“Don’t look like that,” he replied with an ease which was his modus operandi. “I can deal with a horse if necessary.” He tugged at the reins and, much to his surprise—and hers—the horse moved and followed him into the stables. He looked behind him. “Don’t worry, I’ve got someone here who will look after her.”
“It’s a him,” she said, with that heart-stopping and all too rare smile of hers.
He glanced at the animal again, noticing immediately what he’d failed to notice before. “Right.” Of course it was. A mare wouldn’t be fierce enough for Ela to ride. Then he looked back at Ela with even more respect as she walked away.
Elaheh waited in the shadows.Despite the ride across the desert, or even because of it, she felt elated. To begin with she had felt sick and scared, but as soon as she’d mounted her horse and started riding cross the desert, it was if shackles had been released from her and she’d felt free for the first time in forever.
And Xander had been there, just as he’d promised. She didn’t think she’d ever been so glad to see anybody in her life. The curious thing was that being with Xander was a completely different experience now. The old Xander, the man whose very existence had continually needled her from the first moment she’d met him, had vanished. Now, he was someone who made her feel—she groped for the correct word but could only come up with one—safe.
Through the open door she could see him talking to the stable boy in quiet undertones. He had a natural authority, which had nothing to do with being king. And then he looked up at her and she looked away.
“Ela?” he asked quietly. She didn’t trust herself to look around. Then she felt his finger gently touch her chin. There was no force to make her move, but she turned her face toward him and met his gaze anyway. “Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s get you inside. It’s been a hell of a night.”
He extended his hand and she took it and they stepped inside the palace. Unlike hers, his appeared to be full of security cameras which operated the doors, allowing them access deeper and deeper into the building.
They stopped only when they reached an internal garden, distinguishable from the others they’d passed by a more casual air. The plantings were less regimented, the trees and shrubs less severely pruned. Around the small garden were rooms with open windows through which she could see side lights which lit furniture definitelynotpalatial in scale. She looked at him. “These are your private quarters?” She hadn’t imagined him in anything less than stark grandeur.
“Yes.” He cleared his throat as if he’d been caught out. “This is the oldest part of the palace. Roshan preferred to be located closer to the center of the palace, but I prefer to be here, where my parents lived.” He opened a door and followed her inside one of the rooms. “It’s full of memories.”
She was surprised. Unlike the other parts of the palace through which they’d walked, this had a more homely, comfortable feel about it. She frowned as she noticed the big easy chair in front of a giant TV. It was like some kind of man cave. She looked at him sharply, trying to reassess her vision of him.
“It just seemed easier,” he said vaguely.
“Easier?” she asked. “In what way?”
He shrugged. “I guess I mean it’s easy for me to relax here. When I’m out there”—he indicated the public part of the palace with a nod of his head—“I’m performing. But in here, I can be myself. I keep it private. Just for myself. Usually,” he added with a brief, wry grin.
She looked away, suddenly afraid she was seeing too much of him, the real him. And, more than that, it wasn’t the him she thought she knew.
He twisted around and thrust his fingers through his short hair. “Look, I’m afraid if you stay anywhere other than here, where I don’t allow anyone to enter, you will be seen, and word will get back.”
“Back,” she murmured. She turned towards him again. “Back to whom?” she asked. “That is the question. I can’t trust anyone, can I?”
He was beside her in an instant. “You can trust me,” he said, gripping her arms. She should have thrown off his hands. The old Elaheh would have done. But she knew in the way he gripped her, in the way his fingers pressed lightly but firmly into her flesh, that this was not about control, this was about giving her strength—supporting her, demonstrating that she could rely on him.
She wondered why she had never noticed before how finely drawn his lips were. They weren’t full, they normally formed a straight line. But now they were parted softly and her eyes traced their delicate lines. She knew instinctively what they would feel like if they were pressed against hers. She gasped for breath, jerkily struggling to inhale.
“Are you okay, Ela?” he asked anxiously, his frown lowering. “Was the ride too much for you? I know a lot has happened.”
She was surprised to feel tears prick her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had held her and expressed sympathy for her situation. She should step away. She opened her mouth to speak but was scared she’d sob, so instead she bit her lip and shook her head again.
For a moment he searched her face, as if trying to work out for himself what she was feeling. And then suddenly he pulled her to him and held her tightly. And in that moment everything changed. She smelled the faint traces of his aftershave, of clean sweat and utter maleness which had never gotten to her like this before. Individually she’d registered them, but when combined they held a force which she had no idea if she could resist.
She pressed her hands against his chest with the intention of pushing him away but she didn’t. Instead, her fingers splayed over the fine cotton of his shirt, registering the muscles and hard chest beneath. Without thinking, she pressed her cheek to his chest. The hairs tickled her cheek and when she moved they stimulated her skin. She could hear and feel the thud of his heart through her ear and through her body. It was as if they had become one, merged by the pulse of his blood pumping through his veins and the contact of his skin against hers.
His heartbeat quickened as, instead of taking her hands away, she glided them over his chest, her fingertips searching out the undulating sinews and muscles which shifted under her touch.
“What are you doing, Ela?“ he asked, his voice rumbling into her ear, melding with his heartbeat, making her feel him in a way she’d never felt another person before.
She shifted her head so her forehead was pressed against his bare chest and her eyelashes flickered against his skin. She was only a breath away from kissing the bare patch revealed by his open shirt. There was no thought that entered her mind as she pressed her lips against his bare flesh.
Suddenly his hands were around her head, forcing her to look up at him. His dark eyes flared with surprise, and something else, something more dangerous. For a long moment she didn’t know if he was going to kiss her or shout at her. To her biting disappointment the desire in his eyes faded and his eyes grew harder.
“Ela! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
She swallowed. “I… I wanted to kiss you.”
“Kiss me?” he repeated, shaking his head.