Captive but Forbidden (13 page)

She stepped up to the microphone then and delivered
a stirring speech about freedom and democracy and the rule of law. Monsieur Brun had wisely stayed away in order to prove that he really did want the torch to pass to his successor. The media pelted her with questions, all of which she answered expertly. She took a last question, and then thanked them all before turning away.

“Is it true that you and the CEO of Vala Security International are dating, Madam President?” a tabloid reporter shouted.

He watched Veronica’s shoulders stiffen, watched her turn back to the microphone. Her cheeks were full of color, but she looked so lovely that no one would think it was anything other than her natural beauty shining through.

“That was a cover,” she said. “So Mr. Vala and his team could get close to me without alerting those who might wish me harm.”

“But you’ve just spent three days in Goa, at his home. Why there?”

Veronica’s smile didn’t waver. “Because we believed I might be in danger. It was prudent not to broadcast my whereabouts to the world at large.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

A collective gasp went up from the crowd, and then a buzz of anger began in the ranks of the loyal people who’d come out to welcome home their president.

Veronica laughed that bright, tinkling laugh of hers. For some reason, it pierced him to the bone.

And then she turned and pointed at him. “Look at that man,” she said. “Is he not gorgeous? Tall and exotic, beautiful like a tiger.” She paused for a long moment, her eyes locked on him—angry, accusatory, hurt—before she turned back to the microphone. “But I assure
you, there is nothing between us. Mr. Vala is all business. He does not know the meaning of fun.”

A ripple of laughter went through the crowd as she waved and turned away. He had to give it to her—she knew how to work the media. He had no doubt that everything she’d ever done had been carefully orchestrated for the fullest effect. Veronica was no idiot. She’d effectively marginalized him with that brief show.

It had been a brilliant maneuver.

They made their way to the waiting limos and on to the presidential palace—which was actually quite small by palatial standards, though definitely ornate.

Raj spent the morning with his team and Veronica’s security staff, going over plans and procedures for her safety during appearances and travel.

Afterward, he found her at an antique French desk in a spacious and bright office. Beyond the windows, the Mediterranean sparkled in the sunshine. Not as wild and untamable as Goa, but pretty nevertheless.

She looked up, her pen poised over a document, Georges hovering with his hand on the paper, ready to take it away as soon as she finished. She scrawled her signature and smiled at the man. He took the paper, glancing up at Raj with a disapproving look as he passed.

Veronica sat back and folded her arms over her chest. He tried not to think of her breasts, of how perfect they were. How her dusky nipples had grown so tight and sensitive when he’d gazed on her naked body.

How they tasted in his mouth, how every glorious inch of her felt beneath his hands.

Goddamn it.

“I’m leaving,” he said tightly. “My people will stay
as long as you need them, and I’ll only be a phone call away if necessary.”

“Thank you for …” She cleared her throat and looked away. The sunlight was behind her, limning her pale golden hair like a halo. He’d never felt so rotten in his life. “Thank you for making sure I was safe.”

“My pleasure.” As soon as he said it, he knew they were the wrong words.

Her eyes narrowed. “And thank you for the sex,” she said. “I don’t know how I’d have survived without you to scratch my itch.”

“Veronica, you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” she asked. “Make you feel like a bastard? I really think I do. It makes me feel better, for a short time anyway. If it’s any comfort, I’ll feel like hell ten minutes after you’ve walked out the door.”

“It isn’t a comfort,” he said. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

She shrugged. “Maybe I’m not hurt. Maybe I’m just a bit angry that I’m not the one calling it off.”

“You’ll thank me later,” he said.

“I seem to remember you said that to me once before. And I told you then that I would decide what was best for me. That hasn’t changed.”

“You’re truly an amazing woman, Veronica.”

“Not amazing enough.”

“Don’t play the wounded martyr,” he snapped.

Her eyes flashed. “Look who’s talking about being a martyr. The man who would sacrifice even the prospect of happiness for a stale idea about himself that he refuses to let go.”

Her words had the power to slice deep.

But she was a hypocrite, and he wouldn’t let her get
away with it. Not because he was angry, but because he wanted her to finally allow herself to heal.

“Have you decided to stop blaming yourself for your miscarriage?”

Her head dropped, her throat sliding as she swallowed heavily. “You’re right about that,” she said softly. “And unless I’m willing to let go of my guilt, I can hardly ask you to do the same, can I?”

