She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. I was asking why you have only few relationships of value.”
“Oh.” He stopped walking so that he could look down at her face properly. “I am a powerful man.” The way he said it was not boastful. “I have been raised to know that my duty is to lead my country. I have a couple of friends I value, and my parents, my uncle. Beyond that, people look at me and see only the Emir. Not the man. You, Cassandra Walton, are the first person to speak to me like an equal in a very long time.” He flicked a wisp of her fair hair from her eyes simply so that he could move closer to her. “That is valuable to me. I have almost forgotten what it is like to think about another person’s wishes and desires.”
“And you’re thinking about mine?” She whispered thickly.
“I think of you constantly. You have moved into my blood.”
Her heart turned over at his admission. It was the same for her, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. She could barely bring herself to accept it, such was the terror the realisation wrought.
She flicked her gaze away from him and stared down the corridor. “Don’t say things like that, Layth.”
“It is true.”
“But it’s going to make it a lot harder if you make me feel like this.”
His eyes narrowed. “And so you are back to insisting we share a physical relationship and no more?”
“No.” She shook her head. How could she deny what was zipping amongst them. “I’m not. But I do still want this to be light. Casual.”
He shrugged, as though she hadn’t spoken. “Come.”
He hadn’t really responded to her but she shelved it for now. They had limited time and she didn’t want to waste half of it defining what they meant to each other.
At the end of the corridor, the doors opened, and he turned to the left. The room was beautiful. Parquet floors, pale grey walls and gold framed pictures in every direction. He removed his crown and placed it on a green velvet sofa then moved towards her.
But Cassie was transfixed. Her eyes had scanned the walls, taking in the mix of classic works by renowned artists, and then come to land on an enormous portrait.
Layth.
She moved towards it, her whole body charged with energy. It was set slightly off centre, a large space beside it left blank.
But the painting of Layth was so true to life that she sucked in a shuddering breath. The artist had captured his sardonic smile perfectly. He looked both regal and irreverent.
Her fingertips tingled with the urge to reach up and touch it.
“It was painted for my thirtieth birthday.”
She nodded, wondering at the cloying sense of tears in her throat. “It’s an excellent piece.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgment. “It was completed by the most well-regarded artist in Takisabad. He has painted the royal portraits for forty years.”
“And very well.” Her eyes shifted to the empty spot and an unpalatable thought occurred to her. “He will, I presume, have the duty of painting your wife’s portrait, too?”
“Yes.”
“And your child’s.” Her voice rang with a bitterness she couldn’t suppress.
He nodded again.
“And your wife’s will hang here?”
“Yes.”
Cassie closed her eyes for a moment and then lifted her head to him. Her smile was dazzling, and it was also completely false. “Show me the rest of the embassy, Layth. I want to see it all.”
* * *
Melinda’s expression was laced with doubt.
“You said you’d take a break from the rotating door of men in your life.”
Unlike Cassie and her Aussie twang, Melinda’s voice was pure royal English. All clipped consonants and flattened vowels.
Cassie felt a tumble of frustration in her gut. She lifted the teapot and topped up her friend’s cup before sloshing some of the pale liquid into her own. “God, you’re the second person in as many days to imply I’m some kind of slut.”
“First off, that’s not what I meant. And who the hell is the first?”
Cassie shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You’re not a slut. You know that’s not what I was saying. But after Antonio …”
“Yeah, except I’m not seeing Antonio.”
“So who are you seeing?”
Cassie bit down on her lower lip, her mind going over her conversations with Layth. At no point had he asked her to keep their union a secret. Yet she was still unlikely to scream it from the rooftops. But Melinda was her best friend, and they shared everything.
“Come on. I’ve got to get back to work and so do you. Spill it.”
Cassie felt a blush creep along her cheek bones. “Have you heard of a country called Takisabad?”
Melinda rolled her eyes. “Hello. I work at the UN. What do you think?”
“Right.” Cassie nodded, licking her lower lip.
“Don’t tell me they have a premier league football team?”
“No.” Cassie sipped her tea. Definitely did not compare well to the exotic Takisabad coffee she’d been enjoying. “Have you heard of Layth Sati?”
“Of course. He’s the heir apparent to the throne of Takisabad.” Melinda suddenly became very still, as she scanned her best friend’s face. “Oh, Cass. Don’t tell me you and he …”
Cassie nodded. “I didn’t know who he was when we first, um …”
“When you slept with him?” Melinda shook her head sadly from side to side, careful not to show anything approaching disapproval. If anything, she admired her friend for her free spirited outlook on life. Only the knowledge that it was motivated by deep tragedy and pain gave her cause for concern.
“Right. And when he told me, I was already too hooked.” A smile lifted the corners of her lips. “He’s … amazing.”
“He’s certainly very handsome,” Melinda murmured.
