One Desert Night. Kate WalkerЧитать онлайн книгу.
that could conceivably be described as love.
He couldn’t offer love. That demanded that he also offered his heart. And he didn’t have a heart to offer.
So why did his thoughts go to the young woman he had met on the balcony on the night of Karim and Clemmie’s anniversary celebrations? His memory filled with images of dark, glistening eyes, black silky hair, a soft voice and that entrancing perfume that had swirled around his senses.
After all that happened—all you went through.
Her words echoed in his thoughts. Her words and the softness of the mouth they fell from—the faint gleam of moisture along her skin where her tongue had slicked over the lower lip. Something raw and needy clawed at his insides, forcing him out of the room and down the corridor at a pace that made his robes sweep against the wall as he moved.
He hadn’t seen the woman again that night, though the truth was that he hadn’t really tried to find her. He’d had little inclination to seek out the El Afarim clan. He knew, as everyone did, that Farouk El Afarim currently held the balance of power between the crown and the scheming of the rebel leader. If he took his loyalty and that of his own tiny principality to side with Ankhara, then hard-won peace would once again be threatened dangerously.
He knew only too well just how precariously balanced that peace was, and he would do anything to strengthen it. So he knew that El Afaraim’s daughter must inevitably be on the list of suitable, acceptable brides for him. To risk seeing Zia in the company of Farouk had been a risk too far, no matter how much the temptation had tugged on his senses.
‘No!’
Entering his room, he slammed the door behind him, hearing the heavy thud of the wood with a raw satisfaction at the way it closed off the rest of the world, giving him back the privacy he sought. The only problem was that it would not shut out the thoughts of the girl he had met on the night of the anniversary celebration. Her essence seemed like some sort of persistent shadow, following him wherever he went, whispering in his thoughts at night as he tried to sleep.
He needed to find a wife, as everyone said. No matter if it was the sort of arranged marriage he had rebelled against last time. And look where that had got him. Older, and hopefully wiser, he had decided that this was the only path to follow.
He would do his duty by his country. He would take a wife to be his Queen, to give the kingdom the much-needed heir who would secure the dynasty and guard the peace.
And that was all.
He would be a dutiful king, a faithful husband, surely a caring father. He might not have learned how to be a father from his own coldly distant parents, but surely that meant he knew what not to do? And there was Karim’s example to follow.
He needed a wife and he would treat her like a queen. But he would never, ever let her in. If he did she would see that all there was inside him where his heart should be was a cold, empty cavern.
There are hundreds of people out there—thousands. Husbands and wives, families and children, all of whom are enjoying the evening—the peace—because of you.
Zia’s voice, low, slightly breathless, sounded so closely in his ear that he almost turned, expecting to see that she had come to stand beside him. But it was nothing but imagination and the forceful impact of the memory of that night.
If he had been able to track her down, then what would have followed? A night of heated passion where he tried to sate this restless hunger in the warmth and softness of her body? Was he really brought so far down that he would have considered using her in this way because she had stirred senses he had thought were dead?
‘No!’
She deserved better than that. Better than him.
If nothing else then at least he could tell himself that he had shown a degree of honour when he had turned his back on her even though it was obvious that she had felt that same dangerous tug of attraction. He had spared her the moment when he would have had to walk away from her after one night. Because one night was all they could have had. He had already decided that he would speak those words and set in motion the search for a suitable wife and Queen.
‘Let it be done.’
And now things were moving forward. The news the chancellor had brought to him today was that matters had been set in hand. Prospective brides had been chosen, their families approached. All that mattered now was for him to see them. To make his choice.
‘Choice!’
He uttered the word aloud like a dark curse as he stared out of the window.
The truth was that he would have more personal choice of a new horse or even a hunting dog. The facts were that it was being made clear that he must choose on the basis of politics and diplomacy; the benefits to the country that his wife would bring, rather than anything else. Left to his choice, he would not go through this at all.
But he had vowed to do his duty to his country, and that vow held him like a chain.
* * *
‘But you don’t need me to be there!’ Aziza protested, turning to face her sister so that the determination on her face must show as clearly as possible. She had no need to try and show her horror; it must be evident from her tone and her expression. ‘This has nothing to do with me! It’s—it’s you they have asked for.’
‘I know.’
Jamalia’s smile had just a hint of smugness in it, and as she glanced in the huge mirror on the wall she positively preened as she smoothed back a non-existent loose hair in her sleek black mane. But a moment later her self-control slipped just a bit, showing a touch of vulnerability beneath.
‘But... I can’t go alone. I’ll need someone to help me—dress me—a chaperone.’
‘But why does it have to be me?’
Why couldn’t it be anyone else? Jamalia’s maid? Some other attendant? If only their mother hadn’t taken ill at just this particular moment. Now when she needed it least there slid into Aziza’s memory the recollection of how she had claimed to be just that—Jamalia’s maid—that night on the terrace when she had come up against Nabil in the shadows of the night.
‘I don’t understand you.’ Jamalia’s frown was a mixture of disbelief and displeasure. ‘I would have thought that you would look forward to another trip to the capital. You enjoyed the anniversary celebration, didn’t you?’
Aziza made a sort of inarticulate sound that her sister could take as agreement if she wanted to. Enjoyment wasn’t a part of the way she looked back on the night on the balcony when she had met up again with the man who had once held such a huge place in her young heart.
How could he have changed so much in the ten years since she had last seen him? Or had he changed at all? Wasn’t it more likely that she had been the one who had changed? She had grown up, matured, and that had meant that she no longer saw through the eyes of a child. Instead she saw the truth about the man behind her childish crush. Nabil was no different from the lordly boy who had occasionally enchanted her with a careless smile. It was just that she had never seen the truth before.
He hadn’t even recognised her! But something in her had recognised what he was. All that was male and virile in him had spoken very clearly to her most feminine core. She still got the shivers inside at just the thought.
‘Are you sure you want to go at all?’
She knew it was the wrong question but she had to ask it. Diplomacy, politics, the uneasy truce between two warring factions demanded that the Sheikh had a wife, and Jamalia was a prime candidate to fill that role. That was why they had been at the anniversary celebrations, after all, in the hope that Jamalia would catch Nabil’s eye. But Jamalia and their parents hadn’t met up with Nabil that night.
Aziza had and, recalling the cold, bitter man she had talked with, she was now forced to wonder, could she watch her sister marry that man?