She looked up again, speared him with that determined look he’d grown to love.

“I’ve been thinking hard since yesterday, Raj. And I’m done with guilt. As much as I can be. I don’t think I’ll ever completely forgive myself, but I’m going to learn to accept that things happen for a reason.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Her phone buzzed. They looked at each other over the blinking light for several moments. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something.

“Goodbye, Veronica.”

Veronica finished the call with the Moroccan ambassador and hung up the phone. Raj was gone, no doubt on his way back to the airport and then on to wherever he had decided to call home for the moment. She wanted to scream. He’d left her, and she felt so bare and raw inside.

The room was quiet. Empty. She could hear the noise outside the window, of gulls and boats, of tradesmen yelling to each other across the way, of cars and horns and everyday noise.

But she was still empty. Desolate.

He’d gone away. The man she loved had been unable to love her back. It hurt so much she thought she might die of it.

She wouldn’t, of course.

She thought of the lonely man who’d told her about living in a car, about being afraid to unpack a suitcase, about buying his first home, and her heart ached for everything that he’d suffered. They were a damaged pair, the two of them.

Veronica shoved back from her desk and strode through the office. Martine slapped the phone down, as if she felt guilty being caught talking, but Veronica could care less. In fact, she was getting tired of Martine’s hangdog looks. The last thing she needed was someone who made her feel even worse.

“I’m going to my apartment,” she said. “I need to change.”

Martine nodded and Veronica swept out of the office and down the hallway toward the private wing that held the president’s apartment. Madame Brun had decorated the private rooms of the old French Baroque palace in her own taste, and Veronica hated it. It was Marie Antoinette all the way, with fluffy ruffled things, mirrors and delicate furniture upon which one was afraid to sit for fear of collapsing the spindly legs.

One of these days, she would redecorate. But right now, it was hardly important compared to everything else that was required of her.

Damn it, she
would
do a good job. For Aliz, for everyone who’d believed in her. Just as soon as she had some time alone, as soon as she collected herself and felt more normal, she was calling Signor Zarella. It was time to press him for a commitment, and she wasn’t taking no for an answer. She had to accomplish something positive or she would go mad.

She went into her bedroom and stripped out of her clothes. A shower and a fresh outfit would do her good. When she finished, she stepped from the shower and
dried herself vigorously. Then she wrapped the towel around her body and went back into her bedroom to find a different outfit.

She came up short, her heart rocketing as she realized she wasn’t alone. But then she saw who it was. She put a hand over her chest, felt the pounding of her heart. “Martine. You scared me.”

“I’m sorry, Miss St. Germaine.” Tears flowed down Martine’s cheeks.

“What’s the matter, Martine?” Veronica said, taking a step toward her secretary.

Veronica stopped when Martine shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said again, her hand lifting, her arm stiff and straight.

It took Veronica only a split second to realize what was wrong.

Martine had a gun.

R
AJ
had just climbed into the car that would take him back to the airport when his phone buzzed. Dread settled in his stomach like a lead ball as he listened to the man on the other end.

Then he was yelling at the driver to stop and shoving open the car door at the same time.

If something happened to Veronica, he would never forgive himself.

His staff was already making their way to her office, he knew, but he broke into a run anyway. When he reached the ornate office, it was empty. Worse, the outer office where her secretary sat was also empty.

He made a hard dash to her private residence. Two of his men were already there, knocking on the door.

Raj pushed past them and into the interior of Veronica’s apartment. The gaudy living area was quiet. Just then, a muffled thump and a cry came from the direction of the bedroom. Raj sprinted, drawing the concealed weapon he carried, and kicked open the double doors.

Veronica was naked in the center of the room, a gun hanging limply from her hand. She swayed on her feet, her eyes wide. Another woman lay on the floor,
curled in a ball, sobbing. Veronica looked up at him with glassy eyes.

He went and wrapped his arms tightly around her. She was trembling. He took the gun from her fingers and unloaded it with one hand before tossing it onto the bed. Belatedly, he remembered her state of undress. He retrieved the towel lying on the floor, draped it around her. It was damp and cool, but it was all he had.

His men came to lift up Martine and take her away.

“Don’t hurt her,” Veronica said as Martine screamed.

