And because he didn’t know how to stop it from shifting and splintering something inside of him, didn’t know how to form a suitable response, because it was a promise the likes of which he had never known in his life, he bent and captured her mouth with his.
He worshipped her with his mouth, his hands and his body while her soft declaration took root in his veins, his cells, in his very blood. Like the roots of a gnarled tree that stood proudly in the courtyard of the palace, planting itself tight and deep within him.
The expression in her eyes, the joy in her smile, the tenderness in the way she touched him and kissed him, as if she couldn’t contain it anymore, as if it was bursting out of her every breath, it haunted him long after she fell asleep and he extracted himself from the bed and watched the dawn coat the sky a myriad of oranges and pinks.
And then, just like that, in the space of one night, no, just a few hours, he felt as if he had lost it all. Before he had even grasped it properly yet.
As if all that he had achieved was so little next to that one small declaration from Lauren, which he hadn’t earned.
Through the following four days that he allowed himself to spend with her, through his return to the palace, through every breath he took, her words haunted him.
It haunted him until he couldn’t breathe for the weight of it, until every time he saw Lauren, it felt as if he deserved her, her open smile, her affection, less and less.
Until every word of hers felt like a small lash in his skin.
But this was the life he had wanted all along, wasn’t it? The life in which he had everything?
CHAPTER TWELVE
AFTER FOUR DAYS of tasting paradise at the oasis, Lauren and Zafir returned to the city and the palace.
They had woken up before dawn one morning, and watched the sunrise together over the sand dunes. Swam in the pool while moonlight glinted off their skin. She had glutted on dates and figs and thick cakes, between feverish bouts of lovemaking during which she had, hopefully in a final way, proved to Zafir that having his wicked way with her was in no way harmful to either her or their growing child.
That it was very much what she needed.
They had exchanged college stories around a campfire in the evening. His, always working toward his goal of becoming a member of Behraat’s state affairs, and hers, building a life that nurtured her need to help, away from the sphere of her parents’ high-society life.
During the day, he’d been gone for a few hours, visiting different tribes before they migrated deeper into the desert, he’d informed her. Needing to recover from their long, busy, sweat-soaked nights, she was all too content to nap in the tent and stay away from the blistering heat.
It had been pure bliss and all Lauren wanted was to stay there forever with Zafir, cocooned away from the world.
But just like in New York, real life—full of schedules and meetings, and government and state dinners—awaited both of them this time.
She had barely showered, changed and inhaled more food when Abdul had appeared at the entrance to her suite, with a host of social appointments and a load of advice. Even before Farrah had appeared to check on her.
So Lauren fell into a routine, pushing back at Abdul at some things and bringing down Arif’s stone-faced wrath on her head, sometimes letting them mold her into what they needed the sheikha to be. Refused point-blank on some issues.
She did miss her old life. But she knew that to be a symptom of her resistance to change, to teams of strangers taking over her life.
Her career, however, was a different matter.
She had put in years of hard work to get her nursing degree, and then long night shifts to gain experience and reputation.
All she did now was spend her days watching her team fight over which designer she should wear or which charity she should grace with her presence. It felt as though she, Lauren, got smaller and lost in the huge tsunami that was Zafir’s life and Behraat.
To her shame, she’d even burst into tears a couple of times, but she decided to give herself a break and chalk it up to pregnancy hormones rather than call herself a coward.
Zafir, she decided, had paid enough all his life for Behraat. He wouldn’t lose her to it too; whether he knew it or not, he had her.
And just like that, she felt a little in control of her life again.
So what if she chose the social engagements that were closer to her heart like women’s issues and girls’ education rather than spending another afternoon with the old shiekha and Johara—who wore a brittle smile on her face while the old woman bitterly complained about Zafir, short of calling him a murderer to Lauren’s face.
