A Question of Honor

Chapter FOUR


‘KARIM!’

Her cry of distress was too high, too shocked, to be anything but genuine, setting his nerves on edge and pushing him out of the car as fast as his reflexes would allow.

‘Clementina...’

She was struggling to get up, slipped a little and then collapsed again on a small moan.

‘What hurts?’ Because it was obvious that something did.

‘My ankle...’

She was biting her lip hard and only by diverting his attention to the right ankle she had indicated with a wave did he stop himself from pressing his fingers against her mouth to stop the damaging action.

‘I fell over on it—twisted it...’

There was nothing to see. Nothing, that was, except the temptation of soft pale flesh, delicate bones, the base of a long slender leg... He ran his hands over the skin of her ankle, pressed gently. Fought against the burn of response that flashed up his nerves as he did so.

‘Can you stand?’

He knew his tone was rough and abrupt; didn’t need the reproachful look she cast at him. Reproach that melted into defiance as her chin came up and her mouth firmed.

‘I can try.’

Stubbornly, she ignored the hand he held out to her, relying instead on supporting herself on the car’s bumper as she hauled herself up. Then, just as she stood upright, she gave another gasping cry as she tried to put her weight on the injured limb.

‘OK...’

He caught her before she fell, swung her off the ground and up into his arms.

‘Let’s get you inside.’

He sensed her rebellion, the tensing of her body, but then, clearly recognising that she wasn’t going to manage this on her own, she made herself relax against him. He was grateful for the need to watch his step on the icy path, the fight against the whirling snow as he hurried inside. It distracted him from the feel of her, warm and soft against him. The perfume of her skin rose up, tantalising his senses, and the softness of her hair was like silk against his cheek.

Karim didn’t know if he was relieved or sorry when he made it inside the house, shouldering his way along the narrow hall and into the living room. He laid her down on the settee, not caring if the haste of his movements, the abruptness of his actions made it seem as if he was glad to be relieved of the burden of her weight. He was relieved, but not because her weight was too much for him to carry. He’d managed much heavier weights over much longer distances before now. But nothing he’d ever carried before had made his heart beat so fast, his breath tangle in his throat so that he was breathing as hard as if he’d run a marathon.

‘I’ll take your boot off.’

It was a good thing that there wasn’t a visible pulse in her ankle, Clemmie reflected as she watched Karim’s dark silky head bend over her foot, unlacing and easing the boot from her foot. If there was then he would be sure to see the effect his closeness was having on her, the way that her heartbeat responded to the touch of his hands, the warmth of his breath on her skin. It made her insides twist, her nerves tangle.

This was the first time that she’d seen all that strength and power used in a very different way. A gentle, caring, helpful way. In the moment that he’d picked her up she had felt as if a shield had come round her, blocking off the cold blast of the snowstorm, protecting her from it. And being held against the warmth and strength of his chest had felt like being enclosed in the strongest, most wonderful hug ever, with the heavy regular beat of his heart just under her cheek.

Then she had felt nothing but warmth, but now she felt alternately burningly hot and then shiveringly cold, as if she was in the grip of some delirious fever. The heat in her blood was raw and primitive, a visceral feeling that clawed at her, fraying away her sense of self, leaving her feeling out of control and wildly adrift. She had never felt this way before and it shocked and disturbed her, making her pull away from Karim’s grip as she sat up hastily, wanting to escape from it.

‘I’ll do that,’ she snapped, hiding her real feelings behind a mask of indignation.

She wanted to move as far from Karim as possible, but in the same moment that she twisted away she felt surprisingly lost and bereft, needing the warm protection of his body—needing so much more.

‘I can manage...’

Unfastening the boot, pulling it from her foot was no problem at all but she made herself focus on it as if it was a struggle, rather than face the real struggle that was going on inside her. Her heart was thudding unevenly, her breath ragged and uneven.

‘Are you all right?’

He’d heard the way she was breathing, put the wrong sort of interpretation on it. But that was the way she wanted him to interpret it, wasn’t it?

‘I’m fine.’

Even in her own ears it didn’t sound convincing, no matter how emphatic she made it, so she put on a hiss of discomfort as she pulled the boot from her foot and tossed it to the floor.

‘I might have sprained this—it’s swollen.’


No, that had been a mistake, as it brought him back to her, those long, square-tipped fingers touching her ankle lightly, testing, stroking...

