It was humbling, in a good way, to be with a woman whose attention was as valuable as his own. Rather than having to consciously include her in a conversation, they operated as a unit. One minute she introduced him to a family friend with a pedigree that matched his own, the next he was catching up with a diplomat he’d dealt with in the past whose wife was a client at Maison des Jumeaux.
Then they were interrupted and she threw herself into a man’s arms. “Sadiq!”
The man’s wife, who happened to be Kasim’s sister, Xavier learned, was clearly a close friend, too. They spoke with the couple for a long time, until Xavier couldn’t wait to dance with Trella again.
“Explain to me exactly how he saved you?” He prompted when they were on the floor.
“Hacking.” She glanced around as she said it. “We’re not supposed to talk about it. He still does some high-level work on the side. He found out where I was being held and alerted the police.”
“How old was he?”
“Fifteen. Crazy to think of, isn’t it? He didn’t know us very well, either, just had some classes with the boys. I think it was the challenge of it. He’s stubborn that way. It definitely wasn’t a desire to be a hero because you can see how self-effacing he is. But he wanted to help and persevered until he had something. Every time I see him, I’m reminded that he gave me this life and I should be grateful for it. Not waste it.”
She met his eyes as she echoed what he had said earlier, but he read the deeper question in the longing look she gave him. They’d been engaging in subtle foreplay all night, not pawing each other, but neither shy about taking the other’s hand or pressing close. He’d watched her nipples harden and heard her breath catch and felt the goosebumps that rose on her arms under the brush of his hand.
God knew he was aroused just by her nearness, never mind the scent that had hardwired itself into him or the way watching her quick mouth as she talked and laughed made him want to kiss the hell out of her.
He touched her chin then couldn’t resist letting the backs of his fingers slide down the heat of her soft throat. As he let two fingertips rest on her pulse, the one that confirmed she was alive when she might very well have been lost and he never would have known her at all, he wondered how the hell he was ever going to say no to her again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TRELLA CHECKED ON Tyrol as soon as they arrived at the mansion. He was sleeping soundly, completely oblivious to the potential shift in his parents’ relationship.
As she stood over him, she thought of all the reasons her marriage was impossible. Progeny, publicity, even Xavier’s rejection of love over duty. His refusal to open himself to love.
She thought of all the ways she was broken, but miracles happened. This tiny boy, for instance. She owed it to him to try with his father, didn’t she? Really try to reach his heart?
Was it a rationalization? Perhaps. She couldn’t deny that lust was alive and well inside her, but so was something deeper and more nascent. She didn’t want to believe it was love. Not yet. Not when she was about to risk rejection. Not when there was every chance she would have to spend her life yearning for a man who might very well be incapable of the emotion.
“How is he?” Xavier asked in a whisper, coming up behind her.
His need to see his son fed her hope that he was more than capable of deeper feelings.
“Perfect,” she answered, watching his profile soften as he looked at Tyrol.
“He is,” he agreed, turning up the flame of desire inside her.
She led him from the room, heart hammering, and went to his room, not her own.
“Bella,” he protested as he followed, but stayed in the open door, backlit by the light from over the stairs.
“Close the door, please.”
He sucked in a long breath, like he needed it to face a Herculean task. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”
“I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of the guard in the hall.”
He pushed the door shut and leaned on it, breath hissing out. He was a dark shadow in the unlit room. She saw his fist close against the hardwood next to his thigh.
“Can you even make love?”
“As of midnight, yes,” she said ruefully.
His head thumped back against the door. He swore. “You know this is impossible. You know—”
“I do.” She went to him and picked up that rock hard fist, gently rubbing his fingers, trying to coax the tension from his hand. “But who else am I going to have sex with? Hmm? Who else do I trust with myself?”
“I still don’t understand why you ever did.”
She kissed his fingers. “Because no one else makes me feel like this.” She set his open hand above her breast, where her heart raced. “If it’s not the same for you—”