Lauren however didn’t mistake the older woman’s hatred or the younger woman’s veiled malice to be anything personal. That she had married the man who had usurped their son and husband respectively was bad enough. But that she was also an American and pregnant on top of it was a pill they just couldn’t swallow.
When the old woman, however, began ranting about Zafir’s mother, Lauren had walked to the door, called Ahmed to escort her guests out and returned to her bedroom.
That whole day, she had spent thinking of Zafir’s mother, her defiance of her own tribe, cutting away every tie and living in shame with a man who hadn’t even married her.
Had she loved Rashid so much then?
If only she could spend an evening with Zafir, just the two of them. Asking for one evening in two weeks was not petulant, she’d told Farrah who refused to stick her head into anything remotely marital.
The numerous public occasions and state dinners during which they saw each other and smiled and barely exchanged two words didn’t count.
Neither did the nights when he came to her, sometimes at midnight, sometimes even at dawn.
The first night, three days after they had returned, Lauren had seen him earlier at a state dinner. She had worn a royal blue creation with long sleeves and a conservative cut that didn’t declare her pregnancy blatantly. A Russian oligarch, who was interested in investing unholy amounts of money in Behraat, who apparently was very fond of New York City, was the guest of honor.
He had monopolized Lauren for most of the evening. The man’s icy blue gaze lingered far too much over her body but Lauren had just smiled and nodded.
And none of it had escaped Zafir’s notice.
It had been past midnight and Lauren had fallen into a sort of restless slumber after retiring to her quarters.
Hardness and heat, the wall of masculinity behind her had woken her up. Smiling, she had purred and stretched into him, her body already thrumming with anticipation.
That luscious mouth of his had kissed a blazing inferno down her spine, pulling away at her wispy nightgown. One hand snuck under her and played relentlessly with her breasts, pinching and stroking her already highly sensitive nipples.
He’d remained silent, which was strange in itself for she loved all the words he used to tell her how much he needed her. It was only after he had teased her to a fever pitch, hurtling her to the edge of climax, after commanding her to lift her leg and pushing into her from behind that he had finally spoken.
Teeth had dug into her shoulder, sending a spasm of sensation down her spine. “I don’t like the way the Russian looks at you,” he’d said, in a low voice that had been ripe with warning. “And I don’t like that I don’t like it.”
Lauren had closed her eyes, breathing roughly, trying to sift through his words.
That she was not to make light of it, shouldn’t argue with him on it, was clear. That it wasn’t her that he doubted. That he felt so much at all. That he’d needed to claim her in the most carnal and intimate way before he could bring himself to mention it.
Tilting her head back, she’d sought his mouth, pulled the scent of him deep inside. “The investment and even more importantly, the exposure he brings to Behraat is not something you can turn your back on.” The slight widening of his eyes made her glad she had read through the file her aide had prepared for her. “Neither can you hide me away because then it looks like you’ve noticed his interest and taken offense.
“The only remaining option, and the one that you despise is, pretending that you don’t care, continuing to let him look at me like that until the deal with him is actually done.
“This is Behraat we’re talking about, so there’s not a choice, is there?”
He’d withdrawn and then thrust back into her slick heat, a darkness that scared her in his gaze. But even with her mind worried, still she had gasped at his skilled strokes and languorous kisses. Still, she succumbed to the need inside.
“Not only beautiful and smart, but such understanding too?”
She’d definitely known something was wrong then. Because his smile, it hadn’t quite reached his eyes. And Lauren had a feeling that moment, that night hadn’t been just about the Russian. “Really, Zafir, handling a few hours with one arrogant jerk who thinks he’s God’s gift to women is not that big of a deal,” she’d somehow managed.
Something bleak had passed his eyes. He’d muttered something explosive in Arabic, pressed a kiss to her mouth and then began moving inside her again.
A couple of times, she imagined she’d glimpsed a shadow of pain in his gaze but then he would kiss her as though he couldn’t breathe and she forgot all about it. Having learned so much about his childhood, she didn’t expect some grand declaration of love from him.