Captive but Forbidden

by Lynn Raye Harris

  It was awkward at first, but eventually they started to talk about subjects that weren’t sensitive in the least. They avoided anything personal, avoided Aliz or what had happened between them last night. There was even a discussion of Bollywood movies—Raj hadn’t seen many, and Veronica was surprised.

  “I was born in Britain, but raised in America,” he explained. “And then I joined the military. I haven’t spent a lot of time watching any movies, much less Indian ones.”

  “How did you like the military?” she asked, dipping a piece of naan into a masala sauce before popping it into her mouth.

  He didn’t look at her. “Well enough,” he said. “It got me where I am today.”

  She could picture him in military fatigues, silver dog tags hanging from a chain around his neck. He was tall, broad, tough—the kind of man to whom a weapon was an extension of his body and not just a foreign object. It’s what made him so good, she realized. And so lonely.

  “So where is home for you? Where is the place you most identify with?”

  She wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if he stiffened. And then he was looking at her sharply before he smoothed his expression. “I’m a mutt,” he said. “I have no specific home.”

  “A mutt?”

  “Someone of mixed ancestry, like a dog that you can’t quite tell what the dominant breed is.”

  “But you live in London,” she said, trying to approach it from a different angle. “Is that the place you prefer over the rest?”

  “I don’t prefer anywhere. I go where I want to go.”

  “Like here?”

  “Precisely.”

  She took another sip of wine. “But what about when you’re ready for a family? Where will you settle then?”

  His eyes were hard, glittering. “Don’t, Veronica,” he said. “Don’t take this conversation down that road.”

  She tilted her chin up to glare at him icily, though her stomach was doing flips. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was simply making conversation, not trying to set up house with you.”

  He shoved a hand through his hair and leaned back on his chair. The torches crackled, the sea churned, and he was silent for a long moment. “It’s complicated,” he finally said. “I’m complicated.”

  “Aren’t we all.” She said it as a statement, not a question, and he looked at her, appraising her.

  “You certainly are,” he said softly. And then he took a drink of his wine. “Family is not for me,” he said. “It’s not what I want.”

  Her heart pinched in her chest. Yes, she did want a family—a husband, children—but she didn’t want them right this moment. Nor was she naive enough to think that one night of sex with Raj made him her ideal man, her love for all time. But the fact he could state so emphatically that a family was out of the question …

  Yes, it bothered her. Because it seemed as if men never thought of her in terms of family life. They thought of her for sex. For uncomplicated, uncommitted relationships based on physical attraction.

  There was nothing deeper. There never had been. And that saddened her.

  She set her napkin on the table, pushed back and got to her feet. “Thank you for a wonderful meal,” she said. “But I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day. It’s time to turn in.”

  “Veronica,” he said, standing, holding his hand out as if to stop her.

  She turned slightly, her gaze not on him but on a point behind him. “It’s okay, Raj,” she said. “I understand. I’m just tired.”

  “It has nothing to do with you. I just don’t feel the need for those things. I’m happy the way I am.”

  “Are you?” she said, her voice stiff even though she tried to make it casual.

  He looked as if he pitied her. She hated it, because she knew what he was thinking. It made her wish she’d never told him about the baby. She didn’t want his pity. She didn’t want anyone’s pity. She didn’t deserve it.

  “Not everyone needs the same things out of life. I have money and freedom. I need nothing more.”

  “How lonely that sounds,” she said. “And what happens in twenty years when you wake up and realize you have no one who cares?”

  He shook his head slowly. “You’ll find him, Veronica.”

  “Find who?” she asked, quaking inside.

  He reached out and skimmed a finger along her cheek. “The man who will love you the way you want to be loved.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  HE SHOULD have left her alone, should have let her nurture her anger with him and left it at that. He shouldn’t have planned to have dinner with her, shouldn’t have asked her to dress up for him, and shouldn’t have sat for more than an hour talking with her about anything and everything, listening to her bright laughter and falling just a little more under her spell with every word.

  Raj shook his head as he stood on the terrace and let the wind whip through his clothes. It was hot and humid, but the breeze took it all away, for a short time anyway.

  Why couldn’t he simply leave well enough alone? He’d hurt her when he’d taken her body, and he’d hurt her when he’d betrayed her trust and brought her to Goa against her will. Tonight, he’d hurt her again when he’d been unwilling to tell her why he didn’t feel at home anywhere, why he couldn’t settle into a family life.

  Things with Veronica had gotten out of control much too quickly. He’d broken his own code of conduct when he’d gotten involved with her, and he was willing to break it again for one more night in her arms. The truth was that he’d sell his soul for one more night with her.

  He wasn’t proud of it, but there it was.

  She wasn’t like other women. He’d had relationships, some lasting for several months as he’d stayed put in one location or another, but he’d never felt as if his skin was itching on the inside, as if only one woman could soothe the restlessness that plagued him.

  It was simply the circumstances of their meeting, he told himself. He’d expected a spoiled, useless brat who’d somehow fooled an entire nation—but he’d found a thoughtful, intelligent woman who hadn’t led a perfect life, but who wanted very much to do a perfect job.

