The Scandalous Collection. Кейт Хьюит

      He stroked her one last time, slowly, lingeringly, and with a gasping cry her hips lifted of their own accord as she sought the fulfillment that he refused to give her. ‘You see,’ he said softly, withdrawing his hand, ‘nobody likes to be toyed with.’

      And he left her there, aching inside and out, as he headed towards the gates of the stadium.

      Natalia doubled over, gasping as if she’d just run a sprint, her body protesting at how it had been used. She saw Ben walk away and somehow she found the strength to call after him. ‘Kettle?’ she shouted, her voice ringing through the empty stadium. ‘Pot?’

      He slowed, then stilled. After an interminable second he turned around. ‘What,’ he demanded, ‘are you saying?’

      ‘You’re accusing me of not being honest enough, open enough. Not being willing to commit.’ Her voice came out in ugly, raw gasps, tearing her throat. ‘What about you, Ben? You do a nice dive in the goal box but I’m not really seeing it here, with me.’

      ‘I told you—’

      ‘You told me you care. You don’t want to, you don’t like it, but you care. Am I supposed to be doing cartwheels over that, hotshot?’

      His gaze narrowed; she felt his fury. ‘Later—’

      ‘You told me you were willing to see if this thing between us works,’ she reminded him rawly. ‘What is that supposed to mean, Ben? Am I supposed to bare my soul, tear my family apart and risk losing everything I know for that?’ He said nothing, just gave his head a little shake, although whether in denial or confusion or something else entirely Natalia didn’t know. ‘You’re still in control,’ she told him. ‘You’re still calling the shots. And until you let go as much as I have, until you reveal yourself the way I’ve been revealed, until you fight for me like no one else has, it’s not worth it. And it never will be.’ She stood, straightening her rumpled shorts, and with her head held high, her whole body trembling, she walked past him and through the stadium gates.

      Ben stood by the gates, listening to them clang shut as Natalia walked through. In the distance he heard the slam of a car door, the roar of a motor. She was gone, and yet still he remained rooted here, her words—her accusations—echoing through him. Until you let go as much as I have, until you reveal yourself the way I’ve been revealed, until you fight for me like no one else has, it’s not worth it. And it never will be.

      They were hard words, angry and accusing. And true. He hadn’t given everything. He’d been pushing her to give, demanding it of her, and yet he’d kept something back. The strength of his feelings, the fears in his heart. He hadn’t been completely vulnerable, totally honest. Not like Natalia had.

      No, Ben thought grimly, what he’d been was a hypocrite. And Natalia, even in her hurt and humiliation and anger, had seen it. Called him on it. The realisation filled him with a scalding rush of shame, even as he loved her for that. He loved her, full stop. And it was high time—if not too desperately, dangerously late—for him to tell her.

      Natalia stared at her pale, waxen reflection in the mirror. She looked terrible. The lavender evening gown she’d chosen for tonight’s dinner matched the livid shadows under her haunted eyes. If Sheikh Khaled were present tonight, he’d most likely cry off at the sight of her.

      Sheikh Khaled. She couldn’t summon the energy to feel anything about her imminent engagement. She felt drained and numb, although that blankness of emotion covered, she feared, a deep and terrible sorrow. Her body still ached from where Ben had touched her, and her mind reverberated with the truth he’d spoken.

       He won’t because you don’t want him to. Because it’s so much easier that way, isn’t it? So much safer. You could say no to this marriage. You could do it if you wanted to, Natalia. If you wanted me.

      With a shuddering sigh Natalia reached for some blush. Ben had been right, but she had been as well. He’d demanded everything from her, but he hadn’t given it. He hadn’t told her he loved her. He hadn’t laid bare his soul.

      Yet should she have trusted that he would? Should she have been brave enough to reject this planned marriage and cast her lot—whatever it turned out to be—with Ben?

      Her mind spun around and around, and came up with no answers. She didn’t know. She didn’t know anything any more. A knock sounded on the door and her maid, Ana, peeked in.

      ‘Your Highness? The queen wishes you to know that the guests are arriving.’

      ‘Thank you, Ana.’ Slowly, her muscles aching, Natalia stood. The dinner tonight was yet another state occasion, a formal dinner with several nameless dignitaries. The queen wanted Natalia visible at these kinds of functions before her intended arrived, doing her royal duty. At last.

      The king and queen were receiving guests in one of the royal reception rooms, an elegant salon with frescoed walls and marble pillars. Natalia stood stiffly among the guests, a flute of untouched champagne clenched between her fingers, trying to appear attentive as she listened to two ambassadors discuss the rather depressing state of the economy in Europe. She barely took in a word. Her heart felt like lead within her, making her shoulders slump, her whole body sink. How could she even keep herself upright with such a heavy heart?

      Belatedly she realised the two ambassadors had paused in their conversation, and the silence had gone on a little too long. She struggled to think of something to say, only to see that the two men weren’t even paying attention to her. They were looking towards the double doors at the front of the salon, where a figure in an elegant tuxedo stood, his presence innately commanding the attention of everyone in the room. He stood with an assured sense of purpose that drew the focus of the room, and felt like a jolt of electricity to Natalia’s body.

      It was Ben.

      What was he doing here? He surely hadn’t been invited. Her parents had intended on a small gathering, a dozen dignitaries, no more. Faces froze and shoulders drew up haughtily as Ben came into the room. Clearly she wasn’t the only one who knew he wasn’t on the guest list.

       What was he doing here?

      His gaze surveyed the room and then arrowed in on her. Natalia felt her heart freeze in her chest, her fingers nerveless around her flute of champagne. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. He started walking towards her, stopping about a metre away.

      ‘What—’ she said faintly, and stopped, heart and mind spinning.

      ‘I’ve realised I have a few things to say to you,’ Ben said, his voice low and melodious, flowing over her. ‘Things I should have said, and want to say now.’

      ‘What things?’ Natalia whispered.

      Ben glanced around at the small crowd of foreign officials, half whom were studiously ignoring them, the other half watching in riveted interest. ‘Do you want me to say them here?’ he asked. ‘I will.’

      Natalia didn’t know whether that was a threat or a promise. She didn’t know what things Ben intended on saying. ‘I … I don’t know.’

      ‘I could say them somewhere more private,’ Ben suggested, a tiny thread of humour in his voice. ‘If you’ll come with me.’

      ‘Where?’

      He gestured to the doors. ‘Out.’

      Natalia stared at him, saw the sincerity and something else blazing in his eyes. Something deeper. Could she walk out of this, walk right out on her parents and the palazzo, and go with Ben she didn’t even know where?

      Her heart thumped in her chest and she felt as dizzy as if she’d drunk a dozen glasses of champagne.

      ‘Natalia?’ Ben asked softly, and she heard the vulnerability in his voice that she’d felt so long in herself.

      ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice a thread, a wisp of sound. ‘Yes,