Okay,’ she said softly. ‘Of course I will.’

She settled herself more comfortably against the pillows and Zayed drew her hand to his chest, still in his, so she could feel the thud of his heart against her palm.

His eyes were closed, dark, spiky lashes feathering the rugged planes of his cheeks. His mouth looked surprisingly lush and mobile on that harsh face, now softened as his breathing evened out. It could have been an hour or only a few minutes, but eventually Olivia realised he was asleep.

She’d lost track of time, of herself, in watching him, taking in every beautiful detail of his face and form, along with things she hadn’t noticed before—a scar on his temple, another by his ear, both now faded to pale white streaks. Beneath his button-down shirt she could see the ridges of his chest and abdomen, perfectly and powerfully muscled.

She remembered how those muscles had felt under her questing hands, and she closed her eyes, trying to banish the memories for her own sanity, even though they were so achingly sweet. She’d never felt as treasured, as important, as she had in Zayed’s embrace. Which was foolish, considering how she would most likely never see him again after the next day or two. The thought brought pain when Olivia knew it shouldn’t, just as she knew every moment she spent in his company was dangerous because each one bound her closer and closer to this man—a man she would come to care for, if she let herself.

She told herself he was arrogant, assumptive and impatient. Yet she could understand why, considering how much he was fighting for. How much he’d lost. He’d barely mentioned the family whom had been murdered by Malouf, but Olivia sensed the deep, dark current of pain running right through his centre and it made her ache. He was also kind, considerate and gentle, and that made her ache even more.

She should leave, Olivia thought, before she did something both dangerous and stupid and started to fall in love with him.

As quietly as she could she started to move from the bed, but the second she tried to slip her hand from his his grip tightened, and he hauled her forward so she was pressed against him. He moved again, seemingly in his sleep, so she was resting with her head on his shoulder, their hands still entwined on his chest. Once again his breathing evened out.

Olivia lay there, enjoying the feel of his powerful body pillowing her head, the steady thud of his heart under her cheek. She could smell his aftershave and feel his heat and it felt so very, very nice to lie here in Zayed’s arms, the moon starting to rise, creating silver patterns on the floor. For a moment she let herself imagine having something like this every night—and the man in that far too pleasant fantasy was Zayed.

She wasn’t falling in love with him. She absolutely couldn’t be. And yet she longed. She couldn’t deny the river of yearning that wound its way through her at this very moment, threatening to flood its banks as Zayed pulled her even closer, his other hand splayed possessively across her hip, his knee nudging in between her own.

Olivia closed her eyes, both savouring the sweetness of the moment and trying to fight its intensity. Because it would be so easy to let herself be swept away, let herself fall.

Eventually she started to relax and, with Zayed deeply asleep, she fell into a doze.

* * *

The pain in his head receded to a dull ache as Zayed drifted in and out of sleep, conscious of the softness of the bed and the even more enticing softness of the warm, pliant body next to his. Sleep still fogged his mind as he pulled the body closer, enjoying the way her breasts were pressed against his chest, her hips nudging his. Heat flared, and when she arched a little bit against him, it flared hotter and brighter.

In one smooth movement he rolled on top of her, his hands seeking and finding all the soft curves and tempting dips of her body. He slid his hand up one slender, perfect thigh to the warmth at her centre, and she moaned. The heat inside him was a pulsing need, taking over all his senses.

He pressed his knee between hers, nudging her legs apart even further, positioning his body so he could bury himself in her welcoming depths.

She arched up to meet him and Zayed braced himself on his forearms. The pain in his head flickered, a second’s distraction that had him suddenly stilling. God in heaven, what was he doing? He could jeopardise everything by making love with Olivia now.

With a groan he rolled off her, his body aching, his heart thudding. It felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done.

After a taut second Olivia rolled the other way, curling her knees up to her chest. The pain thudded through Zayed’s head again and he closed his eyes.

‘Olivia...’

‘It’s all right.’ Her voice was a broken whisper, a ragged breath.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I know.’

