by Olivia Gates
He glared at her, praying he’d read something in her eyes that would tell him he hadn’t been so oblivious. “You know I can unearth his medical records if I want to.”
Distaste bloomed in her eyes. “That’s why you have to believe me even if you hate doing so. The evil bitch you’re painting me to be couldn’t be stupid enough to lie about something you can so easily check.”
He staggered back as more realizations pummeled him. “Ya Ullah…so it’s true. And he hid his diagnosis so that his businesses wouldn’t collapse, taking thousands of jobs with them. That’s why I never heard about it.”
She nodded, turned away, discreetly dabbing at her cheeks.
She didn’t want him to witness her tears. He never had. He’d never driven her to them, in pleasure or pain. More proof that where he was concerned, her emotions had never been involved.
She sat down, looked at him, tears sparkling in precarious ripples. “But his doctors’ predictions didn’t come true. He had twenty months with us before he began to deteriorate. It was the best time of our lives. All the while he coached me and my family in what we should do once he was gone. When his decline began, it was…painful....” Tears arrowed down her cheeks. “He chose not to prolong his suffering and ours, chose to end it on his own terms.”
He was breathing like he’d just escaped a runaway car by the time she fell silent. Ya Ullah…Patrick!
Frustration and futility crowded in his head until he felt it might burst. “How could you not tell me?”
She raised her gaze at his growl, anguish turning to incredulity. “I never gauged your ego correctly, did I? Even gods can’t have that much entitlement. You see this only in terms of feeling slighted for being excluded? Why would I have told you anything, pray tell? You were no longer his friend.”
“Because I didn’t have a full picture. Because I didn’t know what had driven him to do what he did.”
“If you think his condition drove him to slam the door in your face, think again. He remained clear and calm till the hour he died. He did what he thought was right, like I did, severing a toxic relationship he realized he should have ended long ago.”
“But none of his grievances against me, real or imagined, mattered. Not then. B’Ellahi, he was dying, and I should have known. I should have been there for him.”
She gaped at him as if he’d grown a third eye.
Figured. It was the first time she’d seen him agitated.
Then, as if trying not to rouse a beast she’d just discovered was dangerous, she said, “I would have encouraged him to tell you if I’d thought you’d feel this way. But it didn’t occur to either of us that it would matter to you, beyond a passing regret for someone you used to be friendly with.”
If her words hadn’t paralyzed him, he would have swayed where he stood. “Is that what you both thought of me? That I am some sort of psychopath? Only one would feel nothing but ‘passing regret’ for such a tragedy. And I wasn’t ‘friendly with’ Patrick. He was one of only three real friends I ever had in my life.”
“I didn’t know that. From observations I—” She stopped, color creeping into her blanched cheeks. “I didn’t have enough observations to build an opinion on. So I filled in the blanks, like you did, with what made the most sense to me. And what most supported my analysis was that you weren’t that close.”
“When could I have demonstrated that closeness? I never saw him again while you were with me, as we kept our relationship a secret. But I must have let you know what he meant to me?”
Censure surged back into her gaze. “You don’t remember if you did? Whatever happened to your unfailing memory? Let me boost it, then. You never did. And when he helped me make the decision to end our liaison, I assumed he knew from experience that anyone was better off not being close to you.”
“Why, thanks. To both of you. It’s so heartening to know you two had such high opinions of me....”
He stopped. He’d heard those words before. Or something to their effect. Haidar had communicated a similar hurt to him and Roxanne, for condemning him based on circumstantial evidence, without giving him the benefit of the doubt.
He’d lived his life thinking he and Haidar were opposites. It was becoming clearer by the day that they were truly twins. But Haidar had resolved the mess of misunderstanding with both him and Roxanne. A similar resolution wasn’t in the cards for him.
But… “None of that explains why you kept all this a secret after Patrick died.”
She gave a cheerless huff. “I had to because his family sued to annul his will. With his overdose, they were claiming what you assumed—that he wasn’t of sound mind when he drew up that will. Contrary to you, who can find out anything with a phone call, police investigations and medical reports were confidential, so they couldn’t know that he’d been terminally ill—which would have only strengthened their case. We had to keep it a secret until we won.”
This explained so much.
The only thing it didn’t explain was the way she’d walked out on him. So she’d wanted to be there for a man she’d clearly cared about, even if other factors had been involved, like his billions. There’d been no need to end things with him so…dramatically.
She claimed she’d suffered the “degradation,” the “inequality and the pointlessness” of their relationship. Even if that had once been true, everything had changed. His situation, hers. The gap between them had almost been obliterated.
He moved, and every step closer brought her beauty into sharper focus. If he’d thought she’d filled out two years ago, now she’d ripened. And he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth and…everything else into all that fire and lushness.
He held her gaze as he came to stand before her. “You should have told me, both of you. You deprived me of the chance to do what I could, what I would have wanted to do with all my heart—even if you don’t think I possess one. But it’s too late. The only thing I can do now is see that Patrick’s legacy remains intact, that his vision for his enterprises is maintained and evolved. Will you promise to leave our…problems out of this and let me help?”
