Kidnapped for His Royal Duty Page 17

  “It’s beautiful but very remote.”

  He studied her face for a moment. “Was it not a good day?”

  “It was a rather long day. I got lonely.”

  “I’m sorry. I expected to be free sooner.” He pressed another lingering kiss to her lips before rising. “I’m going to go shower and change. Join me soon. I’ve asked for some drinks and a light meal to be sent to our room since I haven’t eaten anything today.”

  She reached for his hand, catching his fingers, preventing him from leaving. “What’s happening at the office?”

  “A problem, not an emergency. Nothing you need to worry about.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  He squeezed her hand and then let it go. “I have one of the administrative assistants in the office taking care of some things for me and soon we’ll have your replacement. It’s just a temporary stress, nothing to trouble you.”

  And then he was gone, striding toward the Kasbah, his long white robe swirling, reminding her of a powerful desert warlord just returning home while she very much felt like a concubine with no purpose other than being available to please her master.

  She grimaced, frustrated, not wanting to be shut out from his life, or his business. She’d worked with him for years and had enjoyed the partnership. What were her responsibilities in this new role of hers?

  Poppy pushed off the chair and went to her room to shower and change before going on upstairs.

  “Where did you change?” Dal asked her when she entered his suite of rooms.

  “My room.”

  “This is your room now,” he said. “I expected you would have the staff move your things today.”

  “You never said anything.”

  “You are my wife. This is the master bedroom suite. This is where you belong.”

  “How do I know if you don’t tell me?”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  Poppy compressed her lips, not liking his autocratic tone. “This is all new to me, Dal. You’re going to have to communicate a little bit.”

  “You’re upset with me?”

  She fought to keep her voice steady, not wanting to sound hysterical on their second day of married life. “You were gone when I woke up. You didn’t leave a note, or tell me when you’d return.”

  “I didn’t know myself.”

  “In England you communicated far better.”

  “In England you were my secretary.”

  “Maybe I liked being your secretary better than your wife!”

  He gave her an intense, brooding look. “Really?”

  Her pulse quickened, her chest tightening. “I don’t want to be shut out of your life.”

  “You’re not. You are the very center of my world now.” And then as if to prove his point, he swept her into his arms, carrying her to the bed where he tossed her, pinned her down and kissed her fiercely, deeply, the scorching kiss torching her senses.

  As he kissed her, he slid a hand between her legs, caressing her thighs until she opened them for him. He leaned over and kissed the top of her thigh, and then the inside of her thigh and she trembled.

  “I’m not sure I can handle this,” she murmured unsteadily as she felt his fingers slide over her, lightly tracing her folds and then lightly, lightly parting her before placing a kiss on her, and then another kiss, followed by a flick of his tongue across her clit.

  She gasped as sharp, delicious sensation shot through her and when he covered her there with his mouth and sucked, her hips jerked up of their own accord. Dal shifted his weight, clamped an arm across her pelvis, holding her open and still while he kissed, sucked and licked her to an orgasm so powerful she dug her nails into his shoulders and screamed his name.

  The orgasm was so intense she felt almost broken. The intensity of the sensation made her feel emotional and undone. Flushed, spent, she felt him stretch out next to her and pull her to his side. He left his arm around her, his palm covering her breast.

  “I want to be in you,” he said, “but I don’t want to hurt you. Maybe tomorrow.”

  She nodded, glad he couldn’t see the tears filling her eyes.

  She hadn’t thought sex would feel like this...physical and carnal but then afterward, painfully empty.

  It was hard to love someone who didn’t love you back.

  “Poppy?” he asked, shifting her so that she lay on her back. He pushed her thick hair from her face and then untangled a strand still clinging to her damp cheek. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Something is. You’re far too quiet.”

  She looked up at him, seeing his strong brow and the high, hard lines of his cheekbones. She loved his face. It was so very beautiful and familiar. But the rest of this...it was new and overwhelming. In bed, he was overwhelming. The sex was overwhelming. His body was so big, and powerful and sexual. He was so very sexual. But then after all the physical intimacy there was no emotional intimacy. If anything, after sex, she felt even further from him than before.

  “Is this what you thought marriage would be like?” she asked carefully.

  “No. It’s better.” He smiled crookedly. “You’re not just my friend, but now you’re my lover.”

  “So you’re satisfied? Happy you married me?”

  “No regrets.” He rolled onto his back and pulled her toward him so that she was lying against his side, her cheek on his chest. “And you? Regrets, my sweet Poppy?”

  It took her a moment to answer. “No regrets,” she said unsteadily. “But I think I may be a little homesick. We’ve been gone a long time.”

  His hand stroked her hair and then trailed down her spine. “What do you miss most? Winchester? London?”

  “My flat.”

  His hand stilled in the small of her back. “Why your flat?”

  “It was cozy and familiar. I felt...safe...there.”

  “But Poppy, your home is with me now. I have promised to take care of you, and I will. You must know you are safe with me.”

