Читать книгу The Chatsfield: Series 2 - Эбби Грин, Кейт Хьюит - Страница 17

CHAPTER SIX

“WE HAVE SENT your woman back to the tent.”

Zayn looked at Jamal, something strange twisting in his gut as he turned over the words the other man had just spoken. “She is merely under my protection. Nothing more.”

“Then would you prefer she sleep elsewhere?”

“As I said,” Zayn replied, knowing he should be taking Jamal up on his offer, knowing he wouldn’t, “she is under my protection. That means she must stay close with me.”

“As you wish.”

“There is nothing between us.”

Jamal looked off into the distance, his eyes fixed on the horizon line. “It is none of my concern what you do or with whom. I care not for your affairs, Al-Ahmar. You should know this by now. So long as you stay out of my business, I will stay out of yours.”

“To a point, I’m certain.”

“Well, you are here now. So obviously it only extends to a point. Though I will say it is lucky for you that you now have me to deal with rather than my father. His welcome for you may not have been so hospitable.”

“And yet, hostility between us is pointless. We both want the same things. We both want what is absolutely best for those we rule over.”

“Ah, yes. But I do believe you and I often have differing opinions on what is best.”

Zayn looked toward the tent that was being provided for Sophie and himself. “I sometimes differ with myself as to what is best.”

“Indeed.” Jamal laughed. “Don’t we all?”

Far too often. “I shall retire now.”

Jamal arched a brow. “As would I if I had a woman such as that waiting for me in my tent.”

“You have a wife. And this woman is not my lover.”

“Calm down, Al-Ahmar. I have no designs on your woman. Neither will I repeat what I have seen here. We may not agree on everything, but I believe you are a man of honor. And for that reason I do not see the point in causing you any trouble.”

Zayn extended his hand, and Jamal clasped it and shook it. “On that we agree. And I must bid you good-night now.”

He turned and walked away from the other man, ignoring his assumptions. Doing his best to push them away from his mind. Yes, he and Sophie would share a tent tonight. But there was plenty of room for both of them. And he would not touch her.

He crossed the courtyard, passing the campfires that were starting to die down. He swept up the closure of the tent and encountered a wide-eyed-looking Sophie.

“Good evening.” He turned away from her and continued on to the corner of the massive space, where there was a seating area, where the bags he had had his staff prepare for them were sitting.

“What are you doing here?”

“This is a guest quarters. And as we are both guests, this is where we will both be staying.”

“I don’t even have any...” Her sentence trailed off as she looked at the bags he was now standing next to.

“You have everything. Naturally.”

“Naturally. I’m beginning to discover that staying with you means being taken care of whether I want to be or not.” He only stared at her. “Well, that’s not what I mean exactly.”

“You mean I give you absolutely no excuses for being unhappy? I make you comfortable. It must be awful considering you’re trying to feel like the wounded prisoner.”

“Well, I do feel slightly like the invaded prisoner at the moment. I was not aware we would be sharing a tent.”

He swept his hand across the expanse of the vast space. “Did you think you would have such a place to yourself?”

She blinked, tossing golden hair over her shoulders, the strands turning to golden fire in the lantern light. “I confess I didn’t really think it through.”

“I don’t suppose you did.” He gestured toward a swath of silk that was suspended from the ceiling. “Back there you will find the bed. It is fine with me if you have it. I’m happy to sleep on the couch.”

“As long as you acknowledge we’re sleeping in separate places.” He watched as her cheeks turned a fascinating shade of pink after the words left her lips.

“Naturally.” He jerked up the zipper on the duffel bag sitting on the couch, only to discover that it was the bag that had been filled with Sophie’s clothes. His hands came into contact with silk, smooth and slick, and not what he needed right at the moment. “I am not in the market for a lover. And were I in the market for a lover, it would certainly not be you.”

She sniffed. “Good. As long as we have an understanding.”

“Yes, as long as we do.” Heat burned in his chest, and his palms burned from where he had just made contact with the feminine clothing. Three years of celibacy really was far too long. If women’s clothing had the ability to get him hard, it was obvious things had been left untended for way too much time.

“Changing topic completely,” she said, “I think it’s time for the second part of our interview.”

“Do you think so?”

She crossed the space and moved to the sitting area, to the low chaise that sat across from the couch he was currently standing next to. She sat on the chaise, leaning against the back, the position accentuating her shape, forcing his eyes to her curves.

He shoved the duffel bags onto the floor and took a seat across from her. “I fear tonight there is no alcohol to help make this process any less painful.”

“I’m okay with that. I don’t actually drink all that much.” She propped her cheek on her fist.

“Why is that?”

“High in calories, expensive. Compromises control.”

“Yes, so you said. When you mentioned you had never had a hangover.”

She reached into the pocket of her pants and produced the little black recorder again. “You seem to be forgetting who’s doing the interviewing again.”

“No, I never forget. But I never give without getting in return. It is simply not how I operate.”

“And I don’t like to talk about myself. And you keep forcing the situation so that I am. It’s very irritating.”

“My apologies.”

“I doubt I have any sincere apologies from you. So let’s continue, shall we?”

He abruptly changed his mind about sitting. And pushed himself back to his feet. “What was it you asked me the other night?”

“I asked how it was your family ended up being in power. How are they chosen? I’m curious about the history of the Al-Ahmar family.”

