‘Oh, I miss them,’ Aziz assured her. ‘But I’ve made a point of having only Kadaran food and drink since I’ve been here.’
‘To show your loyalty?’
‘Something like that,’ Aziz agreed, and Olivia sensed the brush-off. He was, she realised, constantly playing himself down. She thought suddenly of what Malik had said: there are more loyal to Aziz than he knows, or allows himself to believe. She thought she understood a little of what the older man had been saying; she’d felt it from Aziz tonight.
He didn’t believe in himself. He didn’t believe he would be accepted by the Kadaran people as himself. And maybe his careless, playboy attitude was just a cover-up for the fear and doubt he felt inside.
Or was she being fanciful because she knew how much she hid herself? This was Aziz, after all, the darling of Europe, a confident, charismatic man who had women constantly fawning over him. How could he possibly doubt anything?
Yet she wanted to know, wanted to know who the real Aziz was, and that was a foolish, dangerous thing to want, because he affected her too much already, and in any case he wasn’t hers to know.
With effort she swallowed her questions down. She didn’t need to know more about this man. She couldn’t allow herself to, or let the attraction that had leapt to life today turn into something even deeper and more powerful, something she hadn’t even thought she was capable of any more.
No, it needed to end here and now. Tomorrow she would be back in Paris and Aziz, hopefully, would have found Queen Elena.
She rose from the table and gave him a cool smile. ‘Thank you for dinner.’
Aziz arched an eyebrow, and just that one little quirk made her feel sure he knew what she was doing and why. That he knew she was afraid and attracted all at once, but of course the Gentleman Playboy would never say so.
‘Thank you for humouring me and continuing this charade,’ he answered, rising also. He stepped closer to her and her heart seemed to stutter. She was achingly conscious of his nearness, even the smell of him, a citrusy aftershave that she must have smelled a thousand times before but now made her feel dizzy with longing. She knew she should move back and yet she didn’t. She couldn’t.
Aziz dipped his head and his gaze seemed to heat her from within, kindling feelings and needs that she’d thought were no more than cold ash. ‘I’m sorry to have put you to such trouble, but you were the first person I thought of, Olivia. The first person I knew I could trust.’
The sincerity in his voice made the flames inside her rise higher. Logically she knew this had to be mere flattery. She was his housekeeper, for heaven’s sake, and of a house he only visited on occasion, one step up from a maid—and he trusted her? She was the person he’d first thought of in a time of trouble?
Yet the warmth of his gaze and the seeming sincerity of his tone caused a maelstrom to whirl inside her. Desire and something deeper, something fiercer—the longing to be needed, to be important to someone again, to matter.
Ridiculous.
She barely knew Aziz. And this whole thing, on both their parts, had been nothing more than an act. Everything that had happened between them had been fake.
Even if it didn’t feel fake.
‘I’m glad to have been of service,’ she said crisply and took a step away from him. The gauzy skirt of her dress caught on the stiletto heel she wasn’t used to wearing and she tripped backwards, her arms windmilling as she desperately attempted to right herself, even as she braced herself to land on her backside.
Aziz stepped forward in one fluid movement and caught her in his arms. He brought her body into close, exquisite contact with his. She felt their hips and thighs collide and desire shot through her as if she’d been injected intravenously with lust. It sizzled through her whole body, pulsed between her thighs. She let out a ragged gasp and Aziz’s gaze darkened, came to rest on her parted lips.
Olivia could only wait. Her heart had started a heavy, insistent thud and, despite her resolutions of a mere moment ago, her whole body yearned and strained for him to kiss her, to feel so much, even more than she already had. So much more.
For a second, no more, she thought he might kiss her. He leaned forward, drawing her body even closer to his so she felt the hard press of his arousal, and that electric pulse of want jolted her yet again, right down to her toes.
Then he stepped back, steadying her, and dropped his hands. She swallowed, fought for composure and tried to arrange her expression into something neutral and bland, as if the whole world hadn’t tilted on its axis and all her certainties hadn’t scattered. As if she hadn’t suddenly realised how stark, dull and empty her life had been and how she now wanted so much more.
Wanted Aziz.
