Never Mine by Clare Connelly
Chapter 3
WAITING WAS LIKE BEING on tenterhooks.
Being at the palace once more was like being transplanted into a whole other world. She’d forgotten the grandeur of this place, not to mention the sheer size of it.
She’d forgotten the protocols she was expected to observe, such as having all six of her maids in attendance at all time. It was a company she found cloying, and an expectation she most certainly intended to rail against.
If they were to have a child together, then Chloe was going to spend the rest of her life in the palace. It was a far greater commitment than marriage alone, surely, to bond themselves with a new life. That person deserved two parents who were committed to acting in his or her best interests irrespective of their own personal gripes. Besides, maybe once they got to know one another, this coldness and repressive distance would disappear?
No. Chloe stopped walking, so sharp was her determination to push that thought aside.
She was done expecting unavailable men to start valuing her! She’d wasted her whole life feeling meaningless and purposeless only because her father hadn’t valued her. She’d spent years waiting for any little crumbs of praise that he wanted to pass her way… there was no way she’d go through that miserable maze of rejection again. Not even for the man she’d married!
Raffa would never give her what she wanted – there was no hope that they’d be more than civil to one another. Civil co-parents, and co-rulers. There were other silver linings to her marriage, though. For one, the charity work she’d been free to undertake since moving to the city would continue regardless of where she lived. She loved her work – that gave her all the validation her father, and now husband, had withheld.
As for love? Malik loved her, and she loved him. After her father’s death, he’d been the only one who’d understood.
‘He failed you, child, except in one way. This marriage is the best thing he could have done for you. Here, you will be happy at last. You’ve always belonged here, even that first summer when you were little more than a fairy.’ And he’d hugged her in a rough embrace, his body – once strong and big – now a smaller version, his fingers trembling a little in that way they did now. He’d understood that she had been unloved and in small ways, he’d made sure she felt secure in her life in Ras El Kida.
He, alone, had welcomed her.
‘Do you remember when you came here, as a child? You would run the halls, singing, and I knew you belonged here. That you were a part of this Kingdom, even with your white hair and your pale skin.’
What foolish dreams she’d had when she’d entered into this marriage! To think that she could marry a man and suddenly ‘belong’!
That she’d ever belong anywhere.
How childish it had been of her to think Raffa had carried any intention of their marriage being more than a convenience to placate both their fathers!
Well, she wasn’t a fool anymore, and she was going to see their marriage for what it was: a means to an end. They were going to try for a baby, which would mean they were going to be intimate, but Chloe was determined not to let his touch affect her. No matter how good he was in bed, she would remain cold! And if that wasn’t possible, she’d damned well pretend! He wouldn’t have the satisfaction of knowing that one look from him could spike her blood pressure dramatically. She wouldn’t be another woman to stroke his oversized ego when it came to his bedroom prowess!
In the afternoon, having dealt with several emails pertaining to her charity, and taken a walk around the palace to re-familiarise herself with the place, she’d found there were many hours until night time.
When would he come? Would it be early in the evening? Late at night? Should she be dressed? Or, she gulped, naked, waiting for him? Would it give her more control if she showed herself to be accepting of their situation? More mature of her to seem sophisticated and to take this all in her stride?
The waiting was killing her.
In the early evening, she decided to allay her anxieties by going for a walk. It took some doing, but she managed to convince Aysha that she was safe to explore on her own. After all, the extensive gardens were well-guarded. There was a golf course, an artificial beach, an ancient forest that had been cultivated with great care. It grew alongside the same cliff that gave way to the palace, sharing its side with the Sheikh’s suite, and developing into the waterfall that fell into a pool in his living area.
She had wandered through this forest a few time over the years, and even in the first few days of their marriage – when she’d still entertained hopes that her husband would come to her and treat her like the woman she was sure, deep down, she really was.
Now, when she stepped under the lush canopy of trees, her anticipation was different, because it was borne of fact. He would come to her, on this night. She would be made his. She moved deeper into the forest, looking for familiar landmarks, but so much had changed with the seasons. Large trees remained, but smaller shrubs had given way, so too the colours of the flowers, so Chloe had to mentally map the forest almost from scratch. As she moved higher, though, the sound of flowing water reminded her of the natural landscape, the way the water gathered pace through these cliffs and mountains until it formed an overwhelming weight at the top of the cliff.
