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Her expression was unguarded, and looking at it made him feel wounded. He missed
her already. He moved toward her and scooped her up against his chest, holding
her cradled to him with his mouth hungry against her neck. "Do not look like
that!" he whispered roughly. "I cannot bear to see you so! I am only thinking of
your happiness!"
"Then stop trying to push me away," she whispered miserably. "You do it all the
time lately."
"Not from choice," he said fervently. His mouth became sensuous as it moved up
to her face. "I adore you. I desire you. You are my life―"
His mouth found hers and he kissed her very slowly, with a tenderness that was
almost painfully sweet. Her hands traced his hard face, learning its lines,
while she fed on the warm expertness of his mouth.
His hands went to her hips and lifted her gently into the changing contours of
his body while he kissed her. She began to moan, moving closer of her own
accord.
His fingers contracted, pulling, molding, and she shuddered.
He lifted his head. His eyes were glazed with desire, blackly glittering with
longings that he could only just control.
"Would you, if I asked?" he whispered huskily. "Yes," she said simply.
He stared at her swollen lips, her misty eyes. "I want nothing in the world
more," he told her. "But I cannot risk the premature birth of our child. There
must be no hint of scandal, no question of his legitimacy."
Her head was swimming, but the curious wording caught her attention. "You mean I
mustn't get pregnant until we're married?"
He groaned. "That is exactly what I mean."
She cleared her throat. "Oh. I forgot. I mean, your country is much more rigid
than ours about a woman's chastity, isn't it?"
"I fear so."
She moved away from him a little and managed a smile. "Okay."
He was trying to breathe normally, and failing miserably. He laughed despite his
hunger for her. "Just like that? Okay?"
She colored. "I didn't mean it was easy."
"Nor is it for me," he confessed. "I want you very badly. But we will wait until
the rings are in place and the vows spoken."
He bent and kissed her softly one last time. "Go to bed now. It has been a long
and fraught day for all of us."
"Tomorrow will be worse," she said quietly. "You'll be gone."
"Not for long, I swear it!" he said huskily. "It will be the most terrible
torment, to have to be parted from you even for a few days."
"How flattering," she said with a coy smile. "I'll plan a special evening for
your return."
"Not too special, if you please," he returned. "We have our reputations to
consider.''
She reached up to his ear. "I'll have Lang come and bug the apartment." He made
a threatening sound, and she burst out laughing, hugging him close. It was
heaven, to be loved and in love. She hoped, she prayed, that it would last. If
only there were not this feeling of foreboding.
Ahmed left the next morning, with his entourage surrounding him and Lang
bringing up the rear. He and Brianna had said a quick and uncomplicated farewell
before they left the apartment. He'd taken time to hug Tad, as well. But in his
expensive suit, surrounded by his own people, he looked foreign and unfamiliar.
"He's elegant, isn't he?" Tad asked as they watched out the window. Ahmed
climbed into a big white stretch limo with two of his henchmen, and Lang got
into the front seat with the driver. They drew a lot of attention from people on
the streets. It didn't matter now, the danger was over. Brianna hoped it was, at
least. She was still worried about Ahmed going back to his own country safely.
"Yes, he's very elegant," she agreed.
"I think we're going to like living in Saudi Mahara," he said. "Is there
anything in those books about it?"
She shook her head. "It's very small. They mention that it has a king, and they
give some impossibly long Arabic name for the royal family, but little detailed
information. It isn't what I expected," she added. "They're a pretty modern
country, with industry and a structured society, and women are fairly liberated
there. They're very European, in fact."
"All that oil money, I'll bet," Tad said. He sat down. He was weak, still, and
tired easily. Brianna had telephoned his doctor the day before to make an
appointment for today. The experience they'd been through had been upsetting,
and Tad wasn't his old self yet.
"You have to see Dr. Brown at one," she reminded him.
"Do I have to?" he moaned.
"It's just a precaution. You aren't long out of the hospital. And yesterday was
pretty shattering."
"Ahmed saved my life," Tad told her. "The bullets hit where I'd been sitting.
Gosh, I hope nobody tries to do him in when we go to live with him."
"So do I, Tad," she said sincerely.
They kept his appointment with the doctor, who pronounced him well on the way to
recovery.
Monday, Brianna went back to work, leaving Tad with an off-duty nurse―Ahmed's
suggestion―and she spent her free time worrying about Ahmed. He'd telephoned
twice over the weekend, but the conversation had been stilted and brief, and she
felt inhibited trying to carry it on. He seemed to feel the same. His speech was
more formal than she'd ever heard it.
The distance between them had grown so quickly, she thought. And Monday, he
hadn't telephoned at all by the time Brianna had cooked supper and cleaned up
the dishes.
Tad was skipping over channels looking for something to watch, while Brianna
worked halfheartedly at crocheting a doily for the coffee table.
"Wow, look at this!" he exclaimed, pausing on one of the news channels.
Brianna looked up. There were uniformed men on horseback and some sort of
procession in a Middle Eastern nation. At the center of the pomp and
circumstance was a man in a military dress uniform with a blue sash of office
across his chest, sitting on a throne while foreign dignitaries were presented
to him.
"Why, that's Ahmed," Brianna exclaimed. "Turn it up!"
Tad did, very quickly.
"...looking very fit following an assassination attempt. His sister, the
princess Yasmin, has been detained for questioning for some time. There is doubt
that she was involved with the plot. Her husband's trial was brief and he was
executed this morning. Questioned about the fate of the other conspirators, a
spokesman for the royal house of Rashid said only that they were being dealt
with."
The picture flashed off the screen. Royal house. Rashid. Ahmed, sitting on a
throne.
Tad saw the expressions chase across Brianna's face. His own had gone pale.
"He's not a cabinet minister," Tad said slowly. "He's the king of Saudi Mahara."
Brianna's hands trembled and the crochet thread dropped in a tangle to the
floor. King. He was the king. No wonder he'd been so well guarded. No wonder he
expected people to jump when he asked for anything. He was a king.
"Do you think he really meant it, when he asked you to marry him?" Tad asked,
putting her worst fear into words.
"How could he have?" she declared. "He's a king! He wouldn't ever be allowed to
marry a woman from another country. ..!"
"The king of Jordan did." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]