Читать книгу The Sheikh's Collection - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 45
ОглавлениеSHE’D BEATEN HIM to it, Khalil thought bemusedly, even as an elemental panic clawed at his insides. He’d been considering marriage to Elena as a solution to both of their problems since this morning. Yet looking at her now, seeing the hope and determination blazing in her eyes, everything in him resisted. There had to be another solution.
Slowly he shook his head. ‘That’s impossible, Elena.’
‘Why is it impossible?’ she demanded.
‘Because I have no wish or reason to marry you, Elena.’ Better to be brutal. Nip it in the bud, if he could. ‘You may be desperate, but I am not.’
She flinched, but only slightly. ‘Are you sure about that, Khalil?’
‘Quite sure. You asked for a wedding night, Elena, not a marriage.’
‘Well, now I’m asking for a marriage.’
‘And I’m telling you the answer is no.’ He rose from his chair, fought the panic that was crashing over him in tidal waves. ‘This discussion is over.’
She raised her eyebrows, a small smile playing about her mouth. A mouth he’d kissed. Tasted. He forced his gaze upwards but her eyes just reminded him of how they’d been filled with need and joy when he’d slid inside her. Her hair reminded him of how soft and silky it had felt spread across his chest. Everything about her was dangerous, every memory a minefield of emotion.
‘You don’t even want to think about it?’ she challenged and he folded his arms.
‘I do not.’
‘You almost sound scared, Khalil,’ she taunted, and fury pulsed through him because he knew she was right. Talking about marriage scared the hell out of him, because he was afraid it wouldn’t be the cold, convenient arrangement she’d intended to have with Aziz. She’d want more. He would.
And that was far, far too dangerous.
‘It’s simply not an option,’ he told her shortly.
‘Even though you’ve already told people we’re married?’
He felt his jaw bunch, his teeth grit. ‘I didn’t tell anyone.’
‘Semantics, Khalil. The result was the same. And, no matter what you tell yourself or me, there will still be repercussions for you.’
‘I’m perfectly aware of that, Elena.’ He heard a patronising note enter his voice and knew it was the lowest form of self-defence. Everything she was saying was true, yet still he fought it. ‘As I told you before, by the time people learn the truth I will be established in Siyad as Sheikh.’
‘And that’s how you want to start your rule? Based on a lie?’
He pressed his lips together, forced the anger back. ‘Not particularly, but events dictated it be thus. I will deal with the consequences as best as I can.’ All because of his own stupid weakness concerning this woman.
‘And what if your people decide you might be lying about other things? What if they assume you lied about your parentage and Aziz is the true heir?’
Just like his father had lied. He would be no better, and the realisation made him sick with both shame and fury. ‘Are you trying to argue your way into a marriage the way you argued your way into my bed?’ he demanded, and she flinched then, her face crumpling a little before she quickly looked away. Khalil swore softly. ‘Elena,’ he said quietly, ‘I understand you feel you need a husband. But I am not that man.’
He couldn’t be.
‘It makes sense,’ she whispered. She still wouldn’t look at him and the fury left him in a weary rush. He wanted to pull her into his arms. Kiss her sadness away.
But he couldn’t marry her. He couldn’t open himself up to that weakness, that risk, that pain.
‘I can see how it might make sense to you,’ he said carefully. ‘You need a convenient husband.’
‘And you need a convenient wife.’ She swung around to face him with a challenging stare. ‘Your people want you to marry. We saw that when we were with them. They think you’re married to me already! One day you’ll need an heir—’
‘One day.’ Khalil cut her off swiftly. ‘Not yet.’
‘I won’t ask anything of you that you wouldn’t want to give,’ Elena continued doggedly. ‘I won’t fall in love with you, or demand your time or attention. We can come to an arrangement, like I had with Aziz—’
‘Don’t mention his name,’ Khalil said, his voice coming out like the crack of a whip. Elena’s eyes widened; she was startled, and so was he.
Where was all this emotion coming from? This anger and...hurt? Because the thought of her with Aziz made his blood boil and his stomach churn. He couldn’t bear to think of her with anyone else, not even a man he knew she didn’t love, barely knew.
