She’d have every right.
He let out a groan. “Where is my wife?” He looked at his friend and a torrent of emotions rolled through his dark eyes.
“I don’t know.” Kalim frowned. “What is it, Raf? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost?”
He hadn’t. It was worse than that. Raffa was finally seeing the truth.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE FLIGHT FROM Bern was bumpy and Chloe felt nauseous as the plane glided back into Rad el Kida. It was the kind of nausea that had her reaching for a travel sickness bag, only it abated as soon as they touched down, so any hope that it might have been something more significant was fleeting.
She was quiet as the limousine pulled her through the small settlements that lined the airport, then the old city with its ancient, low-set buildings and familiar aroma of spice and heat. Before long, the road gave way to desert, and then, the palace loomed, a stronghold, a mythical centre of ancient lore, the home to the royal family of Ras el Kida, in one form or another, for as long as the country’s memory stretched.
The sun was setting low beyond the palace walls and a frisson of anticipation ran down her spine. It was almost night time, and night time meant Raffa.
Desire flared like a flame in her gut, heat ran through her veins and her face was warm with memories. Memories like splinters of photographs, showing passion from different nights. His tongue running along her jaw bone, his fingers at her waist, his body pressed to hers.
How could she still want him with this desperate, all-consuming need? Would it ever end? Would she ever be cured of her Raffa addiction?
The limousine drew to a close in the secure entrance of the palace – even at this hour, there was a handful of tourists and media milling about, looking to catch a glimpse of the royal family.
It was strange how she’d become used to that, used to the interest her being a princess could inspire.
It was why she could never have consulted a doctor locally – why she could never have risked being followed to a hospital that specialized in obstetrics. Even a hint of difficulties in that area would lead to gossip and the kind of political weakness that could potentially make things very difficult for Raffa. Worse – rumours that she were pregnant might begin to flow, and they’d be unbearable if there was no basis in fact.
The door to the limousine opened and she stepped out, expecting to see one of the servants who refused to meet her eyes. But instead, it was her husband.
Her husband had come to her car, and opened the door, and her heart, oh, her heart! It wasn’t prepared for that. She hadn’t yet marshalled her defenses and assembled her barriers. She wasn’t able to look at him with cool disdain when the memories of their intimacy had been burning her alive only moments earlier.
“What are you doing here?” The question was breathless.
She stepped further away from the car, towards the palace, waiting for him to walk with her. In those vital few seconds of space and distance, she got her raging pulse under control, steadying herself with several deep, calm inhalations.
“How was your trip?”
She plastered a smile to her face. “Very informative.”
Was she imagining the way his eyes clung to her for a second too long? Did he know the real reason she’d gone to Bern?
No.
She was imagining things; being paranoid. Her guilty conscience was fooling her, that was all.
“I’m glad. I’d like to hear more about your work here. I haven’t asked you enough about it.”
Chloe’s stomach rolled. “Oh. There’s nothing… interesting. It’s just fundraising.”
He pressed his hand lightly to her elbow, stilling her. The servants who followed stopped, leaving a respectful distance, so they had the semblance of privacy. “You’re being unnecessarily modest.”
Chloe met his eyes – it was a mistake. The moon had just crested over the palace, slicing through them, and the air was still heated with the balmy desert winds of the day.
When their eyes locked, she felt it.
Magic.
Destiny.
Fate.