I have to distance myself, seeing him, being around him, will be too much temptation, and more time in his arms will only make me fall harder. I have to build a wall around myself to protect my feelings, though I suspect I’m already in too deep and it’s going to hurt to pull away. Tonight has shown me a side of intimacy that I never believed could exist between a man and a woman outside of the pages of a romance novel, but I mustn’t mistake the beating of my heart for anything other than recovery from exertion. There couldn’t be a man more unattainable for me to fall for.
This night is one to be stored as a beautiful memory; tomorrow I’ll end this. Stop it before it goes any further, and before my heart gets broken, thrusting back down the thought that even now it might be too late. Giving in to the temptation to have more nights like this, to explore what sex could be like with Kadar in control, to trust him to show me his way of loving, would only make the eventual and unavoidable end worse. The only thing I could ever be is a mistress, and I’m not a woman who’d even contemplate that. There can be no future for us, and no good will come of delaying the pain.
Neither of us seems to want or have the energy to move. His heart beats in time with mine, echoing through my head as I lay with my head on his chest. His cock softens inside me and slips out, a trickle of liquid following. We didn’t use a condom.
I try not to tense, not to give myself away as horror flits through my mind, hurtling me back to the last time Ethan raped me. But just as quickly I realise on this occasion the omission hadn’t been a calculated action on Kadar’s part, unlike the probability that Ethan’s had. In his position, this wasn’t the kind of risk he would consciously take. It’s more my fault than his—I was the one in control, I was the one who didn’t even consider protection—he probably assumed I’m on the pill.
Where am I in my cycle? Shit—I don’t even know whether it’s a safe time or not, the stress of the last few months has meant I’ve not been exactly regular. What if I am pregnant? Quickly I run through my options, remembering how I took immediate steps to remedy the situation by making sure Ethan’s evil seed couldn’t grow, and it hits me I don’t feel the same urgency now. As Kadar’s arms gently stroke my back, and his lips lovingly nuzzle my neck, I bite back a sob of despair.
I’m neither stupid nor blind to the devastating implications of me carrying Kadar’s baby, not just to me, but to him and his country. If I’m pregnant, and I do nothing to prevent his baby being born, it could potentially lead to a civil war. His first born, a child with a commoner’s blood. But already my feelings for Kadar run so deep; I doubt I could even contemplate ending a life we had created between us, despite the immeasurable problems that would follow.
Forcing myself not to panic, I realise my worries are almost certainly for nothing; we’d have to be extremely unlucky to have such a result from just one encounter. The greater likelihood is I’m not pregnant, so there’s no point worrying about something that will probably never happen. And if any decision is to be made, it can be left until I know for sure. There’s one thing for certain; I won’t use this to trap him, I can’t, the penalties on everyone would be too severe. If I am carrying his child, I’ll need to protect the man behind the throne, and the Emir of Amahad must never, ever know.
“Zoe, we didn’t use a condom. Are you using protection?”
Kadar’s tersely spoken words let me know his thoughts have been running along the same track as mine. So I lie to him, hiding my face in his chest, shrouding the betrayal in my eyes, “No need to worry, Kadar. I’m safe.”
I forgive myself for telling him this falsehood. The truth and its possible result potentially have the power to destroy him. As I feel, as well as hear, his sigh of relief, I know the huge lie I’ve told was the right thing to say. I don’t want him concerned about something which is only a vague possibility.
He turns me, so I lie on my side facing away from him. His hold tightens as he nuzzles my neck and kisses my hair. Slowly his embrace loosens, and his breathing slows and I realise he’s asleep. Vowing I’ll only allow myself this one night to lie beside him, to enjoy his strong arms wrapped around me keeping me safe, I struggle to stay awake, not wanting to waste a moment of our closeness. I inhale the scent of sandalwood, man, and sex, listen to the soft sounds he makes in his sleep, storing up memories to comfort me in times to come and try to keep the guilt away.
