Royal Weddings. Annie WestЧитать онлайн книгу.
and his mouth a flat line. Even his eyes glittered a warning.
Yet still Tariq was the most breathtaking man she’d ever seen. Her stomach turned to treacle as the afternoon sun caught the solid plane of his jaw and the proud thrust of that impressive nose. She wondered how it would feel if, instead of shutting her out, he opened his arms and hauled her close into that broad chest. If he kissed her...
She blinked, suddenly light-headed.
That was not what she wanted. Sex had made a fool of her once. She refused to let that happen again. This, what she proposed now, was far more sensible.
Planting her feet more solidly, wishing she weren’t quite so dwarfed by him, Samira cleared her throat, mentally flicking through the arguments she’d prepared.
‘It’s an excellent match,’ she began, gathering herself. ‘Our countries already have so much in common. I understand your customs and history. I’m not a complete outsider. And by marrying me you’d strengthen your ties with Jazeer.’
‘Our ties with Jazeer are already strong.’
Refusing to be deflated, she kept her chin up. ‘My background speaks for itself. I was born and bred to royal rank and responsibility. I understand what’s expected of a queen and I’ve got a lifetime’s experience of public functions and diplomacy. I understand royal duty and I won’t shirk it.’
Expectantly she looked at him. Finally he nodded. ‘All useful attributes.’ He paused. ‘But others could say the same. Your own sister-in-law has adapted well to her new role, and she wasn’t born royal.’
Samira exhaled slowly. Had she really expected Tariq to agree instantly? She told herself his wariness was to be expected. He’d adored his first wife and his choice of second wife would affect not only himself but his precious boys and his country. Of course he needed to consider this from all angles.
Yet a small part of her wailed in disappointment that he viewed her so sternly, almost disapprovingly, when her own wayward impulse urged her to close the gap between them. Her very skin felt sensitised, as if longing for his touch.
Did she want him to look at her and want her? Not for her pedigree or her social attributes but for herself? Her wayward body betrayed her. Her flesh tingled as his gaze raked her and a slow, telling spiral of heat eddied low in her belly.
Samira sucked in a stunned breath, sensing danger.
She told herself it was nerves. The shock of seeing him again after all this time. The disconcerting discovery of how very...male he was.
Once the novelty wore off he’d be just as he’d always been—a friend, someone she could trust. Without trust she couldn’t bind herself to any man. Trust had been so lacking in her life, she understood how rare and valuable it was.
The thought gave her renewed energy.
‘I’ll make a good queen,’ she said firmly, locking her hands together. ‘Building my business has given me a chance to step beyond royal boundaries and mix with a range of people, not just wealthy clients. It’s broadened my understanding of the world and improved my people skills.’ Now she was as at home buying a bagel on the streets of New York as she’d been at last night’s A-list gala.
Tariq didn’t say anything so she kept talking, the thread of tension wrapping tighter around her insides. ‘I’d like to continue working on a small scale, not enough to interfere with any royal duties.’ When he remained silent she angled her head higher. ‘I believe it would be a positive thing for people to see their queen with responsibilities and successes of her own.’
‘You see yourself as a role model, then?’
Samira flinched at the steely glint in his eyes and the sharp pang of shame in her belly. Tariq knew as well as she that her past was tainted by that one, awful mistake she’d made. A mistake that would haunt her all her life.
‘No one is perfect, Tariq. Young women in your country could do worse than a queen who’s human enough to have made mistakes, yet has learned from them and built something positive for herself.’
Slowly he nodded and a feather of hope brushed her skin, making her shiver with excitement. She leaned closer.
‘I’ll be a loyal wife and a devoted mother, Tariq. You needn’t worry that I’ll embarrass you by falling for another man after we’re married.’ Bile swirled in her stomach and she tasted its bitterness on her tongue. ‘I’m not my mother, for ever pining for romantic love. I learned from her mistakes, and my own.’
‘You don’t want love?’ His words were sharp, his gaze intense as he leaned forward. His raised eyebrows signalled surprise, perhaps disapproval. She guessed he was used to women falling at his feet.
Samira’s lips twisted. ‘Would I be here if I did? If my mother’s example weren’t enough, my experience with Jackson Brent cured me of any romantic ideas.’
Jackson Brent. The name no one spoke around her. The man who’d taken her dreams and her innocence and had smashed them in the cruellest way.
She read understanding in Tariq’s expression. The whole world knew the story. Samira looked away, pressing her palms to her churning stomach.
Jackson Brent, the sexy film star, had taken one look at Samira, the ridiculously inexperienced princess living away from home for the first time, and decided to have her. Samira, swept off her feet and dazzled by what she thought was love, had believed it a fairy-tale romance come true.
They’d been feted and adored by the press and the public. Until the day Jackson had been found in bed with his beautiful co-star by her vengeful husband.
Samira’s cosy world had blown apart, her dreams shattered as she’d been forced to see Jackson as he really was. Not Mr Right, but a feckless, selfish opportunist who’d played on her longing for love to get himself cheap sex and great publicity.
Guessing at her anguish, the press had hounded Samira to the verge of a breakdown—intruding on her privacy, rummaging through her trash, interviewing her friends and turning her heartbreak into fodder for the masses. Till her brother and the woman who’d later become her sister-in-law had helped her get back on her feet, stronger and determined to put the past behind her.
Was it any wonder, after the misery of a childhood watching her parents’ marriage teeter from one crisis to another, that she’d finally come to her senses and seen she wasn’t cut out for romance? Like her mother, she couldn’t trust herself to make the right choice when her heart was involved.
‘Samira?’
She turned back, her hands falling to her sides as she registered the concern on Tariq’s features.
Instantly she shored up her resolve, locking her knees and straightening her shoulders. She was no longer a victim. She’d dragged herself out of the dark hole of loss and grief that had almost destroyed her.
Tariq didn’t need to know those details. About the baby she’d lost before it had even been born. About the grief she carried in her very pores and always would.
Samira blinked and forced herself to concentrate.
‘If you’re worried about me doing anything scandalous to harm you or your family, don’t. My one brush with notoriety was enough.’ She might have been the innocent party in the Hollywood scandal but it didn’t feel like it, with the press ravenous for every detail.
‘You regret the relationship with Brent? You would change the past if you could?’
Samira caught her breath, her fingers threading tightly together. Tariq’s directness pulled her up short. Everyone else tiptoed around that episode in her life.
‘Oh, yes. I’d change the past if I could. Though...’ she paused, remembering that all-too-short period when she’d carried her precious baby ‘...I can’t regret all of it.’
She set her jaw, reminding herself to move on. ‘I