Читать книгу The Sheikh's Collection - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 47

CHAPTER TWELVE

ELENA CLOSED THE door quietly behind her and leaned against it, her eyes closed, exhaustion making every muscle and sinew ache. It had been a long, stressful, overwhelming and yet ultimately successful day.

She hadn’t had a chance to tell Khalil how grateful she was for his support, from the showdown with the Council to his effortless grace and charm before the press. It had been a tense diplomatic moment, supporting Khalil’s claim to Kadar’s throne publicly, and one her Council had initially balked at. But Khalil had stood by her and it was her turn to stand by him.

Side by side. That was the kind of marriage she wanted. And today it had felt as if Khalil wanted it too.

Maybe all he needed was time to get used to the idea, to learn to love again...

Because she loved him. It had been utter foolishness to pretend she didn’t, or wouldn’t. She’d been fooling herself as well as Khalil, but now she wanted to be honest. Wanted to admit her feelings for him, her love, respect and desire.

Yes, desire. She’d felt it all day like an in-coming tide, lapping at her senses, washing over her body. Every aspect of him appealed to her, from his hard-headed pragmatism to his sudden sensitivity, to that sensual blaze of heat in his eyes...

They hadn’t spoken privately since the plane, since she’d told him about Paulo—and she’d seen no judgement or condemnation in his eyes, just understanding and a surprising compassion, which just added to her desire. He was, she’d realised, not for the first time but with growing certainty, a good man.

After the press conference he’d gone to deal with matters relating to Kadar, and she had met with her personal assistant to review the schedule for the next few days. A team of lawyers had hammered out an agreement concerning the marriage terms that they’d both signed, and then they’d eaten dinner with a handful of dignitaries before parting ways, Khalil to a guest suite in another wing and she to her own suite of rooms.

Already she missed him. She needed to talk to him, she realised; they’d set the wedding for tomorrow and yet had barely discussed the details beyond a clinical meeting with the legal team. In any case, she didn’t want to talk business; she just wanted to be with him.

Swiftly she turned around and opened the door, slipped from her room and down several corridors to where she knew Khalil was staying.

She stood in front of his door, her palms slightly damp and her heart beginning to race. She knocked.

‘Enter.’

Elena stepped inside and the whole world seemed to fall away as her gaze focused on Khalil. He’d undone the studs of his tuxedo shirt, its tails untucked from his trousers so she could see a bronzed expanse of taut belly, and her breath instinctively hitched.

Khalil’s gaze darkened, although with what emotion she couldn’t tell. ‘I thought you were one of the staff.’

‘No.’

A tiny smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. ‘I realise.’

Hope ballooned inside her, impossible to control. One smile and she was lost. ‘I thought we should talk.’

‘About?’

‘We’re getting married tomorrow, Khalil,’ she reminded him with a smile, and his smile deepened.

‘I know that, Elena.’ He turned to face her fully, his arms folded across that magnificently broad chest. ‘Are you having second thoughts? Cold feet?’

Surprise at his question, and the shadow of vulnerability that crossed his face, made her shake her head decisively. ‘No.’ She took a breath and forced her gaze away from his pectorals. ‘Are you?’

‘No.’

‘Even though you didn’t want to marry?’

She shouldn’t have pressed, Elena realised. Any levity they’d been flirting with disappeared in an instant. ‘You know my feelings on the subject.’

‘A necessary evil?’

He inclined his head. ‘That might be a bit harsh.’

Elena rolled her eyes, inviting him into the joke, wanting to reclaim the lightness. ‘Well, that’s a relief.’

He smiled again and Elena felt a giddy rush of joy. She really did love his smile. She loved...

But she wouldn’t tell him that now. She knew he wasn’t ready to hear it, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to say it.

‘Why are you here, Elena?’ Khalil asked quietly.

‘I told you, to talk.’

He took a step towards her, his muscles rippling under his open shirt, his eyes glinting gold with amusement—and knowledge. ‘Are you sure about that?’

Suddenly her mouth was dry. Her heart beat harder. ‘No,’ she whispered.

He took another step towards her and then another, so if she lifted her hand she could touch him. He smiled down at her. ‘I didn’t think so.’

Of course he didn’t think so. Her need for him was obvious, overwhelming and undeniable. And the very force of it made her bold. ‘I want you, Khalil.’

Appreciation flared in his eyes. ‘I want you too.’

