THE TRUE KING OF DAHAAR(40)

                Now his words left her nothing to hide behind.

                He had loved her, by his own confession, he had plunged himself into a reckless lifestyle to fill the void she had left…She hugged her knees, the pain of her body paling in comparison to the pain his words had unleashed.

                Guilt tightened like an iron chain around her throat, choking her.

                Staying here after learning that he was alive—what had she been thinking? How had she forgotten what it had cost her last time to walk away? How had she forgotten how strong this pull between them was?

                Throwing the existence of her relationship, even a failed one, in his face, challenging him with her presence every step of the way, giving in to the urge to kiss him, to touch him, playing with his emotions and her own, there was no excuse for her behavior. When had she become so reckless as to tempt fate again, so selfish as to satisfy her own twisted sense of self?

                She needed to remember why she was here, and what Azeez had already been through.

                Learning that she might never conceive, accepting her inability to be the woman he needed her to be had wrecked her. For months, she had thought herself less than a woman, her entire identity as a woman fracturing because she might not be able to give the man she loved the heirs he needed. And in the end, her love for him had asked for a sacrifice of her own happiness.

                She had, somehow, survived through it and built a life for herself. She couldn’t risk all that again.





                                      CHAPTER SEVEN

                A WEEK LATER, Nikhat arrived at the breakfast hall in the morning, and came to a halt, her heart thudding.

                Azeez and Ayaan stood on either side of the table, their hands fisted, their expressions similarly battling fury and more. Princess Zohra was standing by Ayaan’s side, her gaze flitting between the brothers.

                A needle dropped into the room would have sounded like an explosion.

                Nikhat’s gaze invariably went to Azeez. And first thing that came to her mind was how good he looked even as his face was currently wreathed in tension.

                He wore a snowy-white cotton tunic that was open to his chest, the startling white of the fabric contrasting against his sunburned throat and face. His jaw shaved, the unhealthy pallor that had been there when she had first arrived was gone.

                And his jet-black eyes had the biggest difference.

                With each passing day, the arrogance, the confidence that had made him, came back.

                Heat swamped her, but she couldn’t look away before stealing a look at that sensuous mouth. It had been just a kiss.

                But it had started a fire in her that couldn’t be quenched, whatever she did. Not that there had been a hint of interest from him again.

                His withdrawal was so absolute that there was no need for her to worry that she would weaken again. Not when he looked at her as if she was the plague he was determined to avoid. There were no more cutting remarks, no allusions to past or present, nothing but a polite, entirely painful, coldness.

                Taking a deep breath, she looked around the room, the tension in it sinking heavily into her shoulders. “Is something wrong?”

                Nerves at breaking point, Azeez turned toward Nikhat and was instantly assaulted by the taste of her mouth, her soft curves that had fit so perfectly against his. Desire slumbered in his blood, a constant companion that mocked him.