If I’m pregnant, this man will never know his child. I’ll have stolen something from him, but only so he can live out his preordained life. Silent tears roll down my cheeks as I think of the implications if indeed I’m left with a memento of this night. But however hard it will be to keep such a secret from Kadar, however much it could hurt him if he ever discovers the truth, the alternative would be so much worse. I hope and pray this night doesn’t bear fruit, and it hardens my resolve not to repeat this intimacy. Once we might get away with, but we can’t take the risk again.
The next morning I wake alone, tracks of dried tears on my face. Sometime during the night Kadar must have gathered his clothing and left without disturbing me, presumably to avoid the walk of shame as the daylight hours arrived. Or was it that he didn’t know what to say to me today? Though the thought hurts me, it also comforts me. I don’t relish the idea of the conversation ahead if he wants a repeat performance. I definitely can’t allow that to happen. I lied to him once; I will not lie to him again.
Glancing at the bedside clock, I’m surprised to see I’ve overslept, and it’s already the middle of the morning! Taking my time, I shower, dress, and fiddle around doing my hair until at last, I pluck up sufficient nerve to walk out of my bedroom. As I expected, Sean is waiting for me. And I have no bloody clue what to say to him.
He gets up as I enter the sitting room area, and comes across to me, looking deep into my face, his hand coming up to cup my chin, turning my face up so he can see into my eyes. “You okay?”
His gently asked question almost makes my tears start once more. I nod slowly in answer.
“Zoe, Kadar has…”
Lifting my hand, I put my fingers against his lips. “Sean, it ends now. Whatever ‘it’ is. I have to let him go. I know that. For both our sakes.”
Under his scrutiny my eyes drop to the floor. He leans down, placing a kiss on my head, and his arms come around me. I lean into him, for once needing this contact. “You know, I wished it was me?”
I realise that and have no answer for him. I don’t want to cause anyone pain, and yet I’m hurting two men.
“But I’m glad someone was there for you. I just wish you’d found someone else, someone who could offer you something long term. But that wouldn’t have been me, either, we both know that.” He pulls back a little way, a smile turning up one corner of his mouth, “You sounded like you were having a good time, though!”
I gasp with embarrassment, mortified he heard us. He laughs, his joke carrying no malice, and he doesn’t take advantage of my humiliation, simply changes the subject, telling me, “He wants you to breakfast with him. He asked me to let you know.”
I hadn’t realised how hard this would be, just the thought of being alone with Kadar again would be too great a threat to my resolve. My eyes flick around the room and settle on a pad of writing paper conveniently left on a sideboard. Pulling away from Sean I go over, pick up the pen lying beside it. Closing my eyes for a second, I compose in my head what I need to say before committing it to writing.
Once I’ve finished my note, I fold it, put it in an envelope, seal it and hand it to Sean. “Sean, will you take this to him, please?”
Without me having to explain he understands, taking my letter with a quick nod, and, after throwing me a look filled with sadness and sympathy, he leaves the room to deliver my message.
I stare at the closed door, and my hand comes to rest on my stomach. No! I can’t be pregnant, and I won’t worry about it. Fate wouldn’t be that unkind to me!
Chapter 29
Kadar
Expecting to see Z
oe, I’d arranged a breakfast buffet that lies on the table waiting for her to share it with me. But instead, it’s Sean who enters the royal suite, his face carefully schooled, masking his thoughts. Without ceremony, he hands me an envelope, and my heart misses a beat as the implication of him entering alone suggests what it probably contains. Calling on all my diplomatic training I keep my expression casual and relaxed as I slit it open taking out the note inside. I read the contents, once and then again.
“Is she okay?” I put my hand to head and touch my fingers to my brow, realising how much it must have cost her to write the words.
“Yes, but she’s made her decision. I don’t know what she’s written, but I believe I can guess. You’ve got to respect her wishes, Kadar.”
He’s not gloating; he even sounds sympathetic. “I know. She’s made that very clear.” I stand, my eyes closed, as the memory of my cock buried deep inside her assails me, together with the realisation that I’ll never be so close to her again. I’ll spend my life reliving that one glorious night we spent together; the night I connected with a woman on far more than just a physical plane.
