‘You presume that I need you to explain on my behalf.’ Her gaze seemed to darken as he took a step closer to her. She stood tall. ‘I am quite capable of speaking for myself.’
‘Clearly you are not. Otherwise none of this would have happened.’ Roman shook his head, anger at the whole ridiculous situation coursing through him.
‘Feeling some remorse, I see.’ She pursed her lips.
‘One of us should. Do you simply plan to go back and accept his proposal with the heat from my bed barely gone from your skin?’
‘Is that actually what you think of me? Do you even know me at all?’ She was completely still, unnaturally still, like the eerily calm glass of the ocean before a hurricane.
‘I’m trying to—God help me. But you’re not making it very easy.’
‘And just what will you tell him? Seeing as you’ve got this covered.’
‘Whatever needs to be said. Bottom line: he needs to know that we have slept together. I cannot let your marriage go ahead with him in the dark.’
‘Bottom line?’ Olivia’s eyes widened. ‘You know that telling him will essentially be ending the engagement before it can even happen? Why the sudden change of heart? Two days ago you were doing everything in your power to make this union go ahead.’
‘Do I truly need to explain to you what has changed?’
Olivia’s eyes darkened. ‘Yes. You do.’
And there it was. The gauntlet, large and heavy, hanging in the tension-charged air between them.
‘You spent the night with me, Olivia,’ he said. ‘I took your virginity.’
‘That does not qualify as an explanation.’ She bit one side of her lip, taking a few paces away from him before turning back. ‘You said it yourself—it was just sex.’
Roman met the unmistakable challenge in her blue-green eyes. He had not lied when he’d told her that sex was not always so intense.
‘Sex is never “just sex” when it is one person’s first time,’ he said quietly, knowing he was being a complete coward.
‘I think that is up to me to decide.’
‘You wouldn’t need to decide anything if I had done the right thing and walked away last night.’
‘How utterly male of you to think that.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Spending the night in your bed was my choice too, Roman. I wanted it just as much. I wanted you.’ Olivia took a step towards him, the sunlight glowing on her Titian waves. ‘You did not take my virginity. You can’t take something that is given freely. I took last night just as much as you did.’
She looked so beautiful at that moment—all strength and feminine power. Hadn’t he told her she needed to let this woman be free?
The unmistakable sound of helicopter blades in the distance intruded on the moment. Roman looked out of the windows and sure enough a scarlet-coloured chopper was coming in from the coast, the gold crest of Monteverre emblazoned along its side.
I wanted you.
Her words echoed in his mind as he analysed his own motivation for wanting to tell Khal of their night together. He knew that telling his friend would stop the engagement, knowing Khal as he did. He still wanted her. He was not fool enough to deny the fact. One night was just not enough when it came to Olivia. She was the best and the worst thing that he had ever stolen in his life, and the bastard in him wanted to keep her here until they were both truly done with each other.
Was he really that selfish? To manipulate her situation and push Khal out of the picture simply so that he could get her out of his system?
He ran one hand through the short crop of his hair, trying to make sense of his own thoughts.
‘What if I told you that I plan to refuse the marriage?’
Her voice was quiet from behind him, strangely uncertain after the power of her speech moments before.
‘You said yourself that your loyalty to your country is important.’
‘Yes, but that was before I realised how it felt to take control of my own life for once.’ She bit her bottom lip. ‘Being with you...it’s made me realise that I can have more. That I want more.’
‘I can’t give you what you want,’ he said plainly, panicking at the look of open emotion on her face. ‘If you plan on placing your entire future on the hope of something more between us then you are more naïve than I originally thought.’
She flinched at his harsh words and he felt like the worst kind of bastard. Hearing her speak of their time together so tenderly did strange things to his chest. As if with every word she uttered, bands grew tighter around his lungs. And it made him want to lash out with words to make her stop. To make her see him for what he was.
It was ridiculous, and immature, and yet he could no more stop himself from reacting that way than he could stop his brain from seeing guns where they didn’t exist.
* * *
Olivia fought the tightness in her throat, refusing to let him see how deeply his words had cut. She met his gaze evenly. ‘I will be returning to the palace alone. I trust that you will respect my privacy when it comes to last night. I should at least have the right to that from you.’
‘I never said I didn’t respect you,’ he said harshly.
‘Good. We have an understanding.’
She kept her voice even, walking over to the terrace doors to watch as the helicopter finished its landing and a familiar assistant exited the door, making her way towards the villa.
‘This is goodbye, then,’ she said, not wanting to turn to look at him but knowing she would regret it for ever if she didn’t. She felt anger, hot and heavy, burning in her chest. ‘Thank you for allowing me to be one of the many women in your bed.’
His eyes narrowed, a cynical snarl appearing on his lips. ‘Indeed. I will always have the pleasure of knowing that when it comes to you I was the first.’
‘You are using the past tense already—how honest of you.’
‘I have been nothing but honest with you about the kind of man I am,’ he said harshly.
