Special Deliveries: Heir To His Legacy: Heir to a Desert Legacy

CHAPTER FOUR

“HOW DID YOU NOT REALIZE the child had survived?”

Sayid swallowed, looking out at the sea of people who sat, awaiting an explanation on how it was that an heir who had been lost to them, was now found.

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, dripped down his back. The irony of it was not lost on him. He had looked into the cold eyes of death and had felt nothing, had stared down men with guns, dodged land mines on the battlefield, and he had felt nothing. No fear. No hesitation. But here looking down at the reporters, he felt cracks forming, felt something in him starting to break.

He was not a public speaker. He was not a man of words at all.

“There was much confusion following the death of my brother and his wife. The accident was… there were many people involved and it was not immediately made known to us that the sheikha had survived long enough to give birth.”

“And is this the nanny?”

“Yes,” Sayid said, focusing on a spot on the back wall, not letting his focus stray to Chloe, or the tiny bundle she clutched in her arms. “Chloe was simply doing as instructed. Protecting the heir of Attar.”

“A true heroine,” said a female reporter in the back.

Sayid nodded, trying to come up with something to say, something that wasn’t on the carefully planned script he’d gone over in his head, but his brain was moving slowly, words hard to grasp on to. “Chloe took a potential risk to her own safety to protect the child. She is indeed a heroine.”

“And when will the heir be free to step into the position of ruler?” This from another reporter at the back.

Sayid gritted his teeth, fighting against the hostility burning in his veins. He craved the desert right then, the freedom of it. Craved the heat of the sun, the cleansing quality of it. It had the power to strip a man, burn away everything but that which was necessary.

Right now he felt as if he couldn’t breathe, the walls closing down over him. “He must reach the age of majority before he can rule.”

“Then is it to be understood that matters of national diplomacy will be handled by you until then, Sheikh?” asked one reporter, well-known for his rather antigovernment stance.

“There is no one else,” Sayid said, the answer falling flat. “If there are no more questions, we are done here.” He turned and stepped down from the podium, going to Chloe’s side and placing his hand on her elbow, guiding her from the press room and into the corridor.

“The security guards will ensure the press stay put for the next fifteen minutes. I don’t want them watching which wing of the palace we go to.” That angle of the conference was straight in his mind, and he relished the return of control, of certainty.

Chloe looked at him, wide blue eyes strangely calm. Strange, because he felt like there was a live monster roaming around inside of his body and she had just passed through the same situation, yet looked unaffected. “You know a lot about security.”

“That’s as intelligent an observation as if I had said you know a lot about molecules. It is my duty. Who I am.”

“I was giving you a compliment,” she said, her tone stiff, “it won’t happen again.”

“It doesn’t matter to me either way.”

“You’re a frustrating man.”

“And you aren’t the ideal woman, but here we are.”

“You are…” Her cheeks turned pink, anger glittering in her eyes now. And it gratified him. Made him feel a sense of satisfaction that she wasn’t quite so calm. “You are such an ass.”

“You say that like you think I might care. Like I might be able to change it. I don’t think you understand, Chloe, this is all there is to me.”

She blinked slowly. She was upset now, he could tell. And he found he liked it even less than her calm. “I have to go and study.”

“And I’m certain that Malik can find more papers for me to sign. He finds my discomfort amusing, I think.”

“Will I see you again today?”

He shook his head. “I should not think so. You won’t require my presence, will you?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” she said, echoing his words.

“Good,” he said, clipped. “Then I will go about my business, and you may go about yours.”

Sayid turned away from Chloe, away from those unguarded eyes, and headed back toward his office. A tomb for the living, in his opinion. Each step sent a spike through his body, caused a subtle breaking inside.

He had told Chloe that the palace was preferable to prison. Today, he wondered.

“So soon? But you just promised me a reprieve.”

Sayid looked at Chloe, perched at her desk, her red hair pulled back into a haphazard knot, black glasses framing, hiding, her eyes. “A reprieve from what?”

“Your presence. I’m doing course work.” She looked away from him and back at the computer, but not before he noticed a dull flush of red staining her cheeks. It took a full second for his mind to process what that might mean, but his body had already reacted to it, blood rushing through his veins, hot, fast.

He shouldn’t feel anything for her. Least of all for her blush. She was prickly. At best. If he tried to make a move on her she would likely freeze his cock off with a calculated stare.

It was the strangest thing, because she could be witty, evidence of a sly sense of humor and a brilliant mind. And she was a soft touch with Aden. But if he stepped over the invisible boundaries she’d set around herself and the little prince, she went on full-scale attack.

The memory of catching her arm as she tried to strike him, of pulling her soft body up against his, flashed through him.