Those incredible eyes flashed again as she looked up at him, making him dizzy with desire. Then she nodded.
He exhaled, nodding, too, then sat down beside her.
“Now we need to agree on something else.” Her nod was wary this time. “You have the secret code to my libido.” Haidar had always said he was a wolf. And damn it, he’d turned out to be right. His body had declared her his mate, had refused substitutes. “And I have yours. When it comes to passion and pleasure, to finding absolute satisfaction in another’s body, we’re each other’s lot.”
She exhaled in resigned agreement. He held her focus, demanding she translate her consent into action. And she did. With her eyes filled with turbulent thoughts and desires, she moved into his arms as he pulled her to him, met him halfway in a kiss that made no attempt to temper its ferociousness and carnality.
* * *
Melding with Jalal’s hunger and the hot vise of ecstasy that was his lips, desire swelled, flooded all considerations and obliterated every moment since she’d been in his arms like that.
She spiraled down the abyss of need as his breath mingled with hers, his hands unraveled her, his lust stoked hers, opened her recesses to his possession.
Her clothes gave way to his expert urgency, her flesh burgeoned for his dominance, her mind hazing, short-circuiting…
“From the moment you put that supple hand in mine,” he groaned against her lips, “everything about you became everything I craved. Whatever happened or will happen, nothing will change that. I must have you again, and you must have me. Say yes, Lujayn. Give yourself to me again. End our starvation.”
His coaxing demand went off like a warning shot in her head. The overwhelming need to obey it felt like staring into an abyss. One she wouldn’t be able to crawl out of this time. Horror tore her out of her surrender to the conflagration of their mutual need.
She wrenched herself away from his body, from the desire to merge with him. She struggled up, panting. The brooding hunger that always tampered with her sanity simmered in his wolf eyes, and her heart stampeded with her internal war not to just give in, straddle him, lose her mind all over him again.
She turned, felt the world teeter with every step away from his insupportable temptation, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she rearranged her clothes.
She forced herself to turn to him at the door. “Walking away from you was the best thing I’ve ever done for myself and I’m not falling into your…addiction again. This isn’t a challenge so you’d try harder. This is final, Jalal. I’m just putting my life back together and I won’t let you destroy everything all over again. If you have any honor, stay away from me. Please.”
Four
Jalal stared at the screen of his laptop.
Something wasn’t right....
Frowning, he reread the document he’d just finished writing.
He was wrong. Something wasn’t wrong. Everything was.
It was as if someone bent on sabotage had written the page in front of him.
But that someone was him, unable to stop obsessing over a certain ebony-haired, silver-eyed spitfire and perpetually in a state of crippling, mind-scrambling frustration.
In other words, he should be wearing a sign saying “Keep away from all rational decisions.”
He closed his laptop, backed his chair from it as if it were a bomb. He had been about to cause an explosive mistake.
Rising to his feet, unrest fueled his strides to the veranda.
Exhaling forcefully, his eyes roamed the tranquil vastness of the desert, Lujayn’s voice echoing in his head.
Stay away from me. Please.
And he had stayed away. For four weeks now.
No wonder his mind was disintegrating.
But it hadn’t been honor that had made him stay away.
It had been that “please.”
Had she walked out of that suite without uttering it, he would have kept going after her until she succumbed.
But—ya Ullah. That please. And that desperate look that had accompanied it. It had been their combo of pleading and dread that had depowered him, defused his intentions.
It was as if she did believe that giving in to her desires in the past had almost destroyed her life, would certainly do so now.
He couldn’t see how it had, how it could. And this “degradation” thing. She’d more or less accused him of doing to her what he’d thought Haidar had done to Roxanne, manipulating and taking advantage of her.
But their relationship hadn’t started because of a bet, as he’d thought Haidar and Roxanne’s had. Haidar hadn’t had an as-valid reason to hide his relationship with Roxanne, the daughter of a prominent diplomat. And Roxanne had been living in Azmahar where Haidar had almost relocated. Jalal had had to travel halfway across the world every time he’d wanted to see Lujayn.
Another major difference had been that Roxanne had told Haidar she’d loved him. Haidar hadn’t reciprocated the confession, but continued their intimacies, making it appear as if he’d been taking advantage of her. There’d been no mention of anything beyond passion between him and Lujayn.
They’d been young and preoccupied with establishing their careers and that had enforced the sporadic nature of their relationship. The secrecy, considering what his mother would have done to Lujayn and her whole family had she suspected a thing, had been a no-brainer. What could he have done differently?
If she’d had grievances about their arrangement, she should have spoken up. She’d never done so. So he could be excused if he didn’t take her unrelated temper flares at the time as evidence of past discontent. Or if he didn’t accept this alleged degradation he’d exposed her to. Or her other stated reasons for walking out.
Why wouldn’t she just admit she’d wanted a clean break to be with Patrick? Why was she persisting on that twisted version of history? It didn’t make sense that she’d play the wronged female. It didn’t sit right with her character. And she claimed she wanted one thing from him. That he stay away. Yet blame was a lure not a repellent. If she wanted him to stay away, she shouldn’t have accused him and gotten him even more engaged.
