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Her insides lit up. Nausea crested through her.
‘I will give you money anyway,’ he assured her, as though just realising how mercenary the proposition sounded. She closed her eyes, wanting to blank him out for a moment, but even then, he was everywhere. His intoxicatingly masculine fragrance filled her. She was drowning in his presence and she desperately needed to think rationally and calmly.
‘I cannot offer you more than this,’ he said slowly, the words filled with the authority that came naturally to him, so she jerked her eyes open and looked at him once more. ‘My duties to my country come first. I could never openly date you. A divorced American? My people wouldn’t tolerate it. I know this isn’t sensible. In fact, it’s the opposite of that. If you were discovered, it would pose a real risk to my rule, but I don’t care. Daisy, I want you to come home with me. I want you to be my mistress more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.’
A divorced American. His mistress!
She felt so dirty! As though she was somehow lesser than him, and it brought back so many awful memories of her marriage, when Max had so cleverly undermined her confidence in herself until she saw her only value as being His Wife, rather than a person all her own. A shiver of revulsion ran down her spine, because she wasn’t that woman any more.
‘I can’t believe you’d even suggest this.’
He moved forward, his body pressed to hers so weakness threatened to reduce her anger when she needed it most. ‘How is it any different from that weekend?’
‘You’re getting married.’
‘And I was getting married that weekend, too.’
‘I had no idea the fact I was divorced and an American were such issues for you.’
He frowned, but it was swallowed quickly, as he dropped his head, his lips brushing hers. ‘It isn’t.’
‘Not for your “mistress”, anyway. I dare say someone like me is the perfect candidate for that role.’
His hands found the bottom of her shirt, lifting it so he could hold her bare hips, his lips more determined at hers now so a whimper filled her mouth and she felt herself kissing him back, needing him in a way that infuriated her.
‘You are the perfect candidate to be in my bed, yes,’ he agreed, but it hurt. God, it hurt. She’d never felt so...cheap.
She lifted her hands, pushing at his chest, putting some vital distance between them. ‘Damn you, Sariq, no.’ She shouted the words and then lowered her voice, aware that there were dozens of guards on this level. ‘No.’ A whisper. She wrapped her arms around her chest, moving away from him towards the sofas. Her knees were trembling but still she didn’t sit. Her eyes were on him, showing her pain and hurt.
‘I cannot offer you more than this,’ he said again. ‘You know what expectations are upon me. My marriage is a bargaining chip; my bride an important part of my political strategy. I cannot bring you to the palace as my mistress—it would offend my future Emira and it would offend my people. I’m sorry if this hurts you, but it is the truth.’
Her heart looped through her. Offend his bride. Offend his people. ‘And what about me, Your Highness? Do you care that I am offended by this offer?’
He had the decency to look—for a brief moment—ashamed. But he rallied quickly, his expression shifting to a mask of determination. ‘You shouldn’t be. I’m offering us a way to both get what we want.’
She made a scoffing noise.
‘Money aside, think about how good this could be. How much fun we’d have...’
She closed her eyes, the temptation of that warming her, because if she weren’t so horrendously offended, she could see the appeal of his offer. On one level, he was offering her something she desperately wanted. More of Sariq? But everything about the way he’d made his offer filled her with disgust and loathing. He had somehow managed to cheapen what they’d shared so it felt tawdry and meaningless. And he didn’t seem to get that!
‘I thought you actually liked me,’ she said with a small shake of her head. ‘I thought you enjoyed spending time with me. That you valued me as a person.’ Pain lashed her, because he didn’t. He was just like her ex. The realisation was awful and horrifying.
‘I do,’ he promised immediately, crossing towards her. ‘But I’m a realist and I see the limitations of this.’
‘Which is sex,’ she said crudely, lifting her brows, waiting for him to acknowledge it.
‘As it was in New York,’ he said firmly.
Her heart dropped. Her stomach ached and tears filled her eyes. It had just been about sex for him? She wracked her brain, trying desperately to remember anything he’d said or done that indicated otherwise, but no. There was nothing. He’d wanted her. He’d made a point of saying that over and over, but that was all.
She’d been a fool to think there was more to it, that they were in some way friends or something.
‘I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have asked you for money. It was a mistake. Please forget...’
‘No.’ He held onto her wrist as though he could tell she was about to run from the room. ‘Stop.’
Her eyes lifted to his and she jerked on her wrist so she could lift her fingers to her eyes and brush away her tears. Panic was filling her, panic and disbelief at the mess she found herself in.