No. He should not feel anything for her. He shouldn’t feel anything full stop. But his defenses were down after the damned press conference. Cracks in his armor he had yet to repair. Control, impenetrable shields, were essential tools in his arsenal, and they did not work during press conferences. Did not work when addressing his people. Headlines about him were not kind. He lacked charisma, caring.

But he was at a loss as to how he was supposed to step into this new role while still clinging to the things his uncle had instilled in him, with rod and fist. Things that were, he knew, a matter of life and death.

He battled to get control over his body.

“Sorry,” he said, matching the annoyance in her tone, portraying that he was most definitely not sorry. “There is a celebration happening in the streets in Aden’s honor. In your honor.”

She tugged her glasses off. “Mine?”

“Yes. Yours.” Certainly not his. Chloe was the bright spot the country had been waiting for. She had brought the first bit of hope to Attar since the death of Rashid. Since Sayid’s installation to the throne. “You are the savior of the heir of Attar. The savior, indirectly, of the country, and my people are celebrating.”

“Except… I’m not the savior of anything. You lied.”

“Did I?” He kept his eyes trained on her face, on her wide blue eyes. She looked vulnerable now, the anger, the extreme standoffishness, faded into the background. She was an interesting mix of softness and strength. And he didn’t have time to be interested.

“Yes. You did. You made it sound like I wrested him from the claws of death or something, and the press seem to have believed you.”

“You hid him until you could not hide him any longer, and I know that the bulk of your concern was for his safety, so the essence of the story remains the same. Had I given you instructions regarding his security, had there truly been suspicion surrounding the accident, I would have given you the same instructions. To hide him until we were certain he would be safe.”

“I acted more out of shock than anything else.”

“And fear of me,” he said, watching her expression.

She stood, arching her back, her round breasts pushing against the stretchy cotton fabric of her top. His eyes were drawn there, his focus compromised. He was a man who liked women, a man who enjoyed sex. But he didn’t let his desire off its leash unless it was an appropriate time. An appropriate woman. This was not the appropriate time. She was not the appropriate woman.

Which meant it was time to meet her eyes again, and not search for the outline of her nipples beneath the layer of thin fabric. But it was difficult to redirect himself. Much more so than it should have been.

He could see her swallow hard, her pulse pounding in her neck. He wanted to put his lips over that spot, taste her skin. “Well, can you blame me? The love of power is the inspiration for most of life’s atrocities.”

“Perhaps, but this,” he said, sweeping his hand in front of him, indicating the palace, “is not the kind of power I crave.”

She blinked. “And… what kind of power do you crave?”

“Simple,” he said, his eyes blank. “I don’t crave anything.” A hard claim to make considering the current direction of his thoughts.

“That’s impossible.”

He shook his head. “Craving anything, in my position, would be dangerous. Something easily exploited.”

She arched a pale brow, the expression of utter disbelief plain in her clear blue eyes. His eyes drifted lower again, to the curve of her full breasts, the intoxicating shape of her body.

“Everybody wants something,” she said.

“I’m above such things.”

It was almost impossible to keep himself from making a move toward her. It had been months since he’d been with a woman, time and circumstance not permitting it, and he was starting to feel the effects of his celibacy. But there was no time to deal with it now, and certainly not with her.

Another thing he needed power over. The strong, strange craving that was making its way through him, heating him from the inside out, making him burn. It was as if the Attari sun had penetrated his skin, as if cool blue eyes had the power to cover him in fire.

“High opinion of yourself.”

“I am a sheikh,” he said, “I expect to have a certain amount of power, as is my birthright. I was never the heir, but I have always been a leader. I ask for nothing. I demand it, and it is so.”

A lie. Throughout his life, if he had demanded something that had not fallen into line with his uncle’s vision for him, he had been denied it. Or it had been taken from him, ruthlessly.

He had spent years having any royal arrogance stripped from him, leaving him exposed. A man, simply a man, with no power but what he found inside of himself. No defense beyond the walls he built around his emotions. It had spurred him to make them stronger, to take everything his uncle had taught him and use it as a shield against those who sought to break him.

“I am the final authority,” he said, reinforcing himself.

Her eyes shuttered, going cold and dim. “I see. Was there something you wanted or were you just informing me about the celebration?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice getting rough, his body tightening in reaction to her words. He put his power into mastering it, into overcoming the inconvenient, unnecessary attraction to her that seemed to be intent on taking him over. “I came to issue you an invitation to the proceedings.”

Unsurprisingly, “invitation” had meant that she was required to go. Aden was tucked safely in his bed, back at the palace with both of his nannies standing by.

