Prince Hafiz's Only Vice. Susanna CarrЧитать онлайн книгу.
tightening his body. “You’re supposed to wear several layers of clothes under the caftan.” He unhooked the front closure of her bra, his knuckles grazing her breast. He saw the tremor in his hands. He was acting like a callow youth.
“Are you kidding?” She skimmed the high-cut panties down her legs and kicked them aside. “I would boil alive.”
His gaze traveled as the peach satin landed on the black fabric. The searing image branded in his mind. The way he would look at women in the shapeless caftan was forever changed. He swallowed roughly as he controlled his baser instinct. “What if you had gotten caught?”
“No one would have found out. You are the only person who has shown enough nerve to get that close.” She arched her eyebrow in disapproval.
And he was going to keep it that way. “Here, get under the water.” He pulled her to the showerhead.
“Oh! Ow!” Lacey squealed in dismay as the icy cold spray hit her body. She jumped back and rubbed her hands over her arms. “This is so cold.”
“You’ll get used to it in just a minute,” he replied as he always did to her comments on the lack of heated water. The familiarity calmed him while her beaded nipples made his brain sluggish.
“You can leave now,” she said through chattering teeth. She looked away from him and tested the temperature by dipping her foot in the cold water.
He leaned against the door and folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t want you passing out in the shower.”
“I won’t. Now go before your royal gown gets soaked.” She shooed him away with her hands.
She had a point. The bathroom, already hot as a sauna, was in the traditional Rudaynahi design, with the exception of a European commode. The concrete floor had a drain and was also to be used as the shower floor. Since there was no plastic curtain or glass shower door, the water was already spraying every inch of the bathroom.
“If you’re sure,” Hafiz said and flashed a wicked smile. “But I can just as easily take it off.”
She glared back at him. “I’m sure.”
His smile turned wry at her ungracious rejection. He shouldn’t have made the offer. He knew that but went for it anyway. “I’ll be outside,” Hafiz said. Lacey didn’t respond as she stuck her head fully under the spray.
He stepped out of the bathroom and almost collided with the housekeeper who carried a small tray into the bedroom. The tall frosty glass of juice rattled against a plate of figs and dates.
“How is she doing?” Annette asked as she set the tray on the bedside table. “Do we need to call a doctor?”
“No, she’s not sick.” The uncertain look of the older woman irritated him. If he truly felt Lacey needed medical care, he would call the American doctor who’d already discovered that cashing in favors from a prince was worth more than any currency in a country that relied heavily on the bartering system.
The physician was brilliant and up to date on medicine. Hafiz had seen that firsthand when Lacey arrived in the country and had drunk water that had not been purified. That week had been torture, and Hafiz was insistent that she was given the best care, no matter what. Hafiz would never place secrecy above Lacey’s well-being, and it stung to have someone silently questioning his priorities.
“She’s overheated,” he explained, keeping the defensiveness out of his voice. “The shower is already doing wonders.”
“We threw away the newspapers like you requested, but we never thought Lacey would leave to get one.” The woman twisted the pleat of her yellow sundress with nervous hands and slid a worried glance at the closed bathroom door.
“It’s no one’s fault,” he said. No one’s but his own. He should have prepared Lacey for the possibility of his wedding, but he’d held on to the hope that his intended bride would have declined the offer. “Please, find something light for her to wear.”
“Of course.” The housekeeper gratefully accepted the task and opened the doors to the armoire, revealing gossamer-thin cotton in every color of the rainbow.
Hafiz walked into the simply appointed drawing room and tried to recapture the peace he always felt whenever he stepped into this home. Decorated with an eclectic mix of wood tables carved in the severe Rudaynahi style and chunky upholstered sofas from the Western world, Lacey had managed to add her upbeat personality with tribal throw rugs and colorful paintings from local artisans.
The apartment was more than a home. It was a haven. It was the only place he felt both passion and peace. The only place in the world he experienced unconditional love.
Hafiz walked slowly to the grand piano that sat in the middle of the room and under the carefully positioned spotlight. It had been incredibly difficult shipping the instrument into the country. Flying in a piano tuner every couple of months was no easy feat, but seeing Lacey’s joy and listening to her soulful music made it all worthwhile.
He fingered the sheet music scattered on the polished black wood. The woman had the talent to become a successful recording artist. Hafiz had told her enough times, but she always shook her head in disagreement. Music was a big part of her, but she didn’t want to be consumed with the ladder of success like her parents, who were still striving for their big break. She didn’t have the desire.
But she stored up all her passion for him. Did that make him feel less guilty in whisking her to his country? The edges of the sheet music crinkled under his fingertips. Because she had no interest in pursuing a career? Because she didn’t have family ties?
Hafiz pondered the question as he walked to the doors leading to the balcony that overlooked the Persian Gulf. He admitted that it made it easier to ask her to drop everything and follow him. To stay in the apartment and wait for him. Not once had she complained or shown resentment until today.
And she had every right. He had risked everything for more time with Lacey. The relationship they had was forbidden. And now, as of today, it was impossible.
Only Hafiz didn’t allow that word in his vocabulary, and he wasn’t willing to let the idea invade his life with Lacey.
“What are you still doing here?” Lacey asked at the doorway on the other side of the long room.
Hafiz turned around. Lacey’s wet hair was slicked back into a copper waterfall. She had changed into a pink cotton caftan that clung to her damp skin. Gold threads were woven into the fabric and sparkled like stars.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked, silently watching the housekeeper duck into the kitchen.
“Much. You’re free to go.” She walked toward the front door.
“Lacey, we need to talk.”
“No kidding, but I don’t want to right now.” She gripped the thick door handle. “You have had years to think about this. I have had less than an hour.”
“Lacey—” He crossed the room and stood in front of her, prepared to take the brunt of her anger and soak up her tears.
“I want you to go.” She flung open the door.
Hafiz’s shoulders flexed with tension. Every instinct told him to stay, but he knew what she said made sense. It was strange to have her as the calm one and he filled with impetuous emotions. He didn’t like the role reversal.
Hafiz agreed with a sharp nod. “I will be here tomorrow after work.” He leaned down to brush her cheek with a gentle kiss.
She turned her head abruptly. “Don’t.” Her eyes focused on the hallway outside the iron grille.
His heart stopped. Lacey had never rejected his touch. “What are you saying?” he asked in a low voice as his lungs shriveled, unable to take in the next breath.
The muscles in her throat jerked. “You shouldn’t touch me.” The words were a mere whisper.