of black robes as he saw Sera dash for what she must have assumed was the relative safety of the second car. He allowed himself a smile as he finished what he wanted to say to the driver, before closing the door and raising his hand to his mother one last time before striding towards it himself.
Shock turned her black-as-night eyes wide as he slid into the seat alongside her. A moment later she turned both her face and body away, shrinking against the door as if she might will herself right through it, and his feeling of satisfaction deepened.
She was terrified of him.
Strange how that knowledge had altered his long-held vow. Ten years ago he’d never wanted to see her again. And ever since then he’d always believed that what she’d killed that day was better left buried, his memories of his time with her buried along with it. Being forced to share the same space with her for two days should have been the very last thing on his agenda. And yet seeing her squirm and cower in his presence…oh, yes, this way was infinitely more satisfying than he could have ever imagined.
He took advantage of the space she left, angling himself to stretch out his legs in the space between them, and even though she didn’t look, didn’t turn, he knew she was aware of every move he made, knew it in the way she shrank herself into an even smaller space.
Oh, yes, infinitely more satisfying.
Why did he have to travel in this car if he needed so much legroom? Sera battled to control her breathing, willing away the tears that pricked at her eyes even as she wedged herself harder against the very edge of the wide seat, squeezed tight against the door, too hot and much too bothered by this man who seemed to think he owned the entire world, if not the entire vehicle. Maybe he did—he was part of Qusay’s royal family now—but that didn’t change the fact he was going out of his way to make her feel uncomfortable.
But why?
He hated her. He’d said as much to his mother, practically shouted it. He might as well have announced it to the world.
And he knew she’d heard him.
Didn’t he think it was enough, just knowing it? Did he think he had to prove it by insisting she come with him, just so he could keep showing her how little he thought of her? Did he have to make her feel any worse than she already did?
Did he hate her that much?
Agony welled up inside her like a mushroom cloud, a familiar pain that tore at her heart and threatened to shred her sanity. But why shouldn’t he hate her? Why should Rafiq be any different?
How many times had she been told that she was the one at fault? How many times had she been told that she was worth nothing? That she deserved nothing?
And now Hussein was gone, and still she was hated.
But how could she expect anything else?
And, in Rafiq’s case, it was surely no more than she deserved.
‘Maybe it’s a chance to put the past behind you,’ his mother had said when Sera had pleaded one last time to be allowed to stay behind. ‘A chance to heal.’ She loved the Sheikha, who had taken her in when she’d had nowhere else to go. She loved her warmth and her wisdom, and the stories she’d shared of her own imperfect marriage. The Sheikha understood, even though what was left of her own family had believed the lies whispered by her mother-in-law and abandoned her to her fate. Sera trusted her. And yet the past was behind her—long gone. What was the point of dredging it all up? What was the point of reliving the pain? Rafiq hated her. He would always hate her. And who could blame him?
She sucked in a breath, wishing she could concentrate on the passing streetscape as the small convoy left the palace precincts and headed past flat-topped buildings and narrow market streets towards the outskirts of the city, willing her eyes to find something to snag her attention—but it was the reflection in the window that held her captive, the long legs encased in cool-looking linen trousers, the torso wrapped in a snowy white T-shirt that hugged his body where the sides of his jacket fell apart…
She watched him in the window, his long legs sprawled out, his lean body so apparently at ease, and she grew even hotter and tenser as she huddled under her robes.
Curse the man that he hadn’t grown old and fat in the intervening years!
She leaned her head against the window and squeezed her eyes closed, trying to concentrate on the warmth of the glass against her cheek and shut out the image of the long, lean body beside her, trying to think of anything but—and still she could see him clearly in her mind’s eye. But when would she ever not be able to picture him clearly?
Eleven years ago he’d been the best-looking man in Qusay, with his dark-as-night hair and startling blue eyes. Strongjawed and golden-skinned, he’d won her adolescent heart the moment she’d first set eyes on him. If she could have imagined her perfect man, it would have been Rafiq. Long, muscled legs, broad shoulders, and a chest that had been like a magnet for her innocent hands.
She would glide them around him, and he’d wrap her in his arms and tell her that she was the most beautiful woman in the world and that he would love her for ever…
Pain sliced through her, deep and savage, old wounds ripping open so jaggedly that she had to bury her face in her hands and cover her mouth to stop herself from crying out. What was the point of bringing it all back? It was so long ago, and times had changed.
Except Rafiq hadn’t. He was magnificent. A man in his prime.
A man who hated her.
‘Is something wrong?’
His voice tangled with her thoughts, and she opened her eyes to see that they had left the city behind. Only the occasional home or business lined the bitumen highway out of the city, the landscape giving way to desert as they headed inland.
Two days she must spend in his company, and he had to ask if something was wrong? What did he think? ‘I’m fine,’ she answered softly. There was no point saying what she really thought or what she really felt. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.
‘You don’t look fine.’
She bit her lip, refusing to face him, gathering her robes a little tighter around herself, resenting the fact he wouldn’t just let her be. It was true she would feel better if he wasn’t right there next to her, brooding and magnificent at the same time. And she would feel much better if the air didn’t carry the faint hint of his cologne, seductive and evocative. But right now she was stuck with both, and there wasn’t one thing she could do about it but survive. And if there was one thing Hussein had taught her to be good at, it was survival.
‘I am sorry to offend.’ She folded her hands in her lap and sat up straighter against the leather upholstery, watching the desert speed by.
What had happened to her? This was not the Sera he knew. Or had she always been destined to turn into this bland, cowering shadow of a woman? Had her character been flawed from the very beginning and he’d been lucky to escape from her clutches when he had? Would he now be regretting it if she hadn’t found a higher-ranking, more wealthy target to get her claws into? Wouldn’t that be ironic? He was a prince now. What would that have meant to a woman who had married for wealth and prestige? Maybe there was another reason for her to look so sullen—mourning the big fish she had inadvertently thrown back and that had got away.
