signature on those papers.”
“So you have signed them finally.” There wasn’t the least trace of sorrow or surprise in his voice.
Always so calm and cool, her desert lord. It infuriated her that he could be so unaffected.
Her blood felt thick in her veins. Heavy. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”
It had only been a little over an hour since she’d given the papers to Zoe. It was possible they’d been delivered to Malik in that time—but even if they had, how had he found where she was and gotten here so quickly?
She’d just assumed that was why he’d come. Comprehension unfurled. She felt stupid for not realizing it sooner. He must have known she’d been having the papers drawn up. Though why it mattered to him, she wasn’t sure. “There is no client, is there? You set this up.”
It was precisely like him to do so. Malik orchestrated things. If he didn’t like something, he had it changed. If he wanted something, he got it. He spoke the words, and things happened as if by magic. It was the kind of power that most people would never possess.
He inclined his head. “It seemed the best way to meet with you. Less likely to cause a scene for the paparazzi.”
Hot anger threated to scorch her from the inside out. And something else as well. Something hot and dark and secret. Something she recalled from the sultry nights with him, the hours spent tangled together in silken sheets, his body entwining with hers, thrusting into hers, caressing hers.
Why could she never look at this man without thinking of it?
It was the one place where he’d been raw and open with her—or so she’d thought. She knew better now.
Sydney closed her eyes, swallowed. Her skin was moist with perspiration, so she went to the terrace doors, flinging them open to let in the clean ocean breeze. It was always too hot when Malik was near.
She didn’t have to turn to know he was right behind her. He vibrated with an energy that she’d never been able to ignore. When Malik walked into a room, she knew it. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Her blood hummed. Part of her wanted to turn and go into his arms, wanted to feel the extraordinary bliss of a night in his bed at least one more time.
She despised that part of herself. She wasn’t that weak anymore, damn it! She was strong, capable of resisting the animal part of her that wanted this man without reason. Without sense.
But she had to resist—or pay the price.
Sydney whirled, taking a step back when she realized he was closer than she’d thought. “You never bothered to get in touch with me,” she said, her voice cracking in spite of her determination. “You let all these months go by, and you never once tried to contact me. So why are you here now?”
His eyes flashed, his lean jaw hardening. He was so very, very beautiful. It wasn’t an incongruous word when applied to a man who looked like Malik did. Jet dark hair, chiseled features, honed body, bronzed skin that looked as if he’d been dusted in gold. The most sensuous lips God had ever created. Lips that knew how to bring her to the brink of screaming pleasure again and again.
A tiny shiver crawled down her spine. She should have known a man like him could never truly be interested in her.
“Why would I chase you down, Sydney?” he demanded, ignoring her question. “You chose to leave. You could have chosen to come back.”
She drew herself up. Of course he would think that way! Because he hadn’t been affected by her going. “I had no choice.”
Malik snorted. “Really? Someone made you walk out on our marriage? Someone forced you to run from Paris in the middle of the night with one suitcase and a note left on the counter? I’d like to meet this someone with such power over you.”
She stiffened. He made her sound so ridiculous. So childish. “Don’t pretend you were devastated by it. We both know the truth.”
He brushed past her to stand in the open door and look at the ocean while her heart died just a little with each passing second as she hoped, ridiculously, that he might contradict her.
Why did a small part of her always insist on that rosy naiveté where he was concerned?
“Of course not,” he stated matter-of-factly. Then he turned and speared her with an angry look, his voice turning harsh. “But I am an Al Dhakir and you are my wife. Did you not consider for one moment the embarrassment this would cause me? Would cause my family?”
Anger and disappointment simmered together in her belly. She’d hoped he might have missed her just a little bit, but of course he had not. Malik didn’t need anyone or anything. He was a force of nature all his own.
She’d never understood him. That was only part of the problem between them, but it was a big part. He’d been everything exotic and wonderful and he’d swept her off her feet.
She still remembered the moment she’d realized she was in love with him. And she’d thought he must feel the same since she was the only woman he’d ever wanted to marry.
How wrong she’d been. It hadn’t taken very long for her naive hopes to be ground to bits beneath his custom soles. Her eyes filled with angry tears, but she refused to let them fall. She’d had a year to analyze her actions and berate herself for not demanding more from him.
From life.
“That’s why you’re here? Because you’re embarrassed?” Sydney drew in a trembling breath. Adrenaline surged in her blood, but she was determined to maintain her cool. “My, my, it certainly took you a long time to get worked up.”
He took a step toward her. Sydney thrust her chin out, uncowed. Abruptly, he stopped and shoved his hands into his pockets. The haughty prince assumed control once more as he looked down his refined nose at her. “We could live apart, Sydney. That is practically expected, though usually after there is an heir or two. But divorce is another thing altogether.”
“So you’re embarrassed about the divorce, not about me leaving,” she stated. As if she would ever consider having children with him. So he could leave her to raise the kids while he dallied with mistresses?
No way. She’d been such a fool to think their lives could be normal when they came from such diverse backgrounds. He was a prince of the desert. She was plain Sydney Reed from Santa Monica, California. It was laughable how deluded she had been.
“I’ve let you have your space,” he continued. “But enough is enough.”
Sydney felt her eyes widening. A bubble of anger popped, sending fresh heat rushing through her. “You let me have my space? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
His eyes flashed. “Is that any way for a princess to talk?”
“I’m not a princess, Malik.” Though technically his wife was a princess, she’d never felt like one, even when she’d still been happily married to him. He’d never taken her to Jahfar; she’d never seen his homeland or been welcomed by his family.
She’d never even met his family.
That should
