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Hell, he realised, he’d been trying to make himself feel better. Because guilt was an emotion he couldn’t afford to feel. If Olivia could get something out of what had happened, if she could benefit, then he’d feel better about putting her aside.
The fact that he even needed such a sop to his conscience filled him with fury—and shame. For ten years he had let himself think of nothing but duty, fuelled by grief. When he closed his eyes, he saw the tormented face of his mother, dying simply because she had no more wish to live. He saw the helicopter in flames. He heard the anguished cries and shouts of his father and brother, even though he knew that was only in his imagination. It would have been impossible to hear over the sound of the blades and the flames. The headache he’d been trying to suppress for the last forty-eight hours flickered insistently at his temples.
He could not believe how weak and sentimental he was being. Why was he trying to make this woman, who meant so little, feel better? That was why he’d brought her to Rubyhan, Zayed realised with another rush of shame. Why he’d given her the sumptuous suite, the clothes. Why he was wining and dining her tonight.
Although that wasn’t quite true. No, it was worse than that—he was wining and dining her because he wanted to. Because he’d wanted to see her, be with her. Because even now, with so much at stake, he still desired this slip of a woman who should be completely forgettable to him. Why?
‘Zayed...?’ Olivia glanced at him uncertainly. ‘It’s late and I am sure you have many things to do tomorrow. Maybe I should go...’
She started to rise again, but Zayed stayed her with one upturned palm. He took a deep breath, willing the pain in his head to recede. ‘No.’
‘You seem...’ She hesitated. ‘Angry.’
‘I am angry at myself,’ Zayed confessed. Olivia gazed at him in confusion.
‘You mean for marrying me by mistake?’
‘Yes, that.’ His mouth twisted in something like a smile. ‘But also for wanting you even now, when I know I shouldn’t.’
It was as if he’d stolen all the air from the room in a single breath. Olivia froze, her eyes wide and stormy, her pink lips parted.
‘You do?’
‘Can you not feel it, Olivia? Why do you think we fell into bed together so easily?’
Colour touched her cheeks. ‘I thought... I thought it was just me.’
‘I assure you, it is mutual.’ Zayed sat back in his chair. He felt surprisingly glad he’d told her, that he’d acknowledged what throbbed between them. It was a relief, like lancing a wound, relieving the pressure. The trouble was, what was he going to do about it now? Again he felt the flicker of pain at his temples.
‘I’m...sorry,’ Olivia said after a pause, sounding unsure. Zayed let out a laugh, trying not to wince in pain.
‘This is not something you need to apologise for, Olivia.’ He studied her, the colour in her face, the slight upturn of her lips. Had he pleased her by acknowledging what he felt for her? Did she find it so hard to believe? ‘Have I given you another new experience, to have a man desire you so openly, so strongly?’
Her pupils flared. ‘You have given me many new experiences, Prince Zayed.’
‘I think we are past using my royal title.’
‘Are we?’ She gave a little shake of her head. ‘I don’t know where we are.’
And nor did he. But he knew where he wanted to be. He wanted to be in her arms, sinking himself inside her. The need throbbed inside him, obliterating every other consideration, overriding the pain growing inside his head.
She must have seen the heat in his eyes, because she let out a shaky laugh and looked down. ‘Why me? I’m no one special. You must have had many women, Prince Zayed.’
‘Not as many as you think.’ A soldier’s life in the desert had prohibited prolonged affairs. ‘In fact, before you I had not been with a woman for many years.’
‘Many years?’ Her expression of astonishment was almost comical. Zayed smiled wryly.
‘There has not been much opportunity.’
‘That’s why, then. You probably wouldn’t look at me twice otherwise.’
‘Why do you put yourself down?’
‘I’m not.’ She looked surprised. ‘Just stating a truth.’
‘It is not a truth to me.’ Suddenly he felt the urge to show her how beautiful she was to him. How utterly lovely. ‘Trust me on that, Olivia.’ He held her gaze, willing her to see the desire in them. To feel it in herself.
And he knew she did; he heard it in the quickly indrawn breath, the way she touched her lips with her tongue. Neither of them moved.
