‘No. But you are a good man.’ She thought of his care for her at the oasis when grief had engulfed her. His anonymous efforts to improve the lives of children. The sensible, caring way he’d taken up the reins as ruler of a kingdom, though he didn’t want the crown. The efficient way he’d mobilised every resource into a rescue effort after the quake, maintaining calm with his presence. The fact that he would marry her to make things right for their child.
‘Hardly that.’ His laugh was short and harsh. ‘I’m too like my father. I’ve spent years wallowing in pleasure, seeking instant gratification, building a reputation for self-indulgence.’
‘You’re not like him.’ She bridled at the notion. ‘You’re not manipulative or cruel.’
‘Maybe only marriage and fatherhood will bring out my true depths.’
Annalisa reared back, staring aghast into his grim face, hearing his hollow tone. Was he serious? He surely couldn’t fear that?
She’d seen him at his lowest ebb, on the edge of death, stripped of every pretence. The man she’d known then, the man she knew now, was nothing like the monster he tried to paint himself. The arrogant cynic wasn’t the true Tahir.
She levered herself onto her knees and rose till their faces were level. She cupped his face in her palms and met his searing gaze.
‘You’re nothing like that—do you hear me?’ Her voice rose with a potent fury she barely understood. ‘I’ve never heard such rubbish in my life. Don’t you ever speak like that again, or I’ll know you’re just after sympathy.’
His eyes widened in astonishment, as if the kitten he’d petted had turned into a tigress and drawn blood.
‘You can’t use that excuse to hide from life.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Before her eyes his expression chilled, became all arrogant hauteur.
‘And you’re too old not to face the truth.’
Her heart slammed against her ribs, fear rising that she’d pushed him too far. But the thought of him imagining himself like his brutal father was unbearable.
‘Why did he beat you?’ she asked before he could respond. ‘Did he beat your brothers too?’
For a long time she thought Tahir wouldn’t answer. His mouth thinned to a grim line and his eyes flashed with a mix of emotions. Her hands tightened on his jaw and, seeing his turmoil and pain, she couldn’t stop herself leaning forward and pressing a tender kiss on his lips.
Would it be the last time he let her kiss him?
Fear catapulted through her as she realised she wanted more than anything to spend her life with Tahir. But perhaps she’d pushed him so far he’d turn his back on her.
Warm hands framed her face. Gentle thumbs scraped fresh tears from her cheeks as he drew back a fraction.
‘I told you,’ he murmured gruffly, ‘not to cry. That’s a royal command.’ His mouth tilted in the lopsided smile that flipped her heart in her chest. ‘I don’t like it.’
Shakily Annalisa nodded, swallowing a knot of emotion.
He hadn’t pushed her away. Instead his hands were gentle as they shaped her face.
‘You’re not going to give up, are you?’
She shook her head, her long hair swirling around her bare shoulders in a reminder that she was naked. They were both naked. But it didn’t matter. Not when she saw pain shadowing Tahir’s eyes.
With a sigh he lifted her up, right off her knees, and sat her on his lap, warm flesh against warm flesh. He reached for a coverlet and dragged it over her, cocooning them together under its satin comfort, hugging her close. His chin rested on her head and his heart thudded strong and familiar beneath her ear.
‘No, he didn’t beat Kareef and Rafiq,’ he murmured at last. ‘Just me.’
‘But why?’ Surely abusers weren’t so discriminating?
Silence for another thirty seconds. ‘I spent a lifetime wondering that, thinking it was a fault in me that provoked his hatred. My earliest memories are of his rage, his disapproval.’ He paused. When he continued his voice was flat. ‘It was because he thought I wasn’t his son.’
Annalisa jerked in his hold, stunned. ‘Seriously?’
He nodded. ‘Oh, yes. After all these years my mother has finally explained what she didn’t dare before.’
His chest expanded in a deep breath.
‘My parents had an arranged marriage. My father amused himself with mistresses but he was incredibly jealous of his wife. She had a difficult birth with Rafiq, and on her doctor’s recommendation she spent several months in France, recuperating. When someone made a sly remark about how she’d enjoyed herself with friends my father decided she’d taken lovers. It wasn’t true, but that made no difference.’