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He blinked and Chloe was before him once more, but not as she’d been in the garden on the morning she’d left the palace. He saw her in his arms and his bed, her face flushed, her eyes fevered. He saw her without her veneer of ice-cold distance, he saw the passions that ran through her, and he ached to see more of that.
Suddenly, the fact she’d left the palace bothered him.
I’m your wife, not your prisoner, she’d said. And she’d been right. But in that moment, with the midday sun beating down on his broad back, Raffa wished he had thought to imprison her after all.
Her place was at the palace with him.
A week in the city had restored Chloe’s equilibrium. When the helicopter touched down at the palace, she was able to step off it with a sense of calm and contentment.
They would fall pregnant eventually, and in the meantime, she would have more of Raffa. More of his passion. Because once she was pregnant, that would be the end of this. There would be no more making love, no more sharing their bodies, kissing, tangling their limbs, stroking one another, showering together, driving each other crazy.
Not for anything in the world would she deny herself the pleasure of conceiving a child, but the small silver lining to the fact she wasn’t pregnant was that they would continue trying.
And when they were done, she would find Raffa’s absence from her bed and her life to be a pain made bearable only by the life burgeoning within her.
She didn’t need to let her husband know she’d returned. Her security detail communicated with his. He would have heard by now that she was on her way back. Sure enough, when she entered her suite of rooms, he was waiting.
Her servants were behind her, but he dismissed them with a single look. He was wearing flowing white pants and a gold kaftan, and his skin was darker than when she’d left, tanned by time in the sun, she surmised.
“How are you?” The question wasn’t about her, she knew. It was about her health. Her ability to continue with their conception project.
“Fine,” she confirmed with a crisp nod. “Will I see you tonight?”
Something like anger speared through her, passing from the look in his face through her body, like tiny little darts.
“How was the city?” He asked, ignoring her question.
“As usual.” She said with a frown, unwrapping the bright silk scarf from around her hair and placing it on the edge of her bed. “My charity is hosting a benefit. I’ve been neglecting my organizational duties so it was good to be able to catch up.”
“Your charity.” He frowned. “I recall you are engaged in some fundraising but I don’t remember…”
“A children’s hospital,” she said. “I’m on the board.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “I remember.” He’d received the letter notifying him of her appointment, though it had been over a year ago. He’d presumed she would run out of interest with it before now. He stood frowning for a moment.
Chloe neatened her hair and then prompted, “So? Was there anything else you needed?”
Raffa shook his head. “No. I’m glad you’re well.”
She compressed her lips. It was just a statement of fact – gratitude that she would continue as his lover, until a baby was conceived. “I’m fine. Tonight?”
Irritation was visible on his handsome face again, but he nodded. “Tonight.”
* * *
Chloe had purposefully dressed in a simple cream slip after her evening shower. What would the purpose be in wearing anything else? Removing her clothes added to the sense that more was taking place between them than a simple transaction. While away in the city, she’d come to the conclusion that she needed to remember at all times that they were simply working together to make a baby. Passion was irrelevant. The more businesslike she could make their encounters the better.
But when Raffa entered her room a little after eight, her heart began to thump hard and fast inside of her, and her eyes devoured him as though she had been deprived of him for months, not a week.
“You’ve eaten?” he asked, closing the distance, his own eyes performing a leisurely inspection of her body. The slip dipped low across her breasts, and fell to mid-thigh.
She nodded. “I’m ready.”
He made a noise of impatience and shook his head. “What happened to wanting to get to know one another?” He asked, but his hand lifted, almost seemingly against his will, to the strap of her slip. He pushed it down possessively, so that one creamy, rounded breast was revealed to his gaze.
“I know you,” she said hoarsely. “And you know me. At least enough for this.”
For a second his eyes flew to hers and then they were back at her breasts. His smile was cynical, but she couldn’t have said why.
