Modern Romance July 2018 Books 5-8 Collection. Annie West

himself to enjoy a lover. Lina threatened to disrupt the balance he’d worked so hard to maintain.

      He pushed the door to the bedroom open, assuring himself he was inflating the issue. They’d had spectacular sex. That was all. He made complications where there were none.

      Sayid halted as a haunting melody reached him, a pure voice softly singing. Lina’s voice was as true as any he’d heard and he responded to the longing he heard in her words. He wanted to reach out and comfort her, make her smile.

      She sat gilded by light near the window, her head bent, hair spilling in lustrous waves to her waist. She wore a loose wrap and clearly she was naked beneath it. He calculated he could strip her out of it in seconds.

      Lina looked up at his approach, a smile lighting her face, and something smacked him in the chest. It wasn’t just her beauty but her welcome that made her glow, as if she was lit from within just seeing him.

      An answering warmth flared inside.

      ‘What are you singing?’ Curiously, his voice was husky.

      Her smile faded. ‘Just an old tune from home.’

      ‘I’ve never heard it,’ he said, for some reason needing to rationalise its haunting power. ‘What’s it about, apart from moonlight?’

      Lina shrugged, her breasts rising against the shimmery fabric. ‘The woman’s lover has gone far away. She pines for him, wondering if he’ll return as he’d promised. But she takes comfort from the moon, knowing no matter how far away he is, and even if she can never embrace him again, they share its light.’

      Abruptly she looked away and he realised she was discomfited. Why? He moved nearer.

      ‘You have a beautiful voice.’

      Her head jerked back. ‘You think so?’

      ‘Absolutely.’ He frowned. ‘You didn’t know?’ Yet he read nothing but startled pleasure in her expression. And...was that guilt?

      ‘I don’t...’ Again the lift of a shoulder. ‘I was never encouraged to sing after my mother died, or dance. My father, and then my aunt and uncle, said I shouldn’t remind people that my mother had been a paid entertainer. They believed it reflected badly on me.’

      Fury brewed in Sayid’s belly. He saw hurt cloud Lina’s eyes before she swiftly veiled them with long lashes. Was her family really so warped they believed something so simple and joyous was proof of moral weakness?

      ‘You have a beautiful voice and it’s a pleasure to watch you dance.’

      Again that shrug. ‘The wedding dance was the first time I’ve danced in years, but I couldn’t resist.’

      ‘You should do it more often if it makes you happy.’ Sayid’s jaw was tight, his teeth clenched as he thought of his vibrant lover, stifling herself because singing and dancing were deemed immoral.

      ‘What else makes you happy, Lina?’ He sank onto a nearby chair and leaned forward, forearms on his knees, thoroughly intrigued. He knew Lina, but suddenly he wanted to know much more.

      She met his eyes and blushed, making him laugh as delight coiled. ‘Apart from sex.’ He rejoiced in their shared hunger.

      The blush intensified. ‘Talking to people, learning about their lives.’

      That didn’t surprise him. He’d seen the way she’d bridged the gap between herself and foreign businesspeople, and local townsfolk, even his private secretary, to become fast friends. ‘What else?’

      ‘Languages. Stories.’ She paused, then reading his intent expression continued, this time lowering her head to what she held in her lap. ‘Sewing. Little children. Dogs. I’m quite ordinary and domestic.’

      She said it dismissively. Sayid couldn’t work out why.

      Domesticity wasn’t something he’d thought about. Yet in the shared silence of early morning, watching Lina pick up a needle and begin sewing again, Sayid felt an unfamiliar tranquillity, reminding him of the peace he’d known as a young child. His days and nights were crammed with work responsibilities. It was rare simply to sit and chat because he wanted to, not in his role as national leader.

      Sayid sank back in his chair, wondering how much of that peace stemmed from Lina’s presence. ‘What are you doing? Is that my shirt?’

      ‘It is. You tore it last night.’ A smile tugged at her lips, but she didn’t look up. ‘Either you were too energetic in the archery, or riding, or...’ her smile grew ‘...undressing.’

      ‘You don’t need to mend it.’ He watched the needle flash with her quick, precise movements.

      ‘It’s just a small tear. Besides, I enjoy sewing.’

      ‘It’s not a chore?’ Sayid leaned back in his seat, fascinated. Who’d have thought the sexy siren who’d tormented him so long was a devoted needlewoman?

      ‘I don’t enjoy fine needlework. My aunt will tell you my embroidery is dreadful. But mending or making clothes I don’t mind. I make all my dresses.’

      Sayid stared, remembering the gowns that had seemed demure but which, with their figure-hugging contours, were a delectable sight.

      ‘What?’ She looked up, as if sensing his surprise.

      ‘You made the dresses you’ve worn in the palace?’

      Her chin lifted. ‘I thought they looked good.’

      Good! He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her.

      ‘Better than good.’ He shook his head. ‘I’d never have guessed. But surely your allowance covers—’

      ‘I liked sewing them. And I bought the fabric with money I saved when I was away.’ She paused. ‘Now that I’ve finished my schooling I prefer not to take an allowance from you. It’s enough that I’m staying here in the palace.’

      Sayid’s stare hardened. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her. He did. It was easy to read the determined set of her jaw and the challenging light in her eyes.

      How many people would relinquish financial support?

      He thought of previous lovers who’d been only too happy to accept jewels and expensive clothes. Lina accepted nothing but the roof over her head. She’d made a point of her determination to pay him back for the education he’d organised.

      As if satisfied that he wasn’t going to argue, Lina turned back to her sewing.

      He should leave. He had meetings to prepare for. Instead Sayid sat, well-being like a hum in his blood.

      ‘What’s that?’ He gestured to a box covered in tiny beads fashioned into a profusion of flowers.

      Lina followed his glance, her hand closing around the box. ‘A sewing case my mother made.’ And precious, Sayid had no doubt, noting how her fingers lingered on it.

      ‘You were close to her.’

      Lina’s smile was wistful. ‘She was everything to me. Friend and mother too. My father was...distant. She encouraged me to believe the world could be wonderful.’

      It was something Lina had definitely absorbed. People automatically responded to her vibrant personality. He responded.

      ‘I should go.’ Yet he didn’t move, just watched her snip the thread and hold up his shirt to inspect it. There was something about sitting here with her, sharing this quiet time that made him feel...good. Refreshed.

      ‘What do you like, Sayid?’

      ‘Sorry?’ She closed her sewing box and sat, watching him.

      ‘What makes you happy?’ She paused, a tiny smile flirting with the corners of her mouth. ‘Apart from sex.’

      He huffed out a laugh. ‘Meetings that end on time.