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She touched the ring, but her fingers were trembling too violently for her to pull it out of the box.
‘Here,’ he said, as he took the box from her. He plucked the engagement band out. ‘Give me your hand.’
She placed her left hand in his, far too aware of the warmth of his palm as his fingers closed over hers, gently, in a silent gesture to stop the trembling. Remarkably it worked, his touch so compelling it seemed to command her obedience.
‘Which finger does it go on?’ he asked.
Her gaze lifted to his, to find him watching her, but instead of frustration or fury what she saw was contemplation, and something else, something that still looked remarkably volatile but not necessarily aimed at her.
‘The ring finger,’ she said. But when he went to thread the ring on, her finger wobbled.
‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.
His golden gaze was still fixed on her face. The warmth in her cheeks ignited, but she forced herself to remain pragmatic, even if the aching in her chest had got so much worse as a thought spun into her brain unbidden. What would it be like to have a man as passionate and powerful as Karim Khan truly care for you? To want to cherish and protect you?
‘No, nothing,’ she said hastily, dismissing the weak, pointless yearning as best she could. She didn’t want to have this situation be real. She didn’t need any man to cherish and protect her, and certainly not a man like Karim Khan. He might be rich and powerful, but he was also taciturn and cynical and cold… And far too overwhelming for the likes of her. Falling for a man like him would be even more fraught with danger than falling for a man like her skank of an ex-fiancé.
She squeezed her fingers into a fist then straightened them again to stop the trembling. She didn’t want him to think she was some kind of foolish romantic, or, worse, that she had any kind of misconceptions about what this relationship was.
He stroked the ring finger with his thumb, then slipped the band on, pushing it down. His thumb slid back over the knuckle, then he let go of her hand. She missed the warmth of his touch instantly.
Her pulse began to punch her collarbone.
‘Thank goodness it fits,’ he said, his voice a husky murmur.
The tiny diamonds sparkled in the light from an overhead street lamp, exquisite and yet ethereal. She curled her fingers back into a fist and placed both her hands in her lap, painfully aware of the buzz of sensation his touch had ignited, and the cold weight of the ring that didn’t really belong to her.
The engagement ring must have cost an absolute fortune, the insignia on the box from London’s most exclusive jewellers. Perhaps it was the thought of possessing something so valuable, even for a little while, that was the problem, not the significance of having Karim Khan place his ring on her finger, when that had no real significance at all.
‘I’ll be sure to take good care of it for you,’ she said. ‘Until you need it back.’
‘Why would I need it back?’ he asked, the cutting edge back. Had she done something else wrong?
She stared at his face, the strong
planes and angles even more striking cast into shadow by the street lamp. Was he serious? ‘Won’t you need it when you get engaged for real? It must have cost a fortune.’
He let out a harsh chuckle, as if she’d said something particularly stupid. ‘Keep it. The stylist picked it out for you, so it’s unlikely to suit any other woman.’ He shifted the car into gear. ‘And once this is over, I certainly don’t intend to do it again.’
As the car peeled away from the kerb, the critical comment ripped through her show of confidence, to the neglected girl beneath.
The light summer breeze whipped at her skin. She squeezed her fist, determined to ignore the ring, and the lump of inadequacy forming in her throat.
This isn’t about you, it’s not personal. The engagement is a means to an end, he’s made no secret of that.
But unfortunately, despite her frantic pep talk, there didn’t seem to be much she could do about the heavy weight of his disapproval sinking into the pit of her stomach.
Getting through the next few hours pretending to belong in Karim Khan’s rarefied world—and present the picture of a loving fiancée, when she knew she was no kind of fiancée—suddenly seemed insurmountable.
‘I told Phillip Carstairs and my financial advisors we met when I visited the stud, and that my decision to pay off the estate’s debts were a result of my affection for you.’
‘I’m sorry, what?’ she said, too preoccupied with her own evolving misery to take stock of what he’d said.
‘The story of our whirlwind romance,’ he clarified. ‘I left it vague, but if anyone questions you simply say the engagement is based on our shared love of horse racing and our…’ he paused ‘…our considerable chemistry.’ He glanced her way, trapping her in that intense gaze for a second before he returned his attention to the road. Even so it was enough to reignite the familiar bonfire at her core. ‘Which from this morning’s evidence appears not to be a lie.’
She swallowed as the bonfire crackled and burned.
Why did knowing his response had been as genuine and unguarded as hers only make her feel more insecure? And more unsettled?
