by Maisey Yates
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.
