watched as Malik stalked from the room, preceded by the older man. Her brain felt frozen, her whole body numb. After a few stunned seconds where she simply lay there, the sheet still drawn up protectively over her naked body, she finally forced herself into gear and rose from the bed.
Her whole body shook as she found her clothes and pulled them on, raking her fingers through her tangled hair. A glance in the mirror of the en-suite bathroom showed how wretched she looked—pale face, huge, shocked eyes, hair like a bird’s nest. She could hear low, terse voices from the next room, but she had no idea what Malik was saying. Was he defending her? Explaining to this stranger, whoever he was, that he and Gracie had a connection? Somehow Gracie feared he wasn’t. Since the awful moment that man had come in, Malik had seemed like a different person. A hard, cold stranger.
A few minutes later Malik opened the door and Gracie took an instinctive step backwards at the terribly impassive look on his face.
‘You should go.’
That was it? Gracie blinked, opened her mouth and closed it again. ‘Malik...’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice flat and his tone not apologetic at all. ‘This was a...memorable evening. But that’s all.’ He folded his arms, biceps rippling, drawing Gracie’s gaze even now. ‘You knew that.’ Had she? What about all their talk about a connection? ‘I’ll call you a cab.’
A sudden, rolling wave of fury crashed over her. Did he think he was being generous? ‘No, thanks,’ she choked out. She stuffed her feet into her sneakers, not bothering with the laces. All her focus was on keeping from bursting into tears. She wouldn’t give Malik the satisfaction, and she could certainly do without the humiliation. But now she had to do the hideous walk of shame, holding her head high as she walked past both Malik and the older man, whose malevolent glare could have singed her hair.
‘Don’t think,’ the stranger said, his voice cold and clear, ‘that you will gain a penny from selling your story to the tabloids.’
Gracie turned, her mouth dropping open. ‘What...?’
‘This is not necessary, Grandfather,’ Malik cut across her. He was glaring at the other man; Gracie might as well have not existed.
‘You are still innocent, Malik,’ the man snapped. ‘Women like this—’
‘Why would I sell my story?’ Gracie gasped out, before he could insult her further. ‘Who are you?’
The man drew himself up. ‘I am Asad al Bahjat, the Sultan of Alazar, descended from a thousand years of princes and kings. And you,’ he said, his eyes narrowing to nasty slits, ‘are nothing but a cheap whore.’
Gracie reeled back at the insult. She looked at Malik, but his expression was unreadable. He said nothing, didn’t defend her in any way. Choking on a cry she didn’t want to give Malik the satisfaction of hearing, Gracie turned and fled.
* * *
‘You did not need to be quite so harsh.’
Malik gave his grandfather Asad a level look as the door slammed behind Gracie. The ensuing silence felt like the aftermath of a storm, the emotional wreckage all around them. The emptiness inside him he would not contemplate.
‘You do not know what she could have been capable of,’ Asad said.
‘She did not even know I was heir to the sultanate,’ Malik returned. ‘She wouldn’t have realised there was a story to sell.’ Not that he thought Gracie would do such a thing, but he knew he could not afford the naïve sentimentality of such a belief. Not with the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders, the expectation of his role. Dallying with a stranger in a strange city, where anyone could have seen them, had been stupid. Stupid yet wonderful.
And now it was over, as he’d known it would be.
‘She would have found out,’ Asad scoffed.
‘In your arrogance you revealed something that was best kept hidden.’
‘Do not think to challenge me,’ Asad began, but Malik cut him off.
‘And do not think to control me. I am not a boy any longer, subject to your cruel whims. I will be Sultan one day, and one day soon, I have no doubt.’ He raked his grandfather with a single look before turning away, furious with both Asad and himself, with the circumstances that had led to this moment. He had always known it would only be a night, but he hadn’t wanted it to end like this. And yet how else could it have ended? He had no future with Gracie Jones, American nobody. He hadn’t even wanted one.
‘Is this what a night with a woman has given you?’ Asad scorned. ‘A little boyish bravado? You probably think something stupid, like you love her.’
Malik’s mouth tightened into a hard line. ‘Of course not.’ He had no interest in the illusion of love. It had made his father weak, turned him into a hollow wreck of a man, a failure. He would never choose the same for himself.
‘You did take precautions, I hope?’ Asad asked in a sneer.
Malik swung around to stare at him, his jaw bunched, a muscle flickering in his temple. Asad made a sound of disgust. ‘How unbelievably stupid. How like your father, putting sentiment and romance above basic practical concerns.’
‘I am not like my father,’ Malik snapped. ‘In any regard.’
Azim shook his head. ‘If only Azim had lived. We would never be in such a state as this...’
It was a lament Malik had heard often over the last decade, and one he had no patience for now. If only Azim had lived, the older brother, the true heir. Over the years Asad had built up Azim into a hero, the fourteen-year-old boy stolen from his youth who would have been the perfect heir, the rightful Sultan, unlike Malik, who was there in proxy, an unwanted second choice, too like his father, according to Asad. Soft. Weak.
Asad had done his best to mould Malik, sending him to military school, beating duty into him whenever he could. Malik had learned the lessons all too well, but he refused to be cowed now. Not this time. Not ever again. Perhaps that would be the legacy of his one night with Gracie.
‘Alas, he did not live,’ Malik said coldly. ‘And there is little we can do to change matters at present, unless you have powers I am unaware of.’
‘And if she’s pregnant?’ Asad demanded. ‘Have you considered that?’
Malik clenched his jaw, hating that his grandfather had caught him out. If Gracie was pregnant... Why had he not considered such a possibility? They’d both been so inexperienced, so overwhelmed by passion.
‘The possibility of her pregnancy is extremely unlikely,’ Malik said with more conviction than he actually felt. ‘But if she is, I am sure she will attempt to be in touch and I will handle the matter then.’
‘How?’ Asad demanded. ‘By parading your bastard child in front of the press? By polluting a thousand years’ lineage of princes and kings with some American half-blood brat?’
‘That is enough,’ Malik snapped. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. ‘I will do what I feel is best.’
‘You do realise how this kind of publicity could affect our