  He admired that. Admired her. Two days ago, he’d have never thought that possible.

  She’d experienced great sorrow in her life, but she hadn’t let it beat her down. Her spirit was unbroken, though perhaps sorely tested.

  She’d trusted him, in more ways than one, and he’d broken that trust. He didn’t like the way that made him feel.

  With a curse, Raj strode into the house and to her bedroom door. She’d only been gone for a half an hour or so. She might be in bed, but he would bet she was still awake. He knocked softly.

  When she didn’t answer, he knocked again, more loudly. Still nothing.

  His heart kicked up. There was nowhere she could go really. They weren’t on an island, but there was nothing for miles—and he did have security on the perimeter. He’d given her the illusion of complete freedom, but he wasn’t so incautious as to leave her unguarded.

  Even here.

  With a curse, he pushed on the handle … and the door swung inward. The doors to the terrace were wide-open, the white curtains blowing in the breeze. She wasn’t in bed, or in the en suite bath. He slipped out onto the terrace—a different terrace than the one they’d had dinner on, facing a different direction—but she wasn’t there, either.

  She was still on the premises, or security would have alerted him. He eyed the path that sloped down to the beach and knew instinctively where she’d gone.

  Heart lodging in his throat, he took the path at a run and skidded down the hill. Veronica was not so stupid as to try and escape, was she? Because though she wouldn’t get away, she might very well harm herself in the process.

  And he couldn’t stand it if anything happened to her.

  At the bottom of the hill, the path abruptly ended in sand. He stood, looking in both directions, his ears straining to hear anything over the sound of the sea caressing the sho
re. A flash of something caught his eye and he took off in that direction.

  He was only a few feet away when he heard singing, and he crashed to a halt. Relief flooded him as she turned her head, the moonlight catching her blond hair.

  “Veronica,” he said, and the singing stopped.

  “I couldn’t sleep.” She turned to face him, her pale arms wrapped around her chest. “How about you?”

  He wanted to laugh in agreement, and he wanted to snatch her into his arms and hold her tight. “You’re still in your evening gown,” he said, noticing with a jolt the way her creamy thigh split through the fabric as she took a step forward. Her feet were bare, her legs so long and perfect. He could still feel them wrapped around his waist, could feel how they’d trembled and stiffened when he’d brought her to orgasm.

  He wanted that again.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said.

  “I’m sorry.” It was the thing he’d wanted to say, the reason he’d gone to her room in the first place.

  “For what, Raj?” Her voice sounded tremulous, as if she were trying very hard not to allow any emotion to escape.

  “For everything,” he said. “For bringing you here. For making love to you—”

  She laughed, the sound bitter. “Of course,” she said, “of course. Because it would be better if you had not done so, correct? I corrupted you, corrupted your squeaky-clean morals—”

  “Stop it,” he said harshly. “I made love to you because I wanted to. But I shouldn’t have been so weak. I should have resisted.”

  “Yes, of course.” She turned toward the sea again, but he could see the lone tear that slid down her cheek. “I’m not the sort of woman a man resists, am I? But I am the sort he regrets.”

  “I don’t regret it,” he growled. But he did. He regretted that he’d been so weak in the first place, that he’d been unable to resist and that he’d hurt her in the process.

  “Don’t bother explaining,” she said. “I understand.”

  He reached for her, his fingers closing around her bare arm. She was delicate, like spun glass in his hand. He feared that if he held her too tightly, she’d break.

  “You understand nothing,” he said, turning her to face him. He was careful not to pull her closer, though he wanted to.

  “Oh, Raj,” she said, her voice carrying to him on the sea-scented breeze, “I’m not sure either one of us understand.”

  “Then tell me what I need to know,” he replied. Because he very much wanted to know what made her tick. There was the baby, her loss—and yet there was more. He wanted to know everything, though a small voice told him it wasn’t a good idea.

  The less he knew, the better in the end.

  Her hand came up, her fingers sliding along his jaw. Her touch was like fire, like ice. She burned him, and he wanted nothing more than to keep burning.

  “I’m so angry with you,” she said, “and yet I can’t help but want you, too. Why is that? Why can’t I resist you?”

  Her admission sent a current of hot possessiveness through him. His body hardened. He turned his head, kissed her palm. She did not pull away. Her sky-blue eyes sparkled in the night, diamond-tipped with tears.

  He had done that to her. But no matter how much he wanted her just now, he couldn’t make her cry again. Because she would. He would walk away in the end, and she would cry.

  And he didn’t want that. Somehow, he had to find the strength to let her go.

  Before this got any more complicated than it already was.

  “I only want what’s best for you, Veronica,” he said. “If I had let you go to Aliz and something happened, I would never forgive myself.”

  Her laugh was strangled. “My God, you sound just like my father.” Her hand dropped and her head tilted back. Her gaze sparkled up at him. “He kept me locked up until I was eighteen, until I was old enough to leave home and do what I wanted to do. His excuse was that he loved me. And he did, I know that. But it was horrible, Raj, horrible to be kept prisoner to someone else’s fears for so long.”