More! The word burned inside her head and she almost choked trying to swallow it down. I want more than this.

‘I think...’

Another mistake. Just speaking had brought his head up, made his gaze lock with hers. She could see the black thickness of his lashes in absurd detail, find a tiny reflected replica of herself in the depths of those amazing eyes. His skin smelt of musk and lemon, making her head spin as she inhaled when she breathed.

‘You think?’ Something had put that note of huskiness into his voice. The fullness of his mouth had a faint sheen where he had moistened it lightly with his tongue. Had he felt as dry-throated, found it as hard to swallow as she had?

‘Perhaps something cold would help ease it—reduce the swelling?’

‘Good idea.’ He pushed himself upright with a speed and satisfaction that scraped her tight nerves painfully raw. ‘Then we might actually be able to get on the road—get out of here.’

Did he have to make it so plain that all that mattered to him was their getting on their way? She must have been totally deluding herself thinking that he might actually respond to her as she was reacting to him. Daft idea. Stupid—crazy idea! Just what would a man like Karim—like Crown Prince Karim Al Khalifa—find of any interest in someone like her? Someone in tatty jeans and a sweater, her hair unstyled and usually just left to fall free. Someone who was happier with books and paintings than the clubs and bars her friends were fascinated by.

Someone who must wear her naiveté and ignorance where the opposite sex was concerned like a brand on her forehead. And show it in every unguarded move, every artless look. A man like Karim would be seen with sophisticated glamorous women. He would be like Nabil who, even though he was so much younger, had already been spotted with beautiful models or actresses. He had the freedom to play the field. To sow his wild oats before tying himself down to the arranged marriage that had been planned for them both.

‘Peas,’ she said abruptly, her uncomfortable thoughts not giving her room to think of anything extra to make it less stark, less brusque. ‘Freezer...’

That was no better but at least she waved her hand in the direction of the kitchen. And at least he followed her vague gesture, moving away so that she had time to catch her breath, fight to bring her heart rate under control.

‘Wrapping a bag of frozen peas around it might work.’ He didn’t need the explanation, was already opening the freezer door and rummaging through the bags and containers in there.

‘If I have any peas...’

A sudden thought struck her and she couldn’t control her response, unable to hold back the giggle that bubbled up in her chest.

‘What is it?’

He didn’t sound as irritable as before. In fact there was actually a softening warmth in his tone. Or was she just deceiving herself, wanting to hear it?

‘What are you laughing about?’

‘I can’t believe that we are struggling to find a packet of frozen peas when there is all that ice and snow outside! Can’t you just fill a plastic bag with the stuff and wrap that around my ankle?’

‘It might work—but—ah!’ He pounced on something inside the freezer. ‘Not peas—but I’m sure sweetcorn will have exactly the same effect. You have so little food in the freezer,’ he said as he came back to crouch down by the settee again. ‘Barely enough to feed a bird.’

‘I was running it all down, getting ready to move away from here—to Rhastaan— Ouch!’

He had dumped the frozen bag on her ankle with a surprising lack of finesse, nothing like the powerful and contained grace of movement he had showed up to now.

‘Did that hurt?’

Frantically, Clemmie shook her head, afraid that he would replace the chill of the frozen vegetables with that disturbing and dangerous warmth of his hands, the unsettling feel of his touch.

‘No—just the cold! It was a shock. But I’m sure it will help—’

‘It had better. We need to get out of here.’

It was as if the few moments it had taken him to hunt through the freezer had pushed the ice into his soul and turned it hard and glacial all over again. But more likely the truth was that she had been letting her imagination run away with her when she had thought she’d heard that unexpected streak of warmth that had softened his tone.

‘You’re not still thinking of leaving tonight? You’re mad! Have you ever tried driving in conditions like this?’

‘I have lived—and driven—in Europe before.’

But not in a snowstorm like the one raging outside, Karim had to admit to himself. Under normal circumstances, he would stay right where he was. But these were not normal circumstances. There was nothing normal about the situation he had been put in, first by his father, then Nabil—and now Clementina.

And there was nothing normal about his reaction to her. The soul-twisting, gut-wrenching, brutally carnal hunger this woman woke in him.

Hell and damnation!

