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‘An interesting possibility.’ His gaze rested on her, assessing, penetrating. ‘Why are you so angry, Elena?’
‘I’m not angry.’
‘You sound angry.’
‘I’m frustrated. There’s a difference.’
‘Very well, then. Why are you frustrated?’
‘Because I came to Kadar with a plan to save my throne and I no longer have one.’
‘You mean marriage.’
‘Yes.’
His gaze narrowed. ‘And what would you like me to do about it?’
‘I’m glad you asked.’ Elena took a deep breath, tried to smile as she met his narrowed gaze. ‘I’d like you to marry me.’
CHAPTER TEN
SHE’D BEATEN HIM to it, Khalil thought bemusedly, even as an elemental panic clawed at his insides. He’d been considering marriage to Elena as a solution to both of their problems since this morning. Yet looking at her now, seeing the hope and determination blazing in her eyes, everything in him resisted. There had to be another solution.
Slowly he shook his head. ‘That’s impossible, Elena.’
‘Why is it impossible?’ she demanded.
‘Because I have no wish or reason to marry you, Elena.’ Better to be brutal. Nip it in the bud, if he could. ‘You may be desperate, but I am not.’
She flinched, but only slightly. ‘Are you sure about that, Khalil?’
‘Quite sure. You asked for a wedding night, Elena, not a marriage.’
‘Well, now I’m asking for a marriage.’
‘And I’m telling you the answer is no.’ He rose from his chair, fought the panic that was crashing over him in tidal waves. ‘This discussion is over.’
She raised her eyebrows, a small smile playing about her mouth. A mouth he’d kissed. Tasted. He forced his gaze upwards but her eyes just reminded him of how they’d been filled with need and joy when he’d slid inside her. Her hair reminded him of how soft and silky it had felt spread across his chest. Everything about her was dangerous, every memory a minefield of emotion.
‘You don’t even want to think about it?’ she challenged and he folded his arms.
‘I do not.’
‘You almost sound scared, Khalil,’ she taunted, and fury pulsed through him because he knew she was right. Talking about marriage scared the hell out of him, because he was afraid it wouldn’t be the cold, convenient arrangement she’d intended to have with Aziz. She’d want more. He would.
And that was far, far too dangerous.
‘It’s simply not an option,’ he told her shortly.
‘Even though you’ve already told people we’re married?’
He felt his jaw bunch, his teeth grit. ‘I didn’t tell anyone.’
‘Semantics, Khalil. The result was the same. And, no matter what you tell yourself or me, there will still be repercussions for you.’
‘I’m perfectly aware of that, Elena.’ He heard a patronising note enter his voice and knew it was the lowest form of self-defence. Everything she was saying was true, yet still he fought it. ‘As I told you before, by the time people learn the truth I will be established in Siyad as Sheikh.’
‘And that’s how you want to start your rule? Based on a lie?’
He pressed his lips together, forced the anger back. ‘Not particularly, but events dictated it be thus. I will deal with the consequences as best as I can.’ All because of his own stupid weakness concerning this woman.
‘And what if your people decide you might be lying about other things? What if they assume you lied about your parentage and Aziz is the true heir?’
Just like his father had lied. He would be no better, and the realisation made him sick with both shame and fury. ‘Are you trying to argue your way into a marriage the way you argued your way into my bed?’ he demanded, and she flinched then, her face crumpling a little before she quickly looked away. Khalil swore softly. ‘Elena,’ he said quietly, ‘I understand you feel you need a husband. But I am not that man.’
He couldn’t be.
‘It makes sense,’ she whispered. She still wouldn’t look at him and the fury left him in a weary rush. He wanted to pull her into his arms. Kiss her sadness away.
But he couldn’t marry her. He couldn’t open himself up to that weakness, that risk, that pain.
‘I can see how it might make sense to you,’ he said carefully. ‘You need a convenient husband.’
‘And you need a convenient wife.’ She swung around to face him with a challenging stare. ‘Your people want you to marry. We saw that when we were with them. They think you’re married to me already! One day you’ll need an heir—’
‘One day.’ Khalil cut her off swiftly. ‘Not yet.’