“Yes.” He remembered, of course, but he had wanted her to bring it up again. Had wanted her to feel as though she was directing the flow of the interview. “Yes, that’s right. That is what you asked. As with anything, changes are imperfect. There was a time when we all lived like this.” He swept his hand around the tent. “Of course, we had no satellite phones.”

“Naturally not.”

“When we banded together, it was natural to want to come together under one leader. It was what we were used to.”

“You talk about it like you were there.”

He shrugged his shoulders. He supposed he did. Though it was something he barely gave any thought to. This was his history. “In many ways I was. My bloodline was there. It is not my direct family line that rules now, though we are the blood ancestors of the tribe that ended up taking control. It is a part of me.”

She shifted her position, and he turned away. “I’m curious, though, what it was that singled your people out as being worthy of leadership.”

“Do not think it wasn’t highly contested. It was no unanimous vote that brought my bloodline into power. But when war with a neighboring country broke out, a country that had long been unified especially in comparison with ours, it was my people who proved to be the greatest warriors. And it was in fact the death of our tribal leader in that battle, saving the women and children of another tribal group, that decided it. He would have been king, he would have been the sheikh, but he had perished protecting others. And so his son was made the first ruler of what became known as Surhaadi.”

Silence fell between them. There was no sound beyond the wind pushing against the tent.

“What a sad story. He sacrificed himself and he never knew what it accomplished.”

He turned back to her. “I like to think he knew. Whether or not he ever knew that it accomplished installing our family as the ruling power, I like to believe he knew in the end his sacrifice saved the women and children he set out to protect. He fought until he could not move, destroyed enemies, removed every threat, before breathing his last. I like to think he knew the most important thing his sacrifice accomplished.”

She looked away. “Well, it’s certainly a better ending. Even if you can’t quite call it a happier ending.”

“I like to think his sacrifice established what kind of leaders the Al-Ahmar family became. It is certainly the unspoken covenant that was made. That whoever should take charge of the newly banded-together tribes would lay down his life to protect the weakest among them. That he would not love his own life so much that he would seek protection for himself over others.”

She sat up, her hands folded in her lap, the recorder clutched in one of them. “Do you feel you do that? Do you feel you are carrying on the tradition?”

“Do I feel I am as self-sacrificial as an ancestor of mine who physically died protecting those around him? No. I don’t. However, I have done what I can to make sacrifices when I can, where I can.”

“Your marriage?”

He hesitated. This was on the record, this was an interview. One that would go out to millions of people worldwide. And as Sophie had already mentioned, the public loved a love story. But beyond that, he had no desire to hurt Christine with unvarnished honesty. That was assuming, of course, that Christine could be hurt by honesty, and he had doubts that she could be. But even so, sensitivity was very likely the better part of valor in this situation. Too bad he had not often been accused of being overly sensitive.

“I have always known that I would marry. For many years I had known it would be Christine. Ours is not a traditional relationship. We have not spent much time together, it is not physical. But it is based on love. A love for our countries. A desire to see things improve. If you see parallels there in terms of sacrifice, that is up to you.”

She leaned forward, green eyes intent on his. “Do you feel the love of a country is enough?”

“It is the truest love I know. It runs through my veins.”

“And you do not believe in love between two people?”

He had not picked her for a romantic, and indeed, there was only curiosity in her tone now. But still, there was something beneath it, something that fascinated him. Something that made him ache.

He thought of his own parents’ cold, distant union. And then he thought of Jasmine and her lover. Jasmine and that despicable playboy Damien, who he had once called a friend. Had that been love? An emotion so strong it pushed you to alienate friends and family and make fatal decisions? No, he had never seen evidence of love in his life.

“I am certain such a thing exists—” except that he wasn’t, but he was being recorded “—however, for my purposes this is the more lasting. This is more important.”

“Have you always felt that way?”

“No,” he said, an honest answer slipping from his lips before he could stop it.

“When did it change?”

He froze, his blood turning to ice. “Some time ago.”

“Was there a specific event?”

He gritted his teeth, feeling like she’d skillfully led him into a corner. Either he answered with some measure of honesty, or he refused. Refusal, at this point, would only make things worse.

“There used to be three of us. Myself, Jasmine and Leila. Jasmine passed away some years ago,” he said, trying to block the images from his mind that always came when he thought of Jasmine. Trying to forget the yelling, the accusations... “Grief like that, loss like that...changes you. It makes you reevaluate.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “For your loss.”

“It was a long time ago. But it changed things. For all of us.”

“Naturally. And anyway, in many ways your life is entirely different to the average person’s.”

“What do you mean?”

She brushed a strand of blond hair out of her face, and his gaze was caught by the elegant motion of her fingers. The action pulled his thoughts from the past, tugged him out of the mire of it before it could claim him completely.

She was all fine-boned sophistication, and yet there was more to her than that. Something deeper, something grittier and stronger. Were she only softness, were she only grace and poise, he would not be so captivated. It was the strength beneath it, the contrast, that held him in thrall.

“In my life I’ve only ever had to worry about myself for the most part. I mean, I certainly worry about what other people think of me, make no mistake. But only as it pertains to the way it affects me. You have to do things for other reasons. For bigger reasons. Your whole life is proof positive of the butterfly effect. When you make a small movement it really does affect millions. And I don’t think most of us can say that.”