  She nodded, eyes closing, holding back the hot emotion, because despite his words, she didn’t feel safe. She didn’t feel secure. She didn’t have what she needed—love.

  Sex was good and fine, and pleasure was definitely nice, but what she needed most in the world was to be truly needed, to be truly special, to be truly loved.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THEY FELL INTO a pattern over the next week, a pattern Poppy did not enjoy. Dal would be sequestered in his office working while she drifted around the Kasbah trying to find ways to occupy herself. She’d asked if she could work with him, or assist him like she used to, but he curtly reminded her she was his wife now, not an employee.

  After that he seemed to withdraw even more, at least during the day when he was distant and unavailable. But then in the evening he emerged from his office and was warm and charming and always he’d make love to her. The sex was incredibly hot, and he never failed to make sure she climaxed, but the long days of being alone followed by the carnal lovemaking was breaking her heart.

  He’d take her body, and pleasure her body, but that was all he wanted from her.

  And that was also all he’d give her.

  “We will leave here soon for Gila,” he said on the ninth night of their honeymoon, in that quiet aftermath that followed their lovemaking. “I thought perhaps we could look for our home in Gila together. Would you enjoy that?”

  Her brow creased. “Are we going to live in Gila?”

  “I’d like to have a home in the capital. Maybe something modern, or if you prefer classical architecture—”

  “What about England? What about our home there?”

  “My intention is to divide our time between the two. I want my children to know Mehkar and be comfortable in both places.”

  “They would
be my children, too,” she said in a small voice.

  “Of course. I meant our children.”

  She wasn’t so sure he did.

  Poppy couldn’t sleep that night, but she didn’t lie awake tossing and turning. No, she spent the long, quiet hours of the night making a brutal but necessary decision.

  She’d given Dal what he’d needed. She’d protected his lands and title. But now it was time she protected herself.

  In the morning she would leave, and she wouldn’t go in tears. She was going to leave strong and proud and focused on her future for a change, not his.

  * * *

  He was at his desk when she entered his office. He didn’t even look up for a minute, so engrossed in the document he was reading.

  She watched him read, feeling a pang of love and regret, recognizing the Randall Grant focus.

  No one could compartmentalize like Dal.

  She shifted the hands holding her purse and worn travel bag but made no other sound. Finally, he glanced up at her, his strong black brows flattening over his light eyes.

  “What’s happening?” he said brusquely.

  She didn’t take offense. She knew it was his tone when concentrating. His sharpness wasn’t aimed at her but rather the annoyance of breaking his focus. He wouldn’t like what she had to say, but it was time, and she’d made her mind up. “I’d like to leave now.”

  For a moment there was just silence and then he slowly rose. “What did you say?”

  “You told me when you found a new secretary, you’d put me on a plane. You have a new secretary. I know she’s working in the London office right now, but she replaced me a week ago.”

  “You’re my wife, Poppy, not an employee.”

  “Please have your helicopter come and take me to Gila. I intend to sleep tonight in my own bed, at home.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know you don’t, and I don’t expect you will, but this marriage helped you, but it’s not good for me. Please do the right thing for me, and let me go. If you care for me at all, you’ll send me home now.”

  He moved away from the desk, walking slowly toward her. “I won’t send you back to England like this—”

  “So you don’t care for me.”

  “I won’t send you because I do.”

  “Then you’re not listening. I’m not happy here. I’m not happy living like this. I don’t regret marrying you, and I won’t call it a mistake, because I gave you what you needed...the title, the house, the estates...so please give me now what I need. My freedom.”

  * * *

  Dal was grateful for twenty years of lessons in control and discipline because it allowed him to keep his expression mercifully blank. He was stunned, though. Inwardly reeling.

  “I am listening,” he said casually, calmly, as he approached her. “I always listen to you, even when you think I’m sleeping. I am there in bed with you, hearing you breathe, hearing you weep—”

  “If you’ve heard me cry at night, why didn’t you say something, or do something? Why just let me cry myself to sleep?”

  “Marriage is new, and an adjustment. I thought you needed time.”

  “No, I didn’t need time. I needed you.” She nearly backed up a step as he closed the distance, stopping just a foot in front of her. Her chin lifted, her dark eyes bright with anger and pain. “You, Dal,” she repeated fiercely, “not time. All I’ve had here is time.”

  “But you have me. I sleep with you every night. I hold you through the night. I am not far during the day, and when you need me, you can find me. Just as you found me today.”

  Silence greeted his words. Her eyes narrowed a fraction and then her lips curved but there was no warmth in her eyes. “This you,” she said at last, nodding at him, “the one you’re offering, the one you’re giving, it’s not enough. I’m sorry if it hurts, but it’s the truth.”

  He’d never seen this side of her. He didn’t know what to make of her anger. “People are not perfect. They will inevitably let you down. I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you—”

  “There are small disappointments, life’s little irritations and then there are tragedies. I can handle the irritations. I expect the irritations and annoyances. But me marrying a man who doesn’t love me...that borders on tragedy.”