The smell of the cooling food mocks me. She’s doing the right thing, what I should have instigated but didn’t have the courage to do. I’ve already memorised the contents of her short, but to the point, note. She doesn’t want to see me again. At all. She’ll only stay in Amahad if I keep my distance. At that moment I’d give just about anything not to be the emir, not to have my future wasn’t mapped out and planned, so I could live my life with this woman by my side. Somewhere in the time from our first meeting in London to that night I saw her in the harem; she’d inveigled herself into my psyche, melting my ice cold heart. The thought of never seeing her, talking to her again, tears me in two. And that makes me realise she’s right. It would only be worse for both of us if I went against her wishes and saw her again, even in the company of others, it would only be delaying the inevitable. And if she has feelings half as deep as my own, she’ll be hurting too.
I realise Sean’s waiting for me to speak. “I’ll complete my meetings with the sheikhs, and then I’ll return to the capital. She should be safe here; St John-Davies thinks she’s in Al Qar’ah. Once we’ve dealt with him, she can return and continue her work. Or leave and go back to England, if that’s what she prefers to do. Can you tell her that, Sean?”
The unlikely looking bodyguard slowly nods, understanding in his eyes. “I’ll keep her safe, Kadar.”
I know he will. He’ll take care of Zee for me; I can trust him on that.
After the door closes behind Sean, I allow myself a few moments to grieve my loss, trying to convince myself it couldn’t have worked any other way. She’s only pre-empted the clean break that I would have to have asked for myself. Then I stand, pulling my back straight and once again putting on my headdress and gold agal—the symbol of my office—mentally girding myself for the meetings ahead. I’m back in control. Only the slight trembling of my hands betrays me; getting Zee out of my head might be an impossible task.
The guard outside my suite is sloppily dressed; his uniform unbuttoned at the neck. He yawns widely as I open my door, a sense of boredom rolling off of him. It crosses my mind that Nijad can’t know how much standards are dropping in his absence and I’ll need to enlighten him on my return. Any royal guard is also a member of our elite troops and as such should be sharp and disciplined. This man is anything but! The guard becomes aware of my critical scrutiny and belatedly stands to attention. I can’t leave it like this—the state of my guards reflects on me.
“Zarr hatta satrat w ta’annaq nafsak!” Angrily, I tell him to button up his tunic and smarten himself up.
As I bark out my instruction he obeys, and then rasps out a sullen apology. Something makes me note the coarse dialect he uses, filing it away in the back of my mind to think about later. His behaviour has made me wary, but for now, disregard the niggling worry. Maybe I’ll have to have him removed from guard duty, but his insubordination gets drowned in the mire of everything else going through my head and the disrespect shown by a guard pales into insignificance.
I’m late for our noon meeting, so can’t afford to tarry. Winding my way through the corridors, eventually, I come to the staterooms on the ground floor where the five desert sheikhs are already assembled and waiting for me. The guard opens the door and then, at my instruction, steps back to wait outside. None of the sheikhs have attendants with them; what we’re about to discuss today is not for other ears. Though I know all will have brought their soldiers and warriors with them, their men will remain in their camps set up outside the city walls, as evidenced by the camp fires I saw burning last night.
The ritual of coffee, the hospitality I offer my guests, begins. I raise my cup wondering who is friend or foe, who’s already on side, and who still needs to be persuaded. I’m hopeful all the five who responded to my call are willing to work with me, but it would be wrong to assume anything and not to proceed with caution. Conscious that just one badly worded sentence could start a war, I allow one final thought about the woman who was in my bed last night, and then put her out of my mind. I need all my wits about me today and can allow no distractions.
I lift my head stretching my neck and then lower it, turning to survey the room. Sheikh Rais sits on my right, and he nods at me. He has already been helping to smooth the way with the other desert sheikhs. Rais’s support, I have no doubts about.
