Читать книгу Rising Stars & It Started With… Collections - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 78

VERONICA took the call on the terrace after hurriedly dragging on her clothes and wrapping an elastic band around her tangle of hair. Her chief of staff was in attendance, as well as her secretary.

Raj watched them all as Veronica sat like a queen—a rumpled queen, he thought with a surge of possessiveness—and spoke to the former president in French. Raj didn’t understand French, but he could tell that Veronica was cool and professional.

The sun was a bright orange ball now, the sea beneath it purple and black. High above the setting sun, bright stars were winking into existence like sequins against the midnight-blue background of the night sky.

But Raj was focused on Veronica, and on the two people watching her so intently.

Martine glanced up at him, then quickly looked away. Her fingers hooked together in front of her body, her knuckles whitening. She was afraid.

But Veronica’s eyes widened and Raj’s attention snapped to her. Her chief of staff thrust a fist into the air in triumph as Veronica said something to the man on the phone, her voice laced with shock.

Martine seemed pale, her big brown eyes blinking in surprise. And then Veronica was speaking rapidly, smiling openly and nodding. Another few moments and she put the phone down again. Then she jumped up and hugged Georges and Martine before throwing herself into his arms.

“Brun has denounced the police chief,” she said. “He is about to hold a press conference and publicly come out in support of me.” Her eyes were shiny with tears. “He loves Aliz and wants the best for her, just like I do. Oh, Raj, this means I can continue working for my people. This is truly the best day ever.”

He should be happy, and yet he felt as if she’d thrust a hot knife into his chest and twisted it. He’d begun to enjoy having her here, having her to himself. But when she returned to her life as president, he would return to his life, as well.

And it wasn’t a life that included her.

“That’s wonderful,” he said, because he had to say something.

She squeezed him, pressing her cheek to his chest. “We can go to Aliz now,” she told him. “It’s not quite like here, but I think you’ll like it. I want to show you everything, and I want you to have Christmas with me. It’ll be wonderful.”

He was numb. Absolutely numb. “Of course,” he replied. Because now was not the time to say anything different. Now was not the time to hang a dark cloud over her happiness. There would be time later to talk, time to explain. Time to return to reality.

She hugged him again, then turned and started talking with her people. He watched her, watched the gestures of her long, slim fingers, the slide of her throat as she spoke, the way she talked so fast and excitedly that Martine could barely take the dictation.

For her sake, he tried to imagine it. Tried to imagine himself in Aliz, with her. She would live in the presidential palace, of course. He would visit her there whenever he had the time. It could work.

But it couldn’t work. She deserved better. She deserved a man who could love her and give her the family she wanted. Without hesitation or reservation. He loved being with her, and he could happily spend the next several months—years, maybe—in her bed without ever wanting to leave.

But it wasn’t fair to her. He knew what she wanted out of life because she’d told him.

He did not want the same thing, and it wasn’t fair to let her believe he did. He’d known it wasn’t going to last. He just hadn’t thought it was going to end so soon.

It was late when Veronica wrapped up her meetings with her staff. There were more phone calls to be made, plans to discuss and Monsieur Brun’s speech on CNN to watch. The chief of police hadn’t surrendered yet, but he would soon. He had no support, and his last lifeline—the hope that Brun would be reinstated—was gone.

Veronica had done a set of interviews by phone, speaking with several news reporters live on various television and radio programs, and now she was exhausted. The situation in Aliz had exploded onto the international scene in greater force with Brun’s speech.

Everyone wanted to know where she was, but she’d kept that information private. She just couldn’t bear to have the press show up at Raj’s door after everything they’d shared here together.

She found Raj on the terrace, a laptop computer open and glowing as he studied the information there. He looked up when she arrived, his eyes flickering over her before settling on her face again.

The hunger she usually saw in his gaze was missing. Her stomach did a somersault. Resolutely, she walked over to his side and touched him, stroked her fingers along his jaw. He caught her hand in his, then removed it from his skin with a quick kiss to her palm. He stood and moved away before she could reach for him again.

She stood there, stinging with the ache of rejection, hoping she was reading the situation wrong.

Knowing she was not.

“So this is how it ends,” she said, her throat aching.

He looked up, as if he was surprised she’d said it instead of pretending. And then he pushed his fingers through his hair. “I think it’s best, don’t you?”

“Why is it best? What rulebook says there is a specific way we have to do this? We—” she swallowed, knowing she couldn’t say the word she really wanted to say, especially since she only knew it was true on her part”—enjoy each other.”

“We hardly know each other, Veronica.” He looked away, his jaw firming. “We’ve had sex, nothing more.”

Sex, nothing more.

Oh, God.

“I thought there was more.”

He swore. “This is why I tried not to be so weak, why I tried to deny myself when I wanted you. Because it won’t work, Veronica. We both know it.”