She weaved alongside it for some time, before a sudden movement startled her into utter stillness. Save for the frantic racing of her heart, she was motionless. Were there predatory animals in the forest? She had never been told so; then again, she’d never wandered this far, even as a curious little girl holidaying in this grand palace. Besides, she reassured herself, desperate to quell her raging pulse, there were guards around. Perhaps it had even been a guard who had startled her?
She took a tentative step forward, and then another, before the movement caught her attention once more. Now, she followed it, homing in on first the stone as it hit the water and skipped several times before thudding beneath the surface, then to the arm which had cast it, and then to his face. She gasped when she saw him, for the child was so like Raffa that she knew instantly who stood before her.
“Amit,” she said the name aloud, almost as a talisman to herself, and yet he heard, and his own expression was startled.
He hadn’t realized she was there. He wore a simple pair of black trousers and a loose-fitting white top, and to his right there was a stash of stones.
He picked one up, running his fingertips over the smoothness of it before standing. He met her eyes, which was a welcome change from the palace servants.
“Amit,” she said again, more confidently this time, wanting to reassure him.
He was so like Raffa, and yet different too. He had Raffa’s intelligent eyes and assessing gaze, his generous lips. But he was gangly and tall, slim and uncertain. Even as a teenager, Chloe doubted Raffa had ever been anything other than muscular and warrior-like.
“No one usually comes up here,” the teenager said defensively, echoing so many of her own teenaged resentments that she could do nothing but nod.
She tried to marshal her thoughts, to quickly recollect all that she knew of her husband’s love child. He’d been conceived when Raffa had been only twenty years old, and the woman was rumoured to be the love of Raffa’s life. They’d never been able to acknowledge their relationship, but though it remained shrouded in secrecy, she’d been living at the palace, leaving little doubt as to their bond.
A frisson of emotion trickled down her spine. That was all palace gossip, whispered between her maids when they’d thought she hadn’t been listening. Talk of how the Sheikh’s marriage had always been destined to fail, given that he was still in love with the other woman. And now she was face to face with the physical proof of that love.
“What are you doing?” She asked, with natural curiosity, moving closer to the boy.
He eyed her thoughtfully, the intensity of his gaze so like Raffa’s that she felt almost as if she knew him already. “Skimming rocks,” he said after a moment, evidently deciding to trust her.
“I see.” She had two options. Leave, or stay.
“Have you ever done it?”
“No,” she shook her head, moving forward, her mind made up.
“The Sheikh taught me,” he said, causing Chloe’s lips to momentarily twitch downwards, into a small frown. “He used to come here to do this, when he was my age.” He wrinkled his nose. “Or a bit younger, I guess. He taught me two years ago. On my tenth birthday.”
“Did he?” Chloe murmured, seating herself with care on the large rock beside Amit. It was not easy in the robes she’d been wrapped into that morning.
“He’s better at it than I am.”
“Show me,” she commanded, but softened the words with a smile. Their eyes met and her heart lurched. This young man was her step-son. Why had she never thought to get to know him before this moment? How come she’d neglected her responsibilities to him? Shame flushed through her but she didn’t reveal, even for a moment, the direction of her thoughts.
“You need to have the right stones, to start with. Smooth, like this. Not too big or they’ll sink. Here. Feel it.” He extended his hand, palm-side up, with one of the pebbles in it. She took it, running her fingers over the edges.
“See what I mean?”
She nodded. “It’s smooth.”
“Yes.” He reached for another one. “You need to imagine the water is a plane, with nothing beneath. You want to throw the rock so that it lands square on the water’s surface, and the tension bounces it to the next spot.”
“That sounds almost impossible.”
“Watch.” He lifted his hand and then, with the action of someone who’s done something many times, he expertly cast the stone onto the water. It did just as he’d said, bouncing four times before thudding into the water and sinking from view.
“That’s impressive,” she said truthfully.
“Not really. The Sheikh once made a pebble skin all the way across the stream. I counted ten jumps.”
“Ten?” She lifted her brows. “Seriously?”
He nodded. “He’s had a lot longer to practice.” The words rung with such arrogant pride, so like Raffa, that Chloe had to stifle a laugh.