“They won’t, I promise you.”

The room was quiet once Martine and the bodyguards were gone. Veronica lifted her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed. It tore him apart. She reached out as if to touch his face, let her hand drop when she thought better of it.

Despair tore into his gut. He’d done that to her. He’d made her wary of him, and he hated it.

“I’m sorry, Veronica,” he said.

She sucked in a shaky breath. Clung to him.

As much as he knew he should set her away, should put distance between them, he couldn’t do it. He loved the feel of her in his arms. He wanted to hold her for as long as he could.

His arms tightened around her. He’d almost lost her.

“Martine’s mother …” she said.

“I know. I just found out.”

“Madame Brun was behind it all,” she said. “She probably talked the police chief into doing what he did.”

“Some people don’t deal well with the loss of power.” In this case, it was the wife rather than the husband, who, though disappointed in the outcome of the election, was a true politician.

“She threatened to take away Martine’s mother’s
pension if Martine didn’t do what she wanted. Martine spied on me, Raj. She told Madame Brun about the baby, and she pasted together the letter and put the doll in my bed.”

“I know. I just got the report. Her mother worked for the Bruns for many years, and lives in an old-age home paid for by the pension she earned from them. If it were taken away, she’d be homeless. Or worse, with the economic situation in Aliz.”

Veronica looked fierce for a moment. “I wouldn’t have allowed that to happen if she’d only come to me! I’d have taken her mother in, paid the pension, whatever it took. Martine was my secretary for two years! I thought she knew me better than that.”

“I imagine she was just scared. And I doubt she ever believed Madame Brun would ask her to …” He looked at the gun lying on the bed, so dark and deadly and gleaming blue in the light. He couldn’t speak the words he was thinking.
To kill you. “
How did you get the gun?”

“All I had was the towel,” Veronica said. “I reacted without thinking. I threw it at her.”

Ice formed in his veins. She’d thrown a towel at an armed woman.

“You were lucky.”

She nodded, her arms tightening around his waist. “I couldn’t let it end like this. Not after everything.”

My God, she was brave. And incredible. In another life, he’d have probably hired her to work for him. With training, she’d have made a hell of a security professional. Except that he couldn’t bear the thought of her in danger.

Raj tipped her head back so he could see into her
eyes. She was frightened, but not to the point of shock. Not yet anyway.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. And, damn, but he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her. Softly, sweetly. He needed to know she was real, that she was still here and still capable of responding. That he wasn’t imagining it. That he hadn’t actually walked in on something much worse and started to hallucinate that she was unharmed.

Her mouth opened, her tongue tangling with his as she moaned softly. And then she was arching her body into his and he was pulling her closer, pressing her against the evidence of his need for her.

She broke the kiss first, her body stiffening in his embrace. He could tell the moment everything changed, and he let her go. His heart, his body, cried out in protest, but he loosened his grip and she stepped out of it.

Brave, brave Veronica.

She held the edges of her damp towel, her dignity not damaged in the least, and gazed up at him. “It’s no good, Raj,” she said. “We could fall into bed together now, but you’d still walk out in the end. I’m not putting myself through that again.”

“I do want you,” he said in despair. “I want to be with you.” He shoved a hand through his hair, blew out a harsh breath. He felt tight inside, coiled, as if he had to do something or explode. Maybe they could work it out. He could try. For her, he would try.

“I’ll come to Aliz when I can. You’ll be traveling, too—we’ll meet in different places, take it a day at a time.”

She shook her head sadly. Her hair was starting to dry, curling over her shoulders and down her back. She
was as wild and untamed as Goa, as beautiful as the sea. He wanted to possess her, ached to possess her.

Frustration arced through him. He knew she wasn’t going to accept what he was trying to offer. What was he offering, really?

“It’s not enough, Raj,” she said. “I want more. I’m not going to settle for half a life with you.”

“It’s all I can give you,” he said, aching for her. He wanted to give her exactly what she desired. But he was afraid he would fail if he tried to take it that far. He had to start small.

She smiled sadly. “I know. But it’s not enough for me. Some women might accept whatever sort of life they could get with the man they love, but I won’t. I can’t. I’ve already lost something precious to me, and survived the experience. I’ll survive you, too.”

Love? She loved him?

He was stunned into silence. He couldn’t think of a thing to say. He didn’t need to.