“I don’t know. You’re a journalist. There is information you could bring the world that could easily affect millions. Or at least change the way they think about things.” He relished the chance to turn the spotlight back on her. To stop her from shining light on the dark places in his own life.

“That’s the ultimate goal. Although I never really thought of it in terms of what I did changing things for other people.”

“Did you not?”

“No, I thought about changing things for me. Because the minute I’m done making coffee and doing fluff pieces, I’m sure I’ll be able to see changes happening in my own life. Maybe being able to afford a nice new outfit for work. Not having to worry about paying my rent on time. Just being able to rest in the fact that I’ve made it.” She looked like she was about to say something else, her full lips twitching as though something uncomfortable was hovering over them.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It is something, or you would not look so much like holding it back was threatening to make you burst.” He knew it, because he’d felt it only moments ago.

She shook her head. “I want to reach a point where I will be admitted into certain functions. And when I am, I will walk up to my father and I will hold out my hand and I will say, ‘My name is Sophie Parsons. I don’t have your name because I wasn’t good enough for you to give it to me. But I’m here now in the same room you are, and whether you like it or not, and whether you want to acknowledge it or not, I am your daughter.’” She blinked rapidly. “And I will tell him that I made it into that room on my own merit. Without his help. Without his name, which is something none of his other children did. I will tell him that the child that wasn’t good enough for him is the one who really made it the farthest.”

Her words hit him with the force of a punch. In them he could hear where her determination came from. In them he gathered her motivation. And he suddenly understood why she worked so hard to fit in, why she had worked so hard to bring herself up from her modest background.

And it made sense suddenly why she had spoken of her mother with such disdain. It sounded as though the woman had loved someone who had abandoned them entirely, a man who had had other children while refusing to acknowledge her.

It was nothing he could relate to. His place in life had been assured from birth. His blood had assured him entry. His family name a given. A name that stretched back hundreds of years, that brought him reputation, that brought him admiration.

It had been a reputation he hadn’t been deserving of for a great many years, one he was striving to deserve now.

And in contrast, the woman across from him had been given nothing in terms of name and reputation. The woman sitting across from him had had to make her own way entirely. If he’d had to do that he would’ve never been able to transcend the mistakes of his past. But as it was, he had been forgiven. Simply a rebellious wayward royal who’d had too much power, and too much money. A young man who had been far too handsome for his own good, and who had only taken advantage of all that had been naturally afforded him as a result.

He’d had none of her disadvantages, and he’d abused every advantage he had been given.

He felt like saying something to her, and yet he felt advice from him was empty. Still, she had shared with him, and he owed something.

“They say the best revenge is living well,” he said. “And I feel you are doing that already.”

“You can’t deny the fact that I’m staying with royalty. Although not so much right now.”

“Jamal is royalty in his own right.”

“True.”

“But in all sincerity, I think your father was a fool. I think he was a fool to deny a daughter such as you.”

“Are you complimenting me?” She blinked owlishly.

“Do not seem so surprised. I have admiration for your determination and your mind, even if I cannot leave you entirely to your own devices. I was born with privilege. I was born belonging to my family. And I squandered it. I did not deserve it. It was something I took for granted. I would not be surprised if your other siblings have done the same. Someone like you, a daughter like you, should be appreciated. He did not, and so I think he is a fool.”

“How is it that you abused what you were given?” she asked, her voice muted. Her question sounded much more genuine than questions from her did typically. Much more personal, and much less like she was asking as a reporter.

“That I think we will save for tomorrow.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. And we still didn’t get to my scandal.”

“We’re getting there.” His stomach sank as he said the words, as he realized the truth in them. They were getting to the scandal, and he was starting to realize what he would have to give her as substitution for his lack of knowledge about James Chatsfield. As a substitution for the secret his sister carried. The one he had to keep Sophie away from at all costs.

He realized now where his stories were leading her, where they were leading them both. He had not before this moment, but he did now. The founding of a nation, self-sacrifice being the cornerstone of the monarchy. And the importance of acting with honor above all else. Of being worthy of the birthright he had been given without having to do any work at all.

“For tonight I suggest we get some sleep,” he said.

She stood, and he stopped pacing, pausing to look at her. The glowing of the lanterns overhead was more pronounced now that the light had dimmed further outside, and it was casting a golden sheen over her. And suddenly everything seemed to narrow in on Sophie.

Everything around her faded, the air growing tight. Pulling him nearer to her. Her green eyes glittered in the low light, her hair shimmering. She was temptation personified, sent to test him. While at the same time reminding him of his fatal weaknesses.

How was it one woman could represent both? How was it one woman could make him want to strive forward doing better, sacrificing himself for the greater good, while also inspiring him to drop it all, so that his arms were free to pull her into them? To bring her up against his body, kiss her, claim her, make her his?

He had no answers, he had nothing other than the burning ache in his gut. Nothing at all.

“Would you mind giving me some privacy while I get ready?” she asked.

He had no choice but to give her privacy. If he were in here while she readied herself for bed he doubted he would be able to control himself.

And with Jasmine so freshly on his mind, it seemed a blasphemy. With Leila, her secret and the weight of his responsibility pressing down upon him, he should be able to think of nothing else. Of Christine and their upcoming marriage.

