Scandal: His Majesty's Love-Child Page 15

  Your mother loves you.

  His strides ate up another wing of the palace.

  He’d given up believing such platitudes years ago. It no longer mattered. He was a grown man. Had survived on his own—totally, completely on his own—for years.

  He didn’t need love.

  He barely believed in it any more. He’d never had it from his father. And from his mother? He shuddered to a stop. He recalled her warm hugs and tender smiles when he was small. Only when they were alone together. As the years had passed she’d become distant.

  Who could blame her? He’d striven to make his father proud. But when it had become clear nothing he did would earn the old man’s approval, that in fact his father hated him, Tahir had plunged into excess with an abandon that rivalled even his sire’s. Better that than driving himself crazy trying to fathom why the old man detested him.

  Had he seen too much of his own weaknesses in his son?

  Tahir scrubbed a hand over his face.

  He wasn’t the sort who inspired or sought love. That was a fool’s game. Sentimental folly.

  Annalisa imagined things. She was sweet and innocent enough to believe families were about caring.

  What stunned him was the way, just for a moment, he’d wanted to believe her. He’d craved it with every fibre of his body and what passed for his soul.

  He! Tahir Al’Ramiz! The dissolute son of a dissolute father. A man who cared for no one.

  Except, he realised, a feisty girl with tender eyes and an indomitable spirit.

  He put out a hand to steady himself as the realisation rocked him back on his feet.

  He cared…

  How long he stood there, unfamiliar sensations swirling through him, he didn’t know. He cared!

  Finally, shaking his head as if clearing it of a waking dream, he looked around and realised he’d stopped outside the dowager Queen’s apartments.

  Chance? Or a subconscious decision?

  Something in his chest gave a queer little jump and his pulse settled into a jagged, staccato beat. He turned to leave, then stopped.

  Annalisa’s words rang in his ears.

  She’d confronted him with a story too unbelievable to countenance. Surely it was unbelievable.

  Yet eventually he lifted his fist and rapped on the massive door. A voice answered and he forced himself to push the door wide.

  His mother looked up from a book. Her eyes met his and just for an instant he saw them sparkle with pleasure. Then, swift as a door slamming, her expression cleared into the familiar one of calm detachment.

  Tahir swallowed hard. He stepped inside, his mind whirring.

  ‘Annalisa’s not here, I’m afraid.’ Her voice was crystal-cool, like the fountains tinkling in the exquisite courtyard outside her chambers. ‘If you come later, I’m expecting her for tea.’

  ’I know.’ His voice held an unfamiliar rough edge. He cleared his throat. ‘It’s you I came to see.’

  Hours passed and Tahir was still in Rihana’s rooms.

  He felt odd—something like the sensation he’d experienced the first few times his father had used him as a punching bag. As if someone had rearranged his internal organs.

  His mother smiled up at him from one of her photo albums and he felt the warmth and wonder of it embrace him.

  The albums were filled with photos he hadn’t known about. Him on horseback. Him striding down the beach. Him stepping from a four-wheel drive after speeding over the dunes, a rare smile on his teenage features.

  Annalisa was right. His mother had cared all along. He’d been too caught up in his bitter struggle against his father to understand how the old man’s hatred had affected Rihana and why she’d had to hide her feelings.

  He returned her smile, enjoying what he saw in her face and the way it made him feel.

  He tried to analyse the sensations and couldn’t. He felt too…full, as if all those emotions he’d learned to repress in childhood now pushed too close to the surface. As if it would just take one more tiny scrape of his skin to set them free.

  ‘Mother, I—’

  A crash of sound, a deafening boom, rent the air.

  Tahir was on his feet before its echo died away. In slow motion he processed the sight of the walls and ceiling dipping and swaying. The decorative lanterns swung impossibly wide.

  Memories of a day in Japan that he’d rather forget crowded his brain.

  ‘Earthquake!’ He hauled Rihana to her feet, taking in her dazed eyes. ‘Quickly, this way.’ He half carried her out into her private courtyard.