Want. So basic, so huge, yet Elena felt even more than just that. She felt gratitude and admiration, respect and joy, all because of what he’d done, who he was. How he’d helped and strengthened her. She’d never expected to feel that way about someone, to have that person fulfil a need and hope in her she hadn’t even known she had.

The need to tell him all that she felt was an ache in her chest, a pressure building inside her, so she opened her mouth to speak, to say even just a fraction of what was in her heart.

But Khalil didn’t let her.

He curled his hands around her shoulders and drew her to him, stealing her words away with a kiss. It was better this way, Elena had to acknowledge as she lost herself in the heady sensations. Khalil didn’t want her words, her declarations of emotion. He just wanted this.

And so did she.

He drew her to the bed and down upon the silken sheets, stripping the evening gown from her body with one gentle tug of the zip. Neither of them spoke, and the silence felt hushed, reverent. This time tomorrow they would lie in a bed like this one as husband and wife.

But Elena knew she already felt like Khalil’s wife in her mind, in her heart. She cared too much for him, she knew, but in this moment, when his hands were touching her with such tenderness and his mouth was on hers, she didn’t want to think about too much. She didn’t want to police herself, or limit her joy. She just wanted to experience all Khalil was offering her...however little that turned out to be.

And, in that moment, it felt like enough.

Afterwards they lay entwined among the sheets, her palm resting over his heart so she could feel its steady thud against her hand. Khalil stroked her arm from shoulder to wrist, almost absently, the touch unthinking and yet incredibly gentle. She felt almost perfectly happy.

If only, she thought, they could stay like this for ever. It was a foolish wish, nothing more than a dream, yet she was so tired of the scheming and trying, the politics and the uncertainty. She just wanted this. Him. For ever.

‘When will you speak with Aziz?’ she asked softly, because no matter what she wanted reality had to be faced.

‘As soon as we return to Kadar I will seek out a meeting. He will hear of our marriage, of course, and I will have to address that.’

‘Do you think he’ll be angry?’

She felt Khalil tense, and then he shrugged. ‘I have no idea. You know him better than I do.’

‘I do?’ She raised her head, propping herself on one elbow to study his face. ‘Did you not know him as a child?’

‘I left the palace when I was seven. I only met him once, from memory, when my father wished for his sons to see each other.’

He spoke evenly, but she could still feel the tension in his body, under her hand. She gazed at him, realising afresh how much she didn’t know...and how much she wanted to.

‘It must have been very hard,’ she said softly. ‘To have to leave everything you knew.’

‘It was strange,’ Khalil acknowledged. His expression had become shuttered, his eyes giving nothing away.

She eased away from him so she could look up into his face. ‘I know you don’t like to talk about it, Khalil, but what happened with your father must have been terrible.’ Her gaze fell on the scars that crisscrossed his wrists. ‘Why do you have rope burns on your wrists?’ she asked softly.

She thought he wouldn’t answer. He didn’t speak for a long time, and she wondered at the story those scars told, a story she had no idea about but knew she wanted and perhaps even needed to hear.

‘I was tied up,’ he said finally, his voice flat, emotionless. ‘For days. I struggled, and these scars are the result.’

She stared at him in helpless horror. ‘Tied up? When—?’

‘When I was seven. When my father banished me.’

‘But I thought you went to America with your aunt.’

‘She found me when I was ten. For three years I lived with a Bedouin tribe in a far corner of Kadar. The sheikh liked to punish me. He’d tie me up like a dog, or beat me in front of everyone. I tried to escape, and I always failed. So, believe me, I understood how you felt as a prisoner, Elena. More than you could possibly know.’ He let out a shuddering breath and unthinkingly, just needing to touch him, she wrapped her arms around him, held on tight.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It was a long time ago.’

‘But something like that stays with you for ever, Khalil!’ She remembered now how he’d told her it mattered how she was treated. ‘But this man, this sheikh—why did he treat you so terribly?’

Khalil gave a little shrug. ‘Because he was a petty, evil man and he could? But, no, the real reason I suppose is because my mother was his cousin and she brought shame to his family with her alleged adultery. In any case, Abdul-Hafiz already had a grudge against her family for leaving the tribe and seeking their fortunes in Siyad.’ His arms tightened around her. ‘That’s why my father banished me to that tribe—he returned me to my mother’s people, knowing they would revile me. And so they did, at least at first. The irony, perhaps, is that I rule them now as their sheikh.’