‘The moment... I was asleep...’ He felt that nothing he said could help. ‘I got carried away and I shouldn’t have.’

‘I got carried away too.’ She spoke softly, her back to him. When he cracked an eye open he could see the tender nape of her neck, and it made guilt rush through him all over again. Enough with the guilt. He needed to get Olivia out of his life, or he needed to get out of hers, and the sooner the better. He couldn’t let himself get distracted. Duty was far more important. He closed his eyes again and pictured the helicopter filled with flames. Imagined he could see his father’s and brother’s faces, although he hadn’t been able to at the time. And then he saw himself running away, hustled by his staff to safety. Even now, ten years later, the shame of it bit deep. Coward. No one had ever said it to him, but he’d felt it. How he’d felt it.

‘Survivor’s guilt,’ his advisors had told him more than once. It happens. And he knew, in his head, in his gut, that he’d needed to survive. He was the last of the line, the only one remaining of a dynasty that stretched back centuries, the only person who could wrest control from Malouf. But in his heart he felt the guilt, the shame, and he didn’t think it would ever leave him.

Which was why he had to focus on his duty and how to atone for the past. And the only service Olivia Taylor could provide for him was going away quietly.

As if she read his thoughts, she rose from the bed in one fluid movement, shrugging off the hand he hadn’t even realised he’d stretched out to her.

‘I’ll go,’ she said quietly, smoothing her dress down and slipping on her heels. ‘You need your sleep. Is the headache better?’

‘A bit.’

‘Good.’ She gave him a fleeting smile that didn’t meet her eyes.

‘Thank you, Olivia. I am sorry.’

‘It’s fine.’ She lifted her chin. ‘It’s fine,’ she said again, and then she was gone.

The silence of the room felt endless and empty as Zayed lay on his bed, his head aching as much as his heart. He didn’t care about Olivia, he told himself. He didn’t care about anyone like that and never would. Caring was inviting vulnerability and pain, something he had no intention of doing. If you cared about someone, your enemies could and would use it against you. He would never allow that to happen again.

But he still felt guilty and restless, wishing things had been different. If he’d kidnapped the right woman...then he would never have met Olivia.

The very fact that he could think that showed him how quickly and decisively he needed to act. Tomorrow he would send the message to Sultan Hassan and make sure Olivia wrote her letter. He would set the wheels in motion for all this to be repaired.

By the time Zayed fell asleep, the pale pink streaks of dawn were lighting the sky and he didn’t waken until after the noon hour. Thankfully his headache was gone, and after showering and dressing he went in search of Jahmal and then Olivia.

‘Has there been any news on the Sultan?’ he asked Jahmal as they sat in his office in the west wing of the palace, the arched windows open to the sky.

‘Only that he is displeased,’ Jahmal answered with a grimace. ‘Queen Aliya has taken Princess Halina to Italy,’ he added. ‘To keep her from being kidnapped.’

‘As if I would try the same thing twice.’ Zayed rubbed his temples. ‘It was a foolish plan in the first place, even if it felt necessary at the time.’

‘He still might be open to a communication from you,’ Jahmal offered.

‘He’d better be,’ Zayed returned grimly. ‘I’ll send a gift with the message—some of my finest Arabians.’

‘The Sultan is known for his love of horses.’

‘Yes.’ Briefly Zayed thought about how Olivia had said she couldn’t ride. Right then he should have known it wasn’t the Princess. Why had he been so unbelievably blind, seeing only what he’d wanted to see?

‘I need to find Miss Taylor,’ he said. ‘Do you know where she is?’

‘She has spent the morning with some of the women,’ Jahmal answered. ‘In the gardens.’

Some of his staff and soldiers had wives who lived in the palace. It was an isolated but safe existence, and he knew they all longed for the day when they could return to Arjah and their normal lives. They’d all been waiting a long time for that.

Outside the sun was shining brightly, the air still holding a hint of crispness from the cold night. Zayed strolled through the gardens, enjoying the sunlight on his face. He’d forgotten how pleasant it was out here, with the orange and lemon trees, the trailing flowers, the tinkle of the many fountains.

