Captive but Forbidden (6 page)

Andre laughed. “It was good while it lasted, no? And just look at you now,” he said. “President of Aliz. However did you pull that one off, darling?”

Veronica refused to rise to the bait. It was what he wanted, but she relished denying him his wish. “The usual way. I ran against the incumbent and the people decided I was the better choice.”

“Ah, yes.” His eyes narrowed. “So much more interesting than motherhood, I would imagine.”

Veronica kept smiling even as a hot dagger of pain twisted in her gut. She wanted to turn into Raj’s chest, hide until Andre was gone, but she would not. She would not give her former lover the satisfaction of reacting.

She’d known he would take the shot. From the moment Raj had told her Andre was here, she’d known what would happen. She could feel Raj’s curiosity sparking, but she had to ignore it. Andre was her problem, not his.

“I believe there are rewards in many things,” she said.

Andre’s gaze flicked to Raj. “Careful, my friend. She’s not at all what she seems. You think she wants what you want, until one day she surprises you by wanting
something else. If you’re lucky, you will escape before then.”

Raj’s grip on her waist tightened. “Veronica is an amazing woman,” he said. “Too bad that you couldn’t see it. Good for me, though. So thanks for being an idiot.”

Warmth flooded her. She knew he was only playing a part, but she was still grateful to him for saying it. He could have said nothing, but he’d chosen to defend her. When was the last time anyone had done so?

She’d been so devastated after she’d lost the baby. And yes, she’d turned to Andre, thinking he might feel her pain, too. But he hadn’t cared one bit. He’d considered it a lucky escape.

Andre’s smile was patently false. “Suit yourself,” he said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Then he turned and walked away, the model trotting along dutifully.

Veronica let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. It had gone better than she’d expected, though perhaps she should have realized that Andre would never make a scene. It simply wasn’t his style to get overly worked up about anything.

“What did you ever see in that guy?”

She met Raj’s critical gaze. He looked at her as if she’d grown a second head and he was trying to reconcile it. Veronica shrugged self-consciously. “He was charming when we first met. We had fun together.”

Belatedly, she pulled out of Raj’s grip, the memory of their kiss still sizzling into her brain. He let her go easily enough, and it made her wonder if she was the only one who’d been affected by the contact. That kiss had stripped away all her barriers while it lasted. It had scorched her to the depths of her soul.

Raj, however, looked completely cool and controlled. As if it had meant nothing to him.

Veronica lifted her chin. She was tired and she’d had enough for tonight. Enough with pretense and drama. Enough with being
Madam President.
She’d done what she came to do. “I’m ready to leave now.”

To his credit, Raj only said, “I had thought you might be.”

It took a while to say her goodbyes, but eventually they were in the foyer and Raj was helping her into her coat while her bodyguard stood by. She’d assumed he would put her into the car and follow separately, but he climbed into the warm interior with her. The guard went into the front seat, and then they were rolling away from Mayfair, the darkened London streets still alive with sound and traffic even at this late hour.

The kilometers ticked by in silence, other than the street sounds coming from outside. Veronica turned her head and watched as snow drifted silently down. She thought about making small talk, but could suddenly think of nothing to say.

“You will have to tell me eventually,” Raj said, his voice like the crack of a gun in the silent car, though he spoke in a normal tone. It was the sound coming after so much silence that startled her and made her lift a shaking hand to her throat to fuss with her scarf.

“Tell you what?” she managed to respond. Her voice was even. Calm. She was proud of that.

Raj’s fingers suddenly threaded into hers, closed tightly. They both wore gloves, but the pressure of his grip was warm, soothing. Comforting.

He squeezed softly, as if he were imparting strength. “About the baby.”

S
HE
didn’t say anything for so long that he wondered if she’d heard him. But of course she had. She sat stiffly, her head still turned away from him. In the light of one of the buildings they passed, he saw her throat move.

