“Of course,” she murmured, sending what she hoped passed muster as an apologetic smile towards Goran. “He mentioned that to me also. It was a pleasure meeting you, sir.”
Goran said nothing, but as she walked away with Kalim, she felt the other man’s eyes on her the whole time.
“You are best avoiding him at future events,” Kalim said, placing a hand on the small of Chloe’s back and steering her towards one set of glass doors that opened onto a small balcony. There were dozens of them in a row, lining this side of the ballroom, and there was just enough space for the two of them and the two pot plants that lined each side of the door.
“I wouldn’t plan to seek him out,” Chloe said honestly. “Who is he?”
A look of recalcitrance passed Kalim’s face. “Someone the Sheikh knows but doesn’t trust.”
“I see. And why is that?”
“For that, you would need to speak to me.”
Raffa stood at the door, his look one of anger, though Chloe was certain it wasn’t directed at her. It was barely restrained, a wave of emotion emanating from him, as though he couldn’t contain it.
Kalim apparently understood. He bowed without speaking and slipped past Raffa, through the doors, returning to the party. Raffa took his space on the balcony, shutting the glass doors behind himself.
“You are not to speak to him.”
Chloe’s skin prickled and though his direction was something she had already decided, and something Kalim had also suggested, she bristled at the tone of Raffa’s words and tilted her chin with a burst of her own anger. “You cannot tell me who I may and may not associate with,” she warned. “I’m not yours to control.”
“Oh, aren’t you?” He demanded, closing the gap between them and placing a hand on either side of the balcony behind her, effectively trapping her between him and the hip-height wall.
“You will not speak to him.”
“And if I do?” She insisted, defiantly.
His eyes swept shut and a muscle jerked in his jaw.
“I will lock you in a tower and throw away the key,” he said darkly.
She knew it was an idle threat, a joke, even, but Chloe’s hackles rose. “How dare you say that? Who is he? What is he to you? How can a simple conversation have made you so angry?”
“Because you are my wife,” he said darkly, as though it explained everything.
“Yeah.” She agreed. “And that means I have just as much right and duty and obligation to speak to your guests at these parties.”
“No more parties,” he said, shaking his head. “I won’t have men like Goran think they can come to you and---,”
“And what?” She demanded, interrupting him, and lifting her hands to his chest to push him away. But he was like steel, impenetrable and unmoving. “And talk to me?” Her laugh was a harsh, angry sound. “Move out of my way. I’m going back inside.”
“Like hell you are.” He shook his head, his eyes holding hers, beseeching, lost, and then he kissed her. He kissed her desperately, pleadingly, achingly. He kissed her with all the passion that flowed through them.
She pushed at his chest but he kissed her harder and then his hands lifted from the balustrade, pressing against her back, running along the silky fabric.
“You are no one else’s to look at. No one else’s to touch,” he said into her mouth, and she whimpered, because he was right. Until her dying day she would be his; all his.
His kiss lit fires in her blood and the hands that had sought to push him away now wrapped around his waist, holding him close, holding him to her as though he were her lifeline.
“I hated seeing him with you,” Raffa said, all anger gone, just desperate passion in its place. He dropped his head to her décolletage and nipped at her flesh there, and his hands found the zip of her dress, lowering it just enough to reveal more of her creamy cleavage to his hungry eyes.
“It was only a moment,” she said, the words halting.
“It was a moment too long.”
“Then why is he here? Why did you invite him?”
“I… he has a standing invitation,” Raffa grunted, and his mouth nuzzled her breast, pushing the fabric low enough that he could take a nipple in his mouth.
Chloe didn’t want to think about Goran any longer. She tilted her head back, abandoning herself to this wave. Her eyes sought the stars of heaven but they were blanketed by thick clouds, for once, and the sky was black.
“I want to rip this dress from you,” he warned.
“I think that might cause rather more than Goran to look at me.”
He lifted his head and it was as though he was just, in that moment, recalling where they were. “Go back to your room, Sheikha, and wait for me there.”
10
“HE’S GONE.” KALIM PASSED a glass of scotch to Raffa, who held it in the palm of his hand.
“Did you know he was coming?”
“No one did. Last I heard, he was in Kithati province.”
“That was my information also.”
“I suppose he’s under no obligation to inform you --,”
“You think not?” Raffa’s eyes narrowed. “Then you’re wrong. This is my kingdom, my palace, and he has no place here.”
Kalim sighed heavily. “What you mean to say is she’s your wife, and he has no place talking to her.”
Raffa grimaced.
“Her Highness is not another Elena. She is married to you, for one.”
“And Elena loved me,” Raffa said with a grim frown. “He targeted her for that reason, just as I have no doubt he would target Chloe if he had half the opportunity.”
“Elena was nineteen,” Kalim said gently. “And you were away in the army. Chloe is different altogether. She’s confident and feisty. Besides, she didn’t like him at all.”
“No. I suppose she has that in her favour.” So why was he so ropable? Why was he so angry? Because he’d never recovered from the shocks of the past – and he wasn’t going to let Chloe
