The anger that burned through him was still coated with that fear, was not the cold ire that he kept a lid on. This was hot, fiery.
Zayn didn’t know when his hand had descended to her waist, or that he was even keeping her by his side. Her body stiffened next to him, her mouth a flat line.
Slowly she undid his arm from around her, walked up to her boss and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Massi, I’m with Zayn because I want to be.” She said the words with conviction; still, a disquiet unfurled in Zayn’s gut.
With mounting irritation, he realized he wanted Amalia to choose to be with him, to want to spend this time with him. To give in to the attraction that had been getting out of control over the past two weeks between them.
To choose him even though he was fully aware that he could give her nothing but a temporary affair.
A more ridiculous, nerve-racking thought, he’d never had.
With a start, he realized how used he’d become to seeing her face every morning over breakfast while his aide rattled off their schedule. Intermittently during the day when she played the part of his fiancée seamlessly and to utter perfection. And then at night, when she worked alongside him into the long hours without missing a beat.
That he’d begun to think of Amalia as his. He’d always been possessive about the women he slept with, demanding fidelity for as long as they were with him. With Amalia, that feeling went even deeper.
He’d become used to her irreverent humor, the paradox of cynicism and naïveté in her view of the world. Even the smile that broke through that reserve when he asked her opinion on something. Or the way she chewed her lower lip when she was either nervous or excited.
It was a relationship he’d never had with another woman, ever. Even the most time he’d spent with one—the deep understanding he was gaining of how her mind worked. That was all this fascination had to be. Had never waited to bed a woman he wanted...that was all this frustration, this restlessness in his blood, was.
Zayn Al-Ghamdi could not be losing his head, his cool, over a mere woman. But the statement sounded hollow to his ears and full of that arrogant confidence that riled her so much.
“I appreciate you looking out for me, Massi. You’ve always been a good friend,” she finished with a soft smile. There was affection in her eyes, in her smile, when she looked at the Italian, and only a wary reserve when she turned to Zayn.
Of all the ridiculous things in the world to bother him...
“Should I consider this your resignation, then?” Massimiliano asked, his gaze locking with his over Amalia’s head.
The slump in her slender shoulders twisted Zayn’s gut. Did the man matter to Amalia or was it the job?
She squeezed Massimiliano’s fingers. “We’ll talk soon, and at length. Zayn is right. The media watches us relentlessly. I have to go.”
The Italian kept his gaze on Zayn while he kissed her cheeks. “Remember you can count on me, Amalia. Against anyone and anything.”
Amalia nodded, took Zayn’s outstretched arm, her topaz eyes for once hiding her expression from him.
* * *
“Your knee is bleeding.” Zayn’s clipped words rang around the silent corridor. Amalia waited with bated breath as he slipped his key card into the door and opened it for her.
Feeling the sting in her knee now that he had pointed it out, she walked into the suite and shivered. The room was in a disarray, from papers strewn all over the room to several laptops and walkie-talkies sitting on every available surface. They had even set up a comm center in the suite, she thought, flushing with shame all over again.
It looked as if a storm had blown through the luxury suite in just a couple of hours.
“How did you hurt your knee? The rest of you—” his gaze swept over her with a thoroughness that made her insides melt “—looks fine.”
“I slipped on the steps to the roof and slid down a couple of them. The side of the staircase where I banged my knee was rough.” Guilt she didn’t want to admit resonated in her tone. “I’m not used to heels.”
His mouth hardened. “Were you in such a hurry to get away with your lover, then? Did I not offer enough of an...inducement for you to stay?” The taunt came before he left the room.
How could he sound so calm when it was clear he was ragingly furious? So cold, even? Her own emotions felt as if they were walking a tightrope to what, she had no idea. Amalia had never felt this turmoil, this feeling of standing at a fork not knowing which way her life was going.
When Massi had asked her to meet him on the roof, she’d given the slip to Zayn’s security team. An overwhelming sense of guilt had pervaded her all the while.