They stared at each other, the very air seeming to spark with the electric charge that pulsed between them: anger and attraction. Desire and frustration.
‘I won’t, then,’ Elena said quietly. ‘But you could at least think of it, Khalil. You’ll have to marry some day. Why not me? Unless...’ She paused, nibbling her lip. ‘Unless you’re holding out for love.’
‘I am not.’
‘Well, then.’
He just shook his head, unwilling to articulate just why he was rejecting her proposal out of hand. He couldn’t admit to her that he was actually scared. ‘What about you? You’re not interested in love?’
She hesitated, and he saw the truth in her eyes. She was. She wouldn’t admit it to him, but she was. ‘I can’t afford to be interested in love.’
‘You might decide one day you want someone who loves you,’ he pointed out, trying to sound reasonable when in fact he felt incredibly, insanely jealous at the thought of another man loving her. Touching her.
‘I won’t,’ she told him. ‘I won’t let myself.’
‘Even if you wanted to?’
‘Are you worried I’m going to fall in love with you, Khalil?’
No—he was terrified that he was already in love with her. Khalil spun around. ‘Put like that, it sounds arrogant.’
‘I’ll try to keep myself from it.’ She spoke lightly, but he had a feeling she was serious. She didn’t want to fall in love with him, and why should she? He would only hurt her. He wouldn’t love her back.
Except maybe you already do.
‘We’ve both been hurt before,’ Elena said after a moment. ‘I know that. Neither of us wants that kind of pain again, which is why an arrangement such as the one I’m suggesting makes so much sense.’
It did. He knew it did. He shouldn’t be fighting it. He should be agreeing with her, coolly discussing the arrangements.
Instead he stood there, silent and struggling.
Elena didn’t want his love, wouldn’t make emotional demands. In that regard, she would make the perfect wife.
And yet looking at her now he saw the welter of hope and sadness in her eyes. Felt it in himself. And he knew that no matter how they spun it, no matter what they agreed on, marriage to Elena would be dangerous. Because, even if some contrary part of him actually longed for the things he said he couldn’t do, didn’t want—love, intimacy, trust, all of it—the rest of him knew better. Knew that going down that road, allowing himself to feel, yearn and ache, was bad, bad news.
No matter how practical Elena’s suggestion might be, he couldn’t take it.
‘I’m sorry, Elena,’ he said. ‘But I won’t marry you. I can’t.’
She stared at him for a moment, her wide, grey eyes dark with sadness, and then turning darker still with acceptance. Slowly she nodded.
‘Very well,’ she said, and without another word she turned and left the tent.
Khalil stared at the empty space she’d left, his mind spinning, his heart aching, hating that already he felt so bereft.
* * *
It had been worth a shot, Elena told herself as she walked back to her tent, escorted by the same men who guarded her. They didn’t speak and neither did she, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to manage a word. Her throat ached and she was afraid that if she so much as opened her mouth she’d burst into tears.
Back in her tent she sat on her bed, blinking hard to contain all the pain and hurt she felt. Then suddenly, almost angrily, she wondered why she bothered. Why not have a good cry? Let it all out? No one was here to hear her or think her weak or stupid or far too feminine.
She lay down on her bed, drew her knees up to her chest and swallowed hard. Crying—letting herself cry—was so hard. She’d kept everything in for so long because she’d had to. Men like Markos were always looking for chinks in her armour, ways to weaken her authority. Shedding a single tear would have been just handing them ammunition. The only time she ever cried was when she had nightmares.
In Khalil’s arms.
She hadn’t consciously, deliberately accessed that hidden, vulnerable part of herself for years, and it was hard to reach it now, even when she wanted to. Sort of.
She took a shuddering breath and clutched her knees harder, closed her eyes and felt the pressure build in her chest.
Finally that first tear fell, trickling onto her cheek. She dashed it away instinctively, but another came, and another, and then she really was crying. Her shoulders shaking, the tears streamed as ragged sobs tore from her throat. She pressed her hot face into the pillow and let all the misery out.
