“I am a married man,” he said with a shrug. “I am not interested in breaking the vows we made to one another.”
She had thought the ground was tilting beneath her moments ago, but now, it fairly shook! Was he actually saying that he’d been celibate this past year? That the virile and masculine specimen of royalty and hotness had gone without a partner – because of her? Because of their marriage?
“Fine,” she said, as though this revelation hadn’t made her pulse fire. “But if this is just about assuaging Malik’s worries, then why not simply tell him we’re trying for a baby? Surely that will do the same thing?”
Raffa’s eyes narrowed. “I hope, Chloe, that we can provide him with more than the thought of an heir, before he leaves this earth. His condition is worsening, but I have no reason to think he won’t survive long enough to meet his grandson.”
“Or granddaughter,” she pointed out, sipping her water, holding it tightly in one hand to hide the way her fingers were trembling.
“Or granddaughter,” The sheikh conceded with a nod. “The gender does not matter. The constitution will recognize either as my heir.”
Chloe tilted her head thoughtfully to one side. “You already have a son, do you not?”
It was the first time she’d played that card, the first time she’d spoken about the secret child, Amit, who was not so secret after all. Everybody knew of him. The twelve-year-old who was the product of a youthful indiscretion – rumoured to have been a love affair that was strictly forbidden by Raffa’s father.
“Leave Amit out of it. We are talking about my heir,” he recovered quickly, taking a step towards her, so that she fought an impulse to step backwards.
“Aren’t they one in the same thing?”
“He’s not my legitimate heir,” Raffa said with a shrug. “You are my bride. Only you can provide Qad’r with the child it requires.”
“You’re to be the King. Surely you can change the rules of succession?”
“Of course you would think ancient rules should be set aside when they become inconvenient. How very American of you.”
She ignored his condemnation. “I should think you find it inconvenient as well.”
His nostrils flared. “Amit will not inherit the throne, and he knows this. It has never entered his head that he would. He wouldn’t want the job, even if it were offered,” Raffa remarked with an affectionate smile.
A throb of jealousy robbed Chloe of breath. Raffa loved his son – that was natural. Why did that hurt? Why did she feel a sense of pain to see the way Raffa softened when thinking of another human? Because he would never soften towards her.
Not because he hated her – he didn’t. She would take his hatred – she would take any kind of emotion in preference to the coldness with which they treated one another.
Coldness, and disapproval. Yes, disapproval, because he disliked the necessity of this marriage as much as she. Because he’d thought he was getting a certain type of bride and instead he’d found himself married to a woman with her own ideas about where she wanted to live and what their lives would look like. They’d butted heads from day one, and that didn’t look like changing any time soon.
“You’re nervous.” The words were grim.
For a second, Chloe almost dropped her mask of unconcern. “Not at all,” she lied.
“You’re inexperienced.”
Chloe lifted a brow. “Employing euphemisms? For your comfort or mine?”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re a virgin,” he said simply.
Chloe refused to be intimidated. “I’ve never even been kissed,” she confirmed with apparent disregard. “Is that what you want to hear?”
Something like speculation grew in his eyes as he closed the distance between them, reaching for the glass in her hands.
He stared at her and despite her intentions to maintain her cool, his proximity and the promise of what was about to happen was over-charging her nerve endings. “You were twenty one when we married. You hadn’t dated?”
“No.” She tilted her head away, not wanting to be interrogated about her resolute commitment to being single.
“I find that hard to believe.”
That drew her attention back to his handsome face. “Believe it or not. That’s your choice.”
A muscle throbbed low in his jaw. “I know I should be gentle with you, and then you say things like that and I have to fight the urge to lift you over my shoulder and smack that delightful rear of yours.”
She drew in a gasp of surprise and stepped backwards, so that her hips jammed against the kitchen counter.
“You’d regret it,” she drawled, but the words were husky, the desire his words had sparked obvious in every syllable.
“Perhaps.” He closed the gap once more and she refused to be cowered, meeting his look without fear. “Did you marry me and believe we wouldn’t need to have an heir?”
“No. I always knew that one day we’d have to…” she couldn’t finish the sentence.
“I don’t want you to fear this, nor do I want you to feel forced.” A muscle jerked in his jaw. “You have choices here, Chloe.”
Her eyes met his, and a spark travelled from her to him, flaming the air. “I know that.”
His expression flashed with something like relief, for her words were the permission he sought.
“I will be gentle with you,” he promised, placing his hands on either side of her body, bracing his palms against the counter top and imprisoning her easily.
Chloe’s mouth was dry, her throat hoarse. She parted her lips to say something, but slammed them shut again when she realized she had been about to beg him, “Don’t be gentle.”
Chapter Two
HIS LIPS CAME CRUSHING down on hers, as though with his mouth he could brand her and possess her, as though fearing that she might escape. That she might push him away and demand he never touch her again. That she might demand her freedom in the form of divorce.