  The initial eruption of sound died, but in the distance he caught an ominous rumbling. Another quake, or a building coming down? Automatically he held Rihana protectively close, well away from the decorative arches lining the courtyard. He scanned the roofline but could see no damage. Could hear no cries for help.

  ‘Stay here,’ he ordered. ‘Either I or someone else will come for you.’

  ‘Tahir!’

  Her urgent tone and her grasp of his sleeve stopped him in mid-stride. He turned. What he saw in her face made him want to stay and comfort her. But he couldn’t. Others mightn’t be as lucky as they’d been.

  ‘Be careful,’ she murmured.

  Those two simple words turned his heart over in his chest. He stepped close, gently embraced her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. ‘I will. Now, don’t forget. Wait here.’

  It was the first time he’d kissed his mother in more than a decade.

  The news was bad. No damage to the palace, but a section of the old town was devastated. Ancient structures and adobe walls had tumbled into narrow streets, making rescue difficult.

  A check on the provinces brought news that only the capital was damaged. Nevertheless, Tahir set in motion national arrangements for evacuation should there be aftershocks.

  Rescue and medical teams worked at full stretch. Tahir had contacted his cousin, Zafir, once King of Qusay and now ruler of nearby Haydar, and arranged for more rescue specialists to fly in. Tahir’s brother, Kareef, had already sent men from the mountains of Qais to help.

  As afternoon faded into night Tahir was still busy directing, reassuring, planning. He did it on autopilot. Beneath his calm façade lay a fear so potent it froze his bones and threatened to paralyse his brain.

  Annalisa was missing.

  Just thinking it sent dread spiralling through him.

  Every centimetre of the palace and grounds had been searched. Surrounding streets had been investigated.

  Had she gone home, angry after their last encounter?

  Guilt lanced him. Even as he pored over city plans with engineers and officials he was alert for footsteps, lest one of his staff return with news of her. He hoped for and feared it.

  It was his fault she’d gone. He’d barked at her, furious that she’d dared to pry into the most private part of his life. He’d punished her for trying to heal the rift between himself and his mother.

  His stomach churned at the knowledge that he was to blame for her disappearance.

  Silently he told himself over and over that she wouldn’t have ventured into the old souk. But he didn’t believe his own reassurances. He wanted to scour the streets himself, looking for her.

  Already he’d been down amongst the wreckage too often for his staff’s liking, hoping to find her. They’d protested he was in danger. Only the knowledge he was more useful coordinating the rescue efforts had kept him in the makeshift emergency centre on the edge of the damage zone.

  The acrid scent of fear filled his nostrils with every breath. His heart drummed frantically.

  Never had he felt so powerless. If anything happened to her…

  He’d rather endure a lifetime of beatings than this. Waiting, trying to be strong for those needing his leadership, while terror gnawed at his vitals. If only he had some clue where she’d gone.

  He’d thought himself safe in his isolated world, relying on no one, caring for nothing.

  What he felt now obl
iterated that self-deception.

  Finally he gave in to those urging him to rest for an hour before daybreak. But instead of returning to the palace he prowled the streets. People welcomed their King’s presence. But it was the need to find Annalisa that kept him going.

  He’d almost given up hope when he came upon a temporary triage centre on the furthest side of the disaster zone. Makeshift awnings protected the wounded and lights were set up to assist the medics.

  Movement caught his eye: a spill of rich dark hair. Golden highlights glinted as the woman turned her head. Impatiently she reached round and secured the waist-length tresses in a familiar gesture.

  Tahir felt a huge weight rise to block his throat and impair his breathing. He strode through the debris, past stretchers, piles of rubble and huddled figures. He heard nothing but the rush of blood in his ears.

  As he approached she turned, her hand out to grasp a nearby pole for support. Her clothes were rumpled and dirty. A dark stain marred her shirt.

  Terror jammed his throat as he realised it was blood.

