The Royal Affair

by Barrett, Gail

  Her eyes burned. Her chest ached. She tried to beat back the weakness, hating this urge to cry. But God, that had been so close…

  Deven swore, pulled her tighter against him and rested his cheek against hers. And for long moments she just huddled in his arms, savoring the power of his tough, male body, the reassuring beat of his heart.

  She knew this embrace meant nothing. He was holding her out of basic human kindness, giving comfort after a disaster, nothing more.

  But then why did he feel so safe, so virile…so arousing?

  She blinked, tried not to go there. But his big hand crept to her neck, sending awareness skipping through her nerves. Her breath turned uneven. Her blood made a ragged charge. He pulled back slightly, and she turned her head and met his eyes.

  His hot, hungry eyes.

  Her breath backed up. She couldn’t move. She was riveted by the drops of water forging trails down his whiskered cheeks, the undisguised need in his eyes.

  His gaze dropped to her lips. Her heart nearly burst from her chest. And suddenly, she wanted desperately to kiss him, to feel his mesmerizing mouth on hers. To forget the danger, forget the past, just give in to the moment and live.

  He lowered his head and moved his mouth over hers, and every cell in her body went berserk. His kiss was warm, gentle, familiar and yet different somehow—like a forgotten dream, a wispy memory that had lingered at the fringes of her mind.

  And now came blazing back to life.

  She ran her hands up his steel-band arms, inhaled the scent of his wet, male skin. The sensual scrape of his beard, the hard muscles tensing under her palms sent heat pooling deep in her loins.

  His kiss grew longer, more insistent. His tongue swept her lips, and she opened to him, drawing him in. He pressed against her, flattening her against the grass, and her head began to spin.

  She wanted him closer, harder, everywhere. She wanted his hands on her naked skin, his mouth on her aching breasts. She shuddered as the hunger consumed her, as long-dormant needs exploded to life.

  But he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. And she struggled to calm her erratic heart, to battle the delirium blanking her mind, the urge to toss caution away.

  Then he loosened his arms and sat back. “Maya…” His reluctance was clear in his voice.

  She closed her eyes against a flash of pain. Of course he regretted that kiss. Holding her had been instinctive, a reaction to the danger they’d shared. And she’d gone off the deep end, taking it out of control.

  “We need to go,” he said. “It’ll be dark soon.”

  “You’re right.” They were cold, soaked, exhausted. The backpack—with their spare clothes—was gone. They had no food, no water to drink. Deven’s arm was bleeding, her own body pummeled and scraped. And at this elevation, the night would turn frigid fast. They had to find shelter before they froze.

  He stood, pulled her to her feet, and their gazes collided again. And she couldn’t stop the desire surging through her, that traitorous hunger weakening her knees.

  But he dropped her hand and turned away. Still shivering, she retrieved her sandals from where she’d left them and trudged after him up the slope.

  So nothing had changed. This man still demolished her senses, even after all these years. Everything about him appealed to her—his wicked eyes, his granite frame, that blatantly sexual kiss…The way he protected her, watched out for her…The camaraderie they shared.

  But none of that mattered. He didn’t want her. He never had. No matter how much he tempted her, she couldn’t weave fantasies about him again.

  And she definitely couldn’t give in to the urge to kiss him again. That had been foolish, dangerous. It had opened the floodgates, awakened carefully stifled needs, making her yearn for things she could never have.

  And that was a risk she couldn’t take. She’d barely survived his rejection once. The next time would demolish her heart.

  But no matter how hard she tried to forget it, she couldn’t drive that kiss from her mind. Even two hours of brutal climbing—hacking through dense undergrowth, clambering up slopes so steep she grew light-headed if she chanced to glance down—did nothing to quiet her thoughts. She pingponged from desperately wanting to kiss him again, to knowing she shouldn’t touch him, to hungering to relive those thrills. By the time they reached the cave he’d found, she felt like a banyan seed buffeted by a fickle wind.

