was a drug addict. Not when I was young, but as I grew older. And I saw the kind of people she did drugs with. Believe me, if they didn’t lose the children they were carrying because of what they did, you definitely didn’t.”
She sucked in a breath, refused to let it become a sob. She wanted to believe him. She’d always wanted to believe, but she’d never been able to. The doctors had told her it wasn’t her fault, that the miscarriage would have happened regardless. She’d just never believed them.
Raj pulled her into his embrace, held her tight for a long time. She closed her eyes, breathed in his scent, her heart hurting so much she wanted to fall asleep and not wake up for a hundred years.
Because she knew, before he said it, that he was still saying goodbye.
“You deserve happiness, Veronica. That’s why I’m letting you go.”
Early the next morning, they left for the ten-hour flight to Aliz. Raj purposely kept himself away from Veronica for the duration. She never once looked at him, so he had plenty of opportunity to watch her. She was pale. Her hair was pulled back into a loose knot on her head, and she wore a black dress with a jacket and heels. There were circles under her eyes, and the tip of her nose was red, as if she’d been crying recently.
It gutted him to think she had.
Still, she was beautiful. Remote and regal, more like the Veronica he’d met the first night in London. The one who would never deign to lower herself to sleep with a bastard like him. Better for them both if she hadn’t.
He’d lain awake last night, his body aching for her. His heart aching for her. That was a new sensation, but he’d shoved it down deep and slapped a lid on it. He had no room for sentimentality, not with her, not with anyone. If he let himself care, even the tiniest bit, tomorrow something would happen and it’d be time to move on again. He couldn’t unpack the suitcase, no matter how much he wanted to do so.
Except that he did care, damn it. When she’d stood there, her eyes shining with pain, and told him she was to blame for what had happened to her, he’d thought he would have to punch something. Preferably Andre Girard.
She’d been living with so much pain and guilt. She’d needed someone to stand beside her during that time, and there’d been no one.
A little voice told him he could stand with her now, but he shoved it away. He’d made the decision that was best for them both, and he couldn’t go back on it simply because his heart felt as if it were being ground to powder.
Now, he was taking her back to Aliz and leaving one of his best teams there to protect her. They would also train the presidential guard on proper procedures before they left Aliz permanently.
He never wanted to worry about her safety again. He’d gotten the reports on the people she’d had with her in London; nothing stood out. No one had any reason to want to harm her, which brought him back to square one. The security guard who’d been dismissed had to have been in the employ of someone in Aliz.
It wasn’t the former president, but it could have certainly been the police chief. He could have found out about the baby and decided to use that to frighten her. Perhaps he’d reasoned that if Veronica didn’t want to return to Aliz, his power grab stood a better chance of being successful.
When they landed in Aliz, the television cameras were waiting. The tarmac was packed with supporters bearing signs with Veronica’s name, with slogans, with the name of her hit song. They chanted and laughed and sang as she exited the plane and descended the stairs like a queen.
Veronica was so poised as she waved and smiled. His heart flipped. He was so proud of her, though he had no right to be. She wasn’t his.
She stepped up to the microphone then and delivered a stirring speech about freedom and democracy and the rule of law. Monsieur Brun had wisely stayed away in order to prove that he really did want the torch to pass to his successor. The media pelted her with questions, all of which she answered expertly. She took a last question, and then thanked them all before turning away.
“Is it true that you and the CEO of Vala Security International are dating, Madam President?” a tabloid reporter shouted.
He watched Veronica’s shoulders stiffen, watched her turn back to the microphone. Her cheeks were full of color, but she looked so lovely that no one would think it was anything other than her natural beauty shining through.
“That was a cover,” she said. “So Mr. Vala and his team could get close to me without alerting those who might wish me harm.”
“But you’ve just spent three days in Goa, at his home. Why there?”
Veronica’s smile didn’t waver. “Because we believed I might be in danger. It was prudent not to broadcast my whereabouts to the world at large.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
A collective gasp went up from the crowd, and then a buzz of anger began in the ranks of the loyal people who’d come out to welcome home their president.
Veronica laughed that bright, tinkling laugh of hers. For some reason, it pierced him to the bone.
And then she turned and pointed at him. “Look at that man,” she said. “Is he not gorgeous? Tall and exotic, beautiful like a tiger.” She paused for a long moment, her eyes locked on him—angry, accusatory, hurt—before she turned back to the microphone. “But I assure you, there is nothing between us. Mr. Vala is all business. He does not know the meaning of fun.”
A ripple of laughter went through the crowd as she waved and turned away. He had to give it to her—she knew how to work the media. He had no doubt that everything she’d ever done had been carefully orchestrated for the fullest effect. Veronica was no idiot. She’d effectively marginalized him with that brief show.
It had been a brilliant maneuver.
They made their way to the waiting limos and on to the presidential palace—which was actually quite small by palatial standards, though definitely ornate.
Raj spent the morning with his team and Veronica’s security staff, going over plans and procedures for her safety during appearances and travel.
Afterward, he found her at an antique French desk in a spacious and bright office. Beyond the windows, the Mediterranean sparkled in the sunshine. Not as wild and untamable as Goa, but pretty nevertheless.
She looked up, her pen poised over a document, Georges hovering with his hand on the paper, ready to take it away as soon as she finished. She scrawled her signature and smiled at the man. He took the paper, glancing up at Raj with a disapproving look as he passed.
Veronica sat back and folded her arms over her chest. He tried not to think of her breasts, of how perfect they were. How her dusky nipples had grown so tight and sensitive when he’d gazed on her naked body.
How they tasted in his mouth, how every glorious inch of her felt beneath his hands.
Goddamn it.
“I’m leaving,” he said tightly. “My people will stay as long as you need them, and I’ll only be a phone call away if necessary.”
“Thank you for …” She cleared her throat and looked away. The sunlight was behind
