A Christmas Bride for the King

by Abby Green

  Just before she’d returned to her room he had said, ‘I didn’t use protection...’

  Her face had flamed as she’d thought how erotic it had felt to have him spend his release on her skin.

  She’d hurriedly assured him, ‘It’ll be fine. I’m not at a dangerous part of my cycle’.

  And she wasn’t, so she could be relatively sure there would be no repercussions. But it had shocked her how easily she’d forgotten about safety. And how easily a very illicit image of a small, earnest dark-haired child with blue eyes had sneaked into her imagination.

  The chatter of the banquet brought Charlotte back to the present moment and panic rose inside her.

  Imagining babies and being queen... She was in so much deeper than she’d appreciated.

  * * *

  Salim was finding it hard not to stand up and walk around the vast banquet table to where Charlotte was sitting. Her face was turned away as she spoke to someone else, and one word thrummed in his blood: mine.

  She was a vision in a gold kaftan, her hair piled high on her head. He’d noticed several men’s gazes lingering on her all evening, and it had taken all his restraint not to drag her across the table and claim her.

  His body was still heavy, replete with carnal satisfaction, and yet, as ever, there was an edge of growing hunger. Already. He observed her as dispassionately as he could, feeling a little desperate at the effect she had on him, but he couldn’t be objective.

  It struck him then, as he took in the delicate line of her jaw and aquiline profile... She looked regal. Maybe that awareness had precipitated his taunt earlier—that she wanted to be a queen. Suddenly Salim thought of how very perfect Charlotte would be as a queen, but she would have to be someone else’s, wouldn’t she?

  She looked up at him now, and Salim felt pinned to the spot. So much so that he had to look away—only to catch his brother’s gaze at the head of the table. He felt something tight loosen inside him. Today had marked the very fragile start of a long overdue rapprochement with his brother, who hadn’t done anything to deserve the distance Salim had put between them.

  Salim could see now that for a long time he’d blamed Zafir for not protecting Sara, even though of course it wasn’t his fault. But it had been easier to do that and push him away than to admit he was terrified of loving his brother and losing him, too.

  Salim stood up and tapped his glass gently with a knife, causing everyone to stop and look at him. He made a short speech of thanks to his brother and his sister-in-law, to whom he’d apologised earlier, easing his conscience slightly. Then he found his gaze gravitating back to Charlotte’s green one. She was looking at him with that unwavering regard that left him no place to hide.

  He said, ‘I pledge here, this evening, to do my very best to ensure a secure and successful future for Tabat.’

  Everyone clapped and cheered, not realising that Salim’s statement had been deliberately ambiguous. Charlotte did, though, and he saw the way she avoided his eye, as if she couldn’t bear to look at him.

  For the first time Salim felt more than just a twinge of conscience—he felt the inexorable rise of something he’d been trying to ignore for weeks. The realisation that he really meant what he’d just said, and that there was only one person he wanted to see guide Tabat into that secure and successful future...him.

  He hadn’t given so much as a thought to finding his replacement in the last couple of weeks...as if a part of him had already accepted the inevitable.

  Shock at that revelation kept him rooted to the spot as everyone around him started to get up from their tables for the second part of the evening’s celebrations, and he watched Charlotte—still avoiding his eye—as she got up too and turned away.

  That broke him out of his stasis and he went after her, not really knowing what he was going to say when he got to her, but knowing that she was the only person he wanted to see.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘DANCE WITH ME?’

  Charlotte stopped in her tracks at the familiar deep voice behind her. She considered saying no for a second and then thought, who would she be fooling?

  No one.

  And yet she couldn’t let him see her for a moment.

  It had hurt her more than she could say when he’d made that deliberately misleading comment just now, about Tabat. It had felt like a betrayal of everything she knew he stood for and a betrayal of this last week, when he’d been so inherently respectful of his people. His actions had spoken louder than his words. But he wasn’t prepared to admit that.

  The fact that she was the only one who knew that he had no intention of being King of Tabat felt like the heaviest burden now.

  He came into her field of vision, holding out a hand. She looked up at him reluctantly and schooled her features as best she could. But she knew it was futile when she saw how that blue gaze narrowed on her face. He still looked as thoroughly disreputable as he had when she’d first seen him, in spite of the traditional robes. Wild curling hair. Stubbled jaw. Wicked eyes and an even more wicked mouth.

  She wanted very much not to let Salim lead her into the other room, where slow, sexy jazz was playing. She wanted to resist his pull because it was fatal now, and she knew he’d destroy her without even realising what he was doing.

  But she found her hand reaching for his even as she cursed herself for it.

  Salim led her into the other room, where there were already couples dancing. King Zafir and Queen Kat were dancing, staring deep into each other’s eyes, oblivious to their guests.

  Salim expertly took Charlotte into his arms and started to lead her around the floor. The fact that he was such a graceful dancer when he strived so hard to pretend he wasn’t a part of this world made something snap inside her.

  She pulled back and looked up. ‘Did you tell your brother that you’re planning on abdicating?’