‘Last night...I just thought that things seemed different somehow. That we seemed different.’ She spoke calmly, trying and failing to hide the hint of insecurity in her voice.
‘Everything seems different in the heat of passion, Printsessa.’
The silence that followed might only have lasted a matter of seconds, but to Olivia it felt like an eternity. In her mind she willed him to say more. Even a hint that he felt something more would be enough. Had she truly imagined that last night was momentous for them both?
And then he turned from her. Every step that he took across the kitchen seemed to hammer into her heart. Dampening down any flicker of hope she might have had.
She listened as his footsteps echoed across the marble tiles. Did he pause for just a split second in the doorway or did she imagine it? For a moment she thought he had taken a breath, preparing to speak. But then his steps kept going, out into the hallway, echoing as he moved further and further away from her.
She let out a breath that she hadn’t even realised she’d been holding. The air shuddered through a gap in her teeth, like a balloon deflating and making a spectacular nosedive towards the ground. It was the ultimate heartbreak...knowing she had been just another woman in his bed.
She wanted to be the woman. The only woman.
But hadn’t he made it abundantly clear that he would never be that kind of man? Was she really such a clichéd, naïve little virgin that she had fallen head over heels in love with him and expected him to do the same?
* * *
Typical that there wasn’t a drop of vodka on the damned boat when he needed it.
Roman threw the empty bottle down hard on the glass bar-top, feeling it crack and shatter in his hand as it hit the surface.
‘Chert voz’mi!’
He held his hand over the sink as the first drops of blood began to fall. The cuts were
not deep, just surface wounds.
‘Damn whoever is in charge of stocking the damned bar.’
‘That would be me, sir.’
Roman turned to see Jorge in the open doorway, the man’s face filled with concern.
‘I came to see if you want me to close up the house.’
‘Do whatever you like. I won’t staying around long enough to check.’
‘I see that Olivia has left us,’ Jorge said tentatively.
Roman lowered his voice. ‘I do not want to speak about Olivia. I want to relax and enjoy the rest of my vacation on my damned boat—alone.’
‘With vodka?’ Jorge added.
‘Yes. With vodka. Is there a problem with that?’ Roman spat. ‘I am a grown man and you are not my father.’
‘No. No, I am not,’ Jorge said, a hint of sadness in his voice. ‘But you have made it clear in the past that you at least see me as a friend of sorts.’
Roman grunted, wrapping a strip of linen carelessly around his injured hand.
‘Can I speak frankly with you?’ Jorge asked.
‘You always do.’
The older man half smiled, crossing his arms and taking a deep breath before speaking. ‘I think that you are hurting right now.’
‘Believe me, I’ve had worse in my lifetime. I’ll heal.’
‘I’m not talking about the cuts on your hands.’
‘Neither am I.’
‘The Roman I know would never concede defeat so easily. You are not the kind of stupid man who would let pride stand in the way of what he wants.’
‘Just because I want something, it doesn’t mean I should have it. I have learnt that lesson in the past, Jorge. She is meant for a better man than me. A good man.’
‘She loves you.’
‘No. She is in love with the idea of love and nothing more.’
‘I watched her get into that helicopter and, believe me, I know a heartbroken woman when I see one.’
‘Well, that’s not my fault. I did not hide from her the man that I am.’
‘The man that you are would never come railing into his liquor cabinet unless he was deeply hurt by something. Or someone.’
‘Jorge, you really must add psychoanalysis to your list of skills.’
‘Tell me I’m wrong,’ the other man said. ‘Tell me she doesn’t mean anything to you and I will fill that bar with vodka and send you on your way.’
‘She is nothing to me,’ he said the words, willing himself to believe them. Willing himself to ignore the burning pit of anger in his stomach.
‘So if Khal marries her you will stand by his side and wish them well? I can see it now. You can visit them each summer in Zayyar. If you are lucky, their children might even call you Uncle.’
Roman’s eyes snapped up to meet the gaze of his all too knowing housekeeper.
‘There. That’s all the reaction I needed to see.’
‘Just because I feel the marriage is the wrong choice for both of them, it doesn’t mean there is something deeper going on. I know Khal, and I know he would not be happy with a woman like Olivia. She is too adventurous, too unpredictable. She wants to see the world, to be surprised by life. Not trade one palace prison for another.’
‘And have you said any of this to the woman herself?’
Roman sat down on the bar stool, pulling the linen tighter on his hand and feeling the sting of pain that came with it. Jorge was right. He had not told Olivia how he felt about the marriage. Not honestly. He had spent half his time with her trying to convince her to marry Khal, and the other half trying to make her forget.
Was it really surprising that she had run from him again at the first chance? From the start he had handled her badly.
Women like Olivia were out of his league. She was too open, too caring and kind-hearted for a cold, unfeeling bastard like him. She deserved love. She deserved the happy-ever-after that she craved. And if he couldn’t give it to her himself then he would make damned sure that she had a decent chance of finding it elsewhere.
‘Shall I have the boat readied for departure?’ Jorge asked hopefully.
Roman nodded once, watching as his housekeeper practically skipped from the room. He really should give that man a raise, he thought darkly as he moved to look out at the waves crashing against the lighthouse in the distance.
The marriage would not go ahead—not if he had anything to do with it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE FIRST THING that Roman noticed as he entered the Sheikh’s penthouse hotel suite was the utter stillness of the place. A single palace guard welcomed him inside before returning to his post outside the doorway. There was no butler to accept his coat or announce his presence—in fact no one at all roamed the halls as he passed through from room to room.
He had almost given up when finally he reached a large dining room that looked out over the lush green mountainscape of Monteverre’s famous rolling hills. Khal stood alone at the head of the long dining table, his back turned as he stared out at the view.
Roman cleared his throat, feeling as though he had interrupted a moment of quiet meditation and wishing he had called ahead of his arrival.
‘Roman. Now, this is a surprise,’ Khal said, surprise filtering into his dark features as recognition dawned.
But Roman had not missed the mask of dark stillness that had been on his friend’s face. That look bothered him deeply, and yet he knew that if he asked his concern would be met with a stone wall.
They were much alike, he and Khal.
‘I need to speak with you,’ Roman started, finding the words much more difficult than he had anticipated.
Truthfully, he was unsure where to begin. He had come here, all guns blazing, ready to rock the boat and make sure this ridiculous marriage did not go ahead. But how exactly did he tell his best friend that he had not only broken a rather important promise, but that he had done it in the worst way possible? He had promised to bring the Princess back to Monteverre to take her place as Khal’s future wife, and instead...
Well, instead he had found himself consumed by a passion and a need so intense it had bordered on obsession.
He had not stopped thinking of Olivia in the few hours they had been apart. Memories of her assaulted him at every turn. If he closed his eyes he could almost smell the warm vanilla scent of her hair as it had lain spread across his pillows. He could almost hear her throaty laughter. She consumed him like no other woman ever had.
In fact, it was a mark of the strength of his feelings for her that he chose not to fight for her.
He was not here to lay claim to her.
He was here to set her free.
Khal sat heavily in one of the high-backed chairs, putting his feet up on the marble tabletop and surveying Roman with one raised brow. ‘By all means, speak.’
‘The Princess is the wrong choice for your bride.’ He met Khal’s gaze purposefully, making sure that there was no mistaking the seriousness of his tone.
‘You sound quite sure.’
‘I am. And I would like you to take my concern into account. There are things more important in life than politics.’
‘Such as friendship, perhaps?’ the Sheikh suggested, a strange hint of cynicism in his voice.
‘I was thinking more along the lines of personal happiness.’
‘I’m touched, Roman. Truly.’
‘I’m trying to do the right thing here. To stop you from making a mistake that will last the rest of your life.’
‘If you were doing the right thing you would be telling me the truth. You see, you need not worry about my personal happiness at all, Lazarov. Princess Olivia has already made her refusal of marriage to me quite clear.’
Roman felt his chest tighten painfully. ‘Olivia? She came to you?’
‘Not long before you, actually. St
rangely, when she spoke of you she bore the same look on her face as you do right now when I mention her name.’
Hot guilt burned low in his stomach as his friend stood up and met his eyes with a cold detached evenness he had never witnessed before.
‘I’m trying to control my temper here, Roman, because I don’t want to jump to conclusions. But I’m struggling. Three months of planning. The future of two kingdoms hanging in the balance. And after a few days with you she’s ready to give everything up.’
Roman remained silent for a moment, taking in the glint of barely controlled temper visible in his oldest friend’s eyes. He knew he should walk away before things became any more heated. Olivia had already refused the marriage—he had no reason to be here.
But something held him rooted to the spot. In his mind all he could picture was King Fabian, planning Olivia’s life for months before informing her of her impending engagement. Using an innocent woman as a pawn in his own political games. The man was cold enough to practically sell his own daughter to the highest bidder—as though she were a commodity rather than his own flesh and blood. It made the proud, possessive street thug inside him roar to life and demand justice.
‘Tell me something,’ he said calmly. ‘In your three months of planning did you ever think to speak to the woman herself to see if she wanted a political marriage?’
He watched Khal’s mouth harden into a tight line as they stood toe to toe in the utterly silent dining room. There were no onlookers here, no palace guards or servants. They did not need to maintain any level of propriety. Right now they were just two men.
‘I will ask you this question, because I deemed it inappropriate to ask the lady herself.’ Khal’s voice was a low whisper. ‘Did you sleep with her, Roman?’
‘Yes. I did,’ Roman said the words harshly, feeling the air crackle with tension between them. ‘And I am not going to apologise. Not to you, or to her damned father, or anybody.’
‘Well, I’m glad to see you showing some remorse.’
‘She is a person, Khal,’ Roman spat. ‘Not mine or yours. She can make her own damned choices—which you would know if you had ever bothered to treat her as such.’
One Night With The Forbidden Princess (Monteverre Marriages Book 1) Page 14