He wandered for several minutes through various landscaped gardens, each one surrounded by its own hedge, until he came onto a small, pretty courtyard with a fountain splashing in the middle and several ornate benches around. Lahela, one of his aides’ wives who had just had a baby, was laughing at something Olivia said.

And Olivia... She sat on a bench, wearing a casual sundress the exact shade of her eyes, her hair falling down her back in tumbling chestnut waves, Lahela’s baby on her lap gurgling up at her. She looked so happy and natural, almost as if...

Zayed’s mind suddenly screeched to a halt, freezing on one simple fact that he’d completely ignored since he’d first taken Olivia and married her. Had slept with her.

He hadn’t used birth control.

Of course he hadn’t. It had been his wedding night; if he’d got Halina pregnant it simply would have strengthened his cause. Since then he hadn’t thought for a moment, a single second, that Olivia could be pregnant...pregnant with his child. His heir.

Her laughter drifted across the courtyard, a deep, delighted sound, and she bounced the fat, smiling baby on her knee. Then she looked up and her gaze caught Zayed’s, clashing with it so he felt as if he’d come up against a brick wall.

Her eyes widened, pupils flaring, and colour touched her cheeks. She looked away, bending her head so her hair fell forward and hid her face. Zayed’s chest tightened. The pain he thought he’d banished crept back.

Keeping his voice as even as he could, he greeted the other women in the courtyard before turning his attention resolutely to Olivia. She still wasn’t looking at him.

‘Miss Taylor,’ he said. ‘May I have a word?’

* * *

Olivia handed the baby back to Lahela, trying not to let her trepidation show. Her heart was thumping in her chest as she followed Zayed out of the garden, both of them silent. He seemed angry, and she could only suppose it was about last night...and what had almost happened between them.

She’d spent most of the night practically writhing in shame—and unsated desire. When Zayed had started touching her, she’d been helpless to do anything but respond. Want. Beg. Just as he’d once said. Even now the memory made her face flood with colour and she closed her eyes briefly against it. How could she be so helpless when it came to her response to this man?

Zayed walked swiftly through several corridors and then finally opened the door to a small, ornate room that looked like a private study. Olivia stood in the centre of the room, knotting her hands together so they wouldn’t shake.

Zayed closed the door and then whirled around to face her. ‘Could you be pregnant?’ he demanded tersely.

Olivia blinked. That had not been what she was expecting at all. ‘Pregnant...?’

‘From our wedding night.’ He ground the words out, his mouth compressing. ‘I did not use birth control and, as you were a virgin, I question whether you were on it.’

‘I’m not,’ she confirmed quietly.

‘And you have no...issues with fertility?’

Her face burned even hotter. ‘None that I know of, no.’

Zayed swore under his breath and turned away from her in one abrupt movement. At least she knew how he felt about a possible pregnancy, and could she even be surprised? He was planning to divorce her. Of course he didn’t want her to have his baby. Yet strangely, stupidly, Olivia felt hurt.

Zayed squared his shoulders, his taut back to her. ‘So there is a chance you could be pregnant?’

‘Yes, I suppose.’

He turned around. ‘You suppose?’

Irritation bit. ‘Yes, I suppose. I’m not omniscient, Zayed, and this is not my fault.’ Her voice quavered. ‘I thought you’d realised that, but it seems you’re back to blaming me.’

‘No, I’m sorry.’ He rubbed a hand wearily over his face. ‘I don’t mean to blame you. I blame myself, if anyone, for being so presumptuous and rash. It’s just another complication in what is already a very complicated situation. And I should have thought of it sooner.’ He dropped his hand from his face, giving her a surprisingly wry and honest look. ‘I’m ashamed that I did not.’

‘It’s understandable,’ Olivia murmured. Her flush had thankfully faded but she still felt embarrassed to be talking about this at all. ‘You’ve had a lot on your mind.’

‘Yes, but...’ He stared at her for a moment, his gaze hard and assessing. Olivia looked back at him warily. ‘You realised,’ he said, and it was a statement. ‘A while ago, I think. Yet you didn’t say anything.’