She did it for him.

“Goodbye, Raj.”

The days turned into a week, and then two weeks, three weeks, and still the pain of losing Raj was as raw as it had been that day in her bedroom when he’d held her close and tried to give her what he thought she wanted.

It still made her angry. And so very frustrated.

Veronica steepled her hands on her desk and rested her chin on the point. She’d been busy these past weeks. She’d worked hard to see her vision for Aliz come to fruition. There’d been endless meetings, phone calls, interviews and a speech to the nation.

Aliz wasn’t out of the woods yet, but things were looking better. The economy was stabilizing, and foreign
investment was beginning to trickle in again. People were getting fed and things were getting built.

She couldn’t ask for more.

Her gaze strayed to the evergreen garland decked with red and gold ribbon that draped over the fireplace in her office. It was almost Christmas, but she hadn’t taken time to do anything to prepare. There was no one to shop for, no one to bake cookies for, no one to sit before the tree and enjoy the lights with. She wouldn’t even have a tree if it weren’t for the fact she had a housekeeping staff who had put one up for her because they’d always put one up for the Bruns.

It stood in her residence, decorated with silver and red and gold, the white lights always on whenever she walked in at the end of the day. There were no presents beneath it. She thought of her baby with a pang. He would have been almost eight months old. He wouldn’t have understood what the glitter and presents were about, but he would have likely relished the bright colors and enjoyed tearing the paper.

Veronica didn’t bother trying to sniff back the tears that happened whenever she thought of moments like this. It hurt, but she no longer felt as if she was solely responsible for her loss.

She had Raj to thank for that.

Her private cell phone rang and she jumped. It was not Raj’s name on the display. She hadn’t expected it would be, yet she always seemed to hope it might. But why? There was nothing but heartache in going down that road.

And she’d had enough heartache to last a lifetime.

“Hello, Brady,” she said as she answered the call.

“Angel,” he replied. “How are you? It’s been a few days and I wanted to check.”

“I’m fine,” she said, resting her forehead in one hand. “How about you? Any celebrity gossip for me?”

Brady chuckled. “I’ve heard some juicy things about a certain new heartthrob and a Hollywood icon,” he said. Then he spent the next fifteen minutes giving her every salacious detail of a May-December affair currently delighting the Rodeo Drive set.

“So what are you doing for Christmas?” he asked when he’d finished the tale.

“Nothing much. I have a country to run, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Surely you can spare a few hours for fun. Come to the Hotel Lefevre tomorrow night. I’m throwing a party.”

Veronica blinked. “The Hotel Lefevre? In Aliz City?” It was the oldest and best hotel on the island. Understated and elegant, it had suffered through the economic crisis like everywhere else. That it was still open was a miracle, though the owners had had to sell off many of the treasured paintings that had once adorned the walls, including one that van Gogh had painted for the original owners when he’d spent time on the island before going to France.

“Yes. I’ve decided I want to go somewhere nice, and I want my friends to come, too. Aliz is a charming island. I hear it’s making a comeback.”

Her heart swelled with gratitude and love for her friend. “Brady, I …” She didn’t know what to say. “Are you here now?”

“We just arrived this morning.”

“We?”

“Me and Susan. I really want you to meet her.”

“Susan?” She was beginning to feel like a parrot.

Brady sighed. “The woman I plan to spend the rest of my life with.”

Veronica’s mouth dropped open. “Brady, when I saw you in London, there was no one in your life. What happened? And why didn’t you tell me this first? It’s the most important thing you’ve said so far!”

“It’s crazy,” he said, his voice filled with laughter. “I know that. But sometimes you just know when you’ve found that special person.”

A twinge of pain throbbed in her heart, but she listened delightedly as Brady talked about Susan—who wasn’t an actress or a celebrity or a gold-digging wannabe who worked as a cocktail waitress while waiting for her big break. No, Susan was a veterinarian he’d met when they’d both stopped to help an injured dog on the freeway.

“So will you come?” he finally said.

“Of course I’ll come! I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

She got off the phone feeling happier than she had in weeks. So her own life was a mess, but her friend was happy and he’d come all this way to show his support for her and her country. On Christmas.

Her eyes filled with tears again, but they were happy tears. Though seeing Brady would make her think of Raj, she would survive it. Besides, how could she be upset about being loved and wