Lynn Harris - Up Close And Personal - Captive but Forbidden / Unnoticed and Untouched / Revelations of the Night Before

She closed her eyes. “Too right.”

“Don’t open the window again.”

“I understood the first time,” she said. “Raj?”

He turned back to her. “Yes?”

“Will you stay and talk to me for a little while?”

He didn’t move, and she wondered if he would tell her no. But then he nodded, came over and sat on the edge of the bed farthest from her.

She didn’t know why she’d asked him to stay, except that she’d suddenly not wanted to be alone. She couldn’t remember her dream, but it hadn’t been a good one. She felt restless, keyed up, anxious.

There was a time when she couldn’t stand to be alone at all, when she’d had twenty-four-hour parties full of all the laughter, music and chatter she’d been denied growing up. She was no longer that person, but she still sometimes felt the weight of silence pressing in on her.

She deserved that silence, considering what she’d done. But tonight she couldn’t handle it.

Veronica reached up and turned out the light, needing the anonymity of utter darkness. She could feel the solid presence of Raj nearby. Just like yesterday, it was comforting. She put a hand to her head, rubbed one temple. It was all the travel, all the days spent in hotels—all the days spent being serious and worrying about Aliz—that made her grateful for his company now.

She waited for him to speak, to say anything at all, but he didn’t. She huffed out a sigh. “You aren’t talking.”

“Neither are you.” She felt him move, the bed dipping as he slid up against the headboard and stretched out his legs.

“Where did you grow up?”

He muttered something beneath his breath. “Tell me about you. It’s far more interesting.”

“I disagree,” she said. “I want to know why you sound British but sometimes use American phrases.”

He blew out a breath. “My mother was American.”

“See, that’s interesting. Did you grow up in India?”

“No.”

“Is it a secret?” she prompted when he said nothing else.

“No. But it’s not important.”

Veronica sighed. “Fine. Don’t talk about it, then.”

“I won’t.”

“I grew up in Aliz,” she said, because she needed to say something. “I never left until I was eighteen. And then I didn’t go back until my father’s funeral two years ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. We weren’t close, but we were … working on it….”

She’d tried to make her peace with her father. They’d been speaking more frequently in the months before his death. She sometimes couldn’t believe he was gone. Though she understood now what had motivated him to be so overprotective, she’d had a hard time forgiving him for it.

“It’s good you were trying.”

“I think so.” She turned on her side, facing Raj. She could see the outline of his profile in the dim light coming from the bedside clock. “What you’re really wondering is why the people elected me president since I hadn’t actually lived in Aliz for many years.”

He didn’t hesitate before answering. “I wonder why you ran, not why they elected you.”

She thought of her father, of Paul Durand. Of the hope and delight she’d seen in the eyes of those Alizeans who believed in her ability to change things for the better. “I thought I could do something good for the country.”

“I think you probably can,” he said. “I think you already have.”

For some reason, that made her throat tight. “I’m trying,” she said. “It’s very important to me.”

She thought he laughed softly. “Veronica, I don’t think there’s anything in this world you can’t do once you set your mind to it.”

“I’m sure there are a few things,” she said, her eyes stinging as her voice caught. Damn it. This was not at all what she’d intended when she’d started talking.

But this was how it had been since she’d lost her child. The yawning cavern snuck up on her when she least expected it, threatened to consume her.

Beside her, Raj swore again. And then he was moving, closing the distance between them and gathering her to him. She didn’t protest, though she knew she should. How many times did she have to lose her composure in front of him?

Instead, she buried her nose in his pristine shirt and breathed him in. She loved being close to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No,” she replied, her fingers curling into his shirt. “You were paying me a compliment. I liked it.”

She could hear his heart thudding in his chest. It beat faster than she’d have thought. For some reason, that made her happy. Raj Vala—strong, amazing, sexy Raj—wasn’t unaffected by holding her close. Perhaps he was a little bit human after all.

“But it made you think of what you’d lost.”

She swallowed, unable to tell him the rest of it. Unable to say that she blamed herself and always would. “You can’t guard what you say in hopes I won’t.”

His grip on her tightened. “I wish I could say something. Do something. I’d take away the hurt if I could.”

She knew he meant it, and it touched her more than she could say. A lone tear seeped from her closed eyes and trickled down her cheek.

“Just hold me,” she said. “It’s enough.”

RAJ knew he was losing the battle with himself. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was somewhere—anywhere—but here, in her bed, holding her close and listening to her soft breathing. He felt the bite of moisture on his skin, knew she was crying. He wanted to make it stop, wanted her to sleep again. He didn’t know how to make it happen.

She didn’t make any sound, but her body trembled in his arms.

“Veronica,” he said, his voice strangled, “it’ll be okay. Someday, it’ll be okay.” He wasn’t stupid enough to think that the kind of loss she’d suffered was something she would get over quickly. How could she? How could anyone?

Andre Girard was a fool. And Raj had a sudden desire to hunt the man down and make him suffer the way Veronica suffered. She shouldn’t have to go through this alone.

“I know,” she said, her voice so soft and sweet, hovering on the edge of control. “I get upset sometimes, but it’s normal.”

He didn’t know what was normal and what wasn’t—but he couldn’t stand that she was in pain. He tipped her chin up with his fingers, lowered his mouth to hers. He meant it to be a soft kiss, a sweet kiss. A kiss of comfort.

He should have known it was impossible.

Later, he wouldn’t be able to recall who’d taken the kiss deeper first. But it didn’t take more than a moment for it to happen. She clung to him, her mouth warm and inviting, her soft sigh like fuel to the fire stoking low in his belly.

He was harder than he’d ever been in his life. And he knew he was about to lose the battle between his head and his groin. He tried to remind himself of all the reasons he shouldn’t be doing this … and came up empty.

He tightened his fingers in her hair—that glorious, lustrous fall of platinum silk—and gently pulled her head back as he broke the kiss. He had one chance left. One chance to end this free fall into insanity.

“Tell me no, Veronica. Tell me to get out, and I will. For both our sakes, tell me,” he urged her. Because he was powerless so long as she clung to him. So long as she seemed to need his touch, his kiss, he was absolutely powerless to stop it.

He shouldn’t be. He should be able to get up and walk away. He’d suffered unbelievable agony while training for the Special Forces, and he’d never broken. He’d endured.

But he couldn’t endure her. She’d broken him, at least temporarily.