Claimed by the Sheikh. Rachael Thomas
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‘I haven’t got time to discuss this now,’ she said, looking boldly up at him. ‘I need to go home before the manager realises I’m still here and...’ Her words faltered for a moment and, like a hawk, Kazim pounced on it.
‘And what, Amber?’ He leant his shoulder casually against the door, folded his arms and looked down at her, making her feel as if she were a petulant child that had just been scolded.
Amber thought of all the times the manager had tried to force her to dance, insisting her talents were wasted as a waitress. He’d taken every opportunity he could to try and push her into dancing and if she lingered here any longer he would think she had changed her mind. Kazim’s brooding presence wouldn’t be any kind of defence because she had no intention of admitting to anyone he was her husband.
‘He will think I want more work,’ she said, forcing firmness into her voice. ‘So, if you will allow me past, I need to go.’
For a moment Kazim’s gaze held hers, questioning and searching. Her stomach filled with small butterflies and she was compelled, as if under an ancient spell, to hold his gaze, to look into the inky depths.
If only she hadn’t tried so hard on her wedding night. She’d only done it because she didn’t want Kazim to think she was totally inexperienced.
Snap out of it, she reprimanded herself as she glimpsed once again the handsome prince she’d worshipped from afar for too many years. This is the man who rejected you, the man who ruined your whole life.
‘I will come with you.’ He pushed his body away from the door and unfolded his arms to stand looking down at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Not a real smile—it didn’t reach his eyes. It was the smile of a man in control. Complete control.
‘There’s no need.’ She grabbed the handle and pulled the door open, about to step into the corridor, when another dancer barged through the door from the club, the heavy beat of the music becoming louder again for a moment. The dancer rushed towards the dressing room, instantly stopping when she spotted Kazim.
‘I will escort you home,’ he whispered softly near Amber’s ear and then stepped close behind her like a territorial lion. She saw the shock on the other woman’s face—shock that quickly changed to a gushing smile when Kazim turned on his charm, directing his next words at the dancer. ‘We shall leave you in peace.’
Amber fumed inside. How dare he insinuate he was going home with her? They’d never leave her alone now. She could hear their questions already. Spurred on by anger, she marched the opposite way along the corridor, out through the back door of the club and into the narrow streets of Paris.
It was cool for summer and a keen wind rushed along the streets. She pulled her collar up and began the short walk to her flat, hoping with every step that Kazim wouldn’t follow. His footsteps behind her told her that hope was useless. She accepted the fact he’d found her and would now know where she lived, but she could not and would not go back to Barazbin. She was needed here.
‘My car is around the corner; there is no need to walk.’ He pulled her to a stop as his hand took hold of her arm, the contact sending a rush of heat through her.
‘So is my flat,’ she fired back at him, a sense of satisfaction settling over her as he glanced briefly up and down the street.
‘You live here, in this street?’ The streetlights cast a golden glow over his skin and his eyes seemed darker than she’d ever seen them. The disdain in his voice was so obvious she wanted to laugh at him, the irrational urge bubbling up like a fountain.
‘Is there something wrong with this street?’ She wished she was brave enough to ask him why he truly wanted her to return to Barazbin, but she wasn’t. It would mean hearing again his blatant dismissal of her as a woman.
‘The only thing wrong with this street is that it isn’t in Barazbin.’ His words shot at her so fast she almost unbalanced as she stepped back. His hand gripped tighter still onto her arm, drawing curious stares from a couple passing by.
‘You sent me away, Kazim.’ She pulled her arm free. ‘I assumed if I heard from you again it would be for a divorce.’
The sound of someone approaching made him turn and look, but when he returned his attention to her his face was full of fury. ‘We can’t talk here. We are drawing too much attention.’
‘There isn’t anything to talk about. I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m needed here and, right now, I’m late so, if you’ll excuse me...’
Without waiting for his response, Amber walked away, her heels tapping out her frustration and echoing down the street. She glanced at her watch and her anxiety levels rose even further. She really was late and she’d promised her flatmate she’d be finishing early this evening.
She turned the corner and glanced back to find Kazim catching up with her. ‘Oh, no, please,’ she sighed out the words. A persistent desert prince was not something she wanted to deal with tonight, but she might as well get it over and done with. All she needed to do was convince him that a divorce was the best option—for both of them.
Amber pulled the key from her bag and stopped by the old wooden door, the green paint somewhat weathered. Next to her, Kazim swore—a growly sound of native words she hadn’t heard for a long time. It reminded her of her family and briefly she missed them, until she remembered how they’d treated her. How they’d turned their backs on her, sending her away to distant relations in England after Kazim had rejected her, insisting it was to avoid a scandal.
‘Couldn’t you find a better place to live than this?’ Abhorrence filled his voice and she turned to look up at him as he cursed again under his breath. ‘What did you do with all the money I gave you if you didn’t use it for a decent place to live?’
‘What I did with the money you used to pay me off, get me out of your life, is no concern of yours.’ She machine gunned the words at him, more angry than ever as the pain of his outright rejection of her as his wife surfaced. He’d ruined her life. In one night he’d made her nothing.
She wasn’t about to tell him she hadn’t received any money from him, or anything else for that matter. If he thought she’d wasted it, so much the better. It could only help her to prove how they needed to end the marriage. ‘It’s none of your business what I spend my money on.’
‘It was to support you, so that you could live in a manner befitting your position as Princess of Barazbin.’
She hurried into the hallway of the large Parisian town house, with its hints of a glorious past, and rushed up the stairs. As she reached her front door she turned to see him taking the stairs two at a time. ‘Since you seem intent on following me into my home, you’ll have to give me a minute. I need to check on Claude and pay the babysitter.’
‘Who is Claude?’ Cold fury sounded in his voice as he looked at her with hard eyes.
‘My flatmate’s son,’ she said as she put the key in the door. ‘Once I have done that I’ll give you a few minutes—before you go.’
* * *
Kazim’s mind raced. It was as if he’d stepped into an unreal world from the moment he’d entered that damn club. The anger he’d felt knowing his wife worked in such an establishment had made it almost impossible to go in. He’d stood on the threshold calming himself before he’d entered. His wife worked and lived in the most rundown area he’d ever seen in Europe.
Just as he had done outside the club, he stopped, desperately hanging onto his control, as Amber turned the key in the door and entered one of the smallest flats he’d ever seen. Did he want to go in? Did he want to bring this woman back into his life—a princess whose tiara was well and truly tarnished? A woman who seemed adept at keeping secrets from him?
She turned to him, holding one slender finger to her lips in a plea of silence, and something twisted deep inside him. What, he didn’t know, but it was almost primal and totally unexpected.