“I’m sorry, Veronica.”
Her brows drew together. “For what? For speaking the truth? For reminding me of all the advantages I’ve had?”
He put his hands on either side of her face, gloried in the soft catch of her breath. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. It was enough. It would have to be enough, because he could not act upon it. Even if she weren’t under his protection, he couldn’t take her to his bed.
Because she’d been through too much pain and loss, and because she wanted more than he could give. He could see it in her eyes. Hell, she’d just said it aloud. Veronica was a woman who wanted a family.
The one thing he felt unqualified to ever provide. Family wasn’t for him.
“I’m sorry for making you question what you want,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with building a safe place in your head, and with trying to get there. Sometimes, X does lead to Y.”
“You’re really sweet,” she replied softly.
He wanted to laugh. Sweet? Him? No way. “If it makes you happy to think so, then, yes, I’m sweet.”
She giggled, then slapped her hand over her mouth as if she were surprised she’d done so. It was as if she’d let him see the real Veronica for a moment, the one beneath the pain and mystery. He’d had glimpses of her before, but never so natural as this. A sharp pain settled beneath his rib cage and refused to go away.
“As sweet as a tiger,” she said a moment later. “A tiger who’s just eaten and won’t be hungry for a while.”
He couldn’t help but return her smile, though his chest ached. She was infectious like that. “Oh, I’m definitely hungry,” he said. “But I have excellent self-control.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” She ducked her head so their eyes no longer met. And then she delivered what would have been the death blow had he been a weaker man. “Because I seem to have none at all when it comes to you.”
A moment later she was striding into the hotel, leaving him standing numbly on the sidewalk. Aching. Wanting. Cursing himself.
Veronica woke up in the night, gasping for breath, the tail of some dream fading away. The air was dry, so dry, and her throat hurt. She didn’t care how cold it was, she needed to open a window, needed that fresh bite of outside air to cleanse her. She stumbled to the window and found the mechanism—then she was cranking the window up and the air rushing in made her gasp again.
But it felt good. Clean.
She stood at the sill, shivering, but feeling refreshed nonetheless. She couldn’t even remember the dream now.
The door to her bedroom burst open, a bright light searing into her brain. It happened so fast she wasn’t able to let out even a squeak of surprise. The light winked out again and a voice asked, “What in the hell are you doing?”
Raj’s voice. Relief slid through her, made her weak. If he’d been out to harm her, as he’d pointed out so recently, no one could have stopped him.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” she said.
Raj crossed the room so silently that when he arrived at her side, she jumped. Then he was cranking the window closed again.
“Hey,” she said. “I want it open.”
“Too bad,” he replied. “It’s not safe.”
She could only blink into the blackness. But then light flooded the room as he snapped on her bedside lamp. The bright spots left from the light he’d shined when he’d first entered still marched across her vision. Big green splotches that made him indistinct if she looked directly at him. She turned her head, peered at him sideways.
He loomed, big and solid and oh, so unapproachable. He was completely different than he’d been earlier. He’d charmed her, held her, soothed her. Kissed her.
And now he was back to treating her as if she was something unappealing that he’d found on the bottom of his shoe.
Her temper sparked. “Do you mean to tell me that it’s not safe if I open the window a crack on the tenth floor of a hotel? For a few minutes?”
“Precisely.”
She popped her hands onto her hips. “What kind of world do you live in, Raj? Because I’m not sure I want to be a part of it.”
“You already are,” he said. For the first time, she noticed that what she’d always assumed to be a mild British accent had taken on a distinctly American twist. “It’s your world, not mine. You entered it when you ran for president. You bought it when you got elected.”
What had gotten into him? Before she could dwell on it, something else occurred to her. “How did you know the window was open?”
“A small sensor,” he said matter-of-factly.
A sensor. He’d put sensors in her room. She was familiar with that tactic. She’d been thinking of him when she’d dressed with such care tonight, and he’d been busy thinking of how to control her.
Her blood ran cold. She’d snuck out of her father’s house once, when she was sixteen. He’d been so furious once he’d caught her that he’d had the place wired like a military compound.
Oh, yes, she knew about sensors.
Veronica worked hard to control her temper. What had happened to her as a teenager had nothing to do with now. She was someone who needed protecting, someone with big responsibilities. Raj had only been doing what she’d agreed to let him do.
“You could have told me,” she said tightly. “I wouldn’t have opened the window if I’d known.”
His look was dark. “Most people don’t open the window at 3:00 a.m. in the middle of winter.”
“I won’t be caged in,” she said, panic rising in her throat as her insides clenched in fear. “I won’t be controlled.”
“Then you should have considered another career path,” he said coldly.
She hugged her arms around her body. Her vision was still splotchy, but she could see that Raj was still in his tux. Or, partially in his tux. The jacket and tie were missing, and the top couple of studs were gone. His sleeves were rolled partway up his forearms. She realized that she’d never seen his bare arms before.
A shiver rippled over her.
Raj swore. “You’ll catch a cold,” he said gruffly as he came and put an arm around her, herded her toward the bed. “I thought you had more sense than this.”
“I’m fine,” she protested.
“Then why are you shaking?” 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