And yet none of it seemed to matter half as much as what he felt when he looked at Sophie. It was a blasphemy. And yet it was one he was not certain he knew how to combat. It was one he was not certain he wanted to combat. It was such a foreign feeling, something lost back in time, something that had been bound up and twisted up in tragedy, in disgrace.

He’d had lovers in the years since he’d decided to take his role as sheikh more seriously. But it had been different. It had been with careful calculation and decision. It’d been at appropriate times, and in appropriate places. It had been nothing like this, this heady rush of heat and need that seemed to transcend reality, that seemed to transcend duty.

No, nothing transcended duty.

He could not afford to disrupt what was happening now. He could not throw away his future, his country’s future, Leila’s future, for the sake of a dalliance with an American journalist who would probably turn the entire thing into a tell-all.

She wouldn’t do that.

He gritted his teeth. He did not trust people easily as a rule, not anymore. Not after the betrayal of his friend Damien. And certainly, Sophie was not who he had originally assumed she was. She was not the cold-blooded tabloid leech, but he doubted she was a kitten, either.

She was a woman who had gotten into her position in life with sheer bloody-mindedness and determination. Underestimating that could be fatal. At least in terms of reputation.

Things were far too precarious for him to upset anything.

And he had an agreement with Christine, he had made her promises, and he could not go back on that.

“Of course I will step outside. Let me know when you are ready for me to return.”

* * *

Never. I will never be ready for you to return. Sophie kept all of that to herself, but she thought it at full volume. If he could somehow read thoughts it would be extremely helpful. Of course, if he could read thoughts he would know just how affected she was by being in close quarters with him. She didn’t like it at all. Not one bit.

She was much more disturbed by him than she could’ve ever imagined she might be.

She waited until he was gone, then went to the place where the bags were sitting, digging through them until she found a pair of silk pajamas. Of course he had made sure she would have overnight things. Because of course he had known they would end up spending the night out here. Perhaps he had even known they would end up staying in the same tent. Well, he had to have known.

He’s not trying to seduce you.

No, of course he wasn’t. And anyway, she was not seduceable. Not in the least. Men had tried, and men had failed. It wasn’t as though she intended to never have a relationship as long as she lived, it was just there had never been an appropriate time.

She’d watched her mother become a slave to sex, to desire, which she had always called love, but Sophie had doubted that very much.

It was weakness, and she would not be that weak. Would not be that sad and desperate. She’d gone out and made her own life, on her own terms.

Zayn was hot, there was no denying that. He was, in fact, the hottest guy she had ever seen in person. So there was that. And she was ready to admit it. It had been difficult to sort through her feelings for him when she had been half-afraid of him, but she wasn’t really afraid of him now. And now that the fog of terror had cleared a bit, she could say objectively that, yes, he was very handsome.

But handsomeness didn’t have anything to do with anything. She was here to do a job, not get distracted by a pretty face. Though she wouldn’t exactly characterize his face as pretty. His cheekbones were enviable, to be certain, and he had amazing eyelashes. If he were a woman he wouldn’t need to wear mascara. But that didn’t make him pretty. No, he was far too rugged for that. The dark stubble that covered his jaw by midday helped with that. As did the intensity in his dark eyes.

Magnetic. That was a better word for him.

And hot, hot still worked.

She mentally castigated herself while she put her pajamas on, while she tried to ignore just how sensual the fabric felt against her skin. Fabric was not sensual. None of this was.

Annoying was what it was. Well, not the fabric, the fabric was quite nice. But the feelings that he evoked in her were certainly annoying.

He was still stringing her along, too. She didn’t feel like she was any closer to getting the scandal than she had been on day one. He was interesting, and yes, she could use the material he was providing her for her career, but it wasn’t why she was here. It didn’t help Isabelle in any way. And neither did thinking about how pretty he was. Or wasn’t.

She finished dressing and went to the opening of the tent, pushing the flap back and poking her head outside. It was dark now, the golden light of the sun long since disappearing behind the dunes. Everything was golden brown during the day, fading into a strange yellowish white in the sky, a color she had never seen anywhere else. And now, in the dark, it was similarly monochromatic. Inky blues and slate grays covering the landscape.

She could see he was standing with his back to the tent, an imposing figure, a living shadow in the night.

“I’m ready.”

He turned to face her. “I find I am not.”

“Oh, well, so then...I guess I just can get in bed now?”

He waved a hand. “Do what you like. I will not be returning for the evening.”

“Where are you going?” She shouldn’t care, she didn’t care. In fact, she should be nothing but relieved that he was leaving. Somehow, though, relief wasn’t what she felt. She was just confused. Confused and concerned.

“I am going for a walk, and perhaps I will find somewhere to sleep for the night.”

“Well, you can sleep in here,” she said, the words dying on her lips when she caught sight of the feral glint in his eye. There was something dangerous there, something she couldn’t easily identify. But it called her, tugged at something deep inside of her, made her want to move forward, to close the distance between them rather than turn away. Which was not what she should be feeling. She should want to run, she should want to turn away from whatever that meant. But she didn’t.

She took a step toward him.

“Stop,” he bit out, the command coming down like a hammer on a nail.

She obeyed, because she was powerless to do anything else.

“The tent is big enough for the both of us. I’m sorry I made a big deal out of it before.” She tried again, even though she was certain she was making a mistake.

“I cannot stay. I would only do something we would both regret later.”

