Pursued by the Desert Prince(14)

"We could have stayed here!" she pointed out.

He offered a pained frown. "I do not steal into a girl's bedroom at her parents' home."

No, he dropped a few million pounds on a suite he was only using for one night. For her.

She urged herself not to let that mean too much.

"Shall I change?" She was still wearing her travel clothes, a dark blue  jersey skirt with a pale yellow top, both her own design. They were  quietly feminine, breezy yet classic and a tiny bit waifish.

"You look beautiful." He skimmed his gaze down and back. "And whatever you wear is only for the elevator."

"You're not even going to pretend you're inviting me to look at  etchings?" She planted her hands on her hips, only realizing as she did  that she was still holding Cinnia's bracelet. Shoot. She was instantly  self-conscious on her brother's behalf. "Um. I just have to put this  down and grab my phone."

"What is it?" Kasim asked, catching at her wrist as the snaking sparkle caught his attention.

She opened her hand. "Something Henri bought for Cinnia," she prevaricated.

Her brother's long-term relationship was well documented in the press,  but she wasn't going to be the one to start the rumors about its demise.

"I want to ask him where he got it because the work is outstanding. Look  at the detail here. You can tell each of these claws has been crimped  individually to create this effect all the way along. I'm in awe at how  painstaking that would be. Have you ever seen anything like it?"

Kasim's nostrils flared as he picked up the bracelet and gave it a  thorough study, his expression pulling into a tension that bordered on  agony. As if suddenly realizing how hard he was staring, and that she  was watching him, he quickly straightened his features and handed her  the bracelet.

"No," he answered belatedly and rather abruptly. "Let's go."

Her heart did a little thump. The mood had definitely shifted. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She was hurt that he would lie so blatantly to her, but moved across to  tuck the bracelet into the envelope and picked up her phone.

The silence in the elevator was not precisely thick, but it was significant.

Kasim's cheeks were hollow, his mouth flat.

Maurice was with them, so Angelique kept her own counsel. Her guard went  through Kasim's new flat ahead of them, even though Kasim's team had  been here all day, ensuring it was not only clean and secure, but  furnished and well stocked.

The layout was similar to her family's suite with a lounge opening onto a  balcony overlooking the Thames. She imagined the door next to the wet  bar led to the kitchen, as it did in their own. Down the hall would be  the bedrooms and baths.

This one smelled faintly of paint and was filled with contemporary  furniture and a handful of decent art pieces. His decorator was  competent, if unimaginative, having fallen back on the latest issue of  Colors of the Year for lack of inspiration.

The moment Maurice left them alone, Kasim drew her into his arms again  and kissed her quite passionately. Almost aggressively, questing for a  response. It was as if he was trying to propel them into the mindless  state they'd experienced last night in Paris.

It was breathlessly exciting, yet made her feel... She wasn't sure and, as her blood began to heat, started not to care.

"Do I not even get a chance to explore the place myself?" she gasped  when his mouth traveled to the side of her neck. Arousal suffused her,  but she had the sense she was being used as much as desired. It scraped  her insides raw.

"If you like," he said, straightening and not looking pleased.

"Have you even seen it?" she asked, trying to recover and stung by the distance she sensed between them.

"I'm more interested in this." His lashes cut downward as he slid his gaze to her toes and came back to her lips.

His ravenous gaze made her skin tighten, but her heart squeezed at the same time. She knew he was sublimating something.

"Kasim." She cupped his jaw. "What has upset you?"

"I'm not upset." He pulled away from her touch and moved to the bar. "Children get upset. Do you want wine?"         

     



 

He was speaking shortly. Irritably. Like he was upset, she thought drily.

"Something about the bracelet bothered you. Did you recognize it?" She  was intuitive that way. She just was. "You can tell me what it was, or I  can make up stories of my own to explain your reaction."

"I've never seen it," he said flatly, setting out two wineglasses. "But  the workmanship reminded me of Jamal's. He designed jewelry."

He wound the screw into the cork with a little squeaking noise and  pulled it out with a pop, movements jerky, facial muscles still tense.

"My father hated it. He took it as a reflection against his own  masculinity. An insult. He was ashamed to have a son who  was...artistic," he pronounced with disdain. "My mother used that to her  advantage."

"What do you mean?"

He poured, steadying the bottoms of each glass with two fingers as he did.

"Jamal is-was Fatina's son. My father's second wife. My mother..."

He set aside the bottle. For a moment he was a man on the verge of  exploding, wrapped tightly, but packed to the eyebrows with dynamite,  fuse burning in his eyes.

"Children should not be used as weapons, but my mother loved to find  fault with him. To his face, to my father, in public. However she could  humiliate him and Fatina, she did it. In sly ways, though. Small little  stabs. Death by a thousand cuts," he said grimly.

"That's horrible."

"It was. And my father was determined to turn him into something he  could be proud of. That was his way of countering my mother's attacks,  by telling Jamal he was to blame for her criticisms. If he only changed,  we would all have peace. I'm furious every time I'm reminded of how it  was for him."

"You couldn't make your father see reason?"

He snorted. "This?" He lifted his glass and touched it to the rim of  hers. "I don't care one way or another for alcohol, but it is completely  outlawed in Zhamair. It's not a religious restriction. We have as many  citizens who are Christian or Jewish as we do Muslims in our country,  but my father's word is rule. My father is a dictator in the way that  political scientists define one."

"But you do what you want when you're away," she noted with a glance at  his Western clothes. "Couldn't your brother have done that? I'm sorry, I  know it's very easy to say that he should leave his country and turn  his back on his father. It's not something anyone would do without deep  struggle, but..."

"No," Kasim agreed in a hard, grim voice. "It's not. Especially since it  meant leaving his mother and the rest of his siblings. Fatina has four  younger children, as well. And he felt my father's rejection very  deeply. He wanted desperately to earn his respect. It was an impossible  situation for him."

"That's so awful." Her heart ached for not just his brother, but for  Kasim. No wonder he wanted to take the reins from a man who possessed no  hint of compassion or empathy. No wonder he had fought so hard for  Hasna to have a love marriage.

"How did he die?" she asked softly, then clutched where the pang in her  chest had intensified. She could see the anguish still fresh in Kasim's  face. "It wasn't suicide, was it?"

Kasim didn't speak, only stared into his wine for a long moment. His  fingernails were so white where he clutched the stem of his glass, she  though he would snap the crystal. His gaze came up and she thought he  looked about to say something.

In the next second, he shut down, mouth flattening into a sealed line  before he finally said in a neutral, almost practiced, voice, "It was a  car crash. We were in Morocco on business. He was out on his own along a  stretch of road near the ocean. He wasn't reckless by nature, but he  was under a lot of pressure from my father to give up the jewelry  design, work with me full-time and marry suitably."

His expression was filled with perturbed memories.

"The car went through the guardrail into the rocks below. Calling my  father with the news was hard, but facing Fatina and Hasna, and my  younger brothers and sisters..."

The torment in his expression was too much to bear. So much guilt, but  how could he have prevented it? It was just a terrible accident. He  shouldn't blame himself.

She set aside her glass and came around the bar to slide her arms around his waist. "I'm sorry."

"Why? You had nothing to do with it." He continued to hold his glass,  his other arm hanging at his side, stiff and unresponsive to her  embrace. He looked down his nose at her.
         

     



 
"I shouldn't have forced you to revisit his loss."

She felt the flinch go through him. He sipped, stony as a column of  marble that didn't give under the lean of her weight, only supported her  with cold, indifferent strength. "The bracelet did that."