He captured her hand easily and lifted it to his lips. His kiss was gentle but it sent small fires of anticipation bursting beneath her skin. “Yes. With me.” For the smallest of moments he thought of the contracts he’d just signed. Contracts pledging his faith and loyalty to another woman.
But the wedding would take years to organise. His intended bride was still studying. She should complete her degree, and then take her place by his side.
“Where? Where do you want me to go with you?” But even then, she knew she would go anywhere.
His smile was triumphant.
She was his.
“Let us start with my hotel.”
That was the moment. She didn’t know it, but that was the second she should have walked away. Or at least seen him for what he was.
But Abigal McClean saw only a handsome stranger with a disarming smile and sexy accent. If she’d known he was a powerful Sheikh, would that have caused her to pause? If she’d known that he was engaged? Unavailable? Definitely. But she did not, and so she nodded slowly, and felt all the parts of her soul knit together in one perfect, complete piece.
She would go with him, wherever he wanted.
Just as she was meant to.
6
“It’s snowing again,” she murmured, catching the smallest of little stars in her gloved hand. She was so transfixed by the perfection of that moment – him, the sky, the snow – that she didn’t realise they had a tail behind them. Men who lived to serve the Sheikh had fallen into step when they emerged, though they kept a discreet distance.
“Yes,” he padded his thumb across her leather glove. He didn’t wear any himself. His fingers looked capable. As though he might play guitar or piano.
“What do you do?” She blurted out, her eyes flying to his almost apologetically. “It’s your hands,” she explained in a rush. “They made me wonder.”
His laugh was like a caress. “Did they? And what, Abigail, did they cause you to conclude?” He linked their fingers together and lifted them level with her eyes.
“I … maybe a musician,” she mumbled with embarrassment. For it was obviously ridiculous. He was dressed far too conservatively and he’d ordered two of the most expensive items on the menu without blinking. He was no struggling guitarist. “That’s stupid,” she tacked on with a small shake of her head. When she went to pull her hand away he squeezed her fingers more tightly and smiled down at her.
His smile alone had the power to set her doubts aside.
Give into the moment, she thought grimly. For it would not last forever.
“Not so stupid,” he admonished kindly. “I learned to play the Oud when I was a boy, and also the Zorna.”
“The Oud and the Zorna?” She repeated, unable to suppress the smile that tingled on her lips. “What are they?”
He returned her smile. “The Oud is like what you would call a guitar. A hollowed out wooden instrument with a long neck and strings. Four, traditionally, but sometimes six now. Mine was … a gift from my grandfather … and very old. It had been passed down through our family, and the songs I learned were written only for us.”
“Oh,” she exhaled, as magic weaved around her soul.
“The Zorna is a horrible sounding instrument. It’s a cross between an oboe, a clarinet and a flute. It’s made from the wood of an apricot tree, though mine was crafted from quince. A special tree that grows only in the North-Eastern tip of our country. But the sound it makes … if you ever hear it, Abigail, you will squeeze that beautiful little face of yours up in horror. It is like eight drunk children squealing.”
She burst out laughing. “Drunk children?”
“Yes,” he agreed, laughing himself. “It is the best way I can describe it. A high-pitched wail.” He held his free hand up to interrupt the joke. “Though in the hands of a master – which I am certainly not – it is … or it can be … quite moving.”
Her breaths were forced. She felt like she’d run a marathon. Could she have been having a heart attack? It certainly felt like it.
“So you are not a musician,” she said, after a moment’s pause.
“No.” He paused on the wide footpath outside a set of glass doors. A man dressed in an ornate tuxedo and top hat stood to attention.
“This is where I am staying, for now,” he said with a nod at the building behind them.
Abigail didn’t need to turn around to know where they were. He’d brought her to one of the most well-known landmark hotels in the city. And just like that, a trickle of doubt began to form in the pit of her stomach.
“You’re staying here?” She said softly, but of course he was. Now, for the first time, she took a moment to note his appearance. The details of his appearance, rather, that she’d missed the first time around. His elegant suit. The shoes. The watch. The general demeanour of wealth and success.
And she felt … grey-scale in comparison.
What was she doing?
“Is that a problem?” He asked softly, scanning her face.
Her smile was apologetic. “I don’t feel like I should … I mean … I’m … I’ve come straight from work. I don’t think I’m …”
Ki suppressed his impatience. “What is it, Abigail? What is it you are trying to tell me?”
I don’t belong. The words screamed in her head. “I forgot I have something on,” she lied, her cheeks darkening. “A thing I promised a friend I’d, um, help them with.”
His consternation was obvious but he smothered it quickly. “Then let me give you a lift. Where is this thing, with this friend?”
She unhooked her fingers, realising she should have done so at least a block sooner. “Not far,” she promised huskily.
“Abigail,” it was a command. They both knew it. Only Kiral didn’t know what he wanted to say. He knew only that he wanted this woman. In his bed, certainly. But his need went beyond something so base.