And before she could ask him what he meant he began to walk away from her, disappearing into the darkness. As though he had been swallowed up whole, consumed by a blackness that would never give him back.

Still, Sophie stood there and watched. She stood there until her eyes hurt from straining to see into the night. Stood there until she started to feel cold.

She didn’t know what it was about this man. She only knew that he was challenging things in her that no one else had ever been able to challenge before.

But what was far more frightening than that was the fact that she wanted him to challenge them. Was the fact that she was more intrigued than afraid?

She shook her head and turned away from the desert, walking back into the tent.

She was only having a moment of temporary insanity. It would pass.

She was in here for this. And anyway, Zayn was promised to another woman. And she would never be the kind of person who ignored something like that. She wasn’t going to tread on another woman’s territory. Her mother hadn’t minded, hadn’t cared that her lover had said vows to someone else, and Sophie had seen the destruction it had brought. Sophie would never be a part of something like that.

Though, even if she were that sort of woman, in the end, Zayn would never choose her. Men like him never chose the woman like her. They married the princess, they stayed with the socialite. That was the end of the discussion.

But it was moot because she wasn’t going there. She wasn’t even tempted.

She ignored the tightening in her stomach that called her a liar, and went to bed.

* * *

The next morning when Zayn returned to the tent, he was stiff and cold. It felt like the night air had worked its way into his joints, leaving behind a chill he couldn’t shake. Even so, sleeping out on the dunes had been preferable to sharing the space with Sophie. Well, perhaps it had not been preferable in the strictest sense of the word. But it had been necessary.

Though now he was in desperate need of some warmth. For all the brutality of the desert heat during the day, the cold was almost as biting. Though not quite as deadly.

He pushed the flap to the tent back, and strode inside. He was greeted by a sharp squeak and a flurry of motion.

Sophie was standing just behind the nearly sheer divider next to the bed hurriedly tugging a tunic over her head. A moment later she scrambled from behind the curtain, her cheeks pink, her face void of makeup, her blond hair fuzzy.

“Don’t you knock?”

He looked around at the canvas walls. “On what?”

“Oh, ha, ha. You could have at least signaled your presence. You could’ve shouted, or made some kind of a bird sound.”

“If we were staying a few extra days we might work out some kind of system, or code. But as we are leaving, I do not think it matters.”

She tucked her hair behind her ears, her expression fierce. “Well, of course you would say that, you weren’t the one who got walked in on while you were changing.”

“I doubt I would have been as concerned as you are.”

“Of course you wouldn’t be, I’m tiny. You’re invulnerable to me.”

It was an odd choice of words, because while he could see her point, he wasn’t entirely certain they were true. “But the fact you are vulnerable to me only matters if you think I would take advantage of you. And I would not.”

She arched a brow. “So you say.”

He gave her a look that he hoped telegraphed disdain. “So you can be confident of.”

“Right, well, a woman has to have a sense of self-preservation. The world is a scary place. Men can kidnap you from alleys.”

“Is that so?”

“I’ve heard stories.”

He felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Very terrifying. Are you about ready to go?”

She looked around the room. “I think I have everything all packed.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Quite. The bed was very comfortable. Did you?”

With the stiffness in his joints lingering, and the cold still wrapped around his bones, the idea of a good night’s sleep seemed laughable. “Not as such.”

“Where did you sleep?”

“I found a comfortable dune.”

He did not know why he was being honest with her. He should’ve told her that he had found a woman who’d been willing to share her sleeping bag. But then, that would imply that he had betrayed Christine, and he did not want her thinking that. Because she might tell someone. And because he did not want her to think he would do such a thing.

The first bit of reasoning was understandable, the second was somewhat beyond him, but it was true nonetheless.

“Please don’t tell me you slept outside.”

“Okay, then I won’t.”

“But you’re lying, aren’t you?” Her green eyes were wide now, the concern in them causing a strange warm feeling to spread outward from the center of his chest.

“Do not waste your tender feelings and large eyes on me. It was nothing I’ve never done before.”

“Well, now I feel bad. Because I made a big deal out of a sharing a tent together and then you went and slept outside.”

“You had a right to your privacy.”

She huffed. “Yes, of course I have a right to my privacy. But you were going to sleep on the couch. And as you said, you are no danger to me. I do know that.”

The warmth from a moment ago caught fire, and turned into something else. Turned into annoyance, and anger. “I would never hurt you, Sophie, on that you can trust me. But I might do something I should not. Something both of us would regret in the end.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. If you wouldn’t hurt me what could you possibly do that we would both regret?”

The flames climbed higher, and he advanced on her. He was beyond thought now, the only thing he could think of was warmth. The warmth she made him feel, that was banishing the cold that had been there only a moment before. And just how much warmer he knew she could make him feel if he but touched her. “Do you not understand?”

“No. I guess I don’t.”

He reached out and grabbed her arm, tugging her forward. He regretted it the moment he did it, but not enough to release her. “I would not hurt you, little Sophie, I would never do that. No, what I am tempted to do is something that would bring us both pleasure. But in the end I fear it would be something that could cause incredible damage.”

Her eyes widened, her pupils expanding in her green eyes, erasing the color. Her lips rounded into a perfect O, and he wondered if they would feel as soft as they looked beneath his own. He wondered what it would feel like to press her curves up against his body, to run his hands down the elegant line of her spine and grip the curve of her bottom. But those were questions that would go unanswered. Because he was determined to turn away from this. Any moment, he would turn away from this.