Karim pushed himself to his feet and swung away from watching her as she clamped the bag of frozen sweetcorn around her ankle. He couldn’t bear to see the way the colour had left her cheeks and then unexpectedly flooded right back into them again. The way she was still worrying at the softness of her lip and, worst of all, the unexpected vulnerability in her eyes. Each one of those responses would twist at his gut. Taken together, they were lethal to his self-control.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Karim told himself as he headed for the door. He should know better—he did know better. But knowing and convincing himself that this was not going to happen was getting harder with each thundering beat that made his pulse thud at his temples.

He hadn’t had a woman in a long time. Too long. Another thing that was part of the mess that his life had become in the past six months. The upside down and inside out version of the existence he had once had. And that was nothing like it would ever be again.

Perhaps the time spent outside, trying to get the car going again would give him a much-needed dose of reality. Certainly, the cold of the wind and snow should have the effect of an icy shower to cool the heat of his blood. Permanently, he hoped. When he had looked into Clementina’s eyes and seen the bruised pansy darkness there, the heat that had flooded his senses had been a form of madness that had sent his brain into meltdown.

It had been strong enough to make him forget for a moment just who she was, and why he was here. It had made him realise just how much he had pushed aside his own needs to deal with other things.

And those needs had now come rushing back in the form of the one woman who was the last person on earth he should feel those things for.

The snow whirled wildly into his face as he opened the door, making him grimace, bring up his hands against the onslaught. He could barely see through the white curtain but he had no intention of turning back. The exercise and the fight against the cold were the only possible antidote he could think of to the frustration that was burning up inside him.

How much longer was he going to be?

Clemmie could not fight against the restlessness that had assailed her since Karim had disappeared out of the door and let it slam behind him. She needed to know what was happening, when they might get on the road. The evening had started to gather in, filling the room with darkness, but when she had tried to get up to switch on more lights, the pain in her ankle had had her sinking back on to the settee with a cry of distress. But if things got any worse, she was going to have to try again. The cold was beginning to fill the air too and she was starting to feel uncomfortably chilled just sitting here.


She was just about to try to push herself to her feet again when the front door banged open and Karim appeared in the hallway. A Karim who looked more like a moving snowman than anything human, his jacket was so piled up with snow and his hair plastered against the strong bones of his skull by the damp.

‘At last!’ she said.

She pushed herself up in her seat as he stood on the doormat, stamping his feet to clear them of the clinging snow.

‘Are we on our way?’

It was inevitable they must be. That was what he had come for—to collect her and take her back to Rhastaan. She wouldn’t—couldn’t let the painful clenching of her stomach make her think of how it felt to be starting out on this journey, heading for the life she hadn’t chosen but she had known must come to be hers. And leaving behind the only true member of her family she had ever known. Her father didn’t count. He had only seen her as a pawn in his political manoeuvrings and her mother had walked out on her without a glance back.

‘Shall I get my coat?’

If her voice went up and down unnaturally then surely he would think it was because she was struggling to get to her feet. Even she didn’t understand the sudden change in her heartbeat, the skittering of her pulse as she took in the stark contrast between the white of the snow and the dark power of the rest of Karim’s body, the heavy silhouette of his frame in the doorway, illuminated by the one hanging light.

‘No.’

It was stark and cold, biting as harshly as the wind that sneaked down the hall, taking even more of the minimal warmth from the room so that she shivered in more than physical response. What had happened to the man who had laughed with her over the pack of frozen sweetcorn?

‘But I thought...’

‘Don’t think,’ Karim snarled.

He pulled off the snow-laden jacket, tossed it aside, stamping his feet again with a sound that echoed ominously in the silence.

‘And don’t say another word—not unless you can come up with some clever idea as to how we can get the heap of scrap you call a car to move more than a metre or two.’

‘It’s not a heap of scrap!’ Clemmie flared, coming to the defence of her sweet little car. It might be old, it might be a bit battered, but it was hers and it had spelled freedom and escape when she had needed it most. ‘We can’t all drive the latest luxury four-wheel...’

‘You could if you wanted to—’ Karim cut in sharply, bringing her to an abrupt halt ‘—if you’d stayed with your father or in Rhastaan. As Nabil’s queen...’

If Nabil would even let her drive, Clemmie told herself. Young as he was, he was traditionalist enough to insist on his wife staying inside, emerging only with an escort, or with Nabil himself. Women in Rhastaan had not been allowed to drive during his father’s reign. So would that be permitted now?

