Up Close And Personal

She ran her hand over Raj’s side of the bed, came away cold. He’d been gone for a long time.

Ridiculously, she thought of their fiction—which was no longer fiction, and yet her lover had left her. Perhaps he didn’t want to be seen with her after all.

The thought made her head throb.

Instead, she ate her breakfast, listened to Martine detail her morning appointments and took a shower. She dressed carefully in a bright pink cashmere sweater dress, deciding at the last minute to be a little naughty and pulling on tall, suede boots to complement it.

Then she brushed her hair into a thick ponytail and went to face the day.

She drew up short when she entered the living area to find Brady.

And Raj, she realized. He stood by the window, looking all dark and broody and distant.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said, her heart beginning to throb as Raj turned toward her. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His expression was hooded, his feelings a mystery to her.

Part of her cried out in protest. How could he have made love to her the way he had and be so distant now? How could he not look at her with heat simmering in his eyes? She felt as if her feelings must be written all over her face, and yet he was as unreadable as stone.

She shot a glance at Brady. He was oblivious to the undercurrents, thank God. He walked over and gave her a hug, then took her by the hand and led her to the couch.

“You need to sit down, Veronica,” he said.

The first prickles of alarm dotted her skin.

“What’s going on?” Her gaze slewed from Brady to Raj.

“I’m sorry, Veronica,” Raj said, his sexy voice so impartial and cool. Not at all the voice of the man who’d whispered in her ear last night. Who’d told her she was beautiful and amazing as he’d thrust deep inside her.

Her heart squeezed tight at the memory. She wanted that man back, the one who was tender and loving and worshipped her body so beautifully that he’d given her back something of herself. He’d made her feel as if she deserved to be treated special. As if, for a short while, she wasn’t a horrible woman who’d lost her child because she’d been careless.

He’d made her feel whole.

“There’s been a coup in Aliz,” he continued. “The chief of police has seized all the government buildings in the capital. He’s calling for your ouster and the restoration of the former president.”

“He can’t do that,” she said numbly. But he could. He had. She rose, her limbs shaking with sudden fury. “I won’t let him.”

“Sweetie,” Brady said, but she held her hand up to silence him.

Raj, however, did not remain silent.

“I know what you’re thinking. But it’s too dangerous for you to return. You need to remain here.”

“And do what?” she demanded, fury swirling inside. “Do nothing?” She shook her head. “I can’t sit by and let them get away with this. I won’t.”

Raj’s eyes flashed. “They won’t get away with it,” he said. “But it’ll take time to sort it out. In the meantime, you’re in danger, especially if you try to return to Aliz.”

But he didn’t know her country, didn’t know her responsibility. She wasn’t backing down, wasn’t abandoning the people who had elected her. She couldn’t.

“I’m returning to Aliz,” she said. “With or without you.”

“Very well,” he said. So cool, so casual. Even when he lost the battle, he appeared to be in complete control. It irritated her.

“Just like that?” she said. “No arguing? No attempts to persuade me otherwise?”

He inclined his head. “Just like that.” Then he turned and walked toward the door.

Her chest ached at the thought he was leaving her after what they’d been through together. So easily, as if it meant nothing.

Which it probably hadn’t. He’d told her he couldn’t give her anything else. It was her fault if she wanted to believe more was possible.

“You aren’t just going to leave her, are you?” Brady called out angrily.

Raj stopped and turned back to them, hand on the door. “No. I’m going to pack.”

Three hours later, they were airborne. Veronica sat in a plush leather seat and gazed out at the snowy English landscape below. She knew she owed the speed of their departure to Raj.

Without him, she’d still be waiting on a chartered plane since Aliz did not maintain a government fleet. Instead, Raj had let her use one of VSI’s company jets. She and her staff were on their way home, thanks to him.

He sat across the aisle from her, engrossed in whatever was on his computer screen at the moment. He’d barely said a word to her in the three hours since he’d come into her suite and told her of the situation in Aliz.

She’d been mortified to have to hear it from him when she should have known before he did.

Yet another sign that Raj was powerful and connected.

