Royal Families Vs. Historicals. Rebecca Winters

just give her time to get there before unleashing the crabs and gulls…”

      He snorted. “Laying it on pretty thick, aren’t you?”

      “What do you want me to say? That it’s okay if you traumatize my sister by causing the hell of public attention to rain down on her again? It’s not.”

      “What do you want me to say? That it’s okay if the world thinks you’ve slept with both of us? It’s not.”

      “Who cares so long as you’re the one in this room with me tonight? Or, wait, am I invited to stay in the room I booked for myself?”

      He scowled. “Don’t get bent out of shape about that. I don’t book weekends with women then ask them to foot the bill.”

      “I see. That’s interesting.” She gave a considering nod, shoulders setting in a stiff line. “You realize that by mentioning these legions of other women for whom you have paid hotel bills, you’re saying it’s okay that you have a past, but not me. Is that what you were doing this week, by the way? When you were not texting me? Paying for hotel rooms with other women? Just because no one returned a cuff link downstairs doesn’t mean you weren’t making a fool of me, but do you hear me complaining? No. Because I’m well aware we haven’t made any commitments to each other—”

      “Enough,” he cut in. “I paid for the room because I will put up with your pain-in-the-ass security protocols, but you will stay in my room. I will not ask permission from your guards to enter. As for the photos, I don’t want people to think that’s you because I’m jealous. All right? Is that what you need to hear?”

      Her shoulders went back, but he could see he had finally pulled her out of her own interests into theirs.

      “Which I might have hesitated to admit if you weren’t acting like a green-eyed shrew yourself. No, Angelique, I was not sleeping with other women. I was working. Nonstop. So I could come here and be with you. Future or not, we are damned well exclusive to one another until we’re over. Is that clear? Now, go warn your sister I won’t be so forgiving if she does this to me again.”

      The line of her mouth softened. “You’re not going to expose her?”

      “Do I look like someone who takes pleasure in feeding baby sea turtles to the gulls?”

      She threw herself at him.

       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 away from his hold to wave at the room.

      The impermanence of their association penetrated. What she had seen as a relationship, one where she could reveal her deepest thoughts and worries, was nothing more than a convenience for him.

      She caught sight of the table and its narrow velvet box. Its significance struck like a bludgeon.

      “Silly me, I thought that was for our anniversary,” she said dumbly.

      “Anni—?” He pinned his lips shut. Such a man. One hundred percent oblivious.

      She