It didn’t matter that his blood was streaking through his veins like fire, it didn’t matter that he was so hard he could barely think straight, it didn’t matter that he wanted to taste her more than he wanted his next breath. Because it was something that could simply not happen. Because control was more important than this. Because duty was more important than anything.

Because of Christine. Because of Leila.

Because of Jasmine.

Three women who were all more important than the one who was standing in front of him, and yet, he could not bring himself to let her go.

Which is why you have to. This is insanity.

He released his hold on her and took a step backward, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

She pushed shaking hands through her hair, and guilt tore at him like a savage beast. “Oh, I guess I get what you meant now.”

“There is no need for us to speak of this again.”

“But...I mean... You can’t just pretend this didn’t happen.”

“We will. We will both pretend that it didn’t happen. Pretend I never said anything.” He turned away from her, keeping his eyes on the bland brown walls of the tent. “Now you know why I had to leave.”

“Because I tempt you?” The way she said it, with such innocence, with such wonder, only served to heighten the arousal that was already coursing through him.

“More than anything,” he said, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable even to his own ears.

“How is that possible? How can I possibly tempt you to do...anything?”

“You say that as though you have no idea of your appeal.”

“I don’t. I mean, you’re not the first man to ever hit on me, but I don’t think I can recall a man ever wanting me when he shouldn’t.”

He turned back to her. “There is a first time for everything, is there not?”

“I...I suppose so.”

He knew that he shouldn’t ask her the next question. Knew he should say nothing. And yet, the words burned in his mouth like hot coals. He had to spit them out, or swallow them whole, and leave them to burn him from the inside out. “Do I not tempt you?”

Her head jerked up sharply, her mouth falling open. “Do you tempt me?”

“I will not repeat myself.”

“I would have to be the most foolish woman in the world, or a very classic sufferer of Stockholm syndrome, to be tempted by you.”

“And yet, that does not answer the question.”

She turned away from him, her shoulders rising and falling sharply with her breath. “Do you know, I’ve only kissed one man.”

“I do not understand where this story is leading.” All he knew was that the moment the words had left her lips, the desire that he felt coiling in his stomach had gone unbearably tight, his need ramping up to unendurable proportions.

When she spoke again, her tone was thin, shaky. “It was at a party at university. And he was very popular. One of those very upper-crust-type guys. The kind that I would’ve done well to align myself with. Anyway, we ended up sitting on the couch together, and at one point during the evening he leaned over and kissed me. It was very disappointing. And yet sort of a relief, too. Because I knew then that I wouldn’t feel anything like the madness my mother seems to feel for my father. I knew that I was above it. I knew that it would never be a temptation.” She turned back to him, her green eyes fierce now. “But for some reason I’ve been wondering what it might be like to kiss you from the moment I saw you. I should want to hit you, not kiss you. And yet I find it’s just all mixed up. I don’t know why.”

Her words hit him with the force of a punch. And he gave thanks for the fact that he’d had the good sense to leave last night. Had he not they might have woken up to a world of regret in the morning. As it was, he would take the stiff joints. He refused to even allow his brain to process the full implication of what she was saying, because he knew that way lay further temptation. And he did not think he could handle that.

“You need not worry about it. Because nothing can come of it.” He said it is a warning to himself, more than he said it to her. “You can go on as you have done, and I will go on as I have done.”

“Of course. Obviously.”

“Good,” he said.

His stomach tightened, his entire body screaming at him to give in. To chase the feelings that were firing through his blood.

But he could not. It was impossible. Now and always. No matter how much he might want it.

If there was one thing the years had taught him, it was that he desired things that would ruin him. That would ruin other people.

He had no choice but to deny himself.

When they were back at the palace, back in their own quarters, things would be easier. They had to be. Otherwise he would find himself sleeping outside in the cold again, just to try and get a handle on his control.

“All right, then, shall we go?”

She nodded, a determined light in her eye that had nothing to do with going to eat breakfast, he was sure. “Yes, ready.”

* * *

Sophie could feel the tension stretching between herself and Zayn in the close confines of the SUV. She should never have been so honest with him earlier. He should never have been so honest with her. What had they been thinking?

More to the point, it was disturbing that what had passed between them was honesty.

How could she be attracted to him? How could she have confessed all of her secrets to him, and how could she still want to kiss him? None of it made sense. She knew better than to expose her inexperience, she knew better than to let anyone know when she felt in over her head. And yet she had done just that today when she had confessed to him that she’d only kissed one man, and only once. And then she made matters worse by immediately confessing that she would like to kiss him. It was all bad. All very, very bad.

And it all felt worse now that they were sitting in the close confines of the vehicle, driving down the road that seemed endless, with no sign of civilization anywhere around them. But overhead, the sky was starting to change color. The pale blue taking on a silver edge as clouds formed, rolling in quickly, looking ominous.

The farther away they got from the dunes, onto harder ground, the worse it became.

“What’s happening?” she asked, looking out at the swelling clouds.

“Nothing good.”

“Like...not normal not good?”

“Worse,” he said, looking out the windshield and up. “It is normal. And I have a feeling I know what’s going to happen.”

Fear twisted her stomach. “What?”

“Are you familiar with flash floods?”