She clenched her fists at her sides, her eyes blurring. Angrily, she dashed the tears away. She was not about to cry. Not now, not when she’d just gotten a second chance in Aliz. She should feel happy, triumphant—instead, she felt desolate, ruined, as if nothing mattered.

It was too similar to the way she’d felt a few months ago. And that angered her far more than anything else ever could.

“I didn’t realize you were a coward, Raj.”

His eyes flashed as he glared at her. “I know what you’re trying to do. It won’t work.” He closed the distance between them, gripped her shoulders in his strong hands. “Didn’t you listen to a damn thing I told you earlier? I don’t know how to have a home, a family. I don’t want those things. You do, and I won’t give you false hope just because I’m addicted to you.”

A part of her—a tiny part—soared when he said he was addicted to her. But it wasn’t enough, she knew that. Wasn’t enough for him or for her. It hurt to think that it was only sex between them. But for him, it was.

“You won’t even try,” she said.

“No,” he replied, letting her go again. “I won’t. Because I know who I am, Veronica. I’ve had a lot of years to learn. And I won’t hurt you by trying to be something I’m not.”

She wrapped her arms around her body, trying to stave off the sudden chill that threatened to make her teeth chatter. It wasn’t cold in the least, but she felt as if he’d turned into a block of ice—and she was freezing simply from being too close. “God forbid you challenge your own assumptions.”

“Veronica—”

“No,” she snapped, taking a step closer to him again, jabbing her finger into his chest. “If you’re so damn smart, and know so much, then why didn’t you just tell me no in the first place? No matter how much I wanted you, you could have said no. You could have spared us both.”

He raised his hands as if to surrender. “You’re right. I could have. I didn’t because I’m human. Because I can be a selfish bastard. Because I still want the things I know I can’t have.”

“After everything I told you,” she said, sucking in a harsh breath. She couldn’t complete the sentence without screaming.

“Yes, after everything. Because I’m a man, and you’re a damn sexy woman who was hot for me. It’d take a saint to say no to you.”

Fury swelled inside her until she thought she would burst if she didn’t act. She wanted to slap him, wanted to smack the arrogance right off his face. But she couldn’t hit him, couldn’t hit anyone.

It was so, so wrong.

And it was her fault, too. She wasn’t blameless in this. It was her fault that she’d told herself whatever he could give her was enough.

It wasn’t.

“I trusted you, Raj. Losing my baby was the most devastating thing that ever happened to me. I didn’t think I could feel again, didn’t think I—”

She pressed a fist to her chest, throat aching. She couldn’t say another word. If she did, she would scream. He was looking at her, his expression stark.

Well, that’s how she felt, too. Stark. Empty.

“You don’t need me, Veronica,” he said. “You’re strong enough and brave enough on your own. And you’ll find what you’re looking for. Someday.”

“I’m not so sure,” she said, half to herself. “I knew this was inevitable.” She tossed her hair defiantly. “Hell, maybe you are right. Maybe it’s better this way. Because you wouldn’t have wanted me once you knew the truth.”

His gaze sharpened, his body stilling. As if he were a hunter scenting prey.

“The truth?” He sounded so dangerous.

She didn’t care. What did it matter? She looked him in the eye. “It’s my fault my baby died. So you see, even if you wanted a family, I’m not the sort of woman you’d want to take that chance with.”

He swore, a rude word she’d never heard him use before. “I’ve spent enough time with you to know that’s not true. You aren’t responsible for your miscarriage, no matter what kind of crazy idea you’ve got into your head about it.”

Anguish ate her from the inside out. “Don’t tell me I’m not responsible! You weren’t there. I didn’t know I was pregnant, Raj. I kept drinking, kept staying out late and having a good time—by the time I knew I was pregnant, the damage had been done.”

He put his hands on her shoulders—firmly—and forced her to look at him. “Women don’t lose babies because they drink alcohol, Veronica. Haven’t you ever seen a drug addict have a child? The baby is usually born with devastating health problems, but the baby is born. A few drinks didn’t kill your child.”

Her stomach was a solid ball of pain. “You don’t know that.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes glittering with some emotion she couldn’t identify. “I do know. I’ve seen it. My mother was a drug addict. Not when I was young, but as I grew older. And I saw the kind of people she did drugs with. Believe me, if they didn’t lose the children they were carrying because of what they did, you definitely didn’t.”

She sucked in a breath, refused to let it become a sob. She wanted to believe him. She’d always wanted to believe, but she’d never been able to. The doctors had told her it wasn’t her fault, that the miscarriage would have happened regardless. She’d just never believed them.

Raj pulled her into his embrace, held her tight for a long time. She closed her eyes, breathed in his scent, her heart hurting so much she wanted to fall asleep and not wake up for a hundred years.

Because she knew, before he said it, that he was still saying goodbye.

