It had been too long.
She bit down on her lip and damn it! Tears filled her eyes. She blinked rapidly, clearing them as best she could.
‘We don’t have any business together, Your Majesty.’ The words were shaky. ‘If it’s a state concern, there are more appropriate channels—’
‘It isn’t.’
She had to press her back to the wall, needing its support. The elevator stopped moving and Amir’s guard stepped out, keeping one hand pressed to hold the doors open.
‘This is a private matter.’ His eyes didn’t leave her face. ‘This level is my apartment. Here is the key to my room. I’ll stay until five p.m. tomorrow. If you find you would like to hear what I have to say, then come to me. Any time, Johara. I will wait.’
She stared at the key as though it were a poisonous snake, her fingertips twitching, her heart aching, her brain hurting.
‘It’s your decision,’ he said quietly, and the gentleness of the promise had her reaching for the key.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t promise anything. She couldn’t. She felt blindsided, utterly and completely.
He turned and swept out of the elevator, but he was still there, even as the doors closed and it crested one level higher. She could smell him. She could feel him. Just knowing he was in the same building was filling her body with an ancient pounding of a drum, or the rolling in of the sea, waves crashing against her, making her throb with awareness, need, hurt, pain, love, and everything in between.
At three in the morning, she gave up trying to sleep. She pushed out of bed and walked towards the window, staring out at the glistening lights of New York. Even at this hour, the city exuded a vibrancy she’d always found intoxicating. But not now.
She barely saw the lights. All she could think about was Amir. Was he staring out at the same view? Thinking about her? Why was he here?
This is a private matter.
What could that mean?
Her heart slammed into her ribs—hard—then she turned back to the bed, looking at the table beside it. His key sat there, staring right back at her.
Her heart flipped.
What was she doing?
Instead of standing here asking an empty bedroom why he was there and what he wanted, she could go down and demand he tell her. That made more sense.
Before she could second-guess herself, she grabbed her silken robe and wrapped it around herself, cinching it at the waist, then reached for the key. There was no risk of being seen by a nosy guest or paparazzi; she had the whole level of the building.
At his door, she hesitated for the briefest moment. She lifted a hand to knock, then shook her head, pressing the key to the door, pushing it inwards as she heard the buzz.
It was immediately obvious that he wasn’t asleep. The lounge area was dimly lit. He sat in an armchair, elbows pressed to his knees, face looking straight ahead. The moment she entered, he stood, his body tense, his expression dark.
He wasn’t surprised though. He’d been waiting for her. The realisation made her stomach clench.
‘Why are you here?’ It was the question she most desperately needed an answer to.
‘To see you.’
It was the answer she wanted and yet it wasn’t. It gave her so little.
She moved deeper into the apartment, the similarities to hers in its layout disorientating at first.
‘Why?’
More was needed. More information. More everything.
‘Please, sit down.’
She eyed the armchair warily, shaking her head. She felt better standing.