  He stopped, and she staggered to a halt behind him. The cave sat halfway up the side of the mountain, a black maw nearly obscured by trees. In front stretched a small stone ledge.

  He held out his arm to keep her back. “Wait here while I check it out.”

  She nodded, too exhausted to argue, and shivered in the gathering dusk. The fire ring on the ledge outside the cave was darkened with scorch marks, indicating someone had recently stayed here. Recalling Indira’s warning about outlaws, she scanned the surrounding woods.

  But a moment later, Deven strode back out. “It’s empty. And we’re in luck. They left supplies.”

  “Do you think it’s safe to stay here? What if the people come back?”

  “It’s riskier not to. We need to warm up.” His gaze cut to hers. And memories of that kiss blazed back in shocking detail—the sexy rasp of his whiskers, the exciting sweep of his tongue.

  Her face flamed, and she tore her gaze away. Talk about warming up…But she couldn’t dwell on that kiss just now. They had far more serious troubles to deal with—hunger, dehydration, exhaustion. Even Deven had started to slow.

  Resolved to do her part, she crossed the stone ledge and entered the cave, then paused for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. She sucked in the dank, cool air, rubbed the goose bumps rising on her arms.

  “I’ll get a fire going,” Deven said from behind her. “Why don’t you change out of those wet clothes, then look for food?”

  “Won’t the fire attract attention?”

  He glanced around at the trees. “We’re pretty well hidden. We’ll be fine for a while.”

  “All right.” Blowing on her stiff hands to warm them, she took a quick tour of the cave. It was about twenty feet deep, dank and cold, with moisture beading the walls. But in the back she found a treasure trove of supplies—blankets, a pile of men’s clothes.

  She glanced at the ledge, made sure Deven had his back to her as he gathered wood. Then, shivering violently, she stripped off her soaked clothes, tugged on a long shirt and woolen socks, and wrapped a blanket over her back. She took her wet clothes outside, wrung them out and spread them over the rocks.

  Her teeth still chattering, she watched Deven build the fire. The sparks smoldered on the damp kindling, then finally flickered to life. He added more slivers of wood, his face bronzed by the growing glow. And his male beauty washed through her again—that thick black hair, his virile face, those arresting, carnal eyes.

  He glanced up, and his gaze clashed with hers, knocking her pulse off course. Appalled at herself, she stalked back into the cave. She had to focus on keeping them alive, not ogle her ex-fiancé.

  She was in luck. Hidden behind a bedroll, she found a plastic container with tea, strips of jerky made from water buffalo meat and packets of dried lentil soup. She grabbed a tin pot, a bottle of drinking water and cups, then carted the treasure outside.

  Deven rose and helped her with the supplies. She knelt beside him, careful to avoid meeting his eyes. “There are more clothes and blankets in the back.” She unscrewed the cap on the water bottle and sniffed. “I’ll boil water for soup while you change.”

  “Sounds good.” He strode into the cave, and she took advantage of his absence to compose herself. By the time he returned—his feet and torso bare, a blanket riding low on his hips, she had the soup made and her thoughts firmly under control.

  She wished. She perched on the ledge beside him, sipping her steaming soup, basking in the warmth of the flames. But her eyes kept returning to his gilded shoulders and arms, the ribbon of black hair arrow
ing down his abs, the sensual gleam of his skin.

  She pulled the blanket closer around her and stifled a sigh. And the memory of that sizzling kiss…

  “Any idea where we are?” she asked to distract herself.

  He shrugged, drawing her gaze to his powerful shoulders again. “It depends on how far we traveled on that raft. If we’re not in Djanpur Province, we must be close.” He pointed to a snowy peak barely visible in the dusk. “That’s Mount Sangkat. The monastery’s at its base. I’m guessing we’ll reach it in a day or two, assuming we find a trail.”

  She munched another piece of jerky, mesmerized by his hands as he reached for his gun. He took the weapon apart, dried the pieces with the edge of his blanket, then reassembled it with stunning speed.

  A mercenary, indeed.

