Modern Romance Collection: May 2018 Books 5 - 8. Кейт Хьюит
softness of the warm, pliant body next to his. Sleep still fogged his mind as he pulled the body closer, enjoying the way her breasts were pressed against his chest, her hips nudging his. Heat flared, and when she arched a little bit against him, it flared hotter and brighter.
In one smooth movement he rolled on top of her, his hands seeking and finding all the soft curves and tempting dips of her body. He slid his hand up one slender, perfect thigh to the warmth at her centre, and she moaned. The heat inside him was a pulsing need, taking over all his senses.
He pressed his knee between hers, nudging her legs apart even further, positioning his body so he could bury himself in her welcoming depths.
She arched up to meet him and Zayed braced himself on his forearms. The pain in his head flickered, a second’s distraction that had him suddenly stilling. God in heaven, what was he doing? He could jeopardise everything by making love with Olivia now.
With a groan he rolled off her, his body aching, his heart thudding. It felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done.
After a taut second Olivia rolled the other way, curling her knees up to her chest. The pain thudded through Zayed’s head again and he closed his eyes.
‘Olivia...’
‘It’s all right.’ Her voice was a broken whisper, a ragged breath.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I know.’
‘The moment... I was asleep...’ He felt that nothing he said could help. ‘I got carried away and I shouldn’t have.’
‘I got carried away too.’ She spoke softly, her back to him. When he cracked an eye open he could see the tender nape of her neck, and it made guilt rush through him all over again. Enough with the guilt. He needed to get Olivia out of his life, or he needed to get out of hers, and the sooner the better. He couldn’t let himself get distracted. Duty was far more important. He closed his eyes again and pictured the helicopter filled with flames. Imagined he could see his father’s and brother’s faces, although he hadn’t been able to at the time. And then he saw himself running away, hustled by his staff to safety. Even now, ten years later, the shame of it bit deep. Coward. No one had ever said it to him, but he’d felt it. How he’d felt it.
‘Survivor’s guilt,’ his advisors had told him more than once. It happens. And he knew, in his head, in his gut, that he’d needed to survive. He was the last of the line, the only one remaining of a dynasty that stretched back centuries, the only person who could wrest control from Malouf. But in his heart he felt the guilt, the shame, and he didn’t think it would ever leave him.
Which was why he had to focus on his duty and how to atone for the past. And the only service Olivia Taylor could provide for him was going away quietly.
As if she read his thoughts, she rose from the bed in one fluid movement, shrugging off the hand he hadn’t even realised he’d stretched out to her.
‘I’ll go,’ she said quietly, smoothing her dress down and slipping on her heels. ‘You need your sleep. Is the headache better?’
‘A bit.’
‘Good.’ She gave him a fleeting smile that didn’t meet her eyes.
‘Thank you, Olivia. I am sorry.’
‘It’s fine.’ She lifted her chin. ‘It’s fine,’ she said again, and then she was gone.
The silence of the room felt endless and empty as Zayed lay on his bed, his head aching as much as his heart. He didn’t care about Olivia, he told himself. He didn’t care about anyone like that and never would. Caring was inviting vulnerability and pain, something he had no intention of doing. If you cared about someone, your enemies could and would use it against you. He would never allow that to happen again.
But he still felt guilty and restless, wishing things had been different. If he’d kidnapped the right woman...then he would never have met Olivia.
The very fact that he could think that showed him how quickly and decisively he needed to act. Tomorrow he would send the message to Sultan Hassan and make sure Olivia wrote her letter. He would set the wheels in motion for all this to be repaired.
By the time Zayed fell asleep, the pale pink streaks of dawn were lighting the sky and he didn’t waken until after the noon hour. Thankfully his headache was gone, and after showering and dressing he went in search of Jahmal and then Olivia.
‘Has there been any news on the Sultan?’ he asked Jahmal as they sat in his office in the west wing of the palace, the arched windows open to the sky.
‘Only that he is displeased,’ Jahmal answered with a grimace. ‘Queen Aliya has taken Princess Halina to Italy,’ he added. ‘To keep her from being kidnapped.’
‘As if I would try the same thing twice.’ Zayed rubbed his temples. ‘It was a foolish plan in the first place, even if it felt necessary at the time.’
‘He still might be open to a communication from you,’ Jahmal offered.
‘He’d better be,’ Zayed returned grimly. ‘I’ll send a gift with the message—some of my finest Arabians.’
‘The Sultan is known for his love of horses.’
‘Yes.’ Briefly Zayed thought about how Olivia had said she couldn’t ride. Right then he should have known it wasn’t the Princess. Why had he been so unbelievably blind, seeing only what he’d wanted to see?
‘I need to find Miss Taylor,’ he said. ‘Do you know where she is?’
‘She has spent the morning with some of the women,’ Jahmal answered. ‘In the gardens.’
Some of his staff and soldiers had wives who lived in the palace. It was an isolated but safe existence, and he knew they all longed for the day when they could return to Arjah and their normal lives. They’d all been waiting a long time for that.
Outside the sun was shining brightly, the air still holding a hint of crispness from the cold night. Zayed strolled through the gardens, enjoying the sunlight on his face. He’d forgotten how pleasant it was out here, with the orange and lemon trees, the trailing flowers, the tinkle of the many fountains.
He wandered for several minutes through various landscaped gardens, each one surrounded by its own hedge, until he came onto a small, pretty courtyard with a fountain splashing in the middle and several ornate benches around. Lahela, one of his aides’ wives who had just had a baby, was laughing at something Olivia said.
And Olivia... She sat on a bench, wearing a casual sundress the exact shade of her eyes, her hair falling down her back in tumbling chestnut waves, Lahela’s baby on her lap gurgling up at her. She looked so happy and natural, almost as if...
Zayed’s mind suddenly screeched to a halt, freezing on one simple fact that he’d completely ignored since he’d first taken Olivia and married her. Had slept with her.
He hadn’t used birth control.
Of course he hadn’t. It had been his wedding night; if he’d got Halina pregnant it simply would have strengthened his cause. Since then he hadn’t thought for a moment, a single second, that Olivia could be pregnant...pregnant with his child. His heir.
Her laughter drifted across the courtyard, a deep, delighted sound, and she bounced the fat, smiling baby on her knee. Then she looked up and her gaze caught Zayed’s, clashing with it so he felt as if he’d come up against a brick wall.
Her eyes widened, pupils flaring, and colour touched her cheeks. She looked away, bending her head so her hair fell forward and hid her face. Zayed’s chest tightened. The pain he thought he’d banished crept back.
Keeping his voice as even as he could, he greeted the other women in the courtyard before turning his attention resolutely to Olivia. She still wasn’t looking at him.
‘Miss Taylor,’ he