Royal Families Vs. Historicals. Rebecca Winters

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       CHAPTER EIGHT

      ANGELIQUE GLIMPSED THE velvet box on the romantically set table when she arrived at Kasim’s Paris penthouse.

      She was getting to know him very well, but wouldn’t have pegged him as a man who celebrated a one-month anniversary. His sentimentalism touched her. It told her he valued what they had as deeply as she did.

      “We’re staying in tonight?” she asked as she kissed him without even taking off her jacket or setting down her purse.

      He had already shed his suit jacket and tasted faintly of Scotch and…tension? He lingered over their kiss, drawing it out with a quest for her response, waiting until they were both breathless and hot before drawing back.

      “Do you mind?”

      “No.” She tossed her purse toward the sofa then hugged her arms around his waist again. Nestled her mons into his hardness, pleased with the evidence his desire wasn’t letting up any more than hers. “It’s been a long week. I missed you. I’d rather have you all to myself.”

      “Me, too.” His voice was sincere, but…off. He started to pull her into another kiss.

      She hesitated. “Are you angry?”

      A flash in his eyes, then, “Not at you.”

      He combed his fingers into her hair and gently pinned her head back, so her neck was arched, her chin tilted up for the press of his damp lips. The stamp of hot kisses went down her throat, making her skin tighten and tingle.

      “And you can’t talk about it so you want to forget it. Perhaps I can help with that,” she allowed with another press of her hips into his groin. It was her cross to bear that she was the lover of a man with great responsibilities.

      His breath hissed in and he straightened to his full height, seeming to wage an inner debate. He bit out a soft curse and his hands fell away from her.

      “We will have to talk about it,” he said, twirling his finger to indicate she should turn and let him help her with her coat. “Much as I’d rather make love to you first, you probably wouldn’t forgive me if I did. Let’s get it over with.”

      Wary now, she watched him drape her jacket over the back of the sofa and move to the chilled wine in the bucket.

      “A votre santé,” she said when he brought her a glass.

      He only made a face of dismay and said bluntly, “You can’t come to the wedding.”

      Angelique held the wine in her mouth until it was warm and sour. She swallowed.

      “Sadiq and Hasna’s wedding?” Obviously, but she couldn’t process how he could say such a thing. “I know we can’t…be together when I’m there. I wasn’t expecting—” To stay in his room. Maybe she’d fantasized about it. “I mean, I thought I’d stay with my family and you and I could…” She shrugged. “Dance?” Steal time somewhere? They were very adept at that.

      “My father is inviting the woman he would like me to marry. It would be awkward and disrespectful for my mistress to be there.”

      And the hits just kept on coming.

      His marriage was supposed to be some far-off thing that would happen one day, but in the mists of a distant future, like death. Unavoidable, but not something the average person worried about as an immediate concern.

      “Did you explain my family’s relationship with Sadiq?” Her hand began to shake. She leaned to set her glass on the coffee table before she spilled wine all over his antique Persian rug.

      “My father is still convinced you had a personal relationship with him. Bringing up the complimentary wardrobe does more harm than good.”

      “I’m not going to miss Sadiq’s wedding, Kasim. He asked us to be there. It’s a big deal for all of us, especially if Trella is going to be with us. I have to be there for her.”

      “I’m not happy about it either, but it’s one day.”

      “Does Hasna know?”

      “I’m not about to play those sorts of politics,” he said, sharp and hard. “That is my mother’s game, to stir up tears to manipulate my father. Hasna understands our father very well along with my promise to marry the wife he chooses for me.”

      “Why—?” Why had he ever agreed to such a thing? But she knew. So he could rule differently. Better.

      That selflessness on his part ought to inspire her to make peace here and act in the greater good, but she was too appalled at how casually and callously he was brushing aside her feelings in this.

      He set down his wine and grasped her arms. “Angelique, it’s one day. Then we can carry on as normal.”

      “Normal being this.” She broke СКАЧАТЬ