Up Close And Personal. Lynn Raye Harris

he demanded.

      She couldn’t answer, not without giving away the secret of how he affected her. Because, though she was slightly chilled, it wasn’t that making her shiver.

      She wanted to shrug away from his touch, but couldn’t. She was still so angry with him—and yet there was that electricity between them, that spark and fire that sizzled along her nerve endings the instant he touched her. It took her forcibly back to that moment outside the hotel when he’d told her he was hungry. Her insides had turned to jelly then. Her legs had wobbled. She’d wanted to take his hand and lead him to her bedroom.

      She hadn’t done it because she’d been confused. Did she want him because she felt close to him after the conversation in the car? Because she’d told him about the baby and she’d felt vulnerable? Because he’d held her hand and said he was sorry?

      She wasn’t sure, and in the end she’d done nothing.

      But right now all the same thoughts and needs were crashing through her again. And she was asking herself once more how she could want this particular man when she’d wanted no man for over a year now.

      Because he was wrong for her.

      He was beautiful, strong, proud, fierce. And too wild to ever be tamed. No woman would ever own this man, and she was no longer willing to be the sort of woman who was temporary.

      But oh, how her insides rippled and churned at his nearness. How her heart wanted the one thing that was forbidden to her.

      He pulled the covers back and held them.

      “Get in,” he said. She obeyed because she was starting to shiver in earnest now. But she hardly believed it had anything to do with the ten seconds of fresh air, and everything to do with him.

      “Don’t think I did it because you told me to,” she said when he dropped the covers on top of her.

      His mouth twisted. “I would never think that, Veronica. You would just as soon die of exposure than do what I say. If you’ve gotten in bed, it’s because you wanted to.”

      She closed her eyes. “Too right.”

      “Don’t open the window again.”

      “I understood the first time,” she said. “Raj?”

      He turned back to her. “Yes?”

      “Will you stay and talk to me for a little while?”

      He didn’t move, and she wondered if he would tell her no. But then he nodded, came over and sat on the edge of the bed farthest from her.

      She didn’t know why she’d asked him to stay, except that she’d suddenly not wanted to be alone. She couldn’t remember her dream, but it hadn’t been a good one. She felt restless, keyed up, anxious.

      There was a time when she couldn’t stand to be alone at all, when she’d had twenty-four-hour parties full of all the laughter, music and chatter she’d been denied growing up. She was no longer that person, but she still sometimes felt the weight of silence pressing in on her.

      She deserved that silence, considering what she’d done. But tonight she couldn’t handle it.

      Veronica reached up and turned out the light, needing the anonymity of utter darkness. She could feel the solid presence of Raj nearby. Just like yesterday, it was comforting. She put a hand to her head, rubbed one temple. It was all the travel, all the days spent in hotels—all the days spent being serious and worrying about Aliz—that made her grateful for his company now.

      She waited for him to speak, to say anything at all, but he didn’t. She huffed out a sigh. “You aren’t talking.”

      “Neither are you.” She felt him move, the bed dipping as he slid up against the headboard and stretched out his legs.

      “Where did you grow up?”

      He muttered something beneath his breath. “Tell me about you. It’s far more interesting.”

      “I disagree,” she said. “I want to know why you sound British but sometimes use American phrases.”

      He blew out a breath. “My mother was American.”

      “See, that’s interesting. Did you grow up in India?”

      “No.”

      “Is it a secret?” she prompted when he said nothing else.

      “No. But it’s not important.”

      Veronica sighed. “Fine. Don’t talk about it, then.”

      “I won’t.”

      “I grew up in Aliz,” she said, because she needed to say something. “I never left until I was eighteen. And then I didn’t go back until my father’s funeral two years ago.”

      “I’m sorry for your loss.”

      “Thank you. We weren’t close, but we were … working on it….”

      She’d tried to make her peace with her father. They’d been speaking more frequently in the months before his death. She sometimes couldn’t believe he was gone. Though she understood now what had motivated him to be so overprotective, she’d had a hard time forgiving him for it.

      “It’s good you were trying.”

      “I think so.” She turned on her side, facing Raj. She could see the outline of his profile in the dim light coming from the bedside clock. “What you’re really wondering is why the people elected me president since I hadn’t actually lived in Aliz for many years.”

      He didn’t hesitate before answering. “I wonder why you ran, not why they elected you.”

      She thought of her father, of Paul Durand. Of the hope and delight she’d seen in the eyes of those Alizeans who believed in her ability to change things for the better. “I thought I could do something good for the country.”

      “I think you probably can,” he said. “I think you already have.”

      For some reason, that made her throat tight. “I’m trying,” she said. “It’s very important to me.”

      She thought he laughed softly. “Veronica, I don’t think there’s anything in this world you can’t do once you set your mind to it.”

      “I’m sure there are a few things,” she said, her eyes stinging as her voice caught. Damn it. This was not at all what she’d intended when she’d started talking.

      But this was how it had been since she’d lost her child. The yawning cavern snuck up on her when she least expected it, threatened to consume her.

      Beside her, Raj swore again. And then he was moving, closing the distance between them and gathering her to him. She didn’t protest, though she knew she should. How many times did she have to lose her composure in front of him?

      Instead, she buried her nose in his pristine shirt and breathed him in. She loved being close to him.

      “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

      “No,” she replied, her fingers curling into his shirt. “You were paying me a compliment. I liked it.”

      She could hear his heart thudding in his chest. It beat faster than she’d have thought. For some reason, that made her happy. Raj Vala—strong, amazing, sexy Raj—wasn’t unaffected by holding her close. Perhaps he was a little bit human after all.

      “But it made you think of what you’d lost.”

      She swallowed, unable to tell him the rest of it. Unable to say that she blamed herself and always would. “You can’t guard what you say in hopes I won’t.”

      His grip on her tightened. “I wish I could say something. Do something. I’d take away the hurt if I could.”

      She