Raj pulled off his glove and put his fingers against her cheek. She turned to him, her eyes filled with tears. His fingers were wet and his heart constricted at the pain on her face.

“I
don’t want to talk about this with you,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. He didn’t want to push her, and yet he had to know. “But it could be important.”

She closed her eyes, shook her head slightly. Her platinum hair gleamed in the dim light, and he thought of her last night, standing by her bed and calling for him. How vulnerable she’d looked, how innocent. Such a contrast with the woman he’d gotten acquainted with on paper.

Her chin dropped, as if she were surrendering. He found a box of tissues in a nearby compartment and handed them to her. She snatched a few into her hand and dabbed at her face.

“How can it be important?” she finally said. “No one really knows about it.”

“Someone does. Andre does.”

She sucked in a breath on a half sob. “Of course he knows. He was the father.”

Somehow, though he’d expected it, that news sliced through his gut like a sword. He didn’t want to think of Veronica with Andre Girard, didn’t want to imagine that she could have loved the man once. But she must have done so.

“Was he angry?” He still didn’t quite know what they were talking about, but he could tease the details from her if he worked gently enough.

Her laugh was bitter. “Angry? God, no. More like relieved. He didn’t want a child, so he’s not in the least bit upset there isn’t one.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Veronica.” He squeezed her hand again. He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her tight, but he wasn’t sure she wanted him to do so. Instead, he sat and waited.

“You’re good,” she said, dabbing at her eyes again. “You’ve managed to get me to talk about it after all. No matter that I don’t want to.”

“I have no wish to cause you pain,” he said. “But I need to understand who could want to hurt you. Whoever it is knows about the baby. And this person sees it as the perfect way to get to you.”

Her free hand clenched into a fist on her lap. “I wish I could understand why. It has nothing to do with anyone but me and Andre.”

“Was there another woman? A jealous ex, perhaps?”

“There’s always a jealous ex. But why would anyone care enough to be so cruel when we’re no longer together? We weren’t even very serious, but then I got pregnant and—”

“And what?” he prompted when she didn’t continue.

She bent forward as if she were in pain, rocked back and forth, her face turned away from him. It alarmed him. His throat felt tight as he waited.

A sob escaped her, but she stuffed her fist against her mouth and breathed hard, as if trying to cram the rest of them down deep.

Raj put an arm around her, pulled her toward him. She turned instantly, buried her face against him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice muffled and broken.

“It’s all right,” he said softly. “It’s all right.”

A lump formed in his throat as he watched the lights of storefronts go by. He had no idea where they were, or how long they were silent, before she pushed away from him and dabbed her eyes.

As if she hadn’t just cried her heart out. As if she hadn’t turned to him for comfort while she did so.

She was an enigma to him. Soft and hard at once. Strong and weak. Filled with sadness and pain. Not at all what he’d expected from the party girl in the tabloids.

If anything, he realized how very fragile she was beneath the layers of steel she cloaked herself in. He had no right to try and break through those barriers.

“I lost the baby soon after I learned I was pregnant,” she said. She shook her head, swallowed hard. He could hear the audible gulp as she pushed her sobs down deep again. But then she speared him with a look. “I won’t break, Raj. I’m stronger than you think. And I won’t let anyone use this to stop me from doing what’s best for Aliz.”

Her mind worked much more quickly than he’d given her credit for only yesterday, when he’d watched her work the crowd from his position in the bar. He’d
thought her pampered and shallow, but he had to admit that she had depths he’d never guessed at.

“Who is the woman in the tabloid reports?” he asked. “Because I can hardly credit she’s the same person as the woman sitting beside me now.”

“Oh, no, she’s definitely the same. Some of it is exaggerated, of course. But much of it is true.” He wondered if she knew she was rubbing her thumb along the underside of his palm. The pressure was light, but it made him want to strip her glove off and see what her touch would feel like on his skin.

“I can hardly believe it,” he said, trying to lighten the conversation once more.

“That was my version of acting out,” she said quietly. “My rebellion against my father. The worse I behaved, the angrier he got. Did you ever act out, Raj?”

Her question surprised him. A dart of pain caught him behind the breastbone. “I think everyone has,” he said.

Except that he hadn’t. Not really.

He’d always had to be the adult in the house, especially once his mother started experimenting with drugs the summer he turned twelve. If he hadn’t made sure they had food and a roof over their heads, however temporary, they’d have starved or frozen to death.

He’d known nothing but responsibility from the time he was young. He’d been stripped of a normal childhood by his mother’s addictions and constant need for attention.

Acting out had been the furthest thing from his mind when all he’d cared about was food and shelter. Not that he could admit that to Veronica. It made him seem pitiful—and he definitely wasn’t pitiful.

“Yes, I suppose so,” she said. “Some of us worse than
others, perhaps. But those days are over now, at least for me. I have too many things I want to do in life. I’ve wasted enough time.”

Raj stifled a laugh. “You’re twenty-eight and the president of your nation. How have you wasted time?”

Her smile was unexpected. It shook at the corners, as if she were still on the verge of tears.

It made him want to kiss her again. A white-hot bolt of need shot through him as he watched her mouth.

“That’s true, yes. But I’m realizing what I really want. I’m only sorry it took me so long to figure it out.”

“And what is it you want, Veronica?” Because he knew what he wanted right this minute. He wouldn’t act on it, of course. Kissing her at the party had been one thing. Kissing her now that they were alone was another altogether.

“You will laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“You will, but it’s okay. I want a home. A real home, with a family. Maybe it’ll just be a cat or a dog, or maybe I’ll find a man I adore, who adores me in return. But I want the dream, the happy-ever-after where I like who I am and someone agrees with me.”

Raj swallowed. Home. Family. He had no idea what those things were, really, other than a roof and four walls, and people whose happiness and welfare you were responsible for. “It’s a nice dream. I hope you get it.”

“You think it’s ridiculous,” she said.

“No.”

“You do.”

He sighed. “It’s not that. It’s just that I doubt you’ve ever been without a home. You want to imbue the word
with more than it needs. You want it to fulfill you emotionally when, really, that is your responsibility.”

Her thumb had stilled in his palm. Gently, she disentangled her hand from his and he knew he’d gone too far. Or maybe he’d gone far enough. It was better if she had no illusions about him. Better if they nipped this growing attraction in the bud and kept their relationship on the professional level it was meant to remain on.

“You’re a cynic,” she said. “I hadn’t realized it.”

“Not a cynic. A realist. Home isn’t a magical place. It’s shelter. It’s having enough to eat, being warm. You have always had these things in abundance. Not everyone is so lucky.”

She bowed her head. “No, you’re right. I’ve never gone without the necessities. But I was talking of something more. Something intangible.”

The car drew to a halt then and the door opened. They’d arrived back at the hotel she’d moved to earlier in the day. He thought he should say something more, should soothe her somehow—but he was at a loss. Instead, he exited and held his hand out for her.

“I thought you would understand,” she said as she joined him on the curb, gazing up at him, her lovely face puzzled.

“I do,” he said, because he had to say something. “I just don’t happen to agree. Be thankful you’ve never slept on the street, or wondered where your next meal was coming from. Be thankful you’ve never had to fight for a dirty blanket to keep warm with because it was that or nothing. You are free to be you, wherever you happen to be. You already have what you need.”

She sucked in a breath. The air misted around her face as she let it out again. She looked sad. “I hadn’t quite thought of it like that.”

“Many people don’t.”

“Maybe because it’s easier to think that if only we have X, then Y will happen.”

He was surprised at how readily she accepted the idea. And it made him feel somewhat guilty, as well. She’d been through a lot recently. More than she’d told him, and it wasn’t his right to make her question the ideas that comforted her.

“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.