Chloe could have done any of those things. She had married Raffa by choice, because she’d wanted to please her father, but she’d gone into it with her eyes wide open. And now, with eyes shut, she was still staring down the barrel of her choices, knowing that it went beyond duty to their families.
She wanted this. She wanted him.
A low, keening groan tipped from her mouth to his and he returned it, a thick curse charging the air as he lifted a hand to her hair and tangled his fingers in its length, drawing her head backwards to give him better access to her lips. His tongue warred with hers and his body pressed hard against her, so she felt the strength of his attraction, she felt the powerful firmness of his body and her own went weak in response.
Temptation was dragging her under, pulling her into a tide of responsiveness and need. But it was madness, and a madness of his making. With a super-human effort, she broke apart from him, shoving at his chest and spinning herself around, so she had some space. Only space was an illusion – he was everywhere! In the air she breathed deep into her lungs, in the black recesses of her eyes, in her mouth, right down to her toes.
“Don’t kiss me,” she said warningly, lifting a hand to her mouth and touching her lips as though she could wipe away what they’d just shared.
“We can do it without kissing,” he said with a lift of his shoulders, his tone mocking. “But it’s a lot less personal.”
She glared at him. “We aren’t doing it at all,” she denied hotly. “I’m not going to simply sleep with you because you’ve decided it’s time! That’s not how things work. We’re husband and wife. How and when we have children is our decision, not yours alone. I appreciate you’re used to ruling with supreme autonomy but I’m not your subject to command.”
“Actually, that’s exactly what you are,” he said with a hint of steel in his voice.
“So you’re going to order me into your bed even when it’s the last place on earth I want to be?”
He laughed softly. “I don’t think I’ll need to order you there.” He
raked his gaze down her body, his attention lingering on the way her breasts were straining at her dress, two firm peaks of desire, echoed by her parted lips, flushed cheeks and huge pupils.
The room was filled with the sound of her breathing, hoarse and rushed. “Having children is not something I can just rush into.”
“You must see the importance of acting now.”
She turned away from him, so he wouldn’t recognize the acquiescence in her eyes. The truth was, she did want children. Desperately. She’d had a lonely upbringing – her only sibling was ten years her senior and they weren’t close. Her father and she had been basically estranged and her mother had been miserable and cold. Chloe yearned for someone to love, someone to fill the void in her heart. But a baby? Would she know what to do? How to love one? How to care for one?
“My father is dying.” The words were torn from Raffa and they sledged right into Chloe’s solar plexus. “And I want to give him this. I am begging you, Chloe, to help me. You are the only person; this is the only way. Will you help me?”
Her stomach twisted as the grief and desperation in his words ran through her. “You’re not just asking me to lend you my car for the weekend,” she said through gritted teeth. “This is a big deal.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“You’ve done this before. Had children, I mean,” she said, her skin heating at the unintentional double entendre, when she hadn’t been referring to his sexual experience at all.
Slowly, she turned back to face him, and her skin was pale, her eyes uncertain. “You want me to do this for you?”
He swept his eyes shut and his strong, handsome face, wore visible signs of strain. “Yes.”
“I want something from you in return.”
That got his attention. His eyes flew wide open, and he lanced her with the intensity of his gaze. “Go on.”
“We both know why we married,” she spoke stiltedly, frowning a little, for once her mask of unflappability dropping to show her true feelings. “Our fathers were determined that we would and neither of us wanted to upset them. It’s one of the main reasons I knew this marriage would work – that we both put such a high value on loyalty to our families.”
He tipped his head forward in silent agreement.
“Plus, Apollo considers you one of his closest friends, and despite the fact he and I aren’t particularly close, I do respect his judgement.”
He continued to be silent at the reference to her older half-brother.
“But I don’t know you, Raffa.” She took a step towards him, her frown captivating. “I don’t know what foods you like to eat, nor what music you listen to. I don’t know what books you read – or if you read at all, for that matter. I don’t know what makes you laugh, I don’t know anything about the man I married.”
“And whose fault is that?” He queried smoothly. “You took yourself to Qadim just as soon as the ink was dry on our contracts.”
“You gave me the house in the city,” she was spurred to defend. “Did you think I wouldn’t go there?”
“I thought you would go there occasionally,” he said with a gentle rebuke in the words. “Instead, you’ve used it as a hide-out, spending every bit of time you could away from me.”
She shook her head. “It’s not like that. I wasn’t hiding. I just… like the city,” she finished lamely.
“Be that as it may, if you had wanted to get to know me then you could have.”
“Fine,” she conceded with a sharp jerk of her head. “You’re right. But I can’t make love to a stranger. I’m just not wired that way.”
“How little you know of your body,” he said, almost regretfully. “You were quivering in my arms just now, and I guarantee that your insides were churning with wants. That your knees were weak and your belly tight, your breasts tender, your mind spinning with ways in which to find pleasure…”
“Stop it,” she pleaded, heat suffusing her cheeks. “A physical response to that kind of stimulus is normal.”
He didn’t respond and she was glad – glad that he resisted the temptation to point out that she knew nothing of such things.