  “There’s probably a village nearby,” he added after a moment. “These supplies had to come from somewhere. We’ll look for a trail at first light.”

  She nodded, comforted by his logic. “You think the police will keep looking for us?”

  He lifted his broad shoulders again. “They won’t know how far we went. That buys us some time. Even if they send out dogs, the water will mask our scent.”

  She shuddered, not wanting to think of police dogs scouring the hills for them, or their harrowing ride in that raft. “I can’t imagine that my medallion is that important.”

  He sighted down his pistol, then placed it by the wad of rupees he’d set out to dry. “Mind if I look at it?”

  She hesitated, reluctant to take it off. But no matter what Deven had done in the past, no matter how many secrets he kept, she knew she could trust him with this. She tugged it off, handed it to him.

  He cradled the charm in his hand, examined it by the flickering light. The dancing flames made the silver gleam, and burnished his inky hair. Her gaze roamed the hollows of his cheeks, the corded sinews of his powerful neck, the way the firelight varnished his skin. Realizing she was ogling him again, she sighed.

  He flipped the medallion over, studied the inscription on the back. “I’m surprised you still have this. What made you keep it after all this time?”

  She pulled her gaze to the twisting flames. “Lots of reasons, I guess. For one thing, I’ve always had it. It would seem strange not to wear it after all these years. And it’s a good luck charm. I hate to think I’m superstitious, but…” She shrugged. “You never know, right?”

  “Right.” He leaned over and handed it back. Their fingers touched, and a sensual jolt heated her skin. Not wanting him to see her reaction, she kept her gaze on the medallion, tracing the familiar figure of Parvati with her thumb. Bracelets snaked up the goddess’s arms. A sacred thread hung between her bare breasts. Her eyes were knowing, wise, comforting.

  “And the other reason?” he asked.

  “What?” She looked up.

  “Why else have you kept the medallion? You said there were several reasons.”

  She frowned, debating whether to tell him. He’d probably laugh if he knew. But maybe it was the fatigue—or maybe it was the harrowing, near-death journey down that river—but she didn’t feel up to evading the truth.

  “Someone gave this to me,” she said. “I don’t know who it was, maybe just a stranger who felt sorry for an orphaned child. But when I was little, I pretended that it came from my family, that it was a link to them, a connection to the people I never knew.” To someone who might have loved her—a sign that despite the misery of her life, despite the terrible human predators she’d fended off in the streets, there was someone good out there, someone who cared.

  “And after a while…I don’t know. I guess it became a symbol of the roots I never had. The family I wanted to have.” The future she’d yearned for with him—marriage, children, a home.

  His gaze held hers. “But you never married.”

  “No, I never married.” Feeling exposed suddenly and sensing she’d revealed too much, she slipped the chain over her head and stood.

  But Deven got to his feet and blocked her way. “Why not? Why didn’t you marry? And don’t give me that bull about not having time.”

  His demanding tone sparked her temper. “Why do you care? You left me, remember? It’s none of your business what I did.”

  “Just answer the question, Maya.”

  And suddenly, she’d had enough. She was too tired, too goaded to hide the truth. “You know why. Because I’m not the kind of woman men want.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” Her pride gone, her emotions stripped bare, she moved around him and headed toward the cave.

  “Maya, wait.” His ragged voice slowed her steps. She paused and closed her eyes, struggling to quell the fierce ache mauling her chest, to pick up her tattered pride. She crossed her arms, forced herself to turn around.

  His face was backlit by firelight, his hands clenched into fists. “How can you say that?” His voice was anguished, raw. “Any man would want you.”

  “You didn’t.” And he was the only man she’d ever loved. The one man she couldn’t have.

  She turned and entered the cave in defeat.

  Chapter 8

  The lonely hoot of an owl woke Maya from a restless sleep sometime near dawn. The cold mountain air seeped through her bones. Her shoulder ached from hours spent lying on the hard stone ledge. Several feet away, the low fire flickered in the still-black night, enveloping her in a circle of golden light.