His fingers tapped something on the keys, and a current of heat swirled in her belly. Those fingers had touched her so expertly, had drawn such need and passion from her that thinking of it now made her wet. She wanted him again, in spite of everything.

He must have sensed something, because he looked up at that moment, his gaze turning swiftly to capture hers. She didn’t bother to pretend she hadn’t been staring. Her heart skipped a beat. Her nipples began to tighten against the cashmere of her sweater dress.

His gaze slid down, then back up again, his eyes glittering with heat and need that mirrored her own. A thrill shot through her. He still wanted her. Maybe one night hadn’t been enough.

It was impossible, though. There was a bed on this plane, but there was no way they could retreat to it. Between her staff, his team and the flight crew, there was no hope of privacy.

And once they reached Aliz, who knew what would happen?

He snapped his computer closed and pushed up from his seat. Then he was sinking into the seat beside hers, and her skin was prickling with his nearness. Her blood was singing with heat and need.

She picked up the vodka cocktail the flight attendant had brought to her—she’d hoped it would calm her nerves—and took a small sip. The vodka wasn’t strong, but it kicked back nevertheless, burning her throat in a good way.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’ve already thanked me at least fifty times,” he replied, his voice low and containing an edge she didn’t quite recognize. “I couldn’t let you go alone. They would devour you in a matter of minutes.”

She met his gaze, her heart turning over at the intense look in those golden eyes. “Maybe I was thanking you for last night.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Just when I think you can’t get to me,” he said, shaking his head.

“I get to you?” For some reason, that made her stomach leap.

“In the worst way,” he replied seriously.

Veronica frowned. “I’m not sure that’s very flattering.”

He picked up her hand where it rested on her lap, threaded his fingers through hers. Her pulse shot into overdrive. Her core throbbed with need for him, her body tightening painfully. When he lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them, a shiver rocketed through her.

“Raj …”

“I want to spread you out on silken sheets, Veronica,” he said, his voice pitched for her ears alone. “I want to lick you everywhere, kiss you, thrust into your body.”

She closed her eyes. “I can’t take this. Don’t talk to me like this.”

“I want to take you hard, soft, slow, fast. I want to take you often. And I want you to wear those damn thigh-high boots you’ve got on while I do it.”

Veronica was drowning in need and frustration. “Stop,” she choked out. A few rows away, Martine looked up at Veronica’s cry, met her gaze. Just as quickly she turned away again, a red flush spreading across her cheeks.

Veronica wanted to tell Martine it was okay, but she couldn’t speak. Because at the moment Raj drew one of her fingers into his mouth, sucked it in and out so slowly as fingers of fire raced along her nerve endings. She bit her lip to stop a moan. He kissed her palm, then leaned forward and took her mouth in a hard, sensual kiss.

She didn’t care who saw them. She cupped his jaw, kissed him back with all the passion and fire he aroused in her. If they were alone, she’d have him undressed and inside her before the next few moments passed.

“Now what do you think?” he whispered in her ear. “Flattered or not?”

“Yes,” she breathed, heart racing. Martine was engrossed in a magazine now, and Veronica took another sip of her cocktail while Raj leaned back on the seat and shot her the most sexy grin imaginable.

“I’m hard for you,” he said. “Another minute of that and I’d be lifting that Barbie-doll-pink dress and to hell with everyone else.”

“Another minute of that and I’d let you,” she replied. And then she laughed. “Barbie-doll pink? How do you know that, Raj?”

“How else? Barbie was my favorite doll,” he said—and then he winked as she gaped at him.

“You say things like that just to make me laugh.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes.” Then he picked up her hand again, threaded their fingers together. “My mom moved us around a lot when I was growing up. One of the things I remember, when I was about eight I think, was this little girl in my class. She was blonde, like you, and she had these enormous pigtails. She was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen, and she carried a pink backpack with a Barbie face on it.”

“You must have liked her.”

“I did.”

She thought of him as a love-struck little boy and smiled. “So what happened? Did you write one of those notes to her where you asked her to circle ‘yes’ or ‘no’?” she teased.