“Let me try.” She fingered the rock once more, the tip of her tongue poking out of her lips as she recalled Amit’s throwing motion. She drew her arm backwards, eyed the water carefully, and then released the rock.
It sank immediately, and she laughed, turning to face Amit. A reluctant smile was on his own lips.
“That was pathetic, your highness,” he said with a rueful shake of his head. “But no worse than my first dozen or so attempts.”
Her gaze jerked to his. “You know who I am?”
“Of course. You’re the Sheikh’s wife.”
“Why do you call him that?” She asked slowly.
“It’s his title.”
“But you’re… surely you, of all people, could be excused from such formality?”
“Why should I be?” He asked, turning his attention back to the pile of stones to his right side, with all the appearance of calm. But Chloe had the advantage, for she knew his father, and had become adept at reading Raffa’s expressions and understanding their meaning. She knew then that the boy was dissembling. He didn’t know she knew who he was, and he was trying to protect her.
It was on the tip of her tongue to disabuse him of that notion when it occurred to her that forcing him to admit his parentage to his step-mother might make him even more uncomfortable. She had no interest in doing any such thing, and so she allowed the fiction to pass. There’d be time to address it with her husband.
“It doesn’t matter,” she demurred simply. “Show me another one. Otherwise, how will I know that first wasn’t a fluke?”
“A fluke?” He shook his head. “It was no such thing. See?” And he skimmed another rock perfectly.
She stayed with him almost an hour, mostly in contented silence. But the desert winds of Ras El Kida were unusual, and she had not Amit’s skill in reading them. He paused when his pile of stones was only half-empty, and turned to her.
“We must leave now.”
“Why?” She’d been having a better time than she’d imagined possible, within the grounds of the ancient palace.
“A sandstorm. Can’t you smell it?”
She shook her head and breathed in, tasting only the freshness of the tree-filled air.
“It’s the clay,” he said, shaking his head and standing, before lowering his hands for her grip. He helped her up, then put a hand in the small of her back. Again, she was reminded of Raffa, of that confidence that must surely have been innate. “This way.” He guided her through the forest, a different way to that which had brought her to him. His path was more direct, though steeper, so she slipped once and had to break her fall by grabbing the branches of a tree. It cut her hand though so she had a small amount of blood in her palm.
“Are you okay?” Amit asked with obvious consternation.
“I’m fine.”
She kept moving, but Amit stalled her, with a quick, urgent: “Look!”
Chloe followed the direction of his outstretched hand, frowning as her eyes adjusted. “What?”
“Look!” he said, pointing again. And in the distance, she did see it. Barely discernible at first, there was a haze far away, but it was getting closer, plumes rising from the desert sands into a sky that was turning from blue to black before her eyes.
“Hurry,” he murmured, gripping her hand and pulling her after him.
Her hair caught on a branch and she lifted her free hand to hold it back from her face.
They were close to the palace now, so that within minutes they’d entered the garden to the side – a grove of fruit trees that were as fragrant as they were beautiful. But their divine scent was dampened by what Amit had detected far, far earlier than she. Now Chloe smelled it, thick in the air. He’d called it clay, she’d have said tar. An earthy, over-heated, rumbling smell that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
They reached the palace when the storm was dangerously close to them. Security guards didn’t meet Chloe’s eyes but she saw the surprise in their faces as she and Amit rounded a corner and headed towards a large, open doorway.
“You fool,” one of the guards chastened Amit, and pleasure instantly extinguished from the young boy’s face.
He lifted his radio transceiver and began to speak into it. Amit shot the man a fulminating glare, so reminiscent of Raffa’s that Chloe was once more amused by their likenesses, before gripping her wrist and pulling her into the palace.
“You have to go,” he said urgently, then frowned. “You have blood on your face.”
“Oh.” She lifted her fingers and wiped at herself self-consciously. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”
“Yes, but you really must go. If the Sheikh finds you with me, he’ll be furi--,”
“Too late.” The words rung out in the corridor, as Raffa stood a little distance away from them, his strong legs planted wide apart, his arms crossed at his chest. His hair was in that bun he wore, high on top of his head, and his eyes glittered like the sky speckled with sand now.
“Well?” He demanded, looking from one to the other. “Would either of you care to explain why you were outside?”