“Handsome.” Cassie shook her head in dismissal. The way Layth had been that morning was not handsome. He had been spectacular. “That’s such an insipid word for what he is. He’s virile and sexy and seductive and gorgeous and smart and funny …”
Melinda was looking at Cassie as though she’d started to speak in a foreign language. “You sound like you’re falling in love with him. But you don’t do love.”
“No. I don’t do love, so I’m definitely not falling in love with him.” She spoke the words more firmly than was necessary, to convince herself as well as her friend. “Besides, he’s not really … available.”
Melinda frowned. “What do you mean?” Worry creased her brow.
“He has to get married and make a little baby heir to the Kingdom. So what we’re doing is very nice, but also very temporary.”
“And you’re okay with that.”
“Yes,” Cassie nodded, expressing far greater confidence than she felt. “Perfectly. You know me – I don’t want anything too serious. But I’m going to make the most of the time I do have him for.”
“Right.” Melinda shook her head slowly from side to side. “What could possibly go wrong with this plan?”
“Come on, Mel. You know what I’m like. I just want to have fun.”
“Uh huh,” she was far from convinced though. “Just look after yourself. You might have most of the world sold on this whole tough-party-girl image thing, but I know you better.” Her words held a warning. “This guy can never be more than a fling. Do not do something stupid like fall in love with him, or you are going to get hurt. Badly.”
Cassie laughed. “As if. How dumb do you think I am?”
7
Days blended together with the sweetness of night as their bridge. Cassie was a diligent employee and she worked as hard as ever at her job. But her mind was no longer obsessed with work. She had a new focus. A new passion. And just the mental image of Layth Sati was enough to send her into sensory overdrive.
For all that she went through the motions of her work, she was simply e
xisting until that sweet moment when she could fall into Layth’s arms.
But she was only borrowing him; keeping him warm for when he took a wife.
A wife.
His marriage had been a subject they’d avoided, by unspoken mutual consent. And yet she wondered endlessly. When would he decide? Had he met with the women? Had he made a decision?
Her growing dependence terrified her, and so she did everything she could to be strong against it. Several nights after the agreement they’d come to in the embassy, she found herself studying Layth from beneath shuttered eyes.
“How was your day?” She murmured, her heart thudding in her breast.
“Fine.” He looked up at her, his lopsided smile showing that he was completely at ease.
She lifted her brows, silently prompting him to continue.
“You seem to have a question in mind. Why do you not ask it?”
Her eyes were wary but she nodded slowly. “Did you meet anyone interesting today?”
He set his newspaper aside and crossed one leg over the other. “If you are asking about my possible brides, then yes. I met one today.”
Her stomach felt like it had a huge knife driving through it. She had known this moment would come. After all, it was the purpose of his time in London. She plastered an inquisitive smile on her face. It felt all kinds of wrong, but she was pretty sure he wouldn’t know that.
“And?”
He scanned her face thoughtfully. “Do you really want to talk about this?”
“Sure. Why not? We’ve already decided I’m not wife material, so why would it be weird to talk about? It’s not like I’m vying for the same role as these ladies.”
Her apparent nonchalance left him with a sour taste in his mouth. “Fine. She was … acceptable.”
“High praise,” Cassie said with a lift of her eyes.
“I’m reserving judgement.”
“A prudent move. I always think people should meet all their possible future spouses before committing to one.” To her own ears, her laugh sounded strained. “So what’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing,” he shrugged. “She was fine. Beautiful, cultured, intelligent. A perfect princess.”
Now the knife was digging in and out, sending her body into a spasm of pain. “Sounds good.”
“Yes, perhaps.” His eyes roamed her face. “I do not want to think about other women when I have you here.”
“I guess I should be flattered by that.”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Dinner?”
“Yes. But something less … adventurous than your usual fare.” She thought of the jellied lamb she’d tried the night before and shuddered.
“Toast?” He teased.
She rolled her eyes. “Not that basic.”
“Why don’t you decide?”
“Really?” She shrugged. “Do you have a menu?”
“No. The kitchen will make whatever you order.”
She laughed. “You are unbelievable.” When his expression didn’t shift, she sobered. “You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“So I could order … I don’t know. Like, cornflake pizza, and they’d make it?”
“Yes. But I should warn you, I would not eat it.”
She grinned. “Nor would I.”
“What is your favourite thing to eat? Why do you not order that for us.”
“Really?” She thought longingly of the restaurant she’d worked at as a teenager.
He handed her the phone, but whispered, “No breakfast cereals or toast.”
She gave him a mock salute then turned her back on him. She heard him leave the room, and wondered briefly where he had gone. She already felt cold, with his contact withdrawn.
Dinner ordered, she moved through the palatial apartment, in search of her temporary lover.
She found him in the second bathroom along the hallway. A spa bath was perched in the corner, flush to enormous tinted windows that showed a glorious view of Hyde Park. It was half full, and covered in thick, luscious bubbles. They were scented with strawberries and vanilla. A bottle of Dom Perignon sat in a chiller on the edge of the bath.
And Layth was naked.
