‘Perhaps.’
‘You don’t agree?’
His lips curved in another mocking smile. ‘I do not think peace can be so easily achieved.’
‘I hope you’re wrong.’
‘I doubt it.’
She laughed; she couldn’t help it. His cynicism was so completely natural, as though he barely realised he was doing it.
‘I believe people can obey a peace treaty,’ he said quietly, his voice dark. ‘But that hatred dies a long, slow death. Many lives have been lost on both sides. How many deaths have there been in this war? Would you not wish to retaliate against a man who murdered someone you loved?’
Sadness brushed through her at his words and she couldn’t help wondering if he’d lost someone to the awful unrest of their people. ‘I think vigilantism is bad for that very reason. It’s why victims should never get to enact retribution—how easy it would be to answer death with death, pain with pain, instead of finding the restorative properties of forgiveness.’
He was silent; she couldn’t tell if he agreed or not, only that he was thinking. They reached the edge of the enormous marble room and by unspoken agreement proceeded down the stairs. They were not steep, but his hand reached out, pressing into the small of her back in a small gesture of support.
It was meaningless. Absolutely nothing—yet it was the sort of thing that would never have been allowed to happen if he knew who she was. The Royal Princess of Taquul could never be simply touched by a commoner! But no one knew her identity except the few servants who’d helped her get ready. She moved down the steps and unconsciously her body shifted with each step so that they were pressed together at the side, touching in a way that sent arrows of heat darting through her body.
At the bottom of the stairs, he gestured to the edge of the pool. ‘Stand with me a while.’ He said it like a command and she suppressed a smile. People didn’t dare speak to her like that in Taquul—or anywhere.
She nodded her agreement. Not because he’d commanded her to do so but because there was nowhere else she wanted to be. His hand stayed pressed to her back, guiding her to the edge of the pool. There was a tall table they could have stood at, with ballerina waitresses circulating deftly through the crowds. It was everything they needed, so Johara wasn’t sure why she found herself saying, ‘Would you like to see something special?’
He turned to face her, his eyes narrowing in assessment before he moved his head in one short nod of agreement.
Relief burst through her. It should have signalled danger, but she was incapable of feeling anything except adrenalin. No, that wasn’t true. She felt excitement too, and in the pit of her stomach, spinning non-stop, she also felt a burst of desire.
The man strode beside her, completely relaxed, his natural authority impossible to miss. She wondered if he was a delegate from a foreign country, or perhaps one of the powerful industry leaders often included in palace occasions. A wealthy investor in the country’s infrastructure? He certainly moved with that indefinable air of wealth and power.
Steps led away from the pool—these older and less finessed than the marble—giving way to a sweeping path. She walked down it, and his hand stayed at the small of her back the whole way, spreading warmth through her body, turning her breath to fire inside her and deep in the pit of her stomach she had the strangest sense of destiny, as though something about him, this night, her choice to walk with him had been written in the stars a long, long time ago.
He couldn’t have said why he was walking with her. From the moment he’d seen her across the crowded ballroom he’d felt a lash of something like urgency; a need to speak to her. The room had been filled with beautiful women in stunning couture, dripping in gemstones with ornate face masks. While her black gown clung to her body like a second skin, showcasing her generous curves to perfection, it had been a long time since Amir had allowed physical attraction to control his responses.
Desire wasn’t enough.
So why was he allowing her to lead him away from the party—knowing he had to stand beside Sheikh Malik Qadir within the hour and showcase their newly formed ‘friendship’? At least, for the sake of those in attendance, they had to pretend.
Nothing had changed for Amir though. He still hated the Qadirs with a passion. Nineteen years ago, with the death of his parents, he had sworn he would always hate them, and he intended to keep that promise.
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Patience. We’re almost there.’ She spoke with a slight American accent and her voice was smooth and melodious, almost musical.
‘Are you in the habit of taking men you don’t know into the wilderness?’
She laughed, the sound as delicate as a bell. ‘First of all, this is hardly a wilderness. The gardens are immaculately tended here, don’t you think?’
He dipped his head in silent concession.
‘And as for dragging men I don’t know anywhere...’ She paused mid-sentence, and stopped walking as well, her eyes latching to his in a way that communicated so much more than words ever could. He felt the pulse of response from her to him, the rushing of need. Her breathing was laboured, each exhalation audible in the quiet night air. Overhead, the stars shone against the desert sky, silver against velvet black, but there was no one and nothing more brilliant than the woman before him. His hands lifted to her mask; he needed to see her face. He wanted to see all of her. But her hands caught his, stilling them, and she shook her head a little.
‘No. I like it like this.’
It was a strange thing to say—as though she liked the anonymity the mask provided. He dropped his hands lower, but instead of bringing them to his side he placed them at hers. His touch was light at first, as though asking a question. In response, she swayed forward a little, so her body brushed his and he was no longer able to deny the onslaught of needs that were assaulting him. He felt like a teenager again, driven by hormones and lust. How long had it been since he’d allowed himself to act on something so base?
‘Come with me,’ she murmured, hunger in the words, desperation in the speed with which she spoke. She reached down and grabbed his hand, linking her fingers through his, pulling him beside her. The night was dark and here they were far from the revellers, but as an enormous shrub came out of nowhere he was grateful for the privacy it created. She reached for the loose branches and brushed them aside, offering him a mysterious look over her shoulder before disappearing through a wall made of trees. Her hand continued to hold his, but he stood on the other side a moment, looking in one direction and then another before stepping forward. Large, fragrant trees surrounded them, the foliage thick to the ground.
The sky overhead was the only recognisable feature, but even that was unable to cast sufficient light over the structure. It was black inside, almost completely, a sliver of moonlight offering the faintest silver glow.