Harlequin Presents January 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Sheikh's Desert Duty\Nine Months to Redeem Him\Fonseca's Fury\The Russian's Ultimatum (9 page)

“What?”

“It's nothing.”

“It is something, or you would not look so much like holding it back was threatening to make you burst.” He knew it, because he'd felt it only moments ago.

She shook her head. “I want to reach a point where I will be admitted into certain functions. And when I am, I will walk up to my father and I will hold out my hand and I will say, ‘My name is Sophie Parsons. I don't have your name because I wasn't good enough for you to give it to me. But I'm here now in the same room you are, and whether you like it or not, and whether you want to acknowledge it or not, I am your daughter.'” She blinked rapidly. “And I will tell him that I made it into that room on my own merit. Without his help. Without his name, which is something none of his other children did. I will tell him that the child that wasn't good enough for him is the one who really made it the farthest.”

Her words hit him with the force of a punch. In them he could hear where her determination came from. In them he gathered her motivation. And he suddenly understood why she worked so hard to fit in, why she had worked so hard to bring herself up from her modest background.

And it made sense suddenly why she had spoken of her mother with such disdain. It sounded as though the woman had loved someone who had abandoned them entirely, a man who had had other children while refusing to acknowledge her.

It was nothing he could relate to. His place in life had been assured from birth. His blood had assured him entry. His family name a given. A name that stretched back hundreds of years, that brought him reputation, that brought him admiration.

It had been a reputation he hadn't been deserving of for a great many years, one he was striving to deserve now.

And in contrast, the woman across from him had been given nothing in terms of name and reputation. The woman sitting across from him had had to make her own way entirely. If he'd had to do that he would've never been able to transcend the mistakes of his past. But as it was, he had been forgiven. Simply a rebellious wayward royal who'd had too much power, and too much money. A young man who had been far too handsome for his own good, and who had only taken advantage of all that had been naturally afforded him as a result.

He'd had none of her disadvantages, and he'd abused every advantage he
had
been given.

He felt like saying something to her, and yet he felt advice from him was empty. Still, she had shared with him, and he owed something.

“They say the best revenge is living well,” he said. “And I feel you are doing that already.”

“You can't deny the fact that I'm staying with royalty. Although not so much right now.”

“Jamal is royalty in his own right.”

“True.”

“But in all sincerity, I think your father was a fool. I think he was a fool to deny a daughter such as you.”

“Are you complimenting me?” She blinked owlishly.

“Do not seem so surprised. I have admiration for your determination and your mind, even if I cannot leave you entirely to your own devices. I was born with privilege. I was born belonging to my family. And I squandered it. I did not deserve it. It was something I took for granted. I would not be surprised if your other siblings have done the same. Someone like you, a daughter like you, should be appreciated. He did not, and so I think he is a fool.”

“How is it that you abused what you were given?” she asked, her voice muted. Her question sounded much more genuine than questions from her did typically. Much more personal, and much less like she was asking as a reporter.

“That I think we will save for tomorrow.”

“That doesn't seem fair. And we still didn't get to my scandal.”

“We're getting there.” His stomach sank as he said the words, as he realized the truth in them. They were getting to the scandal, and he was starting to realize what he would have to give her as substitution for his lack of knowledge about James Chatsfield. As a substitution for the secret his sister carried. The one he had to keep Sophie away from at all costs.

He realized now where his stories were leading her, where they were leading them both. He had not before this moment, but he did now. The founding of a nation, self-sacrifice being the cornerstone of the monarchy. And the importance of acting with honor above all else. Of being worthy of the birthright he had been given without having to do any work at all.

“For tonight I suggest we get some sleep,” he said.

She stood, and he stopped pacing, pausing to look at her. The glowing of the lanterns overhead was more pronounced now that the light had dimmed further outside, and it was casting a golden sheen over her. And suddenly everything seemed to narrow in on Sophie.

Everything around her faded, the air growing tight. Pulling him nearer to her. Her green eyes glittered in the low light, her hair shimmering. She was temptation personified, sent to test him. While at the same time reminding him of his fatal weaknesses.

How was it one woman could represent both? How was it one woman could make him want to strive forward doing better, sacrificing himself for the greater good, while also inspiring him to drop it all, so that his arms were free to pull her into them? To bring her up against his body, kiss her, claim her, make her his?

He had no answers, he had nothing other than the burning ache in his gut. Nothing at all.

“Would you mind giving me some privacy while I get ready?” she asked.

He had no choice but to give her privacy. If he were in here while she readied herself for bed he doubted he would be able to control himself.

And with Jasmine so freshly on his mind, it seemed a blasphemy. With Leila, her secret and the weight of his responsibility pressing down upon him, he should be able to think of nothing else. Of Christine and their upcoming marriage.

And yet none of it seemed to matter half as much as what he felt when he looked at Sophie. It
was
a blasphemy. And yet it was one he was not certain he knew how to combat. It was one he was not certain he
wanted
to combat. It was such a foreign feeling, something lost back in time, something that had been bound up and twisted up in tragedy, in disgrace.

He'd had lovers in the years since he'd decided to take his role as sheikh more seriously. But it had been different. It had been with careful calculation and decision. It'd been at appropriate times, and in appropriate places. It had been nothing like this, this heady rush of heat and need that seemed to transcend reality, that seemed to transcend duty.

No
, nothing transcended duty.

He could not afford to disrupt what was happening now. He could not throw away his future, his country's future, Leila's future, for the sake of a dalliance with an American journalist who would probably turn the entire thing into a tell-all.

She wouldn't do that.