Chloe took one look at her young friend’s face and felt her heart drop. He was terrified! And of his own father!
“It was my fault,” she said. “I … got lost. And Amit found me, and helped me home. I shouldn’t have walked so far from the palace but it was such a nice afternoon and I was following the stream.”
The full force of Raffa’s energy transferred to Chloe, so she felt as though a cable had wound around them and surged with electricity. It made her tremble at her knees, but she remained outwardly cool. She had learned, as a girl, that the best defense was a good offence.
“Is that a problem, your highness?” She demanded tartly, taking a step closer to her husband, putting Amit at her back. “Would you prefer I stay chained to my rooms?”
His eyes held a warning she wouldn’t heed. “You shouldn’t put ideas into my head.”
She held her pose, tilting her chin defiantly. “I wasn’t making a suggestion.”
He ground his teeth, so that a muscle jerked at the base of his jaw, drawing her attention to the thick column of his neck and the vee of his chest that was exposed by his shirt.
“Well?” He growled the word, and Amit came to stand beside her. She threw the boy a look of sympathy.
“Stop acting like an angry bear,” she chastised Raffa in a way he’d never been spoken to in his life. “Didn’t you just hear me? Amit found me and…”
“I was skimming rocks,” the boy said, his head bent.
“Without telling your security detail?”
The boy didn’t lift his eyes.
“We’ve talked about this.”
“I know. I’m sorry, sir.”
Raffa’s attention went from his son’s face to his wife’s. “This doesn’t concern you. Wait for me in your suite.”
“Not if you’re going to stand here and shout at him,” she said hotly. “He’s a boy, of course he was skimming rocks. That’s what children should be doing.”
The muscle in Raffa’s jaw jerked once more.
“Fine.” He reached down and grabbed Chloe’s hand, holding it in his own. He began to move down the corridor, turning and calling over his shoulder, “Be in the library in ten minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stop pulling me,” Chloe said icily, when they had rounded the corner and were out of Amit’s sight. “I am capable of walking.”
“It’s not wise to lie to me,” he said, though he did drop his grip on her arm. “This is my palace, my kingdom…”
“Your son is clearly terrified of you,” she interrupted, thrusting her hands on her hips. “I lied because I don’t enjoy seeing a twelve year old being made to feel like a petty criminal. Besides,” she continued, oblivious to the shifting expressions on her husband’s face. “That wasn’t completely a lie. I wandered up to the forest on my own. There’s no saying how far I would have gone had I not happened to bump into Amit. I watched him skim rocks and we chatted, and then he noticed the approaching sandstorm far quicker than I ever would have. So if he hadn’t been with me, I’d probably still be up there now.”
He didn’t answer, so the only sound for a long moment was the rasping, angry breath coming from Chloe.
“And you don’t get to speak to people like you did him! You might be king but…”
And then his lips came down on hers, taking possession of her mouth in a way that was unlike anything she’d ever known. Not like the kiss of exploration they’d shared the night before. This was a kiss of punishment and possession. His mouth covered hers and his hands bundled into her hair, his fingers catching at it and holding her so that she was his captive – but oh, such a willing captive. She moaned and opened her mouth wider, surrendering to the kiss, her anger being rushed out of her body on a tsunami of instant desire.
The anticipation of the day was a storm and it was breaking around her, consuming her in its fervent desperation. Her hands lifted of their own accord, her fingers curling in his shirt. He made a guttural sound as his kiss became more frantic, but there was a threat in it too, a fierce reminder of who was in charge. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a drum was beating its insistent warning – a reminder that she had sworn she wouldn’t do this! That she wouldn’t succumb to the passion he could so easily spin around her.
With a growing sense of impatience, and an anger directed entirely at her own weakness where her husband was concerned, Chloe ripped herself away from him, putting vital space between them. Her chest heaved with the effort of catching her breath but she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, staring at him as though he’d lost his mind.
Raffa watched her with far greater composure than she had mustered.
“How dare you kiss me to silence me?” She demanded, the words rich with contempt.
“I dare because I am king,” he said. “Now, I am going to go and deal with the boy and then, my wife, I am coming to deal with you.”
THE SHEIKH’S BABY BARGAIN,and the whole Evermore series, is available now!