  So much about her made sense now. Her wild life, her rebellion, her refusal to take a backseat while someone else steered the cart. She wanted a say because she was frightened of giving up control. He could understand that. Could empathize with it. He thought of her last night, on the plane, and felt guilty.

  “This isn’t the same,” he said gently—justifying his actions, yes, but also because it was true. “There is a real threat to your safety, especially if you return to Aliz while it’s in chaos.”

  She pushed a lock of hair that had blown into her face back over her shoulder. Her brows were pinched together, her eyes narrowed.

  “I know that,” she said finally. “I was angry with you—I’m still angry that you didn’t consult me—but I know you did what I asked for when I accepted your help.”

  “Your safety is my priority, Veronica. No matter how angry I make you, or how much you might hate me for it.”

  She shook her head, looked away. “I don’t hate you. Though it might be easier if I did.” She drew in a long breath. “You kept me safe, and you did so when I was determined to put myself—and my people—in danger.”

  “I’d do it again, if the circumstances were the same.”

  “I know that, too.” Her head dropped as she fixed her gaze on the sand at her feet. He wanted to pull her close and kiss the top of her head, but he did not do so. He stood with arms hanging at his sides.

  He felt … useless in some ways. He’d brought her here, but he hadn’t yet found who’d sent her the note or placed the doll on her bed. She was safe, but for how long? If her government was restored and she returned to Aliz, then what?

  She wouldn’t need him anymore. He would never see her again, except as a photograph in a newspaper.

  She looked up, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I wish I’d met you earlier, under different circumstances. Maybe neither of us would have any regrets then.”

  He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and lifting a strand of her hair. He loved the silken feel of it, the bright pale color. In the moonlight, it hung down her back like ropes of gossamer ribbon.

  “Life is filled with regrets,” he said.

  He couldn’t imagine not being able to touch her like this. He didn’t want to imagine it.

  She let out a deep sigh that slashed into his control. “Oh, Raj, if we don’t learn from our mistakes, then what is the point?” He froze as she reached for him, her hand wrapping around the back of his neck while the other gripped his arm to steady herself as she stood on tiptoe.

  He didn’t resist as she pulled him down to her, didn’t resist as her lips brushed his. He didn’t close his eyes because he wanted to see her face while she kissed him. Her lashes dipped down, fanning long and silky beneath her eyes as her mouth skimmed across his.

  The pressure was light, so light. Unbearable. He wanted to crush her to him, wanted to slide his tongue between her lips and feel her response.

  “It’s too late,” she whispered against his mouth a moment later. “As you’ve pointed out more than once, you aren’t the right man.”

  She took a step backward, breaking the contact, and then turned and started down the beach. He watched her as she found the path back up to the house, his heart a lead weight in his chest. He’d wanted her to realize the truth, hadn’t he?

  She had finally done so. And he wanted to howl.

  Veronica found her way blindly up the side of the hill, then stumbled into her room and slapped the doors closed. Tears pricked her eyes. She was tired of fighting them, so she let them fall.

  She’d lied. She’d stood there and lied to him when she’d told him he wasn’t the right man. Because he was the man her heart wanted, though she tried to deny it. She’d realized it tonight, and she’d been running from the truth of it when she’d gone down to the beach.

  How could she be so stupid? How could she have allowed herself to fall for him?

  It was too so
on.

  He was too much.

  He stunned her, quite simply. He was insightful, tender and tough. He made her feel safe. He’d even made her feel loved, though she knew he didn’t love her.

  But he was also wild, untamable. She’d known it, and yet she’d insisted on lying in the tiger’s jaws. When he chewed her up and spit her out, she had no one to blame but herself. She stood in the middle of the room, tears falling as she dashed them angrily away, and wanted to scream. She’d been just fine until he’d come into her life! She’d been getting through the days, trying to heal, trying to live.

  He’d ripped everything open again, made her feel, made her ache and want and need and love.

  After a while, Veronica went into the bathroom and washed her face with cold water. Then she stripped off her gown and dropped it on the bed.

  The bed was huge, a solid carved four-poster with white filmy netting hanging from it—and no way was she staying here tonight. No way was she sleeping in this giant bed, with Raj in the same house, knowing she couldn’t go to him.

  Knowing he would not come to her.

  Veronica found a thin silk robe in her luggage and wrapped it around herself. Then she slipped into the hallway and toward the front doors. She would go down to the cottages, find Martine’s quarters and sleep there tonight. If she were not under the same roof with Raj, she could breathe again. She could think and feel and not ache so much.

  She found the front door and jerked it open—

  Raj was standing on the other side, his hand poised over the handle. They stared at each other without speaking. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and her heart lodged in her throat. A pair of pajama bottoms sat low on his hips, the drawstring tied just loosely enough to allow his lean hip bones to protrude.

  Not to mention the ridges of his abdominal muscles, so hard and tight beneath his broad chest. Her mouth went dry. Her brain refused to function. She tried to speak, but no sound came out.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting sardonically.

  “Yes,” she managed to respond, her voice croaking out as if she’d been traveling across a desert with nothing to drink. She swallowed. “I was going to find Martine.”