Mills & Boon New Voices: Foreword by Katie Fforde. Ann Lethbridge
Читать онлайн книгу.
burrowed in closer, wrapped her arms around him. Her heart was a lost cause and it did no good to try and keep her distance. She would take whatever time she had with him while it lasted.
He stroked the skin of her bare back, his fingers dipping farther and farther down her spine each time. Liquid heat filled her veins, but she would not act on it. This was about comfort, not sex.
Until he shifted and she realized he was fully aroused. “Wait a minute,” he said, leaving the bed and then returning before she’d had a chance to miss his heat. She heard the rip of foil, and then he was on top of her, pressing inside her slick body while she moaned her pleasure to the heavens above.
They’d had a few days of bliss, but Zafir knew it would have to end. The problem was that he didn’t want to let her go. That having her here seemed like the most important thing in the world. With Genie in his life, his bed, his heart, he faced each day with the determination and strength he needed to make Bah’shar better than ever.
She made this life that had been thrust upon him make sense. He’d married twice, out of duty, but he’d never felt as if he’d had a connection with either of his wives. Why did he feel this connection with a woman he could never have?
He could never ask her to give up her life for him—not now. She was a professional, successful woman. And he was still required to marry and produce heirs for the throne.
But why couldn’t he marry her? She could still do her work, and she would come home to him each night. She’d said the temples could take years…
“Your Majesty?”
Zafir shook himself. The men gathered around the conference table were staring at him.
“Please repeat that,” he said smoothly. The meeting continued, and Zafir worked to concentrate on what was being said. After nearly fifteen minutes of circular logic, his mind drifted once more.
He couldn’t stop picturing Genie in a traditional Bah’sharan bridal gown.
Though Bah’sharan law did not allow for a foreign wife who was not a princess, the law was old and could be changed. It had been meant to protect the throne from overthrow, but that was not so much an issue in today’s world.
It wouldn’t be easy, and there would no doubt be much grumbling and arguing amongst his ministers, but changing the code was possible. The idea galvanized him.
Raised voices brought him sharply back to the present. Sheikh Abu Bakr had gone to stand by a window with his back to the group. Sheikh Hassan sat with his arms crossed and a militant expression on his face. Zafir’s ministers looked exasperated.
Zafir had had enough for now.
“Let us take a break,” he interjected. “I will return in an hour’s time, and I expect you all to be here, ready to talk.”
He stood. Everyone in the room shot to their feet and bowed. Zafir turned and strode out the door. There was just enough time to see Genie, maybe have a little lunch with her. He wouldn’t tell her about his idea just yet. It was too new, and he was still too uncertain it was the correct path. His heart believed it was, but his head needed time to adjust.
There was a shortcut to the harem and he took it, passing down long dark corridors that were rarely used anymore. He was excited about the idea of changing the code, about talking Genie into marrying him and staying in Bah’shar, but he was torn as well. Though it felt like the best solution for him personally, was it best for his people? For his nation?
As he passed a dark alcove, a sharp pain sliced across his arm. Zafir spun as something flashed silver in the dim light. All his senses were on high alert as the assassin’s knife descended again.
“Die, traitor,” a voice breathed as the knife plunged home.
Chapter Nine
GENIE was in the library, researching the Temples of Al-Shahar, when two men in dark clothes burst in. She recognized them as being on Zafir’s security team from the Uzis slung across their chests and the microphones in their ears. She didn’t even realize she’d gotten to her feet until they crashed to a halt in front of her.
“You will come with us,” one of the men said.
“Where are we going?” She’d faced menacing characters before in her line of work, but these two made her heart pound a little harder than usual. Perhaps because they were part of the team that ensured Zafir’s safety. If they were here, was something wrong? Was there danger?
A tremor of apprehension snaked along her spine.
“The hospital.”
“But what has happened?” she said as they hustled her toward the exit.
One of the men looked down at her with a grave expression. “The King has been stabbed.”
Zafir winced as the doctor probed at the wound.
“You are lucky, Your Majesty,” he said. “It’s only a flesh wound.”
Yes, but one that hurt like hell. And one that he would not have gotten had he not been distracted by thoughts of the woman he’d been in a hurry to see again.
“A few stitches and it will heal nicely,” the doctor continued as he finished his examination.
The man went to get his supplies and Zafir turned to the guard who stood silently by.
“Is she here yet?”
“They are bringing her now, Majesty.”
A moment later the door burst open and Genie rushed in. He was no longer surprised at the kick in the gut he felt when he saw her, but he pushed it down deep and put a lid on it. She was pale and her cheeks were tear-streaked. He took in her puffy eyes, her red nose, and felt a pang of guilt.
He had to let her go. For her safety. Until the moment he’d been attacked he hadn’t stopped to think how his people might react to a Western woman as their queen. There were those who would never accept it. Though it made him want to howl in frustration to be forced to give up happiness just when he’d thought he might have found it, he had to do so.
For her. What he wanted didn’t matter when contrasted with the risk to her life.
Because who was to say that she would not be the target of an assassination attempt at some point? She would be resented by those who didn’t want change, and she might draw the wrath of extremist groups.
He could not allow that. Not ever.
“Zafir,” she gasped, rushing over to him. She stopped short when she saw the bloody wound on his arm. Then her gaze lifted to his. Her voice wavered. “They said you’d been hurt.”
Not as hurt as the assassin he’d disarmed. “I am fine, Genie. It’s not serious.”
He wanted to hold her, reassure her. But he would not. Keeping his arms at his sides was one of the toughest things he’d ever had to do.
“Do you know who did it?” Her eyes were huge pools of rainwater gray and tears trembled on the brink of her lashes.
“Oh, yes. The conspirators will be dealt with, I assure you.” Once the would-be assassin had realized he’d failed, he’d spilled his guts to the police.
Zafir said a quiet word to the bodyguard. The man went to stand outside the door.
Once he was gone, Genie reached for Zafir’s hand. “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you—”
“Genie,” he cut in before she could say more. He must have spoken sharply because she fell quiet instantly. He squeezed her hand before letting it go. How could he do this? How could he send away the only bit of happiness he’d ever known? He drew in a painful breath. “I am sending you back to your camp.”
She bit her lip, confusion playing across her expressive face. Her guard