He was trying to speak lightly but she still heard the throb of emotion underneath. Elena couldn’t even imagine all he wasn’t saying: the abuse, the torture and utter unkindness. To tie up a seven-year-old boy for days? To beat him so his back was covered with scars? Fury warred with deep sorrow, and she pressed her cheek against his back, her body snug against his.

‘I’m so glad you escaped.’

‘So am I.’

Yet could anyone really escape such a terrible past? Elena knew Khalil bore as many scars on his heart as he did on his wrists and back. No wonder he didn’t trust anyone. No wonder he had no use or understanding of loving relationships.

Could she be the one to change him? Save him?

She shied away from such questions, knowing how dangerous they were, yet already the answers were rushing through her.

Yes. Yes, she could. She wanted to try, she needed to try, because she loved him and couldn’t imagine a life without him. Without him loving her.

And she began in that moment, rolling onto her stomach and pressing her lips to his wrist, kissing the places where he’d been hurt the most. Underneath her, she felt Khalil shudder.

‘Elena...’

She kissed her way across his body, touching every scar, taking her time with her tongue and her lips, savouring him, showing her love for him with her body because she couldn’t with her words. Not yet.

And Khalil accepted her touch, his hands coming up to clutch her shoulders as she moved over him and then gently, wonderfully, sank onto him, taking him into her body, filling them both up to the brim with wonder and joy and pleasure.

His eyes closed and his breath came out in a shudder as she began to move, pouring out everything in her heart in that ultimate act of love—and praying Khalil understood what she was saying with her body.

* * *

Sleep was a long time coming that night. Khalil stared up at the canopied bed, his arms around Elena as her breathing evened out, and he wondered why on earth he’d told her so much, had said things he hadn’t admitted to anyone, not even Dimah or Assad. He hated to think of anyone knowing the truth of his utter humiliation as a child, yet he’d willingly told Elena. In that moment he’d wanted to, had wanted someone to understand and accept him totally.

And her response had nearly undone him. The sweet selflessness of her touch, the giving of her body... He still wasn’t sure he knew what love was, but he imagined it might feel like that. And, if it did, he wanted more. He wanted to love someone and know he was loved back.

Foolish, foolish, foolish. Insanity. This was a marriage of cold convenience, not love or trust or intimacy. He’d told Elena he wanted none of that, and he’d meant it.

How had he changed?

Yet he knew he had. He’d been changing since the moment he’d met her, since he’d seen a reflection of himself in her. She’d begun changing him even then, softening him, opening up his emotions, unlocking his heart.

How could he go back to the cold, barren life he’d once known?

How could he not?

He’d learned to trust her with so many things—with his feelings. With the truth. Could he trust her with his heart?

* * *

Their wedding took place in the palace chapel, with only the Council members and their wives, as well as a few ambassadors and diplomats, in attendance.

Elena wore a cream silk sheath dress and a matching fascinator, no veil or bouquet, or really anything bridal at all. She’d picked the outfit with the help of her stylist when she’d arrived in Thallia, thinking only of what image she wanted to present to her public. She’d wanted to seem like a woman in control of her country and her destiny, perfectly prepared to begin this businesslike marriage.

She hadn’t wanted to look like a woman in love, yet she knew now that was what she was. And as she turned to Khalil to say her vows she wished, absurdly, perhaps, for a meringue of a dress and a great, big bouquet, a lovely lace veil and a father to give her away.

Never mind, she told herself. It’s the marriage that matters, not the wedding. Yet what kind of marriage would she have with Khalil?

Last night had been so tender, so wonderful and intimate in every way, physically and emotionally. Yet this morning he seemed his usual, inscrutable self, stony-faced and silent, dressed in traditional Kadaran formal wear, a richly embroidered thobe and loose trousers. He looked magnificent—and a little frightening, because Elena had no idea what he was thinking or feeling.

The ceremony passed in a blur. Vows were spoken, words read, then Khalil drew her to him and pressed his mouth against hers in a cool kiss.

She still had no idea what was going on behind those veiled eyes.

Elena circulated through the guests at a small reception after the ceremony, her gaze tracking Khalil’s movements around the room, even as she chatted with councillors who oozed satisfaction now that she was wed and taken care of.

She felt as if everything had changed for her—but had it for him? Should she even hope it had? It might be better—wiser, safer—not to let things change for herself. Not to open herself up to all of the pain and possibility that loving someone meant.

It was too late for that, she knew. She couldn’t stop what she felt for Khalil, just as she couldn’t keep the waves from crashing into the sea or the moon from rising that night. Her love for him simply was.

After the reception they retired to a suite of rooms in its own private wing, as much of a bridal chamber as the palace had.