  She stumbled and he ran, just in time to scoop her off her feet before she fell.

  Tahir’s heart pumped out of control as his arms closed convulsively around her. She felt warm and wonderful and alive. Alive. Thank God.

  He was whirling around, looking for a doctor, when her voice finally penetrated.

  ‘Put me down. I have work to do.’

  ‘Work?’ He stared down into her exhausted face, terrified at the intensity of what he felt.

  ‘I’m helping the wounded. You have to let me go.’

  ‘You’re injured.’ He shouldered through the crowded space towards a couple of doctors bent over a patient.

  ‘It’s not my blood, Tahir. Tahir?’

  But he was already talking to a white-haired medic who explained Annalisa had been here all night, helping.

  Even then Tahir couldn’t release her. He listened as if from a distance as the doctor reassured him that she was unharmed, heard praise for her efforts. But he couldn’t trust himself to believe.

  Blind instinct urged him to ignore the expert’s words and Annalisa’s urgings. He needed her close.

  ‘You need rest,’ he said as her voice grew strident. ‘You’re pregnant, remember?’

  His words fell into a pool of silence. The emergency staff, patients, even his staff who’d followed him seemed to still.

  Then the doctor was agreeing, saying she’d done enough and urging Annalisa to go. They were closing this centre anyway and moving to the hospital.

  Tahir instructed his staff to help pack up. He’d be back soon. His stride lengthened as he passed into the wider streets of the new city.

  ‘Tahir?’ She didn’t sound angry now. ‘You can put me down. I’m fit and healthy. Honestly.’

  But he walked on, arms tight as steel as he cradled her close.

  He didn’t want to let her go. He wouldn’t let her go.

  He looked into worried dark eyes, saw a flush stain her lovely face, the pout of concern on her lush mouth.

  Tahir remembered the terror of losing her. The sense of loss. The fear he’d never find her. Horror still trickled through his belly at the recollection.

  Realisation struck him with the force of an act of a divine power.

  He couldn’t let her go.

  The man who’d turned independence into an art form, self-reliance into a way of life, had met his match.

  He needed her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IT WAS late in the day when Annalisa woke. She’d fallen exhausted into bed. Yet she hadn’t slept for hours. Instead she’d replayed events in her mind. The quake, her work to help the wounded.

  And Tahir, appearing out of nowhere and sweeping her into his arms. Her heart fluttered at the memory.

  He’d been a stranger: intent, focused, all hard-muscled strength and determination. No hint of the playboy, just one hundred percent powerful, commanding male. One look at the set of his jaw had told her she hadn’t a hope of escaping his hold. Even if she’d wanted to.

  In his embrace was exactly where she’d wanted to be.

  She’d been so worried for him, but had found herself in the thick of disaster and hadn’t been able to turn her back on the pitifully wounded victims.

  Tahir had barely heard her as he’d marched through the dark streets. Nor had he relinquished his hold when he’d reached his vehicle. He’d held her tight all the way, then carried her through the palace to her rooms.

  Ignoring propriety, he’d only released her when he reached her bed. Even then he’d loomed close as servants scurried to provide food and run her a bath.

  He’d looked immovable, his features a study in potent masculinity as he stared silently down at her.

  Something had stretched taut between them. A tension she hadn’t been able to name but had felt with every slow breath, every tingle of awareness across her burning hot skin and in the deep, slow, coiling excitement in her belly.

  When a maid had announced the bath was ready he’d abruptly disappeared, leaving her to ponder what had just happened.

  When Tahir looked at her that way her doubts melted into nothing. It was like the sizzle in the air the night they’d made love. But more. Something stronger still.

  Was she a fool, reading too much into his actions? Had he just been protecting his unborn baby?

  And yet…she found herself hoping it was more.

  She turned from her view of the sun setting in a blaze of colour. It was time to—

  Annalisa’s footsteps faltered as she spied the figure just inside her room. His hand clenched high on the filmy curtains that separated the entry foyer from her chamber.