Yet, he couldn’t deny the authenticity of that please.
That left only one answer. There was more to all this than she was letting on. And to make her confess it all, he had to do one thing. Alter reality. At least, her perception of it.
He now had the means to do that. Late last night, Fadi had provided him with a windfall of a discovery. The plan to use it to fulfill all his goals had come to him fully formed.
Now before he caused actual damage—to his business, not to mention his sanity—he had to put it in motion.
He produced his cell phone. In seconds, the familiar voice rumbled in his ear like faraway thunder. “Somow’wak?”
He gritted his teeth at hearing Fadi calling him Your Highness. It wasn’t just a title to Fadi. He meant everything it stood for. Everything Jalal felt he had no claim to.
He exhaled. “I have new orders concerning Lujayn Morgan.”
A long silence stretched after he’d specified his orders.
He frowned. “Fadi? Are you still there?”
“Ella, Somow’wak.”
“Did you hear everything I said?”
Another long silence. A rare show of opinion from the stoic Fadi. “Are you sure about this, Somow’wak? These…intentions might interfere with your campaign. They might even damage it.”
Of course that would be what Fadi would worry about. And if he’d voiced his concerns, he must think the consequences of Jalal’s tactics could be catastrophic.
If only. If they were, it would also mean they had worked.
“You have your orders, Fadi.”
This time Fadi didn’t take time to answer, the matter grave enough it made him go against his unquestioning fealty. “Have you given possible ramifications enough thought? If you allow me, I can come up with an alternative scenario that would right this wrong, but keep you away from any hint of further scandal.”
His lips spread as he visualized the success of this scenario. With Lujayn back in his bed. In his life.
“This is what I need to do, Fadi. And yes, I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”
* * *
Lujayn gaped up at the dark colossus looking solemnly down at her.
Rationally, she knew he wasn’t bigger than Jalal. But while Jalal made her acutely aware of her femininity, made her feel soft and pliant in comparison to his chiseled power, this guy made her feel…dwarfed, vulnerable.
Other than that, Fadi Aal Munsoori shared much with Jalal, had that force-of-nature-embodiment thing going. And like one, he’d walked into her family home and made them all feel as if they were there at his discretion.
Knowing everything and everyone relevant in Azmahar from her family, and everything about Jalal from her own obsessive research, she’d recognized Fadi on sight. Everyone had. He’d still introduced himself, after he’d walked in. It hadn’t been her imagination that he’d stressed his positions as Jalal’s head of security and campaign director for her benefit. And that menace had spiked when he’d specified the latter.
He hadn’t been with Jalal during her time. But one look into his eyes told her he knew of their defunct relationship. And disapproved something fierce. And was warning her off. Had they been alone, she would have told him where he could put his precious prince and his probable future throne.
But that was before Fadi had made his offer. Something so ridiculous that her mind shrieked to a halt.
“You—you can’t possibly— Prince Jalal can’t possibly mean…”
The faltering words jogged her back to the fact that her mother was right beside her. Her gaze dazedly moved to her, found her looking more flabbergasted than she felt.
“Somow’woh says a
nd offers only what he means,” Fadi said. “I brought this information to his knowledge only last night and eight hours later he insisted I conveyed to you his gracious offer. I can understand your reluctance…”
“I-it’s not reluctance!” her mother blurted out, cutting him off, to his obvious displeasure. “It’s shock. I—I never thought this would ever be brought to light again.”
Fadi grimly nodded. “It would have been forever buried if Prince Jalal hadn’t directed me to unearth the evidence. Still, your justifiable reservations may be averted if…”
“Is it true?”
The haunted voice dragged Lujayn’s gaze to her uncle. It was the first time he’d talked since he’d welcomed Fadi in. She’d totally forgotten he was there.
Her uncle had once been almost as gorgeous as Jalal, if in a very different way. His striking good looks had long been dulled, like the magnificence of a gleaming sword would be by rust.
Now something trembled below the layers of resignation, of…defeat. It was as if his soul was being reignited.
Her uncle suddenly moved, almost stumbled as he grabbed hold of Fadi’s arm with a shaking hand. “Is it? Prince Jalal is in possession of proof?”
Fadi gazed at her uncle’s stooped form. “He is, ya sayyed Bassel. At his orders, I unearthed deeply buried but incontrovertible proof. He will see to it that your family members are reinstated into gabayel el ashraaf.”
Lujayn knew Arabic perfectly, especially the Azmaharian colloquial dialect. She’d learned it, at her mother’s insistence that language was power. So far, it had been one, in Jalal’s hands. He’d used her comprehension of his verbal passion as another element of her enthrallment.
So she understood what Fadi had just said. But that couldn’t be what he’d meant. When had the Al Ghamdis ever been considered among the “tribes of nobility” around here? They were from the class who emptied their ashtrays and fetched their slippers!
“Okay, time out!” Lujayn made the gesture, stepping between her mother and uncle, who vibrated with emotion, and that monolith who’d come at his master’s command to spout impossibilities and spread more heartache. “What the hell are you all talking about?”
