He’d known nothing but responsibility from the time he was young. He’d been stripped of a normal childhood by his mother’s addictions and constant need for attention.
Acting out had been the furthest thing from his mind when all he’d cared about was food and shelter. Not that he could admit that to Veronica. It made him seem pitiful—and he definitely wasn’t pitiful.
“Yes, I suppose so,” she said. “Some of us worse than others, perhaps. But those days are over now, at least for me. I have too many things I want to do in life. I’ve wasted enough time.”
Raj stifled a laugh. “You’re twenty-eight and the president of your nation. How have you wasted time?”
Her smile was unexpected. It shook at the corners, as if she were still on the verge of tears.
It made him want to kiss her again. A white-hot bolt of need shot through him as he watched her mouth.
“That’s true, yes. But I’m realizing what I really want. I’m only sorry it took me so long to figure it out.”
“And what is it you want, Veronica?” Because he knew what he wanted right this minute. He wouldn’t act on it, of course. Kissing her at the party had been one thing. Kissing her now that they were alone was another altogether.
“You will laugh.”
“I won’t.”
“You will, but it’s okay. I want a home. A real home, with a family. Maybe it’ll just be a cat or a dog, or maybe I’ll find a man I adore, who adores me in return. But I want the dream, the happy-ever-after where I like who I am and someone agrees with me.”
Raj swallowed. Home. Family. He had no idea what those things were, really, other than a roof and four walls, and people whose happiness and welfare you were responsible for. “It’s a nice dream. I hope you get it.”
“You think it’s ridiculous,” she said.
“No.”
“You do.”
He sighed. “It’s not that. It’s just that I doubt you’ve ever been without a home. You want to imbue the word with more than it needs. You want it to fulfill you emotionally when, really, that is your responsibility.”
Her thumb had stilled in his palm. Gently, she disentangled her hand from his and he knew he’d gone too far. Or maybe he’d gone far enough. It was better if she had no illusions about him. Better if they nipped this growing attraction in the bud and kept their relationship on the professional level it was meant to remain on.
“You’re a cynic,” she said. “I hadn’t realized it.”
“Not a cynic. A realist. Home isn’t a magical place. It’s shelter. It’s having enough to eat, being warm. You have always had these things in abundance. Not everyone is so lucky.”
She bowed her head. “No, you’re right. I’ve never gone without the necessities. But I was talking of something more. Something intangible.”
The car drew to a halt then and the door opened. They’d arrived back at the hotel she’d moved to earlier in the day. He thought he should say something more, should soothe her somehow—but he was at a loss. Instead, he exited and held his hand out for her.
“I thought you would understand,” she said as she joined him on the curb, gazing up at him, her lovely face puzzled.
“I do,” he said, because he had to say something. “I just don’t happen to agree. Be thankful you’ve never slept on the street, or wondered where your next meal was coming from. Be thankful you’ve never had to fight for a dirty blanket to keep warm with because it was that or nothing. You are free to be you, wherever you happen to be. You already have what you need.”
She sucked in a breath. The air misted around her face as she let it out again. She looked sad. “I hadn’t quite thought of it like that.”
“Many people don’t.”
“Maybe because it’s easier to think that if only we have X, then Y will happen.”
He was surprised at how readily she accepted the idea. And it made him feel somewhat guilty, as well. She’d been through a lot recently. More than she’d told him, and it wasn’t his right to make her question the ideas that comforted her.
“I’m sorry, Veronica.”
Her brows drew together. “For what? For speaking the truth? For reminding me of all the advantages I’ve had?”
He put his hands on either side of her face, gloried in the soft catch of her breath. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. It was enough. It would have to be enough, because he could not act upon it. Even if she weren’t under his protection, he couldn’t take her to his bed.
Because she’d been through too much pain and loss, and because she wanted more than he could give. He could see it in her eyes. Hell, she’d just said it aloud. Veronica was a woman who wanted a family.
The one thing he felt unqualified to ever provide. Family wasn’t for him.
“I’m sorry for making you question what you want,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with building a safe place in your head, and with trying to get there. Sometimes, X does lead to Y.”
“You’re really sweet,” she replied softly.
He wanted to laugh. Sweet? Him? No way. “If it makes you happy to think so, then, yes, I’m sweet.”
She giggled, then slapped her hand over her mouth as if she were surprised she’d done so. It was as if she’d let him see the real Veronica for a moment, the one beneath the pain and mystery. He’d had glimpses of her before, but never so natural as this. A sharp pain settled beneath his rib cage and refused to go away.
“As sweet as a tiger,” she said a moment later. “A tiger who’s just eaten and won’t be hungry for a while.”
He couldn’t help but return her smile, though his chest ached. She was infectious like that. “Oh, I’m definitely hungry,” he said. “But I have excellent self-control.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” She ducked her head so their eyes no longer met. And then she delivered what would have been the death blow had he been a weaker man. “Because I seem to have none at all when it comes to you.”
A moment later she was striding into the hotel, leaving him standing numbly on the sidewalk. Aching. Wanting. Cursing himself.
Veronica woke up in the night, gasping for breath, the tail of some dream fading away. The air was dry, so dry, and her throat hurt. She didn’t care how cold it was, she needed to open a window, needed that fresh bite of outside air to cleanse her. She stumbled to the window and found the mechanism—then she was cranking the window up and the air rushing in made her gasp again.
But it felt good. Clean.
She stood at the sill, shivering, but feeling refreshed nonetheless. She couldn’t even remember the dream now.
The