“You deserve happiness, Veronica. That’s why I’m letting you go.”

Early the next morning, they left for the ten-hour flight to Aliz. Raj purposely kept himself away from Veronica for the duration. She never once looked at him, so he had plenty of opportunity to watch her. She was pale. Her hair was pulled back into a loose knot on her head, and she wore a black dress with a jacket and heels. There were circles under her eyes, and the tip of her nose was red, as if she’d been crying recently.

It gutted him to think she had.

Still, she was beautiful. Remote and regal, more like the Veronica he’d met the first night in London. The one who would never deign to lower herself to sleep with a bastard like him. Better for them both if she hadn’t.

He’d lain awake last night, his body aching for her. His heart aching for her. That was a new sensation, but he’d shoved it down deep and slapped a lid on it. He had no room for sentimentality, not with her, not with anyone. If he let himself care, even the tiniest bit, tomorrow something would happen and it’d be time to move on again. He couldn’t unpack the suitcase, no matter how much he wanted to do so.

Except that he did care, damn it. When she’d stood there, her eyes shining with pain, and told him she was to blame for what had happened to her, he’d thought he would have to punch something. Preferably Andre Girard.

She’d been living with so much pain and guilt. She’d needed someone to stand beside her during that time, and there’d been no one.

A little voice told him he could stand with her now, but he shoved it away. He’d made the decision that was best for them both, and he couldn’t go back on it simply because his heart felt as if it were being ground to powder.

Now, he was taking her back to Aliz and leaving one of his best teams there to protect her. They would also train the presidential guard on proper procedures before they left Aliz permanently.

He never wanted to worry about her safety again. He’d gotten the reports on the people she’d had with her in London; nothing stood out. No one had any reason to want to harm her, which brought him back to square one. The security guard who’d been dismissed had to have been in the employ of someone in Aliz.

It wasn’t the former president, but it could have certainly been the police chief. He could have found out about the baby and decided to use that to frighten her. Perhaps he’d reasoned that if Veronica didn’t want to return to Aliz, his power grab stood a better chance of being successful.

When they landed in Aliz, the television cameras were waiting. The tarmac was packed with supporters bearing signs with Veronica’s name, with slogans, with the name of her hit song. They chanted and laughed and sang as she exited the plane and descended the stairs like a queen.

Veronica was so poised as she waved and smiled. His heart flipped. He was so proud of her, though he had no right to be. She wasn’t his.

She stepped up to the microphone then and delivered a stirring speech about freedom and democracy and the rule of law. Monsieur Brun had wisely stayed away in order to prove that he really did want the torch to pass to his successor. The media pelted her with questions, all of which she answered expertly. She took a last question, and then thanked them all before turning away.

“Is it true that you and the CEO of Vala Security International are dating, Madam President?” a tabloid reporter shouted.

He watched Veronica’s shoulders stiffen, watched her turn back to the microphone. Her cheeks were full of color, but she looked so lovely that no one would think it was anything other than her natural beauty shining through.

“That was a cover,” she said. “So Mr. Vala and his team could get close to me without alerting those who might wish me harm.”

“But you’ve just spent three days in Goa, at his home. Why there?”

Veronica’s smile didn’t waver. “Because we believed I might be in danger. It was prudent not to broadcast my whereabouts to the world at large.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

A collective gasp went up from the crowd, and then a buzz of anger began in the ranks of the loyal people who’d come out to welcome home their president.

Veronica laughed that bright, tinkling laugh of hers. For some reason, it pierced him to the bone.

And then she turned and pointed at him. “Look at that man,” she said. “Is he not gorgeous? Tall and exotic, beautiful like a tiger.” She paused for a long moment, her eyes locked on him—angry, accusatory, hurt—before she turned back to the microphone. “But I assure you, there is nothing between us. Mr. Vala is all business. He does not know the meaning of fun.”

A ripple of laughter went through the crowd as she waved and turned away. He had to give it to her—she knew how to work the media. He had no doubt that everything she’d ever done had been carefully orchestrated for the fullest effect. Veronica was no idiot. She’d effectively marginalized him with that brief show.

It had been a brilliant maneuver.

They made their way to the waiting limos and on to the presidential palace—which was actually quite small by palatial standards, though definitely ornate.

Raj spent the morning with his team and Veronica’s security staff, going over plans and procedures for her safety during appearances and travel.

Afterward, he found her at an antique French desk in a spacious and bright office. Beyond the windows, the Mediterranean sparkled in the sunshine. Not as wild and untamable as Goa, but pretty nevertheless.

She looked up, her pen poised over a document, Georges hovering with his hand on the paper, ready to take it away as soon as she finished. She scrawled her signature and smiled at the man. He took the paper, glancing up at Raj with a disapproving look as he passed.