“What, like on a personal level? No, I can’t say that I am.”

“I fear we are about to have one. And if we are, then the best thing we can possibly do is pull over and wait it out.”

“Is that all we can do?” She was feeling panicky now, and it had nothing to do with their previous conversation. In fact, at this moment, it was all but forgotten.

“We should get to higher ground. Hopefully I can set the tent up before it starts raining.”

“You have a tent?”

“Of course. It’s important to know how to survive out here, if you’re going to go out.”

“Well, I guess it’s my luck that I went out with the sheikh who happens to be a Boy Scout.”

“I don’t know about a Boy Scout. But I do know how to keep us alive.”

The relief that washed over her was palpable. Silly, because not even a drop of rain had fallen yet, and she was already imagining great torrents of water rushing down the road to meet them. She was being overdramatic again. But then when one was concerned about being washed away on a tide, was there such a thing as being overdramatic?

He maneuvered the vehicle off the road, and she gripped the door handle, trying to brace herself as they rolled over bumps, up an untraveled hillside. “I’m going to keep driving until I feel like we’re high enough, okay?”

She was somewhat touched that he seemed to have sensed her nerves, and somewhat defensive also. Because she didn’t like people to see her weaknesses, but then hadn’t she already showed hers to him? Not now, but earlier. Anyway, she supposed there were no points for pretending she knew what she was doing out here. It was obvious she didn’t. She was a stranger in a strange land, so to speak.

The thought made her feel an odd kind of weightlessness, and it had nothing to do with the pitching and rolling of the vehicle. Out here, in this vast, unknown desert, there was no reason to pretend. Because he already knew.

“Okay.” They kept on driving until they reached the top of the ridge, and then Zayn put the vehicle in Park.

“We’ll make camp here. We may not need to stay, but if it does start to rain it will flood the road. All of it will run down the side of this embankment, and none of it should pool here. We should be safe.”

“Your tent is going to keep us dry in a torrential downpour?”

“Of course it will. It isn’t as though it’s the sort of thing you could buy at a sporting goods store. It is made for this kind of weather.”

“I suppose that’s the perk of being royalty.”

“This has nothing to do with being royalty. Nothing to do with the latest technology. These tents were made by Surhaadi’s finest craftsmen. Using the same techniques that have been used for hundreds of years. We have always had rain such as this in the desert, and sandstorms. And we have always needed to seek shelter away from it.”

She looked back up at the sky, which had grown even angrier in the past few minutes. “I suppose we should hurry.”

“What do you mean ‘we’?” He opened the driver side door and got out.

She opened her door, and followed. “Well, I didn’t figure I would leave you to set up the tent all by yourself.”

“Do you know how to set up a tent?”

“Not really. Not much camping happening while growing up in suburban New York. But still, I thought you might need help holding some things, or something.”

He raised the dark brow. “Or something.”

He rounded the SUV and opened the back hatch, pulling out a compact bundle. It didn’t look like it could be much of anything, much less large enough for the two of them. But then, she doubted it would be anything half so large or luxurious as the one she had stayed in with the tribe last night.

“Will Jamal and his people be all right?” It occurred to her suddenly that they seemed to be at a lower elevation.

“Yes, that area is not so affected by these thunderstorms. The ground has more moisture and the water sinks faster. Even if they get a downpour it’s very likely it won’t flood.”

“It’s amazing how different it can be only fifty miles away.”

“Yes, indeed. The capital city is built at a higher elevation so that torrential downpours like this don’t affect the infrastructure. Jamal and his tribe stay farther east where they are not as likely to get floods. It’s this in-between part that is less hospitable to all.”

He picked up the bundle and slung it over his shoulder, walking across the expanse of bare ground to a place on the ridge that seemed to be flat. At least as flat as they were going to find on the rocky terrain.

He started to unpack the bundle.

“Is there anything I can do?”

He looked up at the sky. “Well, if it starts to rain you could always hold an umbrella.”

“You’re joking, right?”

He leveled his dark gaze on her. “Yes, I am joking.”

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

He smiled, and she felt the impact down to her toes. “I may yet have some surprises in store for you, Sophie Parsons.”

* * *

As Sophie had guessed, the tent was small. Oh...so small. If the tent back by the oasis had felt crowded with his presence, this would be unendurable. She would melt. She was sure of it. And she could not afford to melt.

But you already are...

She ignored the treacherous thought and went back to examining the tent.

It was not tall enough for either of them to stand. Sophie only had to crouch, but Zayn had to bend at the waist. There was room enough for them to sit, but it was very close quarters and she feared it would drive them both to the edge of madness.

Before this she had had no experience with firsthand lust madness. In fact, she had absolutely fancied herself immune. Now, she was not so cocky.

As soon as Zayn was finished, fat raindrops started to fall on them, and Sophie made a dash for the tent. Zayn followed closely behind, a backpack slung over his shoulder.

“I have food in here,” he said as he ducked his head and entered the tent, dropping to his knees near where she was standing, hunched over in the corner.

“Well, I am a fan of food.”

The rain started to fall in earnest, as if the skies had cracked open, letting it all pour out now with no restraint, making up for the countless dry days that had come before. It splattered against the roof of the tent, the sound like a handful of pins being dropped on a marble floor.

“It is nothing special.” He unzipped the top of the backpack and produced sealed bags of flatbread, grapes and some other fruits she couldn’t readily identify.

