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She pulled a face. “No. You’re just big.”

A sardonic smile curved his lips, and his eyes skimmed her face, from her hair, to her eyes, to her lips, and then back to her eyes, where they dwelled for several, silent moments. “I remember the first time I saw you,” he said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear.

“At my father’s funeral,” she agreed. She remembered too; how could she forget? They’d agreed to marry, and he arrived, bigger and more everything than anyone she’d ever met. Their eyes had met and her whole body had zinged with a current of recognition.

“That was the second time.”

A frown formed on Chloe’s brow. “What do you mean? I think I’d remember if I’d met you before.”

“You were only a child. Nine or ten. I’d come to the palace to meet with the ministry and you were in the pomegranate courtyard.”

“I loved it there,” she said with a nod. “I still do. But I don’t remember meeting you.”

“We didn’t speak. I simply watched you play from a distance. You were in your own world, and your hair was out, long and blonde. You looked like a fairy.”

Chloe’s heart thumped hard in her chest. “I probably looked a mess.”

“I don’t remember the mess,” he said with a shake of his head. “I remember the hair.” And he reached out, catching a lock of blonde between his fingertips, staring at it, transfixed, before he found her hand again, measuring their palms once more. “You were beautiful and tiny – and now you’re still both of those things.” When he swallowed, his Adam’s apple moved visibly in his throat. “How do I make sure I don’t break you?”

She blinked her eyes, and tried to find words that would serve as a response – and she couldn’t.

He cupped her cheek and then pulled away from her.

“You’re tired. Sleep,” he said, lifting her and rearranging her in the bed, so that her head was on the pillows. He covered her with the blankets and the last thing she was conscious of was him standing over her, watching her. Arms crossed over his chest, his face wearing an expression she couldn’t comprehend.

Until he spoke and finally she understood that triumph was the emotion blazing in his dark eyes. “This month we will succeed, habibte.”

8

AS THE MONTH WORE on, Chloe couldn’t ignore her growing sense of excitement. She often found herself staring into space, imagining their baby, counting down the days until she would know if this would be the month that would mark the beginning of their parenthood journey.

It was strange to think of how she’d resisted the idea, at first. How she’d wanted to maintain the status quo, to keep a distance from Raffa in every way: emotionally, mentally, sexually and physically. How she’d thought she could ignore her husband and be happy – how she’d ever thought she was happy without him – and this – in her life.

She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, her breathing still rushed, sweat beading on her brow. Beside her, Raffa was in the same pose; but not for long. Chloe knew he would stand soon. That he would leave her again.

She was used to it, and yet it was becoming harder and harder for her to maintain an air of nonchalance in the face of his speedy departure. Sure enough, as she tilted her head to face him, he pushed up from the bed, spectacular for his nakedness, broad and big and built like a god of strength. Her mouth went dry as he strolled across the room, every muscle beneath his dark skin rippling in a way that made her insides quiver.

How could she want him again already?

His arousal showed that she wasn’t alone. Would this desire between them ever abate?

She thought of calling to him, of asking him to stay, but hard-fought pride, and a fear of rejection, kept her silent. They were this. Intimate in bed, for a few hours a night – not beyond.

And it was always on his terms.

That realization brought a frown to her face, because it was true. Without Chloe’s comprehension nor approval, at some point, she’d simply started to wait for him. Each evening, she’d shower and dress in something simple, and easy to remove, and she would read, but always her eyes were trained on the door, her ears listening for the hint of footsteps beyond.

And as if she’d conjured them from nowhere, she heard footsteps now, then, a sharp, urgent knock at the door to her suite. It was through a door from her bedroom, so she had no immediate worry that her privacy was to be invaded. Still, she pulled the sheet up under her chin.

“Wait here,” Raffa commanded curtly, changing direction. He grabbed his pants from the floor and pulled them on, sending a look at Chloe from the door to her bedroom.

She leaned forward a little, watching as far as she could. And then, despite his missive, she slid out of bed and reached for her underwear. It had been discarded hastily, but thankfully close to the bed. She pulled it on then stood still as fragments of the conversation reached her ears.

“Malik… happened suddenly … non-responsive…”

And panic sledged her veins. She reached for her gown, pulling it over her hips and sparing herself a quick glance in the mirror as she crossed the room. Her hair was in a state of total disarray, her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen. She looked like a woman who’d just been ravaged. Well? So?

She stepped into the living area of her suite just as Raffa shut the door. His eyes flew around the room but he wasn’t looking for her.

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