a man. That he, too, could uphold the family honor and do his duty. That he had only ever wanted to be treated as a part of the family in the first place.
He turned then, letting his gaze fall upon the sinuous curves of her body as she lay on her side, facing away from him, the curve of her hip and the dip of her waist even more enticing now, after he had had her in every way he could imagine. He had meant only to slake his desire, to have her and be done with her at last. He had spent years convincing himself that she was no more than an itch that needed to be scratched. He had not expected to feel anything but lust.
He had convinced himself he would feel nothing at all.
“You are a fool,” he whispered to himself.
But Jessa Heath still managed to cast a spell around him. It was the way she gave herself over with total abandon, he thought, studying her form in the morning light. To her anger, to her passion.
Even now that she knew exactly who he was, she still wanted nothing from him. If anything, his real identity made her like him less. And yet she still fell to pieces in his arms, shattered at the slightest touch. It was as if she had been made specifically for him. As if she could still make him that man she’d seen in him five years ago, as if he was that man, finally, when he was with her.
Which was why he let her sleep, why he crossed the room and sat beside her, drinking her in, knowing that once she woke, the spell would be broken. Reality would intrude once again and remind him that he needed a queen, and she was the girl who had become the emblem of his disappointing former life.
And this night would become one more fever dream, one more memory, that he would lock away and soon enough, he knew, forget.
Jessa woke slowly.
The morning sun poured in from the tall windows, illuminating the bed and making her feel as if she was lit from within. She tugged the tangled length of her hair out from beneath her, knowing it had to be wild after such a night. Knowing she was wild and raw inside as well, though she couldn’t think about it. Not yet. Not quite yet.
Not while he was still so near.
She knew he was there before she saw him, as if she had an internal radar that told her Tariq’s specific whereabouts. She turned her head and there he was, just where she had sensed him. He sat on the edge of the bed, still gloriously naked, his body like something that ought to be carved in the finest marble and displayed in museums. He was not looking at her for the moment, so Jessa let herself drink her fill of him.
Something in the way he held himself, the way he stared broodingly toward the window, made her frown. He looked almost sad. She wanted to reach over and soothe him, to kiss away whatever darkness had come upon him while she slept. She might not know why he wanted her as he had told her he did from the first, but she had come to accept that it was true, over and over again in the night. The wonder was, she wanted him too. Still. Even now.
But then he turned his head. His expression was unreadable, his dark green eyes solemn, his dark hair the kind of tousled mess that begged to be touched. Though she did not dare.
It was only to be expected that things should feel strained, Jessa reflected, staring back at him for a moment. One night, they had both said. And now it was morning, and the sun was too bright, and it was best to put all of this behind them.
She would not think about what they had done or the ways they had done it. She would not think about how she had sobbed and cried out for him and screamed his name. Again and again and again. It was only sex, she told herself sternly. Just sex. No need to torture herself about it. No need to give her emotions free rein, no matter how much her heart wanted her to do otherwise. She could be more like a man and compartmentalize. Why not? Sex was simply sex. It had nothing to do with feelings unless one wished otherwise. And she did not wish it. End of story.
Now he could go his way and she hers. Just as they had planned. There was no need to dig any further into their past and haul all of that pain back into the light of day. It could be boxed up and locked away, forever.
She remembered that she was supposed to feel empowered, not suddenly shy, no matter how exposed she felt.
“So,” she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “It is finally morning.”
“So it is.” Tariq did not move, he only watched her. It was unnerving. Her heart began to pick up speed, though she was not sure why.
“I can’t help but notice that I am in France,” Jessa said, looking beyond him to the graceful Paris streets outside the window. She had always meant to visit Paris. She wasn’t certain this counted. “Rather farther away from York than I expected to be. I hope you will not mind—”
“Jessa.”
She flushed, suddenly furious, or that was what she called the emotion that flashed through her, hot and dangerous. She made a fist and struck the soft bedding beside her.
“I hate it when you do that,” she threw at him. “You do not have to interrupt me all the time. I don’t care if you’re a king. You are not my king. It’s just rude.”
“And, of course, I would not wish to appear rude,” Tariq replied, an edge in his voice that made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up straight. “I have made you come more times than you can possibly count, and you wish to lecture me on—”
“How do you like it?” she demanded, interrupting him. “It’s frustrating, isn’t it? Because, obviously, the person interrupting believes that whatever he has to say is of far more importance, that he is of far more importance—”
“Or perhaps the person talking is overwrought and hysterical.” His voice was cool. Jessa bit her lip and looked away. She became uncomfortably aware of her own nudity, and of the fact that the frustrated heat in her cheeks was no doubt evident all over her exposed body.
She knew what she was doing. She was drawing this out, deliberately avoiding any number of elephants in the room. Another way to do that was simply to leave. The agreed-upon night was over and done. There was no more reason for them to be talking about anything. He had claimed what he wanted, as had she, and her secrets remained safe. It was time instead to return to her life and finally put Tariq where he belonged—in the past.
It was long past time to move on.
She swung her legs to the edge of the bed and stood, not looking at him.
“I think I’ll take a bath,” she said. She had never sounded so chipper, so polite. “Then I need to return to York.”
She felt awkward. Tense. Perhaps that was just how she would continue to feel until she was safely back in her own life. She tried to shake it off. But when she started to move toward the bathroom, a luxurious palace all its own, she had to walk in front of him, and he held up a hand.
“Come here,” he said quietly.
She hesitated, but then reminded herself that she had already handled him. She had already made it through the night intact. What could he do now? She had made love to him so many times that she’d forgotten anything existed outside of him, and yet she had still woken up herself. Whole, complete. Not lost in him as she had been before. So why was she this nervous?
She moved toward him, wary. It was something about the look in his eyes, something she couldn’t place. Not that dark passion he seemed