“No. But she did invite me to her birthday party. I remember the invitation was pink, with Barbie dolls on it.”

“Was the party pink-themed, too?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I never got to go. We moved again.”

She imagined the disappointment he must have felt when he couldn’t go to the party. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to go.”

“I probably wouldn’t have liked it anyway. There’d have been a pink cake, no doubt, and pink balloons everywhere.

And what if I’d been the only boy invited?” He gave a mock shudder.

“The horrors,” she agreed. And then she sighed. “At least you got to go places. I never did.”

She thought of her vast bedroom with the purple walls, the piles of toys and the utter loneliness that had so often assailed her. She’d had a nanny, but even Mrs. Petit couldn’t completely fill the emptiness created by the vacuum her father had placed her in. A vacuum made all the worse by the fact they’d had a normal life until her mother had died in the accident.

Veronica had spent the past several years of her life trying to fill that emptiness; it’d gotten her nothing but heartbreak.

“One thing I’ve learned in this life,” he said, “is that the grass always looks greener on the other side of the fence—though it usually isn’t.”

“Maybe so,” she said. “But sometimes it just might be.”

“It does no good to think like that, Veronica. It only leads to regrets. And they might be false regrets.”

She turned to look out the window. They were over water now, winging their way toward the island of Aliz in the Mediterranean. “I have enough regrets to last me a lifetime.”

She could feel the weight of his stare on her, but she didn’t turn. Tears were suddenly pressing against the backs of her eyes. Stupid, stupid tears. If she looked at him, she wasn’t sure she could stop them from falling.

But why? What was it about him that made her want to unburden her soul to him every damn time?

She sucked in a breath, nibbled on her thumbnail. So quickly, she’d grown to trust him. So quickly, she’d grown to care about him. And she still knew next to nothing about him.

“You can cry if you need to,” he said, so softly that she almost didn’t hear.

How did he know? She turned to face him again, resolutely burying the tears and forcing herself to smile.

“Not at all,” she replied. “I was just thinking.”

He didn’t look convinced. “It’s a long trip, Veronica,” he finally said. “Why don’t you rest?”

“Nonsense. It’s only a couple more hours. And we really should discuss what happens when we arrive.” She had to concentrate on that, on the moment the plane landed and she set foot on her home soil again. She’d only been gone two weeks, and she’d set in motion much that would be ruined if she didn’t quickly get this situation under control.

Giancarlo Zarella would never agree to build a resort in Aliz if they couldn’t maintain the rule of law.

Raj’s eyes sparked. “There’s nothing to discuss,” he said. “I’ll handle it.”

Veronica blinked. “You’ll handle it? Handle what? I think we should at least discuss the possibilities.”

“No,” he said, his voice harder than it had been only moments ago.

A current of anger swirled in her belly. “No? I’m not a child, Raj. I have a right to know what your plans are.”

He got to his feet, every inch the imperious lord and master. Then he shoved a hand through his hair—and she realized that he looked as if he hadn’t slept much lately.

Her fault, no doubt.

“We’ll discuss it before we arrive,” he said.

Veronica bit down on the spike of temper. Perhaps he was still finalizing his plans and didn’t want to share them yet. Or maybe he had no idea what to expect when they arrived. She could wait another hour. She’d trusted him this far, and he hadn’t failed her yet. “Fine. But I expect a full report quite soon.” His mouth was a hard line. “You’ll get it, believe me.”

Veronica awoke with a start, confusion crashing through her. Then she remembered that she was on a plane, flying back to Aliz. After Raj had walked away, she’d closed her eyes for a few minutes. She hadn’t expected to fall so soundly asleep.

Or maybe she had, considering how little sleep she’d gotten the night before. A flight attendant materialized at that moment. “Madam President, would you like something to eat?”

She started to refuse, then realized her stomach was growling. But they would be in Aliz soon, and she could wait. She sent the man away with a request for water instead and turned to raise the window covering that someone had lowered.

Her blood froze as myriad stars glittered against a sea of black. It was wrong, all wrong. It shouldn’t be dark yet. Aliz was only four hours from the U.K., and they’d left early enough to arrive before nightfall.

Veronica unsnapped her seat belt. Before she could rise, Raj was there. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his camel trousers. His navy shirt was unbuttoned partway, exposing a tanned V of skin, and his dark hair curled over the collar, so carefree and sexy, as if he belonged on a beach instead of here.

Her heart beat sharply. “Where are we, Raj? Where are you taking us?”

Part of her already knew she’d been betrayed, but the other part—the part that had trusted this man with her body and soul last night, that still wanted to trust him—refused to believe he could be so duplicitous. It was a mistake, that’s all. She’d simply miscalculated, or they’d had to go a different route for some reason.

There was no way he was forcing his wishes upon her. No way he was taking her somewhere against her will. He wouldn’t do that.

“We’re going to my home in Goa,” he said, and her stomach went into a free fall.

She was stunned, as if she’d been running fast and suddenly smacked up against a brick wall.

“Goa? Isn’t that a bit far from Aliz?” She sounded so bitter, so terribly bitter. Fury was bubbling in her veins like a volcano preparing to erupt—she felt as if she would burst apart at the seams if she had to stay on this plane a moment longer.

But what choice did she have? What goddamn choice?

He had her right where he wanted her—and he was controlling her, taking away her autonomy, locking her up. Revulsion mixed into the vile stew inside her, rose into her throat so that she wanted to retch with the bitterness of it.

She would not do so. She would not crumble, not now.

“I’m sorry, Veronica,” he said, though he didn’t look sorry at all. “But it’s necessary. You can’t go back to Aliz just yet because it’s not safe for you there. The chief of police controls the government—and all the weapons, I might add. If we landed, he could execute you—all of us—before the next sunrise.”

She was a block of ice. Her teeth began to chatter, though she tried very hard not to let them. It was no use. Raj swore, sinking down into the seat beside her and gathering her into his arms before she could stop him.

He was so warm, so solid. And she wanted to melt against him, wanted him to hold her while she thawed, while she drew his heat into her body.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t accept comfort from him when he’d betrayed her. She’d trusted him, given him something of herself that she’d been unable to give in a very long time, and it meant nothing to him. He’d betrayed her so easily.

Veronica shoved him as hard as she could. “No,” she said between clenched teeth. “Let me go. I hate you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his grip not loosening. “I had to do it. I won’t let them harm you.”

An angry sob tore from her throat before she could stop it. And then she was fighting like a madwoman, shoving hard, screaming her fury. He let her go and she scrambled back, away from him, pressing herself against the wall, her knees drawing up to fend him off if he tried to touch her again.

He did not do so.

His gaze was troubled, but unrepentant. There was a long red scratch down his cheek, but she refused to care. If it hurt, so much the better. He deserved it.

“How dare you?” she snapped. “How dare you think you have the right to decide for me?”

His eyes flashed, and then his expression hardened. “Go ahead and have your tantrum, Veronica, but would you put them in danger, too?” he asked coldly, jerking his head toward the rear of the cabin and the men and women who sat there, pretending not to stare at them. “You have no idea what that man is willing to do, no idea what awaits you—or them—and yet you would have me take you there? You might risk it on your behalf, but can you risk it on theirs?”

She hated that he made her feel guilty, hated that he sounded sensible. Hated that he turned this against her when he was the one who’d betrayed her. She drew in a shaky breath, trying so damn hard not to cry—because she was furious, damn it, not because she was weak—and glared at him.

“No one would hurt them,” she said. “They’ve done nothing wrong. I’m the only one who need fear reprisal.”

“You don’t know that,” he said, his words measured. “You only think you do.”

Then he stood and looked down at her, his presence so big and imposing and infuriating. She wanted to tear his eyes out.

And she wanted to kiss him. The force of the longing took her breath away.

Veronica closed her eyes and turned her head, her cheek pressing against the cold, vibrating wall of the airplane cabin. No, never again. Her body might not realize that everything had changed, but she did. She could never, ever trust him again.