Aziz smiled but now it seemed like a mere stretching of his lips. His eyes, Olivia saw, were dark and fathomless.
‘Thank you,’ she muttered and Aziz nodded in acknowledgement. ‘I should— It’s late.’ She stopped, took a breath and let it out slowly. ‘Goodnight,’ she said, the single world coming out with far too much finality.
‘Goodnight, Olivia,’ he said softly, and with a jerky nod, lifting her dress up so she wouldn’t trip again, Olivia hurried from the room.
CHAPTER FIVE
AZIZ GAZED GRIMLY at the dawn sky. The sun was a huge, orange ball peeking above the horizon, spreading its morning rays over the courtyard, bathing the palace in brilliant, golden light.
His mood, however, was as dark as a moonless night. He’d spent most of the night awake, surveying satellite printouts of Kadar’s desert, searching for a possible campsite for Khalil and his band of rebels. From a satellite it was possible to discern various settlements, but neither Aziz nor any of his aides had been able to determine whether such settlements contained Khalil—or Queen Elena.
He’d sent another troop of soldiers, the few he felt he could trust, to investigate the most promising settlement which, when compared with printouts from the last few weeks, had shown the most activity. But it was three hundred miles from Siyad and the men were going by Jeep, as a helicopter would surely alert Khalil...if he was even there.
And if he was there? How far would his once-believed half-brother go to gain the throne? Would he risk his life and, more importantly, would he risk Elena’s?
Aziz had told Olivia that he didn’t think Khalil would be so foolhardy, but the truth was he didn’t know. He didn’t know Khalil at all.
He had, since taking the throne, read all the information the Kadaran intelligence service possessed about him. Khalil had been banished, along with his mother, at the age of seven, and his aunt had taken him to live with her in America. He’d gone to an elite boarding school and university, worked in business for a while before serving in the French Foreign Legion for seven years.
Aziz suspected it was while in the army that Khalil had made the contacts that had enabled him to return to Kadar. To return to the people who had wanted him back, had embraced him. The people of Siyad might like having a cosmopolitan man with European ways and a head for numbers as their ruler, but the heart of Kadar, its desert tribes, wanted Khalil. And it was the heart Aziz was concerned about.
Once more you’re trying to win someone’s heart, he thought cynically. Trying to make someone love you. When will you realise you can’t? You never will.
Except he hadn’t even started trying, because he was afraid he’d fail.
Olivia had been amazingly astute about it all. Her observations still stung him hours later. She’d seen how he still wanted to please his father, knew that he was afraid to try. How had she seen so much? How had he revealed it?
It was incredibly unsettling, to be understood in that way, yet there was something strangely, intrinsically good about it too—because Olivia hadn’t rejected or judged him because of his fears. She’d encouraged him by insisting he could win the Kadaran people to his side...if he just tried.
The trouble was, he didn’t think he believed her. From behind him Aziz heard the door softly open and close. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Malik standing to attention, waiting for his order.
Malik had been on his father’s staff, had known him as a boy. He knew how Aziz had been sneered at and mocked by his father and most of the palace staff. He’d stepped in more than once to deflect his father’s contempt and, even though Aziz was grateful, he also felt the squirming shame of having his weaknesses exposed in front of another person.
‘We’re no closer to finding Elena, are we?’ he said, a statement rather than a question.
‘On the contrary, Your Highness, the settlement we viewed earlier on the satellite photograph looks promising. There has been an extraordinary amount of movement to and from it, as you saw, and just now we were able to find a photograph from the day Queen Elena was taken. It shows several vehicles on the outskirts of the camp.’
Aziz swivelled in his chair. ‘That is promising, Malik,’ he said. ‘But, even if the soldiers I deployed enter the camp and Queen Elena is there, there is no guarantee as to what might happen.’
‘No, indeed, Your Highness.’
Aziz sighed wearily and raked his hands through his hair. ‘Can I even blame Khalil?’ he said, only half-asking. Sometimes he felt furious at Khalil for endangering not just his bride, but his whole country. Did the man he’d once thought was his half-brother actually want war? Would that be his revenge for Sheikh Hashem’s rejection of him?