was an employee, and could be fired at any moment, could be removed from the twins’ lives by the flick of his hand. She was thankful for his brutal reminder earlier. She would do well to remember her place.
She brushed past him, trying to get to the safety of the balcony, for it was stifling with him in the room, but before she could get there he halted her.
‘You do not walk off when I’m talking to you!’
‘I do when you’re in my bedroom!’ Amy turned and faced him. ‘This happens to be the one place in this prison of a palace where I get to make the rules, where I get to speak as I choose, and if you don’t like it, if you don’t want to hear it, you can leave.’
She wanted him out of the room, she wanted him gone, and yet he stepped closer, and it was Amy who stepped back, acutely aware of his maleness, shamefully aware of her own body’s conflicted response.
Anger burnt and hissed, but something else did too, for he was an impressive male, supremely beautiful, and of course she had noticed—what woman would not? But down there in his office, or in the safety of the nursery, he was the King and the twins’ father, down there he was her boss, but here in this room he was something else.
Somehow she must not show it, so instead she hurled words. ‘I do love your children, and it’s tearing me apart to even think of walking away, but it’s been nearly a year since Hannah died and I can’t make excuses any more. If they were my children and you ignored them, then I’d have left you by now. The only difference is I’d have taken them with me …’ Her face was red with fury, her blue eyes awash with fresh tears, but there was something more—something she could not tell him. It meant she had to—had to—consider leaving, because sometimes when she looked at Emir she wanted the man he had once been to return, and shamefully, guiltily, despite herself, she wanted him.
She tore her eyes from his, terrified as to what he might see, and yet he stepped towards her, deliberately stepped towards her. She fought the urge to move towards him—to feel the wrap of his arms around her, for him to shield her from this hell.
It was a hell of his own making, though, Amy remembered, moving away from him and stepping out onto the balcony, once again ruing the sultry nights.
But it was not just the night that was oppressive. He had joined her outside. She gulped in air, wished the breeze would cool, for it was not just her face that was burning. She felt as if her body was on fire.
‘Soon I will marry …’ He saw her shoulders tense, watched her hands grip the balcony, and as the breeze caught her nightdress it outlined her shape, detailing soft curves. In that moment Emir could not speak—was this the first time he’d noticed her as a woman?
No.
But this was the first time he allowed himself to properly acknowledge it.
He had seen her in the nursery when he had visited the children a few weeks ago. That day he had sat through a difficult meeting with his elders and advisers, hearing that Queen Natasha was due to give birth soon and being told that soon he must marry.
Emir did not like to be told to do anything, and he rarely ever was.
But in this he was powerless and it did not sit well.
He had walked into the nursery, dark thoughts chasing him. But seeing Amy sitting reading to the twins, her blue eyes looking up, smiling as he entered, he had felt his black thoughts leave him. For the first time in months he had glimpsed peace. Had wanted to stay awhile with his children, with the woman he and Hannah had entrusted to care for them.
He had wanted to hide.
But a king could not hide.
Now what he saw was not so soothing. Now her soft femininity did not bring peace. For a year his passion might as well have been buried in the sands with his wife. For a year he had not fought temptation—there had been none. But something had changed since that moment in the nursery, since that day when he had noticed not just her smile but her mouth, not just her words but her voice. At first those thoughts had been stealthy, invading dreams over which he had no control, but now they were bolder and crept in by day. The scent of her perfume in an empty corridor might suddenly reach him, telling him the path she had recently walked, reminding him of a buried dream. And the mention of her name when she had requested a meeting had hauled him from loftier thoughts to ones more basic.
And basic were his thoughts now, yet he fought them.
He tried to look at the problem, not the temptation before him, the woman standing with her back to him. He wanted to turn her around, wanted to in a way he hadn’t in a long time. But he was not locked in dreams now. He had control here and he forced himself to speak on.
‘I did look through your contract and you are right. It has not been adhered to.’
Still she did not turn to look at him, though her body told her to. She wished he would leave—could not deal with him here even if it was to discuss the twins.
‘After their birthday things are going to get busy here,’ Emir said.
‘When you select your bride and marry?’
He did not answer directly. ‘These are complicated times for Alzan. Perhaps it would be better if the girls spent some time in London—a holiday.’
She closed her eyes, knew what was coming. Yes, a flight on his luxury jet, a few weeks at home with the twins, time with her family, luxurious hotels … What was there to say no to? Except … She took a deep breath and turned to him. ‘Without you?’
‘Yes,’ Emir said.
She looked at the man who had so loved his children, who was now so closed off, so remote, so able to turn from them, and she had to know why.
‘Is it because they remind you of Hannah?’ Amy asked. ‘Is that why it hurts so much to have them around?’
‘Leave it,’ he said. He wished the answer was that simple, wished there was someone in whom he could confide. ‘I will have the trip scheduled.’
‘So you can remove them a bit more from your life?’
‘You do not talk to me like that.’ ‘Here I do.’
‘Once I am married the twins will have a mother figure …’
‘Oh, please!’
He frowned at her inappropriate response, but that did not deter her.
‘Is it a mother for the twins you are selecting or a bride to give you sons?’
‘I’ve told you already: it is not for you to question our ways. What would you know …?’
‘Plenty.’ Amy retorted. ‘My parents divorced when I was two and I remember going to my father’s; I remember when he married his new wife—a woman who had no interest in his children, who would really have preferred that we didn’t inconvenience her one Saturday in two.’ She stopped her tirade. There was no point. This was about the twins, not her past.
But instead of telling her off again, instead of telling her her words were inappropriate, he asked questions.