“Go away,” she said. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

She didn’t think he would go, but when she cracked open an eye after a long silence, he was gone.

And she felt emptier than ever.

CHAPTER NINE

IT WAS early morning when they landed at Dabolim Airport on the Bay of Dona Paula. The aquamarine water sparkled like fire-tipped diamonds in the morning sunlight as the plane came in for a landing. After the snow in the U.K., the blinding blue sky was insufferably cheerful.

Veronica didn’t feel in the least bit happy, however, though the sky was clear and the landscape looked impossibly green and verdant and warm.

She had changed into something a bit more suited to the weather in Goa—a tangerine silk sheath and a pair of nude peep-toe pumps, since she’d not packed sandals for her official trip across the mostly chilly United States and Europe.

When the cabin door opened and she stepped out onto the stairs, the heat and humidity wrapped around her senses and eased the chill in her bones. It was certainly welcome after wintry London, but Aliz would have been warm as well—not quite this warm, but not as frigid as northern Europe, either.

There was no press awaiting them, which was both a surprise and a relief. She felt far too off balance just now to deal with the media hounding her. Somehow, Raj must have managed to keep their destination a secret. How long he could do so was another matter altogether.

Martine was beside her as they descended the stairs. Georges was behind them, and the rest of the staff followed. In spite of the situation, she held her head high, determined to maintain the dignity of her office. For their sakes as well as her own.

She’d spoken with them last night, after she’d managed to regain some of her balance, and been surprised that no one seemed to disagree with Raj’s plan. The security staff had understandably been dismayed at the turn of events both in Aliz and in London—when they’d climbed aboard Raj’s plane and put themselves at his mercy—but somehow he’d won them over in spite of it. Now they were content to let him run the show.

She was not. She was furiously, murderously angry.

Ahead of them, Raj stood near a fleet of Land Rovers, talking with one of the drivers. He’d changed into a pair of khaki pants, sandals and a dark T-shirt that stretched over the hard muscles of his biceps and chest, delineating every line and bulge. Her heart throbbed painfully, her body tightening in response.

She hated that she couldn’t stop her reaction to him. She wanted to smother it, and bury it down deep. Instead, the slight soreness between her legs reminded her of all they’d done together, of the silken slide of his body within hers. The driving pleasure. The bliss of orgasm.

Stop.

His betrayal, coming so hard on the heels of their intimacy, stung all the more. She’d trusted him—and he’d shattered that trust into a million shards.

He looked up then, his eyes shaded behind mirrored sunglasses. Though she couldn’t see them, she knew he was looking directly at her. Her body sizzled under his regard, her nipples tingling, her core flooding with heat.

Damn him!

He separated himself from the driver and came to her side. Martine fell back, out of earshot. Veronica wanted to turn and tell her secretary there was no need, but she refused to do so lest Raj think she couldn’t handle him on her own.

“How are you this morning?” he asked.

A riot of emotions tore through her at the silken sound of his voice. She hardened her heart and kept looking straight ahead. “Furious,” she spluttered.

“But alive,” he added, and she whipped her head sideways to glare at him. The red mark on his face was fading. She hadn’t drawn blood, so it would disappear soon. She wanted to reach out and touch him, soothe him—and she wanted to mark him again. The feelings warring inside her were so tangled that it hurt to try and sort them all out.

“You say that like you know for certain what would have happened in Aliz. You don’t, so I would appreciate it if you would admit there were other possibilities.”

He shrugged, further inflaming her. “It’s possible. But what I do is plan for the worst—and then avoid it.”

“Or perhaps you create the worst,” she said. “Aliz had a chance before you abducted me. Now, no one will come to her rescue.”

She didn’t truly know that, but she was too angry not to say it.

His frown turned down the corners of his sensual mouth. “And who is making assumptions now? I hardly think it’s my actions you need worry about. It’s Monsieur Brun’s and the chief of police’s.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the former president’s name. He had not liked her, that was certain. He’d attacked her in the media for months before the election, and he’d said the most vile things. That, however, was politics.