Slowly they walked from the room, Zayed gripping her hand tightly as she put her arm around him and guided him with halting steps.
‘I don’t actually know where your bedroom is,’ she said in a low voice when they’d reached the thankfully empty hall outside the room where they’d been dining. ‘Can you direct me?’
‘Yes.’ Zayed drew a quick breath. ‘To the right, up the stairs, and then along the hallway.’
‘All right.’
Each step felt painstakingly slow, as Zayed felt his way and battled his pain. Olivia could tell from his tightly clenched jaw just how much pain he was in, and her heart ached for him.
On the upstairs hallway Zayed suddenly went still, then shrugged away from her, even though Olivia could see that it cost him.
‘What...?’ she began in a whisper, but Zayed shook his head, a flinch of pain crossing his face.
Then his aide, Jahmal, came down the hallway. Zayed straightened.
‘My Prince,’ Jahmal said. He gave Olivia a cursory, curious glance and then looked away, dismissing her. ‘Is everything well? I thought you were dining downstairs.’
‘I’m finished.’ Zayed spoke tersely. ‘I will work in my room. I don’t wish to be disturbed, please.’
Jahmal glanced at Olivia again, a frown marring his forehead. ‘Very well...’
‘Miss Taylor is helping me with a matter.’
Jahmal’s frown cleared. ‘The message to Sultan Hassan?’
‘Yes. Leave us now, please.’
Jahmal sketched a short bow and strode down the hallway. After a few tense seconds Zayed expelled a low breath and then leaned against Olivia again; she took his weight, wrapping her arm around his waist.
‘Get me to my room,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘Before I humiliate myself even further.’
‘There’s no shame in pain.’
‘You are wrong in that, at least for me.’
They didn’t talk further; all their energy was expended on making it down the hallway.
‘Here,’ Zayed said when they were in front of an arched door that looked like any one of the dozen others along the corridor.
‘How do you...?’
‘I counted.’
Olivia turned the handle and the door swung open into a room that was sparsely furnished and masculine in every detail. She led him to the king-sized bed in the centre, and then guided him down onto the soft mattress. Zayed stretched out with a groan, one arm thrown over his eyes.
‘Let me get you something,’ Olivia suggested quietly. ‘A damp cloth? Some tablets?’
‘There’s medicine in the bathroom.’
‘All right.’ She went into the sumptuous en suite, feeling as if she were invading his private space as she rifled through his medicine cabinet looking for the painkillers. She shook two out of the bottle and then poured a glass of water from the tap. She found a flannel and dampened it, and then brought it all back to Zayed.
‘Here,’ she said, perching on the edge of the bed. She pressed the tablets into his hand and then guided the glass of water to his lips. He swallowed in one powerful gulp and then subsided back onto the pillows. ‘And this too,’ Olivia said, and she gently laid the damp cloth across his forehead.
Zayed reached out his hand and found hers, lightly squeezing her fingers. ‘Thank you.’
‘I wish there was more I could do.’
‘This has been more than I deserve.’
Deserve? It seemed an odd turn of phrase. ‘Surely everyone deserves care when they’re hurt?’ Olivia said quietly.
‘That depends,’ Zayed murmured. Her hand was still encased in his. Olivia watched his powerful chest rise and fall in steady breaths. Outside the sun was setting, sending streaks of light sliding across the floor, the sky lit up with the most vivid pinks and purples she’d ever seen. She wondered if she should go, if Zayed wanted to be left alone.
As if sensing her uncertainty, he squeezed her fingers again. ‘Stay,’ he entreated in a low voice. ‘Stay with me.’
Something warm and wonderful unfurled in Olivia’s heart, like a hug from the inside. She realised how much she’d wanted to stay, wanted him to want her to. ‘Okay,’ she said softly. ‘Of course I will.’
She settled herself more comfortably against the pillows and Zayed drew her hand to his chest, still in his, so she could feel the thud of his heart against her palm.
His eyes were closed, dark, spiky lashes feathering the rugged planes of his cheeks. His mouth looked surprisingly lush and mobile on that harsh face, now softened as his breathing evened out. It could have been an hour or only a few minutes, but eventually Olivia realised he was asleep.
She’d lost track of time, of herself, in watching him, taking in every beautiful detail of his face and form, along with things she hadn’t noticed before—a scar on his temple, another by his ear, both now faded to pale white streaks. Beneath his button-down shirt she could see the ridges of his chest and abdomen, perfectly and powerfully muscled.
She remembered how those muscles had felt under her questing hands, and she closed her eyes, trying to banish the memories for her own sanity, even though they were so achingly sweet. She’d never felt as treasured, as important, as she had in Zayed’s embrace. Which was foolish, considering how she would most likely never see him again after the next day or two. The thought brought pain when Olivia knew it shouldn’t, just as she knew every moment she spent in his company was dangerous because each one bound her closer and closer to this man—a man she would come to care for, if she let herself.
She told herself he was arrogant, assumptive and impatient. Yet she could understand why, considering how much he was fighting for. How much he’d lost. He’d barely mentioned the family whom had been murdered by Malouf, but Olivia sensed the deep, dark current of pain running right through his centre and it made her ache. He was also kind, considerate and gentle, and that made her ache even more.
She should leave, Olivia thought, before she did something both dangerous and stupid and started to fall in love with him.
As quietly as she could she started to move from the bed, but the second she tried to slip her hand from his his grip tightened, and he hauled her forward so she was pressed against him. He moved again, seemingly in his sleep, so she was resting with her head on his shoulder, their hands still entwined on his chest. Once again his breathing evened out.
Olivia lay there, enjoying the feel of his powerful body pillowing her head, the steady thud of his heart under her cheek. She could smell his aftershave and feel his heat and it felt so very, very nice to lie here in Zayed’s arms, the moon starting to rise, creating silver patterns on the floor. For a moment she let herself imagine having something like this every night—and the man in that far too pleasant fantasy was Zayed.
She wasn’t falling in love with him. She absolutely couldn’t be. And yet she longed. She couldn’t deny the river of yearning that wound its way through her at this very moment, threatening to flood its banks as Zayed pulled her even closer, his other hand splayed possessively across her hip, his knee nudging in between her own.
Olivia closed her eyes, both savouring the sweetness of the moment and trying to fight its intensity. Because it would be so easy to let herself be swept away, let herself fall.
Eventually she started to relax and, with Zayed deeply asleep, she fell into a doze.
*