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“Not for long though,” Raffa muttered, his disapproval difficult to conceal.
“No.” The word was wry. “But the damage was done.”
“He was a grown man when you were still a child.”
“Not quite,” Chloe smiled.
Raffa’s eyes lanced hers and she knew he understood, that he was smiling with her. Her heart thumped. He pushed on with the conversation. “And now? You are both adults, yet you are not friends.”
“We’re not not friends,” she said thoughtfully. “We’re more like strangers. I suppose that must sound strange – we share a father, after all – but biology is only part of the equation, as it turns out.”
“It doesn’t sound strange to me,” Raffa demurred intently. “On the contrary, I perfectly understand what you’re saying.”
It was more than she’d expected and she felt a sharp jolt of connection forge between them.
“Do you regret our marriage?”
The question was asked softly, and she jerked her eyes to his, seeing pain in his face, and a sense of concern that had her almost doubling over with surprise. “Why would you ask that?”
Did he regret their marriage? Was this a prelude to a conversation she simply couldn’t bear to have?
“No.” The smile was grim. “Our marriage makes as much sense now as ever.”
Talk about being damned with faint praise. She was so much more in love with him than she’d been when she’d first agreed to this. Then, he’d simply been an enigmatic, sexy King – and a way to earn her father’s praise, and please Malik. But now? She was in love with all of him.
How could she explain that without sounding crazy?
A loud voice came from outside the palace. In the native language, she heard,
“Your highness! You must come at once.”
The look he threw her was laced with exasperation. “Excuse me.” But as he stood, he reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips, the gesture so sweet and so sensual that her stomach was laced with knots.
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.”