“Ki,” she responded with a shrug of her shoulders. And then, with a sigh and a look down the street: “I should never have come with you. This is … weird.”
“Why is it weird?” He pushed determinedly. If she was talking, then she was staying, and he still had a chance.
“Because I just met you,” she laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “And you’ve said yourself that you’re only here a day or two.”
“So?” He prompted, genuinely not understanding her hesitation.
“What do you want from me?” She turned the tables on him, her eyes narrowing as she studied his handsome face.
“Want from you?” He repeated, stalling for time to clarify his intentions to himself before repeating them to her.
“Yes. Why did you linger in the restaurant, waiting for me to finish?”
“I wanted to get to know you better.”
She forced herself to be bold; to ask the question that was at the forefront of her mind. “Is this about sex? You want to take me to your hotel and seduce me?”
His smile was amused. “Yes,” he said with a small nod.
Abigail’s whole face turned a shade of beetroot red that she knew was anything but flattering. “Then why not hook up with Caroline? She’s gorgeous and far more available and into this kind of thing than I am.”
“More available?” He pushed. “You mean you are not available?” He thought of the contracts once more and felt a sharp stab of guilt. It was unfamiliar and unwelcome.
“No. Yes.” She made a noise of frustration. “I’m not available for this,” she muttered with a shake of her head.
“Okay,” he put his hands on her arms and held her just in front of him. “I get it. This is too much, too fast. You need time.” His attention lingered on her lips, and he saw the reaction his closeness was having on her. “Answer me this one question, Abigail. Do you really want to go?”
To leave him? The very idea was anathema to her. “I should go,” she said carefully.
“Which is not the same thing, as you well know.”
She licked the outline
of her lower lip. “What do you do?”
“Why does it matter so much to you?” He pushed, his hands squeezing her arms slightly.
“Because,” she let out a noise of impatience. “You’re staying at a place that probably costs more for one night than my little apartment does for a whole year.”
“And this bothers you?”
“No,” she shook her head. “But it makes me feel at odds with you from the beginning.”
“That’s strange,” he said with a curious expression on his face. “I did not have you picked as a snob.”
“I’m not a snob,” she said grumpily.
“You don’t want to come to my room because you think I have too much money for you.”
“No!” She denied hotly. She shook free of his touch and wrapped her arms around her chest.
“Listen,” he said quietly. “We do not have to go into the hotel. We can keep walking. Or we can go to your apartment. Or we can go and see a film. I want only to spend more time with you.”
A beat of time passed. It shook with the weight of her silence. “Why?” She throbbed finally.
“Because you fascinate me, Abigail. That is why, and I have decided I must get to know you better.” Her breath caught in her throat. “So? What shall we do?”
She bit down on her lip, certainty at war with desire. “There’s a great art-deco cinema two blocks down.”
His smile was rich with relief.
“I have one condition, though.”
It made his stomach lurch in a way he hadn’t experienced before. “Name it.”
“I’m buying the popcorn.”
“Deal.” He laughed softly and put his hand in the small of her back, guiding her gently away from his building. In that moment, he had an instinct that she was almost like a skittish cat. And he certainly didn’t want to frighten her.
He had gone from feeling anger and frustration all morning to experiencing now an awakening of joy. He cast a sidelong glance at this woman. Curiosity barbed in his gut. What was it about her that made him want to stay with her? What power did she exert over him?
She was pretty, but not by any means the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her face was pleasingly symmetrical. Her skin was clear, her eyes intelligent and watchful, her nose dainty with a little hook at the end. The freckles across its bridge made him think she was playful at times, and her lips had that same serene insightfulness that the Mona Lisa had employed for centuries.
It wasn’t any one thing about her, he decided in the end, so much as the effect of the whole.
“How long have you worked at this restaurant?”
Her gaze met his. His stomach dipped again. “Almost two years.”
“And you like it?”
She nodded. “It’s … okay. The hours are good. Caroline works my shifts around my classes.”
“Classes?” He prompted curiously.
“Yeah. I’m doing literature and history.” She grimaced with an exaggerated expression. “I’ve already been told how tough it’s going to be to get a job, but I don’t care.”
“I cannot imagine it would be tough for you to get any employment you wished for,” he assured her softly.
Her chest clenched. “Your criteria is different, I think, to what my future boss will be considering.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed with an answering smile.
“What about you?” She said, wondering why her heart felt so heavy in that moment.
“What about me?”
“You seem to keep evading my question. Why won’t you tell me what it is you do?”
“Because I do many things,” he laughed quietly.
She nodded. “Which of them for a living,” she teased with mock impatience.
He liked the way her back felt through her coat. She was warm even on a snow-covered afternoon. “I am in government.” He was surprised by how easily the explanation tripped off his tongue. After all, he was not in government so much as he was the government.
“Government?” She repeated. Could that explain the fact he was staying at the most prestigious hotel in the whole of Manhattan? Perhaps his job was important, and the costs were covered by his work.
