“What?”
“We see each other at those ghastly dinners, and then you make love to me in the dark of the night. It feels like... I’m trying so hard not be a petulant wife, Zafir... I... If there’s something on your mind, about us, or anything else, I have a right to know.”
Shielding his gaze away from her, Zafir tucked her head under his chin and held her tight. His heart still thudded from the fact that she’d arranged a party for him. “Lauren...you’re so much more than I ever expected to have as a wife, habeebti.” This, as he was learning every day with her, was the absolute truth. “As predictable as it sounds, I’ve just been busy, preoccupied.”
“Okay,” she said readily enough but Zafir wasn’t sure she was convinced.
How had one small manipulation become such an impenetrable wall between them, he wondered. How had giving them both what they wanted turned into this ever-growing chasm?
What the hell was wrong with him that he had everything he had ever wanted and he was playing with it like this? He knew, even as he acted contrary to it, that Lauren would never let him put her in one safe compartment, just because he didn’t like himself very much right now.
This wallowing was a weakness.
A weakness that made him look away from her, that made him shudder at what he spied in her eyes. That made him wish he was anything but who he was.
And that was the kind of useless, helpless thinking that he despised the most.
That made her doubt that he was not happy with her, when she was the one perfect thing he’d ever held in his life, was unacceptable.
He had no reason to be not happy.
Shoving away the lead weight in his gut, he moved back from her, grabbed a cashmere wrap from the bottom of the bed and slowly wrapped it around her.
When she looked down, she was frowning, thoughtful.
And he felt a flicker of fear unlike he had ever known. Not even when he’d thought Tariq would execute him had it clawed through him with such intensity.
He took her hands in his and pulled her off the bed. “I shouldn’t have ruined your plans, yes. You have cake, I presume?” he said, smiling.
Whatever doubts she’d had earlier, her gaze was clear now. And a little naughty as she raised her brows. “I had it flown in from a bakery in New York. German chocolate.” She laced her fingers with him and tugged him. “You might feel faint once you taste it, so hold on tight to me.”
He burst out laughing and went willingly. “Now I get it. This whole party was a ruse. You just wanted cake from New York,” he teased.
Eyes glinting like the brightest opals, she smiled. “Okay, you caught me. But believe me, you’ve not had cake like this, Zafir.”
He let her voice wash over him as she extolled the life-affirming virtues of delicious cake. Joy and fear were both his in that moment.
This woman could calm him and excite him, drench him in warmth just as easily as she undid him. And there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t lose her and stay the same, he knew with a certainty that made his gut twist hard.
She hummed “Happy Birthday” while he cut the cake and then brought a small piece to his mouth. He licked at her finger, the action instinctive, his need for her as natural as breathing and ever-present.
Pink tinged her cheeks but she pulled away. She served two pieces, handed him silverware and ordered him to pour coffee for both of them.
Took one bite of the cake between those imperfectly wide lips and moaned so sensually that he was instantly hard.
He took a bite himself and smiled. “How do I compete with cake?”
* * *
Zafir and she had just finished their coffee when his phone rang. About to complain that he’d promised her an uninterrupted evening, she caught the words just in time when she saw his expression.
Pulling the cell phone out, he stared at it. And then he clicked it on.
She saw shuddering shock, and relief and such pain in it that she reached for him instantly.
So much emotion, such anguish cloaked his features that looked as if they’d been carved into that mold. “Zafir? What’s wrong?”
Slowly, his gaze focused on her. As if he had been far, far away from her. “My father...he is awake. And asking for me.” His tone had a tremor in it.
“Six years... The last time I saw him, he’d declared to the council that I was his heir. He and Tariq were arguing, screaming, threatening each other. And when Tariq left with a murderous glance at the both of us and my father turned to me, I told him I despised him. That I’d been better off as an orphan. And the next evening, he was found collapsed in his room. His food was poisoned.”
“Oh... Zafir...”
She wrapped her hands around his nape and pulled him down to her level. Slowly, softly, she kissed him, pouring everything she felt for him. Leaning her forehead against his, Lauren clasped his cheeks. “Are you afraid?”