Henry guffawed as if he had made the joke of the year, and looked at Kaliq for approval, which didn’t come.
‘Everyone has a choice,’ she said, her voice low, looking directly at Kaliq. ‘Just because someone expects you to perform a certain duty does not mean you have to fall in line.’
For the first time she saw something like emotion flicker in Kaliq’s eyes. Good, she thought to herself, even if it was nothing more than wounded pride.
Henry moved bullishly towards her. ‘You turn this down and you kiss your contract with Jezebel goodbye, Tamara.’
Kaliq abruptly stood up between them, the sheer size of him forcing Henry to take a step back.
‘Thank you—Henry, is it? I am sure Miss Weston is just a little daunted by the enormity of the task. She is bound to be nervous about the proper behaviour—so unfamiliar to her— that will be required in Qwasir. Please leave us, I will put her mind at rest.’
Consumed with frustration that in one fell swoop Kaliq had branded her devoid of both integrity and the ability to stand up for herself, Tamara watched Henry reluctantly depart. She didn’t bother to listen for the sound of his footsteps walking away, for he viewed every chance of a bigger bonus for himself with even hungrier eyes than he ogled every woman who moved. She knew he would not let her determine one of the most lucrative and high profile deals of his career without eavesdropping, regardless of Kaliq’s dismissal. But she didn’t care. This was not about Henry.
This was about Kaliq, as far too many things in her life had already been. Turning her body back round purposefully, she came up against his with a start. In the split second she had turned away, he had silently homed in upon her like some deadly heat-seeking missile. For all the cover it offered her, she wished she had not primly fastened her jacket, her body now flooding with warmth as the distinctive, spicy scent of him filled her nostrils. Sandalwood. Amber. She shook herself. No, she would not forget her resolve just because his sex appeal was so damned potent.
‘You might have grown used to your position and your wealth ensuring that you have everything you desire, Kaliq, but, I promise you, you will not have me.’
She hadn’t meant it to come out like that. She took a step back, her cheeks growing an even brighter shade of crimson. There was no question of him wanting her. Even then she had been nothing to him but a row of ticks on a checklist of suitable attributes.
‘Come, Tamara, do not pretend that finding yourself in this position is not precisely what you truly desire.’ His eyes blazed with contempt. ‘The display of the royal jewels shall be televised worldwide. There will be dignitaries, royalty, the world’s social elite. Exactly the exposure you crave. There is no need to feign shyness.’
‘I signed a contract to Henry, not to you.’
His jaw tensed. ‘Yes. With your abandonment of morality also went shrewd judgement, it seems.’
‘And yet you are in cahoots with him yourself, to use me in any way that suits you. Are the two of you so different, I wonder?’
He did not rise to the bait. ‘What do you think?’ He looked at her with arrogant self-assurance. ‘I will pay what he pays you in a year for this one job. Turn me down and you lose both.’
Tamara knew that Kaliq’s fortune totalled more figures than would fit on the screen of most calculators, but she also knew that he didn’t make excessive offers just for the sake of it. He wanted this badly, and he had planned it like a chess player manoeuvring pieces on a board involving Henry to trap her. But the truth was that Henry and Kaliq were no more alike than a sewer rat and a mountain lion, and part of her, though she loathed the thought of the blackmail he proposed, wanted to look into his eyes and say yes. Because she and Mike could do so much good with that money. Because, if she took her personal feelings out of it, professionally, it was an incredible opportunity. And mostly because, even though it went against every word she had repeated like a mantra since walking away from this man, she had felt more alive these last ten minutes than she had done in years.
Tamara tore her eyes away from him and began to busy her hands tidying some of the clothes on the chair beside her. Looking at him was too dangerous. His smooth skin was as tempting as her favorite decadent chocolate dessert, his long lean hands reminded her of how he had once held her before him with so much tenderness and power. What would coming back from the dizzying heights of being a part of his world for a second time in her life do to her when he was so blatantly setting out to wound her?
‘You already have my answer. I am sure you will have no trouble finding someone else.’
‘I do not want anyone else.’
Tamara almost dropped the skirt she was folding and had to blink to stop her imagination running away with her, but he continued.
‘My father is unwell.’ His voice was uncharacteristically strained as he began to pace the floor. ‘The world’s press is full of the King’s impending demise, and the people of my country are ill at ease. I wish to distract them from his deteriorating health by showcasing Qwasir’s oldest and most precious treasure at a royal gala.’ She watched his face, like a poker player about to reveal his ace, and the cynicism in his tone returned. ‘Who better for the task than the model whose name is on everyone’s lips, who also happens to be the daughter of a former Qwasirian ambassador? The headlines will write themselves.’
Fighting against a pang of empathy which she could not give room to, Tamara drew in a ragged breath, heavy with new understanding. So that was it. She had read about King Rashid’s poor health and she understood just why his people would be unsettled, understood much more than she wished. Because the crown prince had to marry in order to inherit. Parading the jewels would convince them that he planned to take a bride, and soon.
So she was to be used as a pawn. How foolish to think he had enough of a heart for this to be personal. He wanted her as nothing more than a political diversion, like a magician’s assistant used to captivate his audience’s attention. She watched as he wandered over to the window, looking out at the busy London traffic. For an instant it surprised her that the outside world was still turning. It felt as if nothing existed outside this room, but this wasn’t about them—it was just a tactical manoeuvre. For some reason, acknowledging that seemed to allow her to push her emotions aside. This really was business, so why should she toss away her modelling contract because of him? Wouldn’t that be surrendering the freedom to live her life however she chose, when that was the one thing she had always fought for? Much worse, wouldn’t refusing make him think that a part of her, however small, regretted the past?
No, she wouldn’t let that happen. It was just a business trip like any other, and afterwards, aside from keeping her job, maybe she would finally be able to lay the shadow of the past behind her, to stop wondering if she’d made the right decision and know she had. For hadn’t the last fifteen minutes gone some way to proving it?
‘Model the jewels for one evening, for the sum of my annual Jezebel contract?’ she repeated, her tone as matter-of-fact as she could muster.
Kaliq turned from the window, his mouth a thin, hard line. So, contrary to whatever she had made him believe back then, she was no different. She could be manipulated by the promise of money and fame as easily as every other woman he knew. It just hadn’t been quite tempting enough to tie herself to only one man. But then she hadn’t been tied to him yet, had she?
‘Five days from today.’
For a minute she looked at him as if he was mad, convinced that not even he was capable of organising an event of such scope in less than a week, but then she realised. It was already all arranged, wasn’t it? He was just waiting for her to slot into place. Again. That annoyed her more than everything else about this whole set-up put together.
‘What if I refuse? You’ll just cancel the whole thing?’
He gave