Looking to my left, I take in Sheikh Ghalib, another who’s less bloodthirsty than some of the rest. He’s the oldest of those assembled today, but does wisdom come with age? Sheikhs Sofian and Wahid are relatively unknown to me, but I’ve not heard anything but good about their tribes, and there’s nothing in any report I’d been given to suggest they are not supportive of my rule, or that they harbour dissidents within their peoples. Sheikh Jibran, though, I pause my recognisance of those assembled as I consider him, trying hard to read his body language. He’s a cousin of Abdul-Muhsi, and if nothing else that makes me wary. Can I rely on him? Or could he be here as a spy?
Coffee cups drained, refilled with the thick syrupy liquid, and then emptied once more I rap hard on the table, drawing the attention of the five sheikhs. The meeting is now underway.
I commence proceedings by thanking them for attending today and passing around the agenda. The first item is the discussion of the jihadists crossing the border into Amahad from Erizad, a country we, unfortunately, have poor relations with and it’s from there that the terrorists try to cross over into our land. Our reliance on foreign monies coming into Amahad means that we cannot allow ourselves to be infiltrated in a similar way as other Arab countries have suffered. We must protect the southern border, and I need the support of these sheikhs to accomplish that.
I begin hearing the reports from the assembled tribal leaders, increasingly feeling like a weight is being lifted off me as it appears, while we’re not always successful watching every mile of the boundary with Erizad, any jihadists that have crossed over have been picked up and dealt with—viscously and permanently, their bodies placed at prominent border crossing points. It may be a primitive way of dealing with our enemies, but it’s efficient, and I’m certainly not going to complain about the methods employed as long as we keep under the radar of certain international organisations. In truth, the vigour with which the invaders have been dispatched pleases me. In this, at least, these sheikhs are on my side.
Sheikh Ghalib indicates he wishes to speak, and I gesture, offering him the floor. But before he can open his mouth, the deafening sound of a massive explosion rocks the palace, making the very fabric of the building shake around us. For a split second, we all sit stunned, then stand as one, preparing to take defensive action, immediately assessing that the bomb, or whatever it was, while not in our vicinity, doesn’t mean we, ourselves, are not the intended targets. Outside the window I see dust billowing around, then my eyes narrow in suspicion as I view the sheikhs standing around the table, trying
to see if one of them doesn’t seem as surprised as the rest, my gaze pausing notably on Jibran. But he, as well as all the others, appear to be in the same state of shock as I.
I open my mouth to speak when the door bursts open and the untidy looking guard enters with an automatic rifle in his hands. He holds it steady, his eyes scanning the room. I inwardly curse, berating myself for my stupidity and wishing I’d followed up on my suspicions earlier. This man is no member of the Royal Guard.
“Sit!” he barks out. The gun swings side to side, incorporating all of us in its range, the threat explicit. We’ve nothing to defend ourselves with. History counselling caution due to the volatility of the desert sheikhs, meetings between them had a strict no weapons rule, and all had subjected to a pat down from the guards before entering the room.
But before I have time to react to the threat, as if in a blur of movement a knife flies across the room, ending up embedded in the chest of the guard. With an expression of surprise, he drops the rifle, clasping his hands to the blade in his body, falling to the ground. My doubts about Jibran’s loyalty disappear, and for once I’m glad my soldiers must have failed in their duty, and he’d managed to sneak a weapon into the room.
But were they my men? Recognition of the dialect that I’d picked up on earlier hits me, and I curse myself for not putting more emphasis on it at the time. Although, admittedly, on its own that would have no relevance as the Royal Guards are drawn from all tribes, and it wouldn’t have been strange to find some coming from the Qaiquw. But now, with the evidence in front of my eyes, I realise the felled man must be one of Abdul-Muhsi’s extremist followers.
Released from my frozen pose I go and kneel beside him; Rais has reacted quicker than me and has the rifle in his hands, the barrel pointed at the man in the throes of dying at my feet. Jibran’s aim was true. Blood pours from his wound and his mouth. I grab him roughly. “What is this?”
Second Chances (Blood Brothers #3) Page 31
