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He crossed the tent, his stride confident. He pulled the flap aside, and she saw two servants beyond.
They spoke quietly, so she couldn’t catch even one of the words in the hushed conversation. But a moment later, Raffa had spun around and fixed his gaze on her. “We must leave. Immediately.”
“What do you mean?”
“The helicopter is on the way. There are clothes for you in the box over there.” He pointed across the room. She stood a little uneasily, doubts plaguing her. What had happened?
Her dress was torn; she couldn’t wear it out of the tent, and so she did as he’d suggested, stepping out of it, her fingers shaking a little. As she reached into the box, she happened to look over her shoulder only to find her husband staring at her. Staring at her near-naked body with a look that was impossible to interpret.
“What is it, Raffa?”
He blinked, clearing his thoughts, meeting her eyes then but guarding his inner-most thoughts.
“What’s happened?” She lifted out a black gown with gold beading and detailed stitching, and pulled it over her head. It fit perfectly, though she’d never seen it before. She ran her hands over her hips, molding it into place, and then finger-combed her hair, all the while her eyes never leaving his face.
“It’s Goran,” he said after a moment, spinning away from her and planting his hands on his hips, staring at the wall of the tent.
“The man I met that night?”
Raffa’s stiffening shoulders was all the confirmation she needed. His fury was a wall between them.
“What about him?”
“He’s at the palace. He’s come to see Amit.”
“Amit?” She moved across the tent, worry marring her own features now. “Why? Why does he want to see your son?”
Sympathy curdled inside of her. How worried Raffa must be, his child back at the palace and a man he clearly despised intent on visiting the boy!
“Try not to worry,” she soothed, when Raffa didn’t answer. “You have security at the palace. They’ll stop him from hurting Amit.”
“He doesn’t want
to hurt Amit,” Raffa said, and something in the words filled her with ice. “He wants to take him away from me.”
Chloe’s jaw dropped. “But that’s outrageous! How can he? Amit is your child and you are the Sheikh! Goran has no business going near Amit!”
“I am Sheikh,” Raffa agreed with a dangerous softness to his words. “But Amit is not my son. He’s Goran’s.”
“What?” She stared at Raffa with all her confusion apparent on her face. “You can’t be serious?”
Raffa spun his head, to face her. “Perfectly.”
“But you’ve told me he’s yours. He lives in the palace. He’s…”
“Amit is my nephew,” Raffa said gently. “But I have raised him as my son almost from birth. I care for him as I would my own son – he holds that place inside of me.”
The rotor blades of the helicopter were whirring overhead, loud and insistent as it droned closer and closer. The sides of the tent flapped faster as it came lower, finally setting down outside.
“I don’t understand any of this. How can he be your nephew? Elena wasn’t your sister…”
“No.” Raffa reached for Chloe’s hands, and the grip he had on her palm was tight and insistent. “Goran is my half-brother.” He pulled her beside him, out of the tent, but her mind was ten steps behind.
He handed her up into the helicopter, and then followed, but her brain was furiously trying to absorb what he’d just said. It didn’t make sense.
“Your half-brother?”
“Yes.” He reached across Chloe and buckled her into place. It was a clinical, purposeful movement but that didn’t stop her body from responding instantly, it didn’t stop her from experiencing a jolt of pleasure. But urgency pushed that aside.