“It’s not interesting, I assure you,” he said smoothly. “Is this it?”
She looked up in the direction of where he was pointing and nodded. But the idea of a movie no longer appealed to her. She scrunched up her nose and jammed her hands in her pockets. She felt impatient and hyper-stimulated. Her whole body was buzzing with sense and emotions. “Do you want to keep walking?”
He nodded without missing a beat. “Yes.”
“Good.” She smiled up at him, and a perfect flake of snow drifted onto the tip of her nose.
Kiral watched it land with a sinking feeling. His entourage was only metres behind them and yet he wanted to kiss her. To kiss that lovely little nose, and then those perfect, sweetheart lips. He wanted to strip her naked and touch her body everywhere. “Let us keep walking.”
He reached up and slowly dabbed the snowflake away. Another one took its place almost instantly.
Abigail’s smile was disarming. “It’s getting heavier.”
He nodded. “The ground will be covered before long.”
Uncertainty was a gulfing chasm before her. “Maybe we should … I mean … it seems silly to be caught out in a snow storm.”
The sound he made was one of agreement but it was almost a growl. An animalistic impatience had overtaken him. “Come to my hotel.”
Abigail wasn’t stupid. She knew what would happen if she agreed. “I’ve never done this before.”
“I gathered,” he assured her, his need becoming a beast almost impossible to wield.
He didn’t expect her laugh. It was a sound of acceptance, fatalism and excitement. “Okay. Let’s go.”
He turned ahead of her, shielding her from the conspicuous looking group of men who were still following them. Kiral didn’t want them. He wanted to be alone with Abigail. And soon he would be.
The walk back to his hotel was much faster. Anticipation was a demanding mistress and she encouraged their steps to move quickly. He was pleased that Abigail didn’t hesitate this time. As the doorman held the glass door open, she stepped inside without a moment’s pause.
She was brave.
He admired her that.
“Which way?” She asked, looking even more petite in the palatial lobby. She was like a pixie; his pixie.
He nodded towards the lifts. The doors opened instantly when he approached. He gestured for her to precede him and, once she was in the safety of the space he turned to his main security operative Alain and gave a single shake of his head. It stilled the team instantly.
When he stepped into the elevator and stood beside Abigail it was with the knowledge that they would not be disturbed until he wished it.
She was his, as he’d wanted her to be from the first. The short days he’d planned to spend in New York turned into almost a month. But, as the ancient adage went, all good things ran their course and their relationship was no exemption.
7
PRESENT DAY
“He looks so much like me.”
Abigail smoothed some of her son’s dark brown hair from his brow. Her smile was nostalgic. “Yes.” She kissed Mikey’s cheek. He didn’t stir, but she was no longer worried. Just days ago, his lack of response would have alarmed her. She would have immediately moved her fingers to his pulse point to check for a heartbeat. But now she was relatively relaxed and admired his slumbering form.
“Only a day after the operation and he’s doing so well.” She moved away from the bed but continued to stare at the toddler. “I could never have dreamed it would go so smoothly.”
“No,” Kiral nodded. “It shows he has true strength and courage.”
Abigail bit down on her lip. He did. Michael had been a fighter from the first.
“He’s always been brave,” she agreed, daring to glance at Kiral. His handsome face
was impossible to read. He was a closed book when he wanted to be, even to her.
“Has he?” He wondered aloud. “And what else?”
“What else?”
He compressed his lips. “I want to know everything about him. I want to understand him.”
“Oh.” She nodded. Guilt lanced her. “You will. You’ll get to know him.”
“Of course,” he brushed aside the platitude. “But that is not good enough.” He turned to face her properly. “I want you to tell me everything I’ve missed.”
“Everything?” She couldn’t help smiling. “There’s too much to relate.”
“We shall see.” He took a step nearer to her. “It is time for us to go.”
“Go?” She was stricken.
“Yes. Go.”
“What? Why? Where to?”
“To the palace,” he murmured.
“Why?” She repeated, her eyes flying back to Michael’s tiny body.
“Many reasons,” he said seriously. “We are to be married in days. You must begin to learn what will be expected of you.”
She shook her head and took a step backwards. “You can’t be serious.”
He frowned. “There is much for you to take in; months would be insufficient time to prepare for the role that awaits you.”
“You can’t have been serious about marrying me,” she hissed.
“I’m serious about my heir being raised in Delani,” he said with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “If you would like to be a part of that, then yes. We marry.”
“But he can be raised here in Delani,” she tried frantically. “He can even live in the palace. I can live there too. We don’t need to marry. Nor to have anything to do with one another.”
“No.” He squared his shoulders. “We had a deal. Michael has been made well. And now we marry.”
She shook her head. “How can you speak like this? As though we’re just … as though we’re discussing what to order for breakfast. This is a wedding! A marriage! A life together! And I don’t want to marry you,” she murmured petulantly.
“Perhaps not,” he said with a nod. “But you will adapt to the idea. Are you ready to go?”
Clare Connelly Pairs II Page 22