  Salim seemed to sense her mood, and looked at her while still managing to guide her faultlessly around the dance floor. Charlotte wondered churlishly if the man displayed mediocrity in anything at all.

  ‘No, I haven’t—not yet.’

  ‘Well, you should,’ Charlotte said tartly, ‘because he will have to deal with the fall-out in Tabat, his closest neighbour.’

  Charlotte focused on a point somewhere over his shoulder acutely aware of his body next to hers, making her feel hot and jittery.

  His chest rumbled against hers. ‘You might be interested to know that I haven’t told him because I haven’t made a final decision yet.’

  Charlotte’s feet stopped and she looked at Salim. They’d halted in the middle of the floor.

  ‘What are you saying?’

  He didn’t seem remotely fazed that they’d stopped dancing and were drawing interested glances.

  He arched a brow. ‘I would have thought that a woman of your considerable intelligence could work that one out.’

  His mocking tone bounced off her. A surge of emotion was rising. ‘You’re really considering becoming king...and not abdicating?’

  His mouth tipped up on one side in a wry smile. ‘Is that so hard for you to contemplate?’

  Charlotte shook her head, barely aware that they’d started moving again. ‘Not at all. I just thought you’d made up your mind.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t yet...for sure. Let’s just say that I’ve been persuaded to look at things a little differently in the past few weeks. And after meeting the people of Tabat...seeing it with my own eyes...it’s a challenge that might not be as unpalatable as I’d thought.’

  Charlotte looked up at Salim, unable to stop herself from saying huskily, ‘You will be a great king, Salim. You deserve to serve them, and they deserve you.’

  He grimaced slightly and said, ‘That remains to be seen. And first I have to go to London tomorrow, for a function. Tabat’s ambassador to Europe is holding a Christmas party in my honour. Come with me?’

  Charlotte’s insides clenched.

  Christmas. London.

  She
wasn’t ready to leave this part of the world, or Salim, but it would be an opportunity for her to remember who she was and where she came from. Her life wasn’t here, with this man.

  She had to protect herself. She had to move on.

  She prayed that her emotions weren’t showing on her face when she looked up and said, as nonchalantly as she could, ‘Yes, I’ll come with you.’

  She knew now that she wouldn’t return to Tabat with Salim for the coronation—she couldn’t. This was his destiny. But it was not hers. And it was time to remember that.

  She ducked her head and turned her face to rest a cheek on his chest as they danced. And she closed her stinging eyes.

  * * *

  Driving through London and seeing the festive cheer of Christmas—streets thronged with slightly crazed-looking shoppers and the bright faces of children pressed up against shop windows to see the displays better—sent Charlotte on a brutal collision course with her past.

  Usually by now, or around now, she would be holed up in her apartment, blocking it all out, pretending it wasn’t happening. But now she welcomed it—because she’d been in danger of losing herself completely. Losing herself in a fantasy where she belonged to a man from an exotic land, full of vast deserts and beautiful nomadic people.

  But the fact was that whatever affinity she felt for his land was as much of a fabrication as this forced festive cheer. And she most certainly didn’t belong to Salim, no matter how intense their lovemaking had been just hours ago, as dawn had broken and the call to prayer had sounded over the sleepy city of Jahor.

  She was like a miser, grabbing hold of as much as she could before it was all ripped away from her.

  Charlotte couldn’t help hearing Salim’s phone conversations on the plane to England. He’d made no attempt to keep them private so she’d heard him instruct his staff to set up a hub office in Tabat palace from where he could oversee everything. And then he’d informed his legal team that he would be scheduling a significant meeting in the New Year, after his coronation.

  A meeting to tell them that his business would be changing dramatically? That he would be scaling back to concentrate on his royal duties because he wouldn’t be abdicating after all?

  The speed with which he seemed to be happy to turn his life around in another direction would have made her dizzy if she hadn’t got to know him by now, and to know his capabilities.

  Charlotte couldn’t help thinking that if he was indeed going to be king, then he would be looking for a queen to stand by his side. To have his heirs.

  That made her think of Queen Kat, and how seamlessly and effortlessly she seemed to have become a beloved fixture in her adopted country. Because she was loved.

  And that was the scariest revelation of all: falling for Salim had shown Charlotte that her parents’ treatment of her hadn’t damaged her as irrevocably as she’d believed. Somewhere deep inside her she’d nurtured a small seed of hope, and when Salim had come along it had burst into life before she could stop it.

  ‘We’re almost there.’

  Salim’s voice broke Charlotte out of her reverie and she looked at him. They were inching along in traffic on a street in Mayfair, near Tabat’s embassy.

  He was watching her, and she schooled her features, but not before he’d evidently seen something. ‘You really do hate this time of year, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said tightly, relieved that he wasn’t seeing anything deeper than that.

  The car drew to a stop outside a stately house with the Tabat flag flying on a pole outside. Seeing it made Charlotte feel even more homesick for a country where she’d only spent a few weeks.

  She clambered out before Salim could come around to help her, and he looked at her as she preceded him up the steps and into the house.

  The house was decorated for Christmas, making Charlotte feel a disjointed mixture of rejection and yearning. She felt churlish. A huge tree dominated the hall, and the smell of mulled wine and spices infused the air. It was surprisingly homely and familiar, and it was pushing about a million of her buttons.