‘Now I wonder why—’ she began, only to break off as a worrying, disturbing thought hit home like a blow. ‘My car won’t move?’

‘Not an inch, not in these conditions. And as my car is trapped in the yard behind it, then we’re stuck. Unless I can get a garage truck out—do you have a number?’

He gestured towards the old-fashioned phone on the hall table. Clemmie’s heart sank several degrees lower.

‘That’s not going to help. I had it cut off as part of my preparations to leave. I’ve been relying on my mobile, even though the reception’s unreliable.’

She pulled her phone out her pocket, checked it, then held it out to him, her face spelling out her disappointment.

‘Nothing. Yours? Or your tablet? It was working when I arrived.’

One touch of his thumb to the phone told the same story. Not a single bar to indicate any connection. And it was the same with his computer.

‘The Internet’s down too—everything. This storm has really damaged everything. So, for the foreseeable future, we’re imprisoned here until something changes.’

She wished he hadn’t used that word ‘imprisoned’. It sounded too stark, too dangerous, too scary to face in a moment like this, isolated in this tiny cottage with a man as dark and ruthlessly determined as Karim Al Khalifa.

‘Then what...’ she began, wondering just how things could get any worse.

But, even as she spoke, the single light illuminating the hall flickered, crackled loudly and then went out, leaving them in total darkness.

‘Karim!’

His name was a cry of shock and near panic, the instinct to turn to him coming from somewhere deep and unexpectedly primitive. The blackness around her was thick and almost impenetrable, the only hint of any light coming from the reflected whiteness of the snow beyond the window. She struggled up from her seat on the sofa, the breath hissing in through her teeth as she put her weight on her bruised ankle.

‘I’m here.’

Something flared in the darkness. He was using the phone as a torch, the screen lighting the room for a moment. It shone straight up into his face, showing it dark and shuttered, strangely shadowed in the glow, but Clemmie felt that she had never been so pleased to see anyone in her life. The cottage that had previously been safety and home to her now felt like something else entirely. The real world had invaded her sanctuary. It was Karim who had brought that reality, that world in with him, and yet it was Karim that she felt she could turn to. She was glad that he was here. Only one day earlier he had invaded her life, shocking and disturbing her, and yet without him she would have felt lost and adrift on a sea as wild as the storm raging outside.

Karim seemed almost like part of that storm. Harsh and forceful as the weather, like some untamed creature that had come in from the night, his power and presence filled the small house. It was strange that the golden tones of his skin, his name and his accent all came from a land of heat and sun, but here, in the dark and wildness of the icy snow, he still had a power that seemed at one with the elements. This was her home and he was the intruder, but in the darkness and the cold she was grateful for the strength of his very physical company.

‘The power’s gone...’ Stupid and weak as it sounded, it was all she could manage. ‘Are you sure we’re stuck here for the night?’

‘Certain.’

He’d been flicking switches, checking plugs, to make sure that it was not just the bulb or the wiring in the hall and now he was nodding grimly, mouth clamped tight over the anger he clearly would not allow himself to express.

‘Nothing, damn it. Do you have a torch? Candles? I need to conserve the power on my phone.’

‘Candles in the cupboard under the sink. My torch is in the car.’

She’d thought she might need it on the journey to visit Harry, not once she was back safe in her own home. It was a struggle to just stand there and watch him as he groped his way to the kitchen, hunted in the cupboard. Rattled by all that had happened, and with her twisted ankle still nagging at her painfully, she was so tempted to move to his side, fling her arms around him...feel his strength close around her as it had done when he had picked her up from the snow outside. What stopped her was an instinctive feeling that that would be overstepping an invisible line, risking...

Risking what? A stunningly physical response or, more likely, an immediate rejection—or, even worse, a careful, condescending putting her away from him so that he could get on with the practical matter that he was focused on. She couldn’t bear the humiliation of that and it was more than enough to hold her where she was in spite of the yearning that still twisted in her stomach.


A scratching sound of match on box from the kitchen seemed unnaturally loud in the silence. There was a small flare, and the flickering flame of the candle added a tiny light to the darkness.

‘There are no holders...’

‘No, but we could stick them on saucers,’ Clemmie told him, making her way gingerly into the kitchen.