‘What was I supposed to say?’

‘That you might be pregnant?’ His brows drew together in a line. ‘I know it’s stating the obvious, but it is clearly a potential issue, and one that we needed to discuss.’

‘I suppose I didn’t see the point of discussing it until it was a certainty.’

‘But by that point you might have been out of my life!’ Zayed took a step closer to her. ‘Were you considering not telling me about my child, Olivia?’

She gazed at him in disbelief. ‘Are you serious, Zayed? Are you accusing me of something that hasn’t even happened yet? I may not even be pregnant. I’m probably not.’

‘Probably? Why do you say that?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but there’s a good chance I’m not.’

‘But there is a chance you are. That is the point.’ He gave her a long, level look. ‘Would you not have told me?’

‘I...I don’t know. I didn’t think that far ahead.’ She turned away from him, hating this whole conversation, all the what-ifs that had come into her life when everything had once been so certain, so safe, if a little staid. And she hated that a conversation about their possible child was so clinical, so cold. Some part of her wished for an alternative scenario, one where they hoped for such a thing. Revelled in the miracle of it. Was she insane?

‘What did you think, then?’ Zayed asked.

‘Why does it matter?’ she demanded, whirling around again. ‘Why do you always have to make me feel guilty, Zayed?’

Remorse crumpled his features for a split second. ‘Is that how I always make you feel?’ he asked in a low voice, and Olivia heard the sudden innuendo in it, as well as the intent.

‘No, but now... I know this is a potential problem, Zayed, but it’s not my fault.’

‘I know it isn’t.’ He closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to act in such a way. When I’m around you...’ He stopped, and curiosity flickered through her, along with an excitement she could hardly credit.

‘When you’re around me...?’ she prompted.

Zayed opened his eyes and the blazing heat she saw in their depths lit a fire in her soul. ‘When I’m around you I lose my head. My very self. I can think of nothing but you...of having you.’

Excitement exploded inside her; she felt dizzy with it. Dizzy with desire, the rush of it so unexpected considering they’d just been arguing. But had it ever really gone away? She’d been fighting it, in one form or another, since the moment she’d met him.

‘I know it’s wrong,’ Zayed murmured. ‘I know it’s foolish. I know we shouldn’t, and yet I want to. I crave you, Olivia. Why do I crave you so much?’

‘I crave you,’ Olivia whispered. She couldn’t look away from his fierce face, every muscle straining as he sought to control himself. Then he couldn’t, and as she watched in breathless anticipation he swallowed the space between them in a couple of strides and she was in his arms, his mouth coming down hard and demanding on hers, the dam they’d both been constructing finally broken, the desire rushing in.

His mouth was hard and soft, the kiss sweet and strong at the same time, both sexy and sacred. Wonderful. Olivia returned the kiss with all that she had, unable to stop from giving him her everything. Zayed backed her across the room and her bottom came up against a desk. He growled against her mouth as he hoisted her on top of it, papers and books spilling onto the floor with a clatter.

No sweet seduction now; the force of their desire swept them along, caught up in its tidal wave as it dragged them under. Zayed nudged her legs apart with his own and then stood between her thighs as he plundered her mouth, his hands roving possessively over her body, demanding even more from her. And she gave it. Her mind a frenzied blur of sensation, she gave it willingly, joyfully, because, no matter how impossible their situation was, this man called to something in her that she hadn’t even known she had—and she called to him. That alone was a miracle, a wonderful, incredible miracle.

She felt Zayed’s fingers on the edge of her underwear, pulling it down. She moaned aloud, squirming against the feel of his hand, unable to wait even a second longer for the satiation they both craved, needing it with every fibre of their beings. This. Again this.

Zayed fumbled with his trousers, and with one swift stroke he was inside her. Olivia’s muscles clenched around him and she wrapped her legs around his waist, uniting their bodies as closely and completely as she could, glorying in the feeling of it, the pleasure as well as the unity. She felt complete again, as if everything in her had been waiting to feel this way since the last time.

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.’