‘I won’t ask anything of you that you wouldn’t want to give,’ Elena continued doggedly. ‘I won’t fall in love with you, or demand your time or attention. We can come to an arrangement, like I had with Aziz—’
‘Don’t mention his name,’ Khalil said, his voice coming out like the crack of a whip. Elena’s eyes widened; she was startled, and so was he.
Where was all this emotion coming from? This anger and...hurt? Because the thought of her with Aziz made his blood boil and his stomach churn. He couldn’t bear to think of her with anyone else, not even a man he knew she didn’t love, barely knew.
They stared at each other, the very air seeming to spark with the electric charge that pulsed between them: anger and attraction. Desire and frustration.
‘I won’t, then,’ Elena said quietly. ‘But you could at least think of it, Khalil. You’ll have to marry some day. Why not me? Unless...’ She paused, nibbling her lip. ‘Unless you’re holding out for love.’
‘I am not.’
‘Well, then.’
He just shook his head, unwilling to articulate just why he was rejecting her proposal out of hand. He couldn’t admit to her that he was actually scared. ‘What about you? You’re not interested in love?’
She hesitated, and he saw the truth in her eyes. She was. She wouldn’t admit it to him, but she was. ‘I can’t afford to be interested in love.’
‘You might decide one day you want someone who loves you,’ he pointed out, trying to sound reasonable when in fact he felt incredibly, insanely jealous at the thought of another man loving her. Touching her.
‘I won’t,’ she told him. ‘I won’t let myself.’
‘Even if you wanted to?’
‘Are you worried I’m going to fall in love with you, Khalil?’
No—he was terrified that he was already in love with her. Khalil spun around. ‘Put like that, it sounds arrogant.’
‘I’ll try to keep myself from it.’ She spoke lightly, but he had a feeling she was serious. She didn’t want to fall in love with him, and why should she? He would only hurt her. He wouldn’t love her back.
Except maybe you already do.
‘We’ve both been hurt before,’ Elena said after a moment. ‘I know that. Neither of us wants that kind of pain again, which is why an arrangement such as the one I’m suggesting makes so much sense.’
It did. He knew it did. He shouldn’t be fighting it. He should be agreeing with her, coolly discussing the arrangements.
Instead he stood there, silent and struggling.
Elena didn’t want his love, wouldn’t make emotional demands. In that regard, she would make the perfect wife.
And yet looking at her now he saw the welter of hope and sadness in her eyes. Felt it in himself. And he knew that no matter how they spun it, no matter what they agreed on, marriage to Elena would be dangerous. Because, even if some contrary part of him actually longed for the things he said he couldn’t do, didn’t want—love, intimacy, trust, all of it—the rest of him knew better. Knew that going down that road, allowing himself to feel, yearn and ache, was bad, bad news.
No matter how practical Elena’s suggestion might be, he couldn’t take it.
‘I’m sorry, Elena,’ he said. ‘But I won’t marry you. I can’t.’
She stared at him for a moment, her wide, grey eyes dark with sadness, and then turning darker still with acceptance. Slowly she nodded.
‘Very well,’ she said, and without another word she turned and left the tent.
Khalil stared at the empty space she’d left, his mind spinning, his heart aching, hating that already he felt so bereft.
* * *
It had been worth a shot, Elena told herself as she walked back to her tent, escorted by the same men who guarded her. They didn’t speak and neither did she, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to manage a word. Her throat ached and she was afraid that if she so much as opened her mouth she’d burst into tears.
Back in her tent she sat on her bed, blinking hard to contain all the pain and hurt she felt. Then suddenly, almost angrily, she wondered why she bothered. Why not have a good cry? Let it all out? No one was here to hear her or think her weak or stupid or far too feminine.
She lay down on her bed, drew her knees up to her chest and swallowed hard. Crying—letting herself cry—was so hard. She’d kept everything in for so long because she’d had to. Men like Markos were always looking for chinks in her armour, ways to weaken her authority. Shedding a single tear would have been just handing them ammunition. The only time she ever cried was when she had nightmares.