Elena took in the champagne chilling by the canopied bed, the fire crackling in the fireplace, the frothy nightgown some accommodating member of staff had laid out for her.

‘It’s all a bit much, isn’t it?’ she said with an attempt at wryness. She felt, bizarrely, as if they were pretending, as if they were going through the motions of marriage and love when last night she’d felt they’d known the real thing.

‘It’s thoughtful,’ Khalil answered with a shrug. He hesitated, his gaze pinned to hers even though Elena had no idea what he felt or what he intended to say. ‘You looked beautiful today. You still do.’

A thrill of surprised pleasure rippled through her. ‘Thank you.’

‘I couldn’t take my eyes off you.’

‘I couldn’t take my eyes off you, either,’ she admitted with a shy smile.

His answering smile was assured. ‘I know.’

‘Oh—you!’ Elena gasped with a shocked laugh. ‘You sound unbearably arrogant, you know.’

‘But it’s true.’

‘It would be more gentlemanly for you not to remark on it.’

‘Why?’ he asked as he reached for her. ‘When the feeling is mutual?’

She stared up at him, suddenly breathless. Just how much was mutual?

He feathered a few kisses along her jaw. ‘And this is what I’ve been wanting to do all day long.’

‘Why didn’t you, then?’ Elena managed as she tilted her head back to give him greater access.

Khalil pressed a kiss to the tender hollow of her throat. ‘What do you think your stuffy councillors would have thought if I’d dragged you out of that ballroom and returned you with messed hair, swollen lips and a very big smile on your face?’

Elena let out a choked laugh, her mind blurring as Khalil’s mouth moved lower. ‘I think they would have been pleased. I’d have been put in my place as a dutiful wife.’

‘I like the sound of those duties,’ Khalil answered as he tugged at the zip of her dress. ‘I think you need more instruction on just how to carry them out.’

Her dress slithered down her body, leaving her in nothing but her bra and pants, her whole body on fire from the heat of Khalil’s gaze. ‘I think I do,’ she agreed...then they didn’t speak for quite a while after that.

Later they lay in bed just as they had last night, hands linked and limbs entwined. Sleepily, utterly sated, Elena thought how this did feel like for ever. Maybe they could be this happy...for ever.

‘I need to go to Paris,’ Khalil said. His fingers tightened briefly on hers as he stared up at the bed’s canopy. ‘To see my Aunt Dimah. She moved there a few years ago. She should hear of our marriage from me. And I’d like you to meet her.’

‘Of course,’ Elena said simply. She was glad to share in any part of Khalil’s life that he wanted her to.

‘And after that,’ he continued, ‘we will return to Kadar. I received a message from Aziz today, just before the wedding. He has agreed to meet with me.’

‘That’s good news, isn’t it?’

‘I hope it is. I hope I will be able to convince him to call the referendum.’

‘And if he refuses?’

Khalil stared up at the ceiling. ‘I don’t know,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t—I don’t want war. But I can’t imagine giving up my claim to the throne, either. It’s everything to me.’ He turned to her then, a new, raw vulnerability shadowing his eyes. ‘Not everything,’ he amended. ‘Not any more. But it’s important, Elena.’

‘I know it is.’

‘Everything I’ve been, everything I’ve done, has been for Kadar. For my title.’

‘I know,’ she said softly. She leaned over and kissed him. ‘I know how important this is, Khalil, and I believe in you just as you’ve believed in me. You’ll succeed. You’ll convince Aziz and win the vote.’

He smiled and squeezed her fingers. ‘I pray so.’

‘I know it.’

‘I’d like you to be with me when the referendum is called,’ Khalil said after a moment. ‘It’s important for the people to see you support me. But it shouldn’t take long, and afterwards you can return to Thallia. Those were the terms of our agreement.’

Elena thought of the soulless piece of paper they’d both signed just yesterday, outlining the nature of their marriage: so cold, so clinical. She felt his fingers threaded through hers, his legs tangled with hers, and she mentally consigned that piece of paper and all of its legalese to the rubbish heap. ‘I’ll need to return to Thallia, of course,’ she said. ‘But do you want me to stay longer?’ She twisted to face him, and was gratified to see a light blaze in Khalil’s eyes.

‘Yes,’ he said simply, and she squeezed his hand, never feeling more certain of anything in her life. She loved this man and she would go anywhere with him.

‘Then I’ll stay,’ she said simply, and Khalil closed the space between them and kissed her.