“Join me.” He held a hand to her and slowly pulled her against his body.
He spun her around so that he could unzip her dress. It slid to the ground and she stepped out of it. Her underwear followed, and finally, her shoes.
The bath was perfect. Warm and fragrant, it served as an antidote to any of her day’s frustrations. She lifted her knees to her chin and watched as he stepped into the water. He handed a flute of champagne to her, then held his own to its rim. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” she repeated, her eyes locked to his as the bubbles danced on her tongue.
“Where in Australia did you say you are from?”
“Adelaide. A little city, in the South.”
“I know where Adelaide is,” he nodded. “Do you miss it?”
She thought of home. The enormous expanse of rugged, wild coastline, the hills that groaned with the weight of grapes and kindness, and the valleys to the north and south. But how could she think of home without imagining her mother and stepfather?
“No.”
Her short answers reminded him of the first night they’d met. She’d been similarly vague then about her past. A small red flag was setting up camp somewhere in his brain. “Have you gone back to visit, since moving to London?”
“No.” She let her gaze drift towards the windows. The city was blanketed by night now, and the buildings glowed with warmth. “I haven’t been home in ten years.”
“So you have lived in London for a decade and not thought about returning to Australia.”
Her nod was tense.
“Do you have family?”
She nodded again.
“But you’re not close to them.”
She sighed softly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?” He demanded, his dark eyes heavy on hers.
“Because!” She drank several large sips of champagne simply for something to do.
“This is not an answer.” His nostrils flared when he was angry. She’d noticed it before, but now she joined the dots and understood that it was a tell for a dark emotion.
“It is the only answer I’m going to give.” She shrugged her shoulders. “There’s no big mystery. I’m not hiding anything from you.”
“Yes you are,” he contradicted. “It is better to be secretive and admit to it than to hide the truth and pretend you’re being open and honest.”
She glared at him crossly, her pale lips pouted, her expression weary.
“Tell me more about this princess of yours. What’s her name?”
It was a conversation change, but it did nothing to lift his mood. “Arja.”
“Arja. That’s pretty,” she murmured.
He shrugged. “Yes.”
“And you said she was beautiful.”
“Yes.”
“What does she look like?”
“Does it matter?”
“Sure.” She moved across the spa bath. It was so big she could have completed three full breaststrokes before reaching him. She moved between his legs, floating in the deep water. “I can help you decide the right bride. So tell me stuff.”
He felt his body stirring at her nearness but he made an effort to control it. For one damned hour, he wanted to talk to her without the interruption of sex. He wanted to hear her mouth move, not simply feel it.
“I can’t describe someone.”
Cassie rolled her eyes. “Dark hair or fair?”
“Dark.”
“Long or short hair?”
“Long, I think.” He shrugged. “She wore it in a style.”
“Tall or short.”
“Tall and slim. Her eyes are dark, like mine, and her skin is also like mine. She wore a red dress, and her nails were painted to match. Does this help?”
Not even remotely. Cassi
e could now picture this woman and she could see how well she would match Layth.
“She sounds good for you,” she said quietly.
“I have already told you I am waiting to make my decision.”
“Does she know about the other women?”
“She knows she has submitted to a process.”
“So all of these women are prepared to leave their lives and marry you, and have a baby with you, just as soon as you click your fingers?”
“Being married to the Emir of Takisabad is a great honour. My wife will have wealth and power beyond imagining.”
Not to mention getting to share Layth’s bed. She lowered her mouth to his shoulder simply so that she could hide her face. She knew her hurt was showing, and she didn’t want him to see it.
She felt him stiffen beneath her. “What’s wrong?” She asked throatily.
His smile was tight. “Let’s talk for a while.”
“We are talking.”
“I mean without other distractions.”
“Without sex?” She blinked up at him. “You know, I could take that as a challenge.”
He groaned softly. “Take it as a compliment. I want to know you better. Your body is a drug, and I need more, but I believe your thoughts are beautiful too. Let me examine them as I have you.”
She spun away from him, her heart racing and tears pricking her eyes. The boundaries she had wanted to enforce were crumbling minute by minute.
A noise in the apartment made her freeze. She turned to face him, but he did not appear phased.
“Someone’s out there,” she whispered, her eyes huge.
“It is dinner.”
“But what if someone comes in and sees us.”
His laugh was rich with humour. “Believe me, no one would dare intrude on my privacy in such a grievous way.”
“But the hotel staff …”
“Would not breach my sanctity. My security agents alone will have brought the food.”
“Oh.” She bit down on her lip. “Don’t you resent their constant presence?”
“No. I grew up with them. I have never known anything else.”
“Of course. That must help, a little.”
“Why would I waste energy regretting something that must be?” He shrugged. “It is the same with my wedding. I would not wish to marry, were it not for the dictates of my role. I would certainly not select a wife based on breeding and acceptability to my people.”
Clare Connelly Pairs: Warming the Sheikh’s Bed & Love in the Fast Lane Page 8