  ‘Tahir?’ Her husky voice betrayed her longing.

  Need rose. It had gnawed at her so long. A need that had escalated last night as he’d carried her with the stern certainty of a man claiming his woman.

  She wanted him to claim her. She wanted to be his.

  Every warning, every doubt, ebbed in the face of her feelings for Tahir. She’d tried to focus on the negative, to tell herself she shouldn’t care for a man who didn’t love her. But stern logic didn’t work any more.

  Flutters of excitement whirled and swooped in her abdomen. She stroked trembling fingers down the opalescent silk of the gown Rihana had given her.

  His gaze followed the movement.

  Heat blossomed low in her womb and at the apex of her thighs. She tried to calm herself and failed.

  Last night’s crisis had cut through her attempts to be sensible and careful. All that remained was raw feeling.

  What she felt for Tahir was stronger than ever.

  He was the embodiment of every dream she could no longer deny. Tall, suave and potently masculine in dark trousers and a black shirt, his head bare.

  Tension radiated from him. His jaw was rigid, his face composed of taut angles and lines. His eyes blazed like the sky at midday. Almost too bright to watch. Yet she couldn’t look away.

  She took a step towards him and his hand clenched white-knuckled on the gossamer fabric. Her heart thumped out of kilter at what she read in his expression.

  He looked fierce, stern, forbidding. Yet she felt no fear. For there was warmth too. Such warmth.

  Surely it was real, not a product of her needy imagination?

  For so long she’d wanted him to want her, really want her, as she did him. Now she had her wish. The force of that look almost buckled her knees.

  Instinctively she realised he battled with himself. She had so little experience yet at some primitive level she understood her power over him.

  For he had the same power over her. He’d wielded it from the first. She’d been blind to think she could escape its pull. Foolish to think she could walk away.

  They might be king and commoner but in this they were equals. That knowledge gave her strength.

  ‘Tahir?’ Her voice was a barely audible throb of sound.

  His fingers eased their
grip on the fabric and his arm dropped to his side. He hefted a breath that inflated his chest and lifted his shoulders. It shuddered from him in a sigh. Annalisa felt its twin tremble through her.

  He stepped forward, his long stride closing the distance between them. All she saw was him.

  ‘Habibti.’ My darling. His deep voice was hoarse and unfamiliar. The sound of his endearment crept like warm fingers up her spine till she shivered, her nipples peaking.

  This close, she saw the lines of fatigue around his eyes. Had he been up all night and all day too?

  Annalisa opened her mouth to ask about the rescue, but he reached out and pressed his index finger to her lips. She inhaled the warm scent of man, of Tahir, and heat pooled low in her body. She felt herself tremble on the brink of a precipice. No thought now of their turbulent past. The emotion she’d read in his ravaged features last night was more important than what had gone before.

  For countless moments they stood, drawn by a force so strong the air crackled with it.

  The tension was too much to bear. Annalisa swayed towards him. A muscle in his jaw worked; his eyes devoured her.

  Tentatively she lifted her hand, unable to stop herself. She needed to feel him, safe and real.

  Before she could touch him he hauled her close, slamming her into his rigid body. His arms wrapped hard round her, tucking her against him as if he had no intention ever of releasing her.

  Annalisa trembled as his fiery heat encompassed her. Beneath her ear his heart thudded, matching her own racing pulse. She hugged him close, squeezing tight as tears she didn’t even understand stung her eyes.

  A hiccough escaped as she fought back surging emotion that threatened to overwhelm her.

  Long fingers cupped her chin and tilted her face up. Then Tahir was kissing her, lips slanted across her mouth in stormy possession. He gave no quarter, allowed no hesitation, as he took her.

  He delved deep, kissing her thoroughly, like a conquering marauder taking his fill. Yet there was a piercing sweetness to his caress that spoke of far more than easy gratification. Her heart soared at his urgency and underlying tenderness.