Scandals Of The Crown: The Life She Left Behind / The Price of Royal Duty / The Sheikh's Heir

“She was given medication for motion sickness, which helps some women. Though she’s reluctant to take it. It makes her nervous.”

“Stubborn woman,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “Is she asleep now?”

“Yes.”

“I will go to her. Keep everyone away from her end of the palace. I do not want her disturbed. Today, she is in my care.”

He stalked across the palace, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor, staff scurrying aside when they saw him coming.

His heart was pounding heavily by the time he reached the entrance to her quarters. He moved through her rooms, the elegant seating area, her sunroom, to her sleeping chamber. He paused at the door, a strange unease filling him.

He’d never cared for anyone in his life. Not on a personal level. On a grand scale, he cared for his people. But he sent others to do his bidding. He signed papers, he waved from vehicles. It was his administrative staff who assigned the execution of tasks.

He was aware, for the first time, of how different ordering care and giving it were.

He pushed the gilded door open and saw Angelina. She was in bed, the covers drawn up beneath her chin, her hair damp, sticking to her forehead.

“You are too hot,” he said, striding across the room, sitting on the edge of the bed and putting his hand on her forehead.

She stirred, opened her eyes, the expression in them confused and sleepy. “I…I’m not. I just…I threw up again and it makes me sweaty. What are you doing here?”

A good question. He felt completely and totally out of his depth. A foreign experience. “I heard you were unwell.”

“I’m morning sick,” she said, as if that explained everything.

“It is three in the afternoon.”

“Morning sickness isn’t always confined to morning, I’ve discovered. But other than feeling like death warmed over, the doctor says I’m fine. The baby is fine.”

“You do not look fine,” he said. “You look like a ghost.”

“I’m not one, though. Promise.” She put her hand on his cheek, his skin warm against his.

“What do you need?”

“What?”

He stood. “What do you need? I will order…I will get it for you.” He didn’t know why, but it seemed important. There were other things he had planned on doing today, but this seemed essential. It seemed like the most essential thing he could do with his time.

“I don’t…I don’t know. I…”

He looked around the room and saw a bowl sitting on the vanity with a white washcloth draped over the side. The bowl was filled with water. He touched his fingers to the surface and found it cold.

“One moment,” he said. He went into her opulent bathroom and refilled the bowl with warm water, bringing it back into her room.

He dipped the cloth in the water, wringing out the excess before returning to her bed.

He pushed her damp hair from her forehead, resting his palm against her skin for a moment before replacing it with the cloth.

She sighed, her eyes meeting his. “Thank you. I felt disgusting.”

“Did you?”

“Sweaty.” She arched slightly. “My shirt is sticking to me.”

He frowned. “Do you need a bath?”

“I wanted one. I was afraid I would pass out.”

He hesitated to ask the next question, because intimacy between them, even the basest intimacy of greeting one another in the corridors, had been cut off since their argument two days earlier. But he had to ask. “Can I stay with you? Can…can I help you?”

“I…yes.”

Angelina watched Taj disappear into the bathroom. She had no idea what had caused his sudden desire to take care of her. Concern for her? For the baby?

Of course he was worried about the baby. It was his heir.

She bit the inside of her cheek. That wasn’t really a fair thought. Taj wasn’t a terrible person, and he’d never acted cold and detached in regards to the baby. It was her he seemed to feel nothing for.

Well, nothing beyond lust and possession. He wanted her, but that wasn’t the same as caring. A man could want riches, but it came from greed. From the need to possess. Not from caring.

She was nothing more than an acquisition to him. Like a new car. A lucrative business deal.

He returned a moment later. He had taken his shirt off, his muscular torso bare and beautiful to her, even in her current state. He bent and scooped her from the bed. She looped her arms around his neck and allowed him to carry her into the bathroom, where he set her gently in front of the newly filled tub.

“Do you need help?” he asked.

“With…with my clothes?” Her heart beat unevenly. “No.”

He turned his back, the muscles shifting, enticing. Somehow, her appreciation of his body transcending her nausea. Almost.

She wobbled slightly as she stepped out of her pajama pants then pulled her top over her head. She got into the tub, the water coming over her breasts, the bubbles helping preserve her modesty. As if she really cared. As if Taj hadn’t already seen it all.

“I’m in,” she said.

He turned, the tension in his body obvious, his jaw tight. He knelt down on the floor beside the tub and she rested her head against the back of the tub. She felt Taj’s hand on her neck, his strong fingers slowly kneading away the ache in her muscles. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d gotten.

But then, heartbreak and constant vomiting could do that to a girl.

He put his other hand on her shoulder, working at the knots there. She released a breath, trying to ignore the other kind of tension that was flooding through her while the muscle tension receded.

This was what she craved from him. This caring. This touch that went beyond a need for sex and satisfaction. A touch that gave.

She wanted to stay with him like this forever. And she also wished he’d never shown her this part of himself. Never shown her this fleeting glimpse of how it could be if he loved her.

If only things could be different.

She closed her eyes, and felt a tear roll down her cheek. “I wish things were different.”