And she’d had to put on the only dress that fit her and her newly expanded figure, again, and get into Sayid’s limousine. Not that she had a direct complaint with the limo. Under any other circumstance, she would have thought it was really cool to ride in a limo. But his heavy-handed tactics, combined with the disturbingly close confines of the vehicle, were dampening her glee.

The fact that a car the size of this one gave the impression of close quarters said a lot about the disturbing effect Sayid seemed to have on her.

It was all that power, and the unapologetic enjoyment of it. He was so comfortable with it, so clearly in need of it. It made her fear what might happen if it was denied him. If he felt it was threatened.

What lengths would he go to in order to get it back?

Would he find it in the use of his fists against someone weaker than him? In a woman’s pleading? Would he find it in holding the life or death of someone weaker than him in his hands?

Her father had. And while she knew that all men weren’t abusers… men who prized power, men who were so unashamedly dominant, were the ones who set off her internal alarms.

And Sayid was certainly creating a strange effect in her. A kind of restless edginess. Nerves that cramped her stomach and made breathing difficult. A warning from her body, she was certain.

“See the hope they have now?” Sayid’s voice was surprisingly soft.

Chloe looked out the window. It was no wild reverie that gripped the people lining the streets, rather a solemn expression of love for their country. Flowers in people’s hands, a memorial for the fallen sheikh and his wife. A gift for the new prince.

“Yes,” she said, her throat tight.

Sayid sat, his hands folded in his lap. The people outside waved, but Sayid made no move to wave back. Chloe pressed the button on the limousine window and expected to be scolded by Sayid. But he said nothing.

She slipped her hand outside the window and waved. The solemnity broke. Cheers erupted, smiles on the faces of the Attari people who before had looked so bereft. She looked at Sayid, questioning.

“You are the woman who saved their future ruler,” he said. “You are loved.”

“A strange thing to be loved for something you didn’t do.”

“You did save him, though,” Sayid said, his tone strange, as though he was having a revelation even as he spoke. “You carried him. Gave him life. You’re the reason he is.”

“If not me, it would have been someone else.”

“But it was you.”

Yes, it had been. And now the whole thing was tearing her apart slowly, piece by painful piece. Because her plan for her life had been so perfect. And she’d been so happy with it. Now it was altered forever.

She could never again find the same satisfaction in her imaginings of the future. There was a time when the thought of being Dr. Chloe James had filled her with all the satisfaction she could ever ask for from life. When picturing her own classroom filled with students had seemed like the ultimate picture of fulfillment. Spending her days lecturing on what she loved, spending time studying as much as possible even after school, unraveling new theories, either proving or disproving them as they came. There was a time when that had been more than enough.

And now it was muddled. Because to have that, she had to push Aden out of the picture. The thought of it sent a sharp pain through her, a spear lodged in her breast, one she couldn’t seem to pull out.

And the thought of abandoning the dream was painful, too.

There was no simple answer. There was just the reality of being caught between two different worlds. Two different desires.

But of course, she couldn’t stay in Attar. Couldn’t be staff at the palace forever.

Which still gave her her dream, that wonderful fantasy she’d clung to since she was thirteen years old.

Except now it was tarnished. It would never again be the vision of utter contentment and perfection it had once been. Not now that it meant giving up so much.

She was changed. Completely. And she hated it. Resented it with every fiber of her being. Yet, she couldn’t feel any resentment toward Aden. Toward the life that had begun inside of her body.

It was easier to channel it to Sayid. Much easier.

“The people need a symbol,” he said, his tone grave. “I am not that symbol. No hope for the future. You… you bring hope.”

“It’s Aden,” she said.

“Yes, it is. But it’s you, too. You who brought them their king. Who risked my wrath, and believe me my wrath is legendary, to save him.”

“I didn’t think it would cost nearly so much,” she said, her throat tightening.

“And was it not worth it?” he asked, his tone hard. As if he had any right to judge her, while he sat there, power pouring off of him in waves.

The anger bubbled over. Again. She was normally so much better with control, but Sayid tested her. And after being alone in her struggle, in her pain, for weeks, she simply couldn’t stand keeping it all in anymore.

“You… you—” she pulled her hand back in the window “—you can sit there and act so superior to me? You have the power to move Aden and me around like pawns on a chessboard, and frankly, you have from the moment you walked into my apartment. And then you just… say things like that. As though this is all so clear-cut and I’m supposed to know exactly how to feel, exactly what to say and want. It’s easy for you. You have all the control. And beneath the control… you don’t care. You don’t have a single feeling, not one sliver of emotion. So of course this is easy for you. Of course it’s clear-cut. But unlike you, I have a heart, and that makes all of this incredibly confusing. Incredibly painful. Don’t you dare presume that you should know what I feel when you don’t feel a damn thing.”