As if she was really cheating on the man she was supposed to wed. As if speaking to a man who’d been her friend and confidant for so many years was turning her back on Zayn. The guilt had been a shock, driving the realization that she was far too involved in the charade.
Far too involved with Zayn...
So, instead of doing the sensible thing and informing his team, she had let that shock propel her into leaving with Massi. Even knowing that soon Zayn would note her missing and start looking for her.
Suddenly, standing in the middle of the banquet hall and catching Zayn’s glance across the room, Amalia had felt as if she was losing herself, being swept along by a current that was changing her far too fast.
All she’d wanted was a short escape from the complex charade she was playing, a little touch with the reality of her life outside of being Zayn’s fiancée. A desperate need to fight her own feelings.
A quick chat had turned into two hours of stubborn argument with Massi. An argument within herself for the loyalty she felt for Zayn.
It had been irresponsible, juvenile, even reckless, knowing how Zayn was going to react. It was the mixture of rage and fear that she had seen in Zayn’s eyes that had brought something else from years ago to her mind.
Something similar that her mother had done, driving her father insane with worry. How she had forgotten that night, Amalia had no idea.
Any anger she had felt over his savage words had died an instantaneous death as shame filled her over her own behavior. Whatever her disagreement with him, she had no cause to have acted like a reckless wild child.
He had worried about her safety, she had realized belatedly, the white cast of his ferocious features making her guilty all over again.
Now she was sure she had made both men doubt her sanity.
She had alienated Massi, who had always been kind and fair to her, burned her bridges with the man who had helped her at the hardest time of her life. All for a man who had no use for her in his life...
God, she didn’t like that she had lost all the credibility she had built up with him over the last month. Why his opinion mattered so much, she couldn’t even pin that down in the chaos of her thoughts.
“Amalia, you look pale. Did you hit your head, too?”
It was her sense of self that felt bruised and battered, but she couldn’t tell him that. She felt upside down, inside out, weak. “No.”
The intensity of his gaze touched her, the warmth of his body a tantalizing caress. Amalia couldn’t meet his gaze just yet. For some reason all her bluster and confidence seemed to have left her, leaving her shaking.
“That question didn’t even get your standard outraged response. Either I’m losing my touch or something is really wrong with you.”
The dry, sarcastic tone of his words didn’t quite hide the anger beneath. “My head is fine. I just... I don’t like the way you confronted Massi. Not his fault that I didn’t tell the team where I was going.”
“No, I recognize your little rebellion. But that confrontation was bound to happen the minute he decided to show up here and play knight to you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Men have their own ways of communicating, especially over a woman they both want a claim on.”
“That’s ridicu...” Her heart slammed so hard against her rib cage that she was dizzy. “Massi does not want a claim on me any more than you do,” she said, her voice catching in her throat dangerously.
His jaw went rigid, his expression exasperated fury. Amalia had never felt more out of her depth than at the moment. No way to understand what it was that she felt. “Then you’re truly naive in the ways of men.”
Now what the hell did he mean by that? Why couldn’t he just come out and say what he wanted of her?
She stretched her entire leg, and her knee stung again. With a sigh, she looked down and saw blood. For some reason her throat closed up and she felt like a leaf, ready to blow away at a small breeze. Or crunched beneath an arrogant, unfeeling man’s foot.
Hand on her abdomen, she leaned against the wall, tried to make sense of the morass of feelings piling upon her.
It had been so easy, far too natural, to convince Massi that she had fallen in love with Zayn Al-Ghamdi. As the words had poured out of her mouth, conviction had set in. There was no act that she had put on for her friend’s sake, no lie that she had spouted because she didn’t want to betray Zayn.
She hadn’t thought of Aslam or Mirah or anything else.
Only the glitter in Zayn’s eyes when he had provoked her, the charming smile that softened his mouth when they argued, the touch of his hand at the base of her spine that made her want to melt into him...