It was not just sadness about her wrecked wedding, or Khalil, but about so much more: the needless deaths of her parents and the fact that she hadn’t been able to grieve for them as she should have. Her broken relationship with Paulo, her shattered trust. The four lonely years she’d endured as Queen, working hard for the country she loved, suffering Markos’s and other councillors’ sneers and slights, trying desperately to hold onto the one thing her parents wanted her to keep.
And yes, she realised as she sobbed, she was crying about Khalil. He’d helped her in so many ways, opened her up, allowed her to feel and trust again. She’d miss him more than she wanted to admit even to herself. More than he’d ever want to know.
* * *
Khalil turned back to the reports he’d been studying, reports detailing Kadar’s response to Aziz, polls that confirmed outside of Siyad he was not a popular choice as Sheikh. It was news that should have encouraged him, but he only felt restless and dissatisfied—and it was all because of Elena. Or, really, all because of him and his reaction to her and her proposal.
He should have said yes. He should have been strong and cold and ruthless enough to agree to a marriage that would stabilise his country, strengthen his claim. Instead he’d let his emotions rule him. His fear had won out, and the realisation filled him with self-fury.
‘Your Highness?’
Khalil waved Assad forward, glad to think about something else. ‘You have news, Assad?’
Assad nodded, his face as stony and sombre as always. Khalil had met him eight years ago, when he’d joined the French Foreign Legion. They’d fought together, laughed together and saved each other’s lives on more than one occasion. And, when the time had been right for Khalil to return to Kadar, Assad had made it possible. He’d gathered support, guarded his back.
None of this would have been possible without Assad, yet Khalil still didn’t trust him. But that was his fault, not his friend’s.
‘Is something the matter?’ he asked and Assad gave one terse nod.
‘Aziz has married.’
Khalil stilled, everything inside him going cold. He’d always known this was a risk, yet he was still surprised. ‘Married? How? Who?’
‘We’re not sure. Intelligence suggests someone on his staff, a housekeeper or some such.’
‘He married his housekeeper?’ Poor Elena. No matter what she had or hadn’t felt for Aziz, it would still be a blow. And with a jolt Khalil realised he shouldn’t even be thinking about Elena; he should be thinking about his rule.
Aziz had fulfilled the terms of his father’s will. He would be Sheikh.
And Khalil wouldn’t.
Abruptly he rose from his chair, stalked to the other side of the tent. Emotion poured through him in a scalding wave, emotion he would never have let himself feel a week ago. Before Elena.
She’d accessed that hidden part of himself, a part buried so deep he hadn’t thought it existed. Clearly it did, because he felt it all now: anger and guilt. Regret and fear. Hurt.
‘All is not lost, Khalil,’ Assad said quietly, dropping the honorific for once. ‘Aziz is still not popular. Secretly marrying a servant will make him even less so.’
‘Does that even matter?’ Khalil bit out. ‘He’s fulfilled the terms of the will. He is Sheikh.’
‘But very few people want him to be.’
‘So you’re suggesting a civil war,’ Khalil stated flatly. ‘I didn’t think Aziz would go that far.’ And he wasn’t sure he would either, no matter what he’d thought before. Felt before.
Risking so much for his own crown, endangering his people, was not an option he wanted to consider now.
Things were changing. They’d already changed.
He wasn’t the cold, ruthless man he’d once been, yet if he wasn’t Sheikh...
What was he?
‘A civil war is not the only option,’ Assad said quietly. ‘You could approach Aziz, demand a referendum.’
Khalil let out a mirthless laugh. ‘He has everything he wants. Why would he agree?’
‘There is something to be said for a fair fight, Your Highness,’ Assad answered. ‘Aziz might want to put the rumours and unrest behind him. If he wins the vote, his throne is secure.’
And Khalil would have no chance at all. He would have to accept defeat finally, totally—another option he didn’t like to consider.
‘There are a lot of people in Siyad,’ he said with an attempt at wryness, and Assad smiled.
‘There are a lot of people in the desert.’
‘Aziz might not even agree to see me. We haven’t seen each other since we were children.’
‘You can try.’
‘Yes.’ He nodded slowly, accepting.
‘You still have the stronger position,’ Assad stated steadily. ‘You always have. The people are loyal to you, not to Aziz.’
‘I know that.’ He felt his throat go tight. Did he really deserve such loyalty? And did he dare trust it? He knew how quickly someone could turn on you. Only the day before his father had thrown him out of the palace, he’d sat in on one of Khalil’s lessons, had chucked him under the chin when Khalil had said his times tables.
Stupid, childish memories, yet still they hurt. They burned.
‘So you will speak to Aziz?’
Khalil ran his fingers through his hair, his eyes gritty with fatigue. A thousand thoughts whirled through his mind, and one found purchase: one way forward, one way to solidify his position and strengthen his claim to the throne.
Now more than ever, he needed to marry Elena.
Aziz’s bride. The woman the country had already accepted as the Sheikh’s wife-to-be. The woman at least one tribe already thought was his wife.
He’d reacted so forcefully against it because he didn’t want to risk his emotions or his heart. So, he wouldn’t. Just like her, he couldn’t afford to look for love. He’d keep a tight rein on his emotions and have the kind of marriage both he and Elena wanted: one of mutual benefit...and satisfaction.
Just the thought of being with Elena again sent desire arrowing through him.
‘The servant is not even Kadaran,’ Assad said quietly, and Khalil wondered if his friend and right-hand man had guessed the progression of his thoughts.
‘Neither is Elena,’ Khalil answered, and Assad smiled faintly. Khalil now knew he had been thinking along the same lines.
‘She is a queen, an accepted choice. Marrying her would work in your favour.’
‘I know.’ Khalil took a deep breath, let it out slowly. ‘I know.’
‘Then...?’
‘I’ll go find her.’ And by this time tomorrow, perhaps, he would be married.
The camp was quiet and dark all around him as Khalil walked towards Elena’s tent. A strange mix of emotions churned within him: resolve, resignation and a little spark of excitement that he tried to suppress.
Yes, he would enjoy Elena’s body again. But this would be a marriage of convenience. No more play-acting at love. No more pretending. No more feeling.
The guards stepped aside as he came to the tent and drew the curtain back—and stopped short when he saw Elena curled up on her bed, her face pressed into her pillow, sobbing as if her heart would break.
Or had already been broken...by him.
* * *
‘Elena...Elena!’
Elena felt hard hands on her shoulders drawing her up from her damp pillow and then cradling her against an even harder chest.
Khalil. For a second she let herself enjoy the feel of him. Then she remembered that she’d been bawling her eyes out and twisted out of his embrace.
‘You should have knocked,’ she snapped, dashing the tears from her cheeks. She probably looked frightful, her face blotchy, her eyes red and swollen...
She sniffed. And her nose was running. Perfect.
‘Knock?’ Khalil repeated, one eyebrow raised in eloquent scepticism. ‘On the flap of a tent?’
‘You know what I mean,’ she retorted. ‘You should have made your presence known.’
Khalil regarded her quietly for a moment. ‘You’re right,’ he finally said. ‘I should have. I’m sorry.’
‘Well.’ She sniffed again, trying desperately for dignity. ‘Thank you.’
‘Why were you crying, Elena?’
She shook her head as if she could deny the overwhelming evidence of her tears. ‘It’s been a couple of very long days,’ she muttered. ‘I was... I’m just tired.’
‘You weren’t crying as if you were just tired.’
‘Why do you care?’ she demanded. Perhaps going on the offensive was best.
Khalil opened his mouth, then shut it again. ‘I don’t care,’ he answered. ‘But I want to know.’
‘I’ve got a lot going on in my life that has nothing to do with you, Khalil. Maybe I’m crying about that.’ She wasn’t about to admit that she had been crying about him along with everything else that had gone wrong in her life.
‘I wasn’t assuming you were crying about me,’ he stated quietly. His voice was calm but he sounded as if he was trying not to grit his teeth.
‘Weren’t you?’ Elena retorted. ‘Ever since spending the night together you’ve been completely paranoid that I’m obsessing over you, and I can assure you, I’m not.’
‘What a relief.’
‘Isn’t it?’
They glared at each other. Elena folded her arms and tried to stare him down; Khalil’s eyes sparked annoyance and his mouth was compressed.
‘Why did you come into my tent, anyway?’ she finally asked, their gazes still clashing. ‘Have you learned something? Some news?’
‘Yes, I have.’
Her stomach rolled and she felt her nails bite into her palms. ‘What have you heard? Has Markos called for a meeting?’
‘I haven’t heard any news from Thallia, Elena. I think they still believe you are safely with Aziz.’ Khalil’s mouth was still a hard line but his expression seemed softer somehow, his eyes almost sad. ‘It’s Aziz,’ he said after a pause. ‘He’s married someone else, just like you said he would.’
‘He has?’ Her eyes widened as she considered what this meant for Khalil. ‘He did it within the six weeks?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then he fulfilled...?’
‘The terms of my father’s will.’ Khalil nodded. ‘Yes, he did. But you...? You’re not sad?’
She stared at him in disbelief. ‘About Aziz? I gave up on him a while ago, Khalil.’
‘Yes, but...still...he chose someone else. Rather quickly.’
‘So did I.’ She gave him a look filled with dark humour. ‘At least Aziz received a positive answer to his proposal.’
‘Yes...’ He shook his head, almost as if to clear it. ‘About that proposal...’
‘Trust me, you don’t need to remind me how much you don’t want to marry me, Khalil. I got that the first time.’
‘I’m sorry if I seemed...negative.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘That’s an understatement.’ Better to joke than to cry. In any case, she wasn’t sure she had any tears left, just a heavy sense of weariness, a resignation that nothing was going to be easy. That she’d probably lose her crown.
‘You surprised me,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t expecting... I’ve never expected...’
‘I know.’ She shook her head, exasperated, exhausted and definitely not needing to hash through all this again. ‘Why are we even talking about this, Khalil?’
‘Because,’ he answered evenly, ‘I’ve changed my mind.’
She blinked and then blinked again, the meaning of his words penetrating slowly. ‘You’ve what?’
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ he repeated clearly. ‘I want to marry you.’
Elena opened her mouth, then closed it again. ‘Well,’ she finally managed. ‘That was a charming proposal.’
‘Don’t be absurd, Elena. This is about convenience, for both of us.’
‘You didn’t seem to think so an hour ago.’
‘Aziz’s marriage has made me realise I need to strengthen my position.’
‘But if he’s married,’ Elena said slowly, ‘he’s fulfilled the terms of the will. How can you fight that?’
‘I can’t. I don’t want to start a war. The only thing I can do is confront him openly—demand he call the referendum. Perhaps I should have done that before, but it seemed too easy for Aziz to refuse. Perhaps it still is.’
‘And marrying me will strengthen your position when it comes to a vote.’
Khalil gazed at her evenly. ‘Yes.’
‘That’s quite a sacrifice for you to make,’ she said a bit sharply. ‘Just to look good for a vote.’
‘I am the rightful Sheikh, Elena,’ Khalil said, his voice rising with the force of his conviction. ‘That is who I am, who I always will be. I’ve lived my entire life waiting for the day I took the throne. Every choice I’ve made, every single thing I’ve done, has been to that end. Not for revenge, but for justice. Because it is right—’ He broke off, forced a smile. ‘In any case, marrying you is not a sacrifice.’
‘No?’
‘We are friends, are we not? And we have enjoyed each other’s bodies. Neither of us wants anything more.’ He smiled, reached out to touch her face. ‘It’s a match made in heaven.’
‘That’s an about-face if I’ve ever seen one,’ she huffed.
‘I admit, your proposal shocked me. I reacted emotionally rather than sensibly.’
‘I didn’t think you had emotions.’
‘You know I do, Elena.’ His gaze seemed to burn into hers. ‘I will be honest. This—’ he gestured between them ‘—scares me.’
Elena felt as if a giant fist had taken hold of her heart. ‘It scares me too, Khalil.’
‘So that is why we will agree to this convenient marriage,’ he answered with a small smile. ‘Because neither of us wants to be hurt again.’
‘Right,’ Elena agreed, but to her own ears her voice sounded hollow. They didn’t want to be hurt again—but she wondered if she or Khalil would be able to keep themselves from it.