  She’d stunned him again. He couldn’t think of a single appropriate thing to say. Poppy, for her part, was so still and pale she reminded him of a wax figure.

  “Please put me on the plane—”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “So you don’t care for me. I am just another of your toys and possessions.”

  “I don’t know where this is coming from, and I don’t know what has made you feel so insecure—”

  “You have, Dal! You with your lack of words and lack of emotion. You only make room for me in bed. But out of bed, there is no place for me in your life!”

  “You are bordering on hysteria.”

  “Of course you’ll mock me and shame my emotions, but at least I have emotions! At least I feel, and at least I’m able to be honest about what I need. I need a man who will love me. I need a man who will share with me and sacrifice for me.” Her voice cracked, broke. “But from the beginning it’s been about you, and as long as I stay here, it will only be about you, and I was wrong to think I could do this...live like this. So let me go now while we both have some dignity.”

  “I’d rather lose my dignity than you.”

  “You’ve already lost me.”

  “No, I haven’t. You’re hurt and angry, but we can fix this.”

  “It’s impossible to fix us. We can’t be fixed. You can’t be fixed—”

  “I am not a machine! I have feelings—” he broke off, grinding his teeth together, trying to hold the blistering pain. “And maybe it shocks you, but your words hurt. Your words wound. But I’ll take the words and the wounds if it will allow us to grow stronger together.”

  She averted her head, lips quivering. “I don’t want us to be together. Not anymore.”

  “I don’t believe you. I can’t believe you. After four years—”

  “I didn’t know the real you! I didn’t know us.”

  He felt like he was in quicksand and sinking fast. Emotions were not his strength. Tears and sadness and grief and need...they baffled him. He’d never been allowed to feel or grieve, and he’d learned to survive by being numb. But he wasn’t numb right now. His chest burned. His body hurt. She might as well have poured petrol on him and then struck a match. “Perhaps what you should be saying,” he said tightly, “is that you didn’t know you.”

  She looked at him then, tears in her eyes. “But I did know me. I knew what I needed. And every time I refused your proposal it was because I knew what I needed...and that was love.”

  “Poppy, I am trying, with everything I am—”

  “It’s not enough.” Her chin lifted, eyes glittering with tears. “Call for the helicopter. I’ll be downstairs in the garden, waiting.”

  * * *

  Poppy walked away then, quickly, her heels clicking on the marble, her eyes scalding.

  That was beyond brutal. That was awful, so very awful. She’d said hard, harsh things, not to hurt him, but to make him understand that this wasn’t a game. She was done. She felt broken. He had to let her go.

  She sat in the garden on a bench waiting for the helicopter, her bags at her feet. She would stay in the garden until the helicopter arrived, too. It might take days, but eventually he’d know she was serious.

  Thirty minutes later Dal emerged from the Kasbah with his large black suitcase. She watched him cross the lawn and then he squeezed onto the bench next to her. She refused to make eye contact. This wasn’t an act. It wasn’t a game. She was leaving him today.

  “The helicopter should be here in the next five to te
n minutes,” he said, breaking the silence.

  “Good.”

  “The jet has been fueled and is ready in Gila.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I needed to file a flight plan and I told them London.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Good. Glad to know I’ve done something right.”

  She shot him a furious glance. “I don’t feel sorry for you. You’re a grown man, a very successful man. You have extensive experience in mergers and acquisitions. You’re accustomed to the bumps and disappointments. You’ll bounce back in no time.”

  He met her gaze and held it. “You’re not a merger, or an acquisition. You are my wife, and you’re hurt, and I’m sorry. Your happiness means everything to me.”

  “Those are just words.”

  “But isn’t that what you wanted? Words? Tender words? Affectionate words?”

  “You can’t even say them!”

  “Love, you mean?” His black eyebrow arched. “I do love you, Poppy, and yet I find the word hard to say, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.”

  “Huh!”

  He caught her jaw, turned her face to him. “I’m not a machine. I feel emotions. In fact, I feel them so intensely they scare me. I have spent my entire life trying to contain my emotions, determined that they wouldn’t dictate my future. And every time I said I wanted you, I meant it. I wanted you then, and I want you now.”

  “Sexually,” she said, bitterly.

  “Sexually, emotionally, spiritually. I want you as my partner, my best friend—”

  “Your only friend.”

  “The mother of my children,” he continued calmly.

  She gave her head a toss. “For the all-important heirs.”

  “Not heirs,” he corrected, “but us, our family. You’ll be an incredible mother. And I’d like to be a father, although I’m not sure I’ll be good at it in the beginning. I’ll have to learn, but I can.”

  “You never talked about family before. You and Sophie—”

  “Because I couldn’t imagine raising a family with Sophie. I couldn’t imagine a life with her. But I can with you. I can imagine everything, and I want everything, and I do mean everything. You, Poppy, have made me want more.”