“It all works.”

He also took out two bottles of water, handing her one and keeping one for himself.

He adjusted his position so that he was sitting with his legs crossed and he gestured for her to sit, as well. She did, unscrewing the cap on the water bottle and taking a long drink.

He extended his hand and offered the bag to her. She plucked one round purple fruit off the stem and popped it into her mouth. She suddenly realized she was still looking at him, looking at his dark eyes. She looked away. Her stomach was tight, her heart fluttering.

She was getting distracted again. She did her best to get a grip on herself. But she still felt that strange weightless feeling she’d felt since the moment she’d accepted that she didn’t have to pretend just now. It made her want to hold on to the feeling, made her want to hold it close and examine it, not push it down.

Too bad she didn’t have a choice. Maybe she needed to get a date when she got back to New York. Stop ignoring this part of herself. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe it wasn’t Zayn, but the culmination of twenty-five years of celibacy. She hadn’t really intended to leave it that long, but all things considered she’d had a lot of stipulations placed on the whole sleeping with someone thing.

Maybe she needed to stop taking it so seriously. Because this wasn’t normal. The strange, intense feeling that was blooming in her chest, spreading down to her stomach, and into her extremities.

No, this could not be normal at all. She’d heard people talk about butterflies, but this was somewhere beyond that. This was beyond anything she’d ever heard about.

But no matter how strong it was, it didn’t make it any less impossible.

She looked away from him, desperate to catch her breath, desperate to catch her sanity.

She adjusted one of the blankets he had laid on the floor so that it offered a bit of support for her back. “Since we’re here for a while...I think it’s time for the third interview.”

“Do you?” he asked, his expression growing guarded.

Every so often she had the feeling she was skirting around the edges of something deep. Something real. It made her both curious, and afraid.

Part of her didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to be the keeper of his secrets.

“Since we’ve talked about how the country came to be, and how the monarchy came to be. I think it’s time to talk about you.” She took another sip of water and reached out for the bag of grapes.

“Me?” he asked, and there was no question of whether or not he was guarded now. She could see it happening, watch the depth in his dark eyes recede, replaced by a flatness that terrified her.

But she couldn’t back down. Not now. She had to get to the heart of why she was here. And she had a feeling it would never happen until she got to the heart of the man.

He paused for a moment, his eyes fixed behind her. Then he started speaking again. His words slow, monotone.

“It is interesting how time changes things. Surhaadi has been a very wealthy country since before my birth. So far removed from the scattered groups of people living in tents in the desert. This has brought positive change, new developments, the opportunity for good education. And yet, prosperity does not always build the best of characters. This is a story about a flawed character.”

His tone was grave, stoic, and she found herself looking at him again, even though she’d just been telling herself to get a grip. “And this is about you?”

“When a man knows from the day of his birth that one day an entire nation will bow at his feet, it affects him. I was told the history of our country, but unfortunately I missed the moral. It was all a very interesting story about battles, about destroying the bad guys. What I did not realize was that it was also about sacrifice. That it was intended to form the way I saw the throne. That it was not enough for a leader to simply have power. It is woven into the fabric of our country that a leader must be willing to sacrifice above all else. But those realities were lost on me. Those stories, those values, were dusty relics in my mind. And everything in life was shiny and new.”

He adjusted his position and opened one of the bags that contained a piece of flat bread. He tore off a piece and ate it slowly, as if he was carefully considering his next words. He swallowed and continued. “Nothing was off-limits to me and I set no boundaries for myself. I was the despair of my mother, and I earned my father’s disdain. Make no mistake, it was earned. My father was a wise man, serious, and consumed with the idea of honor. And I was a son who had none. I was a son who cared for nothing more than acquiring the latest model of car, or finding the best nightspots throughout Europe. I had a large network of friends who helped me gain access to those places. Who helped me pick up women.”

It was jarring to think of him in this way. As a young man consumed by the idea of acquiring more wealth. She had seen nothing of that in him from the moment she met him. His only concern had ever been for his family. His family and his country.

“My father warned me that my behavior would lead to ruin, that it would lead to death. But I didn’t care. Because I had never seen evidence of a consequence. Because money and power had spared me from every single one. If we trashed a hotel room, I could more than afford to pay someone to clean it up. If we got into a fender bender, it was easy to throw money at the owner of the other car and make it all go away. When I was through with a lover, all I had to do was give her a trinket and she would be happy again. She would go on her way feeling pleased at her dalliance with a sheikh. Yes, I lived my life consequence-free for a great many years.”

She tried to read what he was feeling, tried to understand what he was thinking by looking into his eyes. But there was nothing there. Nothing but an endless black well. “What changed? Because something had to. Otherwise I very much believe you would still be cutting a party swath through Europe.” And who wouldn’t? She’d never had the luxury of living consequence-free, she’d always had to work harder. Had her life been different, she very likely would have been different to.

“You are not wrong. Something did change. My father was proven right.”

“What do you mean?”

He drew in a sharp breath and looked down, his shoulders tightened.

“Zayn,” she pressed. “What is it that he said?”

There was nothing but silence in the tent for long moments. Nothing but water on canvas. Then Zayn looked up at her, his eyes dark pits.

“My father said my behavior would end in ruin. He said it would end in death. And it did, Sophie. My actions caused the death of my sister.”