“My father doesn’t have long,” he said heavily. “We cannot delay.”
“So what? You want me to strip naked? Go to your room? My God, Raffa. I’m a woman, not an automaton.”
“You are a woman,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “A woman with needs that I will take very good care of.”
“You are even more arrogant than I’d imagined!” She stamped her foot. “You can’t just dictate something like this to me.”
“You want to negotiate? You want me to agree to spend time with you? To get to know you? Fine. Move to the palace and we will do both.”
She stared at him with a feeling that she’d been backed tightly into a corner.
“Surely I can just come to the palace every few weeks. Stay in the capital, in my own home. Or you can come to me…”
“No.” He slashed his hand through the air. “This is not a game, Chloe. I need an heir and you are the only woman who can provide me with one.”
“So what I want doesn’t matter?”
“You wanted to marry me, and you have done so. You want children – your brother has told me as much.”
Anger slashed inside of her – directed at her husband Raffa and her brother Apollo. Birds of the same feather, flocking together, as always. Of course Apollo had divulged the stupid drunken conversation they’d had on the night of her twenty first birthday.
But she hadn’t known then what lay in store. She hadn’t known that only weeks later her father would be dead, that the marriage contract he’d negotiated would be the only way to honour and love the man she’d never had a chance to know in real life. That marrying Raffa had been her only way to claim a loss she couldn’t put into words.
“Apollo doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Chloe muttered, lifting fingertips to her temples and rubbing wearily. “He’s misinformed.”
“So you don’t want children?”
“No. Yes.” She expelled a plaintive breath. “One day, yes, I do. Very much. But …”
“It has to be now.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “If you cannot do this, if you want to leave, it must be now.”
“My God, Raffa! You’re not serious? You think a divorce would be good for your father? Why can’t we leave things as they are?”
“If I divorce you, I will remarry within a month. It is a slight delay, but considerably better than no prospect of an heir whatsoever.”
“You’re giving me an ultimatum,” she said, her shock genuine. It was a shock that filtered down to her core. “You’re threatening to throw me out if I don’t accede to this plan?”
His eyes held hers for a long moment and she could have sworn a glimmer of anguish ran across his handsome face before he was pure, arrogant Sheikh once more.
“Yes.”
And for no reason she could pinpoint, she felt remorse in that statement. She felt apology.
How absurd! This man apologized to no one, least of all his wife.
“I would never do that to your father,” she said after a beat had passed. “And you know that.”
Raffa expelled a breath and nodded. “Yes.”
At least he didn’t lie about his manipulations. “He’s on his death bed. The shock of our divorce could kill him. Give me a better ultimatum. One that holds two options that might appeal to me.”
He let out a short sound of frustration. “You rather misunderstand the point of an ultimatum.”
“No, I don’t.” She turned away from him again, pacing towards the waterfall. How long had it stood there, washing over ancient rocks, washing over ancient feuds? “I just didn’t think you’d be capable of behaving like this.”
She wrapped her arms around her torso, inadvertently drawing his attention to her slender fragility so that he wanted to join her in heaping abuse at his feet. What he was doing was beneath him, and he knew it. It was
despicable and unreasonable. But desperate times called for desperate measures and only the deepest love and affection for his father, the deepest respect for their family’s long tradition of keeping the peace in Ras El Kida, kept him to his course.
Goran represented a very real threat, and though Raffa knew he would triumph over it, there would be damage and loss in the interim. An heir was the only way to ensure the kingdom’s safety.
“Well, Chloe? I don’t have all night. What’s it to be?”
She didn’t move. Not even a little, so that Raffa was left wondering if she’d heard him. But finally, her head shifted just a fraction.
“I’ll move to the palace,” she said with a grim determination he understood. “But you will make time for me in your life. I’m not going to be ignored by you as well.”
Raffa was too relieved by her acquiescence to notice the bitter rejoinder that followed immediately afterwards.
“I’m pleased you are being reasonable.” Now that she’d agreed, he moved forward with plans. “I’ll have your servants bring your things, though much of your bridal trousseau has been installed in my dressing room already --,”
“Your dressing room?” She interrupted, whirling around. “I’ll have my own suite of rooms, though?”
“No.” His eyes glittered. “You are my wife and we are about to take a step forward – this marriage is about to become truth, not just a construct of our fathers’. So you will come to my apartment, my bed, my life.”
“But you surely don’t want that any more than I do?”
He shrugged. “I want an heir. And you being here gives us the best chances.”
“At your beck and call?” She snapped tartly, a shiver of anticipation and pleasure dancing up her spine. “You’re serious?”
“You either want this or you do not. You’ve just agreed to be my wife, to carry my child, so why are we arguing over semantics?”
“I don’t consider this semantics! I consider the question of my space and privacy to be an incredibly important one. I will have my own suite of rooms, Raffa, and you won’t bully me into anything else. You will come to me, but by prior appointment, at a time that suits us both.” She said stiffly, her tone loaded with an impressive degree of hauteur.
Loving the Enemy Page 19
