‘Fine, then I’ll join you. Of course, then the staff might really gossip.’
She pulled her hand from his. ‘You’re impossible.’
He smiled and inclined his head. ‘Thank you.’
‘It wasn’t,’ she informed him tartly, ‘A compliment.’
His smile just widened. ‘I know.’
What point was there in resisting? Olivia wondered. Aziz would wear her down eventually with his tireless charm that masked a far more steely sense of purpose. She hadn’t realised that before, hadn’t seen how determined he could be, but then they’d never been at cross purposes before. And were they even now?
You are tempted...
Tempted to enjoy one evening with a beautiful man. Tempted to access those deadened parts of herself and feel like a beautiful, desirable woman, even if it was just pretend.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll have dinner with you. But I leave first thing in the morning.’
She gazed at him in challenge and Aziz just smiled blandly. ‘Of course,’ he answered, and with a creeping sense of foreboding Olivia wondered if she dared to take him at his word—or if she even wanted to.
THE PRIVATE DINING ROOM, one of the palace’s smaller ones, had been set for a romantic dinner for two. Aziz raised an eyebrow at the snowy linen tablecloth, the creamy candles casting flickering shadows across the dim, wood-panelled room. Olivia, he knew, would not be pleased by any of it. He’d never met a woman so resistant to his charm.
Although, she hadn’t been resistant when he’d kissed her. He’d felt her shock first, tensing her whole body as if a wire that ran through her had been jerked taut, and then he’d felt her compliance, even her desire, as her body had relaxed and her hand had come up to grip his shoulder. He wondered if she’d even been aware of the fullness of her response, how she’d drawn him closer, parted her lips under his. He’d teased her that she’d have to restrain herself but he hadn’t thought she’d take him at his word.
And as she’d responded he’d felt, with a sudden, shocking urgency, a desire or even a need to deepen that kiss, slide his tongue into her mouth and taste her velvety sweetness.
Thank God he hadn’t acted on that overwhelming instinct. The people of Siyad might want to see them kiss chastely; they would have been appalled by such a blatant display of sexual desire.
And what he’d felt for Olivia in that moment had been deeply, potently sexual. A complication, he mused, that he certainly didn’t need right now.
‘Your Highness.’ A member of staff opened the doors of the dining room. ‘Her Highness, Queen Elena.’
So she’d fooled at least one person, Aziz thought with satisfaction. Olivia stepped into the room, her dark hair styled into an ornate twist with a few tendrils curling around her face. She wore an evening gown of shimmering silver; the sparkling bodice hugged her tiny waist before flaring out around her legs in gossamer folds. She looked magnificent, radiant, and more beautiful than he’d ever seen her before. Lust reached out and caught him by the throat, left him momentarily breathless and blindsided.
The doors closed behind her and she stopped in front of them, fixing him with a defiant stare. ‘I didn’t choose this dress,’ she told him. ‘But Mada and Abra insisted. I don’t even know where it came from.’
‘I had some clothes ordered.’
‘For the impostor or the real thing?’ she retorted.
Aziz kept his own voice deliberately mild. ‘Does it matter?’
‘I don’t know.’ She looked lost for a moment, vulnerability melting the ice in her eyes, before she shook her head in weary resignation. ‘This is all so strange.’
‘I agree. But strange, in its own way, can be enjoyable.’ Aziz walked towards her, wanting to touch her. He felt the entirely primal and primitive reaction of a man alone with a beautiful woman; he wanted to enjoy it, enjoy her, and not discuss how strange or wrong or dangerous it all was.
‘You certainly look the part now,’ he said as he gestured to her sparkling dress. ‘You are lovely, Olivia.’
Her cheeks pinked and she arched one elegant eyebrow. ‘I think you’re a little more adept with the compliments than that.’
A smile tugged at his mouth. ‘Oh, am I?’
‘I’ve heard you compare a woman to a rose petal before.’
‘Oh dear, that sounds rather uninspired.’
‘She obviously fell for it. The two of you were upstairs before dessert was served.’
‘Mmm.’ He felt strangely disconcerted. He wasn’t ashamed of his sexual exploits; he’d discovered at fifteen that women liked him, and after an isolated, unhappy childhood that had been a powerful aphrodisiac. So, maybe they only liked his body, his charm, but that was enough.
He wasn’t looking to offer his heart. He knew what happened when you did that. He’d put his on a damn plate for most of his childhood, for anyone to shove away, to shatter.
Yet he was conscious now of how much Olivia knew about him. His housekeeper had turned a blind and clearly unimpressed eye to his goings-on in Paris; why she felt the need to remind him of them now, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t like it.
‘I’ll have to think of an apt comparison,’ he said as he reached for her hand. Her skin was cool and soft. ‘An icicle, perhaps? Glittering, perfect and rather cold.’
‘That sounds more like a criticism.’
‘Well...’ Aziz answered with a hint of a wolfish smile. ‘Icicles melt.’
Olivia melted just a little then, her fingers tightening on his, her cheeks pinking again as she looked away. Her reaction, Aziz decided, was delightful. ‘Come,’ he said as he drew her further into the room. ‘Dinner is waiting.’
‘This is all very romantic,’ she murmured as she let him lead her to the table. Her fingers felt fragile and slender in his, and he let go of her hand with reluctance.
He knew, logically at least, that acting on the desire he felt for Olivia was out of the question. It would complicate what needed to be—for the sake of the monarchy, not to mention his marriage—very simple.
God willing, Olivia would be flying back to Paris tomorrow—and he would have found Elena.
Yet he still wanted to enjoy himself tonight.
As if she could read his mind, Olivia asked, ‘Is there any news on Queen Elena?’
Aziz shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not.’
‘This Khalil wouldn’t... He wouldn’t hurt her, would he?’ Concern shadowed Olivia’s eyes and Aziz felt an answering clench of both worry and anger in the pit of his stomach.
‘I don’t think so. There would be no purpose to it and, as you said earlier, she is a reigning monarch. Kidnapping her is bad enough, but hurting her would have international consequences.’
‘That’s true,’ Olivia said, frowning. ‘But doesn’t Khalil realise that? He could be brought before an international tribunal.’
‘Kadar exists outside of such things.’ Aziz gave her a bleak smile. ‘At least, at the moment. My father ruled with an iron fist. The people loved him even so, because he was strong and he kept the country stable. But he did things his own way, and it means there are very few repercussions for what happens within its borders.’
‘But surely someone from the Thallian government will protest?’
‘If