Tariq made time for everyone but her.
As if sensing her regard, he looked up.
Even from this distance his laser-bright stare captured her, pinning her to the seat. Samira’s heartbeat fluttered, her breath quickening. Despite the heavy weight of pregnancy she felt that telltale softening at her core in preparation for his touch.
A touch that would never come.
Samira bit her lower lip before it could tremble.
She despised her weakness for a man who patently didn’t want her.
Oh, he’d been happy enough to take her when they were first married. He’d insisted on it, as if a platonic marriage was an affront to his manhood.
But once her waistline had thickened, and she’d become more apple than hourglass, Tariq had lost interest. Her appeal had clearly been skin-deep.
She’d known her looks would fade with age but hadn’t expected to lose her allure so soon, or realised how devastating that would be.
Samira choked down aching self-pity and forced her gaze to the blur of faces around the table.
Tariq had made it abundantly clear she was in the same category as the multitude of women who’d kept him company before and after his first marriage. They’d been gorgeous and expendable. Once he’d had his fill, they’d been history.
Was there even now some beauty waiting for this dinner to end so he’d come to her? Pain knifed Samira’s ribs, slashing at her, tearing her breath.
After all, she’d given him permission to take lovers. She didn’t want to believe it, not after what they’d shared, but, having experienced Tariq’s phenomenal sex drive, she doubted he’d stay celibate long.
Nothing could have reinforced the fact she was a poor second to his beloved first wife more than the way he avoided her. He treated her charmingly, always concerned for her wellbeing, but in an avuncular way, as if she was a charge to be cared for, not a wife to be cherished.
How dared he?
Fury was a pummelling beat high in her chest.
He’d seduced her for his pleasure, then left her high and dry when his interest waned. As if she could be dismissed once he’d had his fill!
How was she supposed to continue in this marriage? Better never to have given in to his seduction and lived as strangers than succumb to his charisma, fall for the man, then have him reject her.
Pain jabbed deep as realisation struck.
Fall for the man...
Samira sucked in a panicked breath. No, it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be. She’d never be foolish enough to risk her heart again by falling in love with any man. Not even Mr Almost Perfect Tariq.
Yet her anguished heart somersaulted at the very thought of the word.
Love.
Love for Tariq.
Had she fooled herself all this time, telling herself she could have everything she wanted with him but not risk her heart?
‘Your Highness, are you all right?’ The words reached her through a thick fog. ‘Your Highness?’
Slowly she dragged her head around to find Nicolas Roussel leaning close, his hair gleaming gold in the wavering darkness that edged her vision.
‘Do you need a doctor?’ The Frenchman’s voice was low and urgent. He reached as if to touch her arm, then hesitated, as if remembering her royal status. His blue eyes were concerned.
At least there was one man here who cared about her!
Even as the thought lodged, Samira knew she was being melodramatic. Tariq cared. Just not enough.
The thought brought a sob to her lips and she clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified that her emotions had her teetering on the brink.
Tariq had enjoyed her as a lover till her sexual allure faded, and he cared about her as the stand-in mother for the twins, as his consort and hostess. He just didn’t care about her the way she did him.
Love.
Samira’s heart pounded so hard it felt like it might jump out of her chest.
How long had she been pretending to herself?
How long since she’d fallen for her husband?
‘I’m calling a doctor.’ A chair scraped as Nicolas made to stand.
‘No!’ Her hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. As if from a distance she saw her fingers wrap, white-knuckled, around his arm. She couldn’t seem to let go. ‘I’m all right, truly.’
Samira tried for a smile and knew she’d failed when he looked at her doubtfully.
‘Truly.’ She tried again, her tense facial muscles stretching. ‘It’s just...’ she leaned towards him and he bent close ‘...sometimes I get a little uncomfortable.’
His gaze skated across her belly, then up again.