He gritted his teeth. He did not trust people easily as a rule, not anymore. Not after the betrayal of his friend Damien. And certainly, Sophie was not who he had originally assumed she was. She was not the cold-blooded tabloid leech, but he doubted she was a kitten, either.

She was a woman who had gotten into her position in life with sheer bloody-mindedness and determination. Underestimating that could be fatal. At least in terms of reputation.

Things were far too precarious for him to upset anything.

And he had an agreement with Christine, he had made her promises, and he could not go back on that.

“Of course I will step outside. Let me know when you are ready for me to return.”

* * *

Never. I will never be ready for you to return.
Sophie kept all of that to herself, but she thought it at full volume. If he could somehow read thoughts it would be extremely helpful. Of course, if he could read thoughts he would know just how affected she was by being in close quarters with him. She didn't like it at all. Not one bit.

She was much more disturbed by him than she could've ever imagined she might be.

She waited until he was gone, then went to the place where the bags were sitting, digging through them until she found a pair of silk pajamas. Of course he had made sure she would have overnight things. Because of course he had known they would end up spending the night out here. Perhaps he had even known they would end up staying in the same tent. Well, he had to have known.

He's not trying to seduce you.

No, of course he wasn't. And anyway, she was not seduceable. Not in the least. Men had tried, and men had failed. It wasn't as though she intended to never have a relationship as long as she lived, it was just there had never been an appropriate time.

She'd watched her mother become a slave to sex, to desire, which she had always called love, but Sophie had doubted that very much.

It was weakness, and she would not be that weak. Would not be that sad and desperate. She'd gone out and made her own life, on her own terms.

Zayn was hot, there was no denying that. He was, in fact, the hottest guy she had ever seen in person. So there was that. And she was ready to admit it. It had been difficult to sort through her feelings for him when she had been half-afraid of him, but she wasn't really afraid of him now. And now that the fog of terror had cleared a bit, she could say objectively that, yes, he was very handsome.

But handsomeness didn't have anything to do with
anything
. She was here to do a job, not get distracted by a pretty face. Though she wouldn't exactly characterize his face as pretty. His cheekbones were enviable, to be certain, and he had amazing eyelashes. If he were a woman he wouldn't need to wear mascara. But that didn't make him pretty. No, he was far too rugged for that. The dark stubble that covered his jaw by midday helped with that. As did the intensity in his dark eyes.

Magnetic. That was a better word for him.

And hot, hot still worked.

She mentally castigated herself while she put her pajamas on, while she tried to ignore just how sensual the fabric felt against her skin. Fabric was not sensual. None of this was.

Annoying was what it was. Well, not the fabric, the fabric was quite nice. But the feelings that he evoked in her were certainly annoying.

He was still stringing her along, too. She didn't feel like she was any closer to getting the scandal than she had been on day one. He was interesting, and yes, she could use the material he was providing her for her career, but it wasn't
why
she was here. It didn't help Isabelle in any way. And neither did thinking about how pretty he was. Or wasn't.

She finished dressing and went to the opening of the tent, pushing the flap back and poking her head outside. It was dark now, the golden light of the sun long since disappearing behind the dunes. Everything was golden brown during the day, fading into a strange yellowish white in the sky, a color she had never seen anywhere else. And now, in the dark, it was similarly monochromatic. Inky blues and slate grays covering the landscape.

She could see he was standing with his back to the tent, an imposing figure, a living shadow in the night.

“I'm ready.”

He turned to face her. “I find I am not.”

“Oh, well, so then...I guess I just can get in bed now?”

He waved a hand. “Do what you like. I will not be returning for the evening.”

“Where are you going?” She shouldn't care, she didn't care. In fact, she should be nothing but relieved that he was leaving. Somehow, though, relief wasn't what she felt. She was just confused. Confused and concerned.

“I am going for a walk, and perhaps I will find somewhere to sleep for the night.”

“Well, you can sleep in here,” she said, the words dying on her lips when she caught sight of the feral glint in his eye. There was something dangerous there, something she couldn't easily identify. But it called her, tugged at something deep inside of her, made her want to move forward, to close the distance between them rather than turn away. Which was not what she should be feeling. She should want to run, she should want to turn away from whatever that meant. But she didn't.

She took a step toward him.

“Stop,” he bit out, the command coming down like a hammer on a nail.

She obeyed, because she was powerless to do anything else.

“The tent is big enough for the both of us. I'm sorry I made a big deal out of it before.” She tried again, even though she was certain she was making a mistake.

“I cannot stay. I would only do something we would both regret later.”

And before she could ask him what he meant he began to walk away from her, disappearing into the darkness. As though he had been swallowed up whole, consumed by a blackness that would never give him back.

Still, Sophie stood there and watched. She stood there until her eyes hurt from straining to see into the night. Stood there until she started to feel cold.

She didn't know what it was about this man. She only knew that he was challenging things in her that no one else had ever been able to challenge before.

But what was far more frightening than that was the fact that she wanted him to challenge them. Was the fact that she was more intrigued than afraid?

She shook her head and turned away from the desert, walking back into the tent.

She was only having a moment of temporary insanity. It would pass.

She was in here for this. And anyway, Zayn was promised to another woman. And she would never be the kind of person who ignored something like that. She wasn't going to tread on another woman's territory. Her mother hadn't minded, hadn't cared that her lover had said vows to someone else, and Sophie had seen the destruction it had brought. Sophie would never be a part of something like that.

Though, even if she were that sort of woman, in the end, Zayn would never choose her. Men like him never chose the woman like her. They married the princess, they stayed with the socialite. That was the end of the discussion.