Afterwards, as she listened to his breathing deepen with sleep, she wondered if she had ever felt closer to another human being in her entire life.
The thought made her feel sad and grateful all at once. She had got her wish, without a doubt. He had made her first time the most sensual, real experience of her life.
His long, hard body was partly covered, but she still let her gaze sweep over him in the darkness, lingering on his features. His face was transformed in sleep, the hard lines of his mouth completely relaxed. It made him seem younger...more carefree. It dawned on her that she had never seen him look at peace. Here, in sleep, Roman the great and powerful master of sec
urity, was completely vulnerable.
The thought of returning to the palace, to her own empty bed, was suddenly inconceivable. And even worse was the thought of sleeping alongside another man.
Marrying another man.
Her throat tightened painfully with the force of her emotion. Roman would not offer her any more than this night—she knew that. He was not the marrying kind, no matter what she suddenly hoped. He was not even the relationship kind.
But as she lay staring up at the play of shadows on the ceiling she knew one thing with more certainty than she had ever known anything in her life.
She would not marry the Sheikh.
* * *
When she awoke the bed was empty beside her in the early-morning light. Ignoring the sting of loss, she grabbed a white robe and stepped out onto the terrace, taking a moment simply to breathe and take in the gorgeous view of the bay spread out below.
Her hair was a nest of tangles, and she was in dire need of a shower, but for once she had no formal breakfast to attend, no official functions. She could stand here all morning if she chose, enjoying the last few hours of her freedom.
Roman would expect her to leave today, and that was perfectly understandable.
She thought of his revelations last night, the deep, dark secrets he’d shared, and wondered if he would regret sharing so much now that their night together was done.
He had told her only briefly of his life in St Petersburg. Of the orphan who had been abandoned to sleep in cold gutters, but she remembered every word in vivid detail. Every little piece of the puzzle he had revealed that made him what he was.
Roman had lived through hell itself. It was no wonder he seemed harsh. The world had hardened him from the moment he was born. He shouldn’t have had a chance—and yet he had risen from his old life, determined and hungry for better. He had created his own empire without a single care for his social class or his chequered past.
He was the master of his own destiny.
Here, in the rosy glow of dawn, she felt utterly transformed simply by having known him. She laughed at her own thoughts. Romantic, indeed, or maybe simply foolish. Perhaps all virgins felt this way about their first lover?
How would he react to the news once he found out that her marriage was not going ahead? She imagined he would be frustrated with her—with himself. He would blame it all on their brief affair.
But, truly, Olivia wasn’t sure her decision was completely down to their night together. On some level she had known she was not destined for a loveless marriage from the moment her father had thrust the idea upon her.
No amount of loyalty to Monteverre would outweigh the value she needed to feel in herself. Roman had made her see that, somehow.
She told herself that it didn’t bother her that he was completely unaffected by their time together. She was not going to read anything into last night, and nor would she expect anything more from their liaison. He had made it very clear that he was not the kind of guy who slept with the same woman twice.
CHAPTER TEN
ROMAN HAD TOLD Jorge to take the day off, to ensure them some privacy, wanting as little intrusion as possible so that he could deal with the aftermath of their night together.
Olivia arrived down to breakfast dressed in pink. The dress had the kind of high waist and flowing, knee-length bell-shaped skirt that made her appear like something straight from a vintage movie.
She was breathtaking.
Her eyes were shuttered and her smile forced as she sat at the table across from him. The silence was heavy and uncomfortable, and his mind scrambled to find something to break the tension. In the end he accepted that there was simply nothing to say.
To his amazement, Olivia demolished two full plates of fresh fruit and a cream-drizzled pastry. She moaned as she devoured her last bite of pastry, looking up to find his eyes trained on her.
‘I was hungry,’ she said, a light blush on her cheeks.
‘I’ve seen prison inmates eat with more decorum,’ he found himself saying playfully. ‘One night with me and you’ve completely forgotten how to behave like a princess.’