  Salim came to stand in front of her. ‘The function will take place here, in the ceremonial ballroom. I have to attend a meeting with the ambassador first—I’ll collect you at seven.’

  ‘I’m sure I can make my own way there,’ Charlotte responded quickly, wanting to put some distance between them. Especially when she felt so all over the place.

  A familiar steely expression settled over Salim’s face. ‘I’ll meet you at seven.’

  Charlotte saw a smartly dressed older man waiting with her bags and forced a smile. ‘Fine—if you insist.’

  Salim watched as Charlotte disappeared up the main staircase behind the housekeeper. He frowned. It was almost as if she’d become a different person as soon as they’d landed in London. She’d hunched in on herself, as far away from him as possible in the back of the car, looking haunted and hunted.

  He felt an uncharacteristic sense of concern...a compulsion to go after her and—what...? He cursed himself. Charlotte was just a lover. Different from any lover he’d had before, but that was all.

  ‘Sire?’

  Salim turned from where he’d been staring into space—which further irritated him. He didn’t stand staring into space, wondering about a lover. Mooning after her.

  ‘Yes?’

  A secretary smiled and said, ‘Let me show you to the ambassador’s office.’

  Salim resisted the urge to slide a finger under the collar of his shirt to ease the sense of constriction as he followed the older woman.

  Taking him unawares was the strength of yearning he felt to be back in Tabat and looking out over the endless desert. He’d once dismissed it as a sandpit, but he now knew that it teemed with life. Humans and animals and plants. Majestic. Beholden to none but themselves...

  How had he never really appreciated that before?

  * * *

  When Charlotte was alone in her luxurious suite of rooms she paced back and forth in front of the window, oblivious to her surroundings or the view of a private park outside.

  What was she doing?

  She should have insisted on making her way back to her own apartment from the airport, and she should have let Salim know that she was terminating her contract. After all, King Zafir had all but terminated it the previous evening.

  He’d pulled her aside for a moment at the banquet and said, ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for my brother...’

  Charlotte had fought not to go puce, and he’d continued before she could come up with a suitable response.

  ‘I think you know by now as well as I do that Salim follows his own path and seeks help from no one. He never has. However, I just wanted to say that as far as I’m concerned you’ve fulfilled the terms of our agreement. If you do decide to stay for the coronation, or longer than that, it’ll be an agreement between you and my brother...’

  Feeling a sense of grim fatalism, Charlotte went to the wardrobe, where the housekeeper had insisted on putting away her things. She was going to pack and tell Salim that she was leaving...or, better yet, leave now before he could come and get her.

  But every thought left her head when she opened the wardrobe and saw a familiar silky green gown hanging inside.

  Her heart spasmed. It was the gown Salim had sent to her room to wear at his party. The one she’d refused to go to. The one where she’d confronted him and he’d kissed her.

  Barely daring to breathe, she took it out and held it up. It was as stunning as she remembered, falling in a swathe of silk from under the bust. A symphony of simplicity and elegance.

  Charlotte cursed Assa—she must have seen it hanging up at the back of the wardrobe in Tabat and packed it.

  A very rogue desire swept over her—one more night with Salim. One more night to indulge in fantasy and let herself believe that this was her world and he was her man.

  She could protect herself, couldn’t she? She wasn’t so far gone that she would
n’t be able to pick up the pieces of her life again and pretend nothing had happened...

  But the tightness around her heart told her otherwise. She felt icy for a second as the memory of her father’s rejection came back—but surely, she reassured herself, this was totally different? She was an adult now, and if she walked away from Salim before he ended things then she’d be in control.

  Charlotte knew she didn’t have the strength to walk away. Not just yet.

  One more night.

  * * *

  Salim was still trying to compose himself. But he felt feral. He was oblivious to the people around him because he was fixated on the woman on the other side of the room, talking to a group of people whom she apparently knew.

  Why isn’t she by my side? he asked himself again, irrationally.

  The dress she was wearing... It was the green dress he’d ordered especially for her, describing what he’d wanted, the colour and style, to an amused French stylist friend of his who had teased him.

  ‘This one must be special if you are ordering a dress to match her eyes...normally you send in your lovers to dress themselves.’

  Salim had answered defensively, ‘She’s not my lover...’

  But his friend had just laughed and said, ‘Not yet.’

  He’d been right about the colour. Even from here he could see that the green made her eyes look even mossier than usual. The dress was strapless and it clung to her breasts before falling in a swathe of silk to the floor.

  But what was really exercising him was the fact that he’d never seen so much of her pale flesh exposed in public before. And now everyone could see the freckles that dusted her shoulders and arms.

  Her hair was swept to one side, and one of the tuxedoed gentlemen near her had put a hand on her bare upper back.

  Salim was moving forward before he realised that someone had put a hand on his arm and was saying, ‘Please can I have a word?’

  He curbed the urge to snarl, and stopped and looked. It was a young attractive woman, with dark eyes and hair, and for some reason a cold shiver went down his spine.