Luckily the cupboard containing the plates and cups was at the other end of the kitchen so, even feeling her way with her hands, she was in no danger of touching him. But she could still see that stunning face in the flickering candle flame, could scent his skin and his hair, drying slowly after the exposure to the snow. She could even see the tiny flecks of the white flakes that decked his long lashes like miniature diamonds and her mouth itched to kiss them away, licking the moisture from his lids with her tongue.

And where had that thought come from? Shock at the way her mind was working had her banging the saucers down on the kitchen worktop with a distinct crash. She had never felt like this with anyone before. And not just because she had tried to keep her mind off such things. She had just never felt this way ever.

‘Careful!’ Karim’s reproof was low and strangely touched with warmth. It was as if he knew only too well what was going through her mind and that thought made her hand shake as she reached for another of the candles.

‘Careful yourself—they’re my saucers—my candles...’

To her horror she had mistimed the reach, her fingers grabbing at the candle Karim held rather than the spare unlit ones in his other hand. In the same moment the awkward movement twisted at her sore ankle again, making her overbalance and tumble headlong towards him.

‘Careful!’

It was so very different this time. Every trace of that warmth, the light amusement had faded from the single word and the edge on his tone sent shivers down her spine. Shivers that combined with the shock of electricity where her fingers had closed over the hand that held the candle. It was impossible not to think of the shape she held, long and hard, and capable of such heat.

She had one moment to try to recover, one moment of looking up straight into his eyes and seeing the darkness there that was more than the shadows surrounding them, the burn of something that was more than the reflection of the flame he held between them. But then, as she almost overbalanced, he reacted swiftly, dropping the candle into the sink so that she didn’t fall dangerously close to it but instead stumbled right into his arms.

In the darkness again, it was more than she had anticipated. More than she could ever have expected. Her face was up against his chest, pressed into the softness of the cashmere, crushed against the hardness of collarbone and ribcage, inhaling the scent of his skin, feeling the heat and the muscles in his throat against her brow. She heard him draw in a sharp breath, sensed him swallow hard, wished she could do the same to ease the choking dryness in her own mouth.

She felt his hands come out to hold her, stop her from falling, and her breath caught in her throat as the heat of those hard palms reached her through her clothing, searing the skin on her thighs, her waist. She could have sworn that his hands lingered, curling closer, holding her against him so that she couldn’t break free even if she’d wanted to. But breaking free was the last thing on her mind. Her heart had taken off at an alarming rate, blood thundering in her ears. But Karim’s pulse rate was as cool and controlled as if he had simply just caught hold of the handle of a broom or mop—rather than a living breathing woman.

And yet...

‘Shall we try again?’

There was a definite sardonic edge to the question, an almost brutal stiffness in the way he caught her arms and straightened her up, moving her away from him as if he suddenly felt that her touch would contaminate him. She could sense no reluctance to let her go, catch no sense of regret in that calmly indifferent voice. But just for a second she had been crushed up against him and even as the heat of her own response had flooded through her she had known that he had to be feeling something too. There was no denying the hard and heated evidence of his body crammed against hers; the evidence of a carnal hunger that not even a virgin with as little experience of men as she had could possibly mistake in any way. It could have—should have—frightened her but instead it sent a secret, stinging thrill running through her.

‘Karim...’

Protest, encouragement or question? She didn’t know, didn’t care. Her head was swimming, every cell in her body seemed to be on fire at just the thought that a man like this—this man—could want her in that way. She ached and needed in a way she’d never thought possible, heat and moisture waking deep inside. And she hoped...

But already he was bending, picking up the candle. He turned to pull the saucers towards him, dismissing her from his thoughts, before reaching again for the box of matches. It was business as usual, and he was cold and distant again. So withdrawn that she began to believe she had imagined any other reaction. Was she really so desperate, so like some schoolgirl in the middle of her first heavy crush, that she was allowing herself to dream that the most devastating man she had ever met would want her, of all people?

As the light from the candles flooded into the darkness it seemed as if it was followed by a shiver of reality that reproached her for fooling herself. In the same moment that the flame illuminated some sections of the room, it also darkened and deepened the shadows of others, making them bleak and impenetrable as Karim’s shuttered face. And with it came an awareness of the way that the atmosphere in the room had changed, physically as well as mentally.