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“I want to rip this dress from you,” he warned.
“I think that might cause rather more than Goran to look at me.”
He lifted his head and it was as though he was just, in that moment, recalling where they were. “Go back to your room, Sheikha, and wait for me there.”
10
“HE’S GONE.” KALIM PASSED a glass of scotch to Raffa, who held it in the palm of his hand.
“Did you know he was coming?”
“No one did. Last I heard, he was in Kithati province.”
“That was my information also.”
“I suppose he’s under no obligation to inform you --,”
“You think not?” Raffa’s eyes narrowed. “Then you’re wrong. This is my kingdom, my palace, and he has no place here.”
Kalim sighed heavily. “What you mean to say is she’s your wife, and he has no place talking to her.”
Raffa grimaced.
“Her Highness is not another Elena. She is married to you, for one.”
“And Elena loved me,” Raffa said with a grim frown. “He targeted her for that reason, just as I have no doubt he would target Chloe if he had half the opportunity.”
“Elena was nineteen,” Kalim said gently. “And you were away in the army. Chloe is different altogether. She’s confident and feisty. Besides, she didn’t like him at all.”
“No. I suppose she has that in her favour.” So why was he so ropable? Why was he so angry? Because he’d never recovered from the shocks of the past – and he wasn’t going to let Chloe fall victim to the same ancient grudge.
Raffa tossed the scotch back in one go and surveyed the remaining guests. Perhaps fifty lingered. “You can finish things up here?”
“Yes.” A glint sparked in Kalim’s eye. “Go to your wife, Raffa, for God’s sake. You’ve looked at your watch every few minutes since she left – I can tell your mind has been elsewhere.”
He knew he shouldn’t be angry. And he sure as hell shouldn’t be angry with her! Chloe had done nothing wrong – as always, she’d been impeccable, behaving with just the degree of appropriateness that her position demanded. Every blink showed him Goran, speaking with his wife. Goran leaning in closer to Chloe. Goran looking at Chloe as though he wanted to strip her naked.
Goran, that bastard.
By the time he reached Chloe’s room, all he knew was that he needed to remind her that he was her lover, her husband, her only. That he needed to wipe any memory of any man, any temptation that another man might offer, from her mind.
She was still wearing the damned dress when he swept into the room, and the startled look on her face showed that she hadn’t been expecting him. Not yet, at least.
He wasn’t angry with her, and yet the possessive heat firing through his body seemed to make little distinction. The thought of Goran touching her, of Goran doing to Chloe what he’d done to Elena – Raffa shuddered from the depths of his soul.
“Come here.” He spoke the words coldly, with all the arrogance many had accused him of. “Now.”
Her eyes flew wide and he felt the hint of defiance in her gaze. Good. He hoped she’d argue with him; he was spoiling for a fight.
“Is there something wrong with your legs?” She asked without moving.
And while he might generally admire her spark, a guttural growl escaped from his chest. A primal sound of possession and impatience. This was not the time for it.
“Here.” He pointed to the floor at his feet, and perhaps there was something in his tone that conveyed his emotionally messed-up state to her, because she did as he said, though her look was one of incredulity.
“Here, sir?” She asked, mocking him, and he both hated and loved that.
“You are my wife,” he said, to himself, more than anything.