  She watched the banked fire shimmer and glow, then lifted her gaze to Deven sitting across from her, staring into the flames. Wearing his now-dry clothes, he sat with one leg drawn up, his forearm braced on his knee. The cloth bandage he’d tied around his wounded biceps peeked out from beneath his short sleeve.

  She never should have revealed the truth to him. She’d exposed too much, confessed to her deepest shame. And for what? It hadn’t changed the past, hadn’t altered his feelings for her. She’d only humiliated herself and resurrected the pain.

  He picked up a piece of wood and fed it into the fire. Flames crackled and licked at the branch, sending smoke curling into the air. She gazed at his high, flat cheekbones, his blue-black hair, the way the firelight lapped at his skin.

  He was a gorgeous man, all hard muscles and rugged strength. She wondered again what secrets he kept, the cause of the pain she’d glimpsed in his eyes. What it was about him that drew her, tempting her to ignore how he’d left her in the past.

  As if sensing her scrutiny, he looked up. Their gazes caught across the fire. And she saw emotions flit through his eyes—weariness, guilt, regret.

  “Maya…” he began.

  “Didn’t you sleep?” No way did she want to discuss the past again. Her pride had been ravaged enough.

  “Some.” He speared his hand through his uncombed hair. “Listen. About that night—”

  “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”

  “The hell it doesn’t.”

  She sat up, pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders and forced herself to meet his eyes. “Deven, it happened years ago. We were kids. There’s no need to dredge all that up.”

  “I still want to explain.”

  She returned her gaze to the glowing embers, the shimmering bursts of red and orange. So he wanted to unburden his conscience. Everything inside her rebelled at the thought. But maybe it would do some good. They were stuck in this ordeal together, at least for a few more days. Maybe they should clear the air—even if it did flay her pride.

  She lifted one hand, let it drop. “Fine. Go ahead and tell me why you left.”

  He didn’t answer right away. The owl hooted again in the distance. The undergrowth rustled nearby. A breeze whispered past, stirring up sparks from the fire, making the pine branches creak overhead.

  “You remember that night?” he finally asked, his voice low.

  As if she could ever forget.

  Suddenly needing distance, she got up, gathered the blanket around her and walked away from the fire. At the end of
the narrow ledge, she stopped and stared into the night.

  He’d come to her under the cover of darkness, on a moonless night like this one, his eyes simmering with hunger, the planes of his face drawn tight. She’d been waiting for him, scared that he wouldn’t come, even more terrified that he would.

  She closed her eyes, swallowed hard at the images branded in her brain—his golden skin glistening in the candlelight, the exciting urgency of his touch. He’d been the perfect lover—reverent, intense, insatiable—worshipping her with his hands, his body, his lips. And she’d opened to him, surrendered herself completely. She hadn’t held anything back.

  Endlessly patient, ruthlessly sensual, he’d brought her to peak after shattering peak. And that glorious instant when his restraint had burst, and he’d lost all control…

  She let out a heavy sigh. It had been the most thrilling night of her life.

  The next day had been the worst.

  She folded her arms, forcing herself to remember. She’d been surprised at first when he hadn’t shown up at her house. As the day wore on she’d grown worried, afraid he’d been injured or ill. Finally she’d rushed to his apartment, sick with anxiety—and found it vacant, completely cleared out.

  She’d been stunned, shocked, unable to believe that he’d vanished, that he’d left with no message, no explanation, just slunk off during the night.

  And she’d waited for him for weeks, hoping beyond reason that he would return, unwilling to admit that this admirable man had lied. But eventually, she’d had to accept the facts. Reality had set in, demolishing any lingering hopes she’d had. And she’d picked up the pieces of her shattered life—a life that no longer included him.

  Deven came up behind her. Her chest heavy with the painful memories, she kept her gaze on the formless night.

  “Do you remember?” he asked again, his voice rough.

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “I meant what I said that night. I wanted to marry you. I didn’t want to go. I had to. It was the only way I could keep you safe.”