Veronica sat back and folded her arms over her chest. He tried not to think of her breasts, of how perfect they were. How her dusky nipples had grown so tight and sensitive when he’d gazed on her naked body.

How they tasted in his mouth, how every glorious inch of her felt beneath his hands.

Goddamn it.

“I’m leaving,” he said tightly. “My people will stay as long as you need them, and I’ll only be a phone call away if necessary.”

“Thank you for …” She cleared her throat and looked away. The sunlight was behind her, limning her pale golden hair like a halo. He’d never felt so rotten in his life. “Thank you for making sure I was safe.”

“My pleasure.” As soon as he said it, he knew they were the wrong words.

Her eyes narrowed. “And thank you for the sex,” she said. “I don’t know how I’d have survived without you to scratch my itch.”

“Veronica, you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” she asked. “Make you feel like a bastard? I really think I do. It makes me feel better, for a short time anyway. If it’s any comfort, I’ll feel like hell ten minutes after you’ve walked out the door.”

“It isn’t a comfort,” he said. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

She shrugged. “Maybe I’m not hurt. Maybe I’m just a bit angry that I’m not the one calling it off.”

“You’ll thank me later,” he said.

“I seem to remember you said that to me once before. And I told you then that I would decide what was best for me. That hasn’t changed.”

“You’re truly an amazing woman, Veronica.”

“Not amazing enough.”

“Don’t play the wounded martyr,” he snapped.

Her eyes flashed. “Look who’s talking about being a martyr. The man who would sacrifice even the prospect of happiness for a stale idea about himself that he refuses to let go.”

Her words had the power to slice deep.

But she was a hypocrite, and he wouldn’t let her get away with it. Not because he was angry, but because he wanted her to finally allow herself to heal.

“Have you decided to stop blaming yourself for your miscarriage?”

Her head dropped, her throat sliding as she swallowed heavily. “You’re right about that,” she said softly. “And unless I’m willing to let go of my guilt, I can hardly ask you to do the same, can I?”

She looked up again, speared him with that determined look he’d grown to love.

“I’ve been thinking hard since yesterday, Raj. And I’m done with guilt. As much as I can be. I don’t think I’ll ever completely forgive myself, but I’m going to learn to accept that things happen for a reason.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Her phone buzzed. They looked at each other over the blinking light for several moments. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something.

“Goodbye, Veronica.”

Veronica finished the call with the Moroccan ambassador and hung up the phone. Raj was gone, no doubt on his way back to the airport and then on to wherever he had decided to call home for the moment. She wanted to scream. He’d left her, and she felt so bare and raw inside.

The room was quiet. Empty. She could hear the noise outside the window, of gulls and boats, of tradesmen yelling to each other across the way, of cars and horns and everyday noise.

But she was still empty. Desolate.

He’d gone away. The man she loved had been unable to love her back. It hurt so much she thought she might die of it.

She wouldn’t, of course.

She thought of the lonely man who’d told her about living in a car, about being afraid to unpack a suitcase, about buying his first home, and her heart ached for everything that he’d suffered. They were a damaged pair, the two of them.

Veronica shoved back from her desk and strode through the office. Martine slapped the phone down, as if she felt guilty being caught talking, but Veronica could care less. In fact, she was getting tired of Martine’s hangdog looks. The last thing she needed was someone who made her feel even worse.

“I’m going to my apartment,” she said. “I need to change.”

Martine nodded and Veronica swept out of the office and down the hallway toward the private wing that held the president’s apartment. Madame Brun had decorated the private rooms of the old French Baroque palace in her own taste, and Veronica hated it. It was Marie Antoinette all the way, with fluffy ruffled things, mirrors and delicate furniture upon which one was afraid to sit for fear of collapsing the spindly legs.

One of these days, she would redecorate. But right now, it was hardly important compared to everything else that was required of her.

Damn it, she would do a good job. For Aliz, for everyone who’d believed in her. Just as soon as she had some time alone, as soon as she collected herself and felt more normal, she was calling Signor Zarella. It was time to press him for a commitment, and she wasn’t taking no for an answer. She had to accomplish something positive or she would go mad.

She went into her bedroom and stripped out of her clothes. A shower and a fresh outfit would do her good. When she finished, she stepped from the shower and dried herself vigorously. Then she wrapped the towel around her body and went back into her bedroom to find a different outfit.

She came up short, her heart rocketing as she realized she wasn’t alone. But then she saw who it was. She put a hand over her chest, felt the pounding of her heart. “Martine. You scared me.”

“I’m sorry, Miss St. Germaine.” Tears flowed down Martine’s cheeks.

“What’s the matter, Martine?” Veronica said, taking a step toward her secretary.

Veronica stopped when Martine shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said again, her hand lifting, her arm stiff and straight.

It took Veronica only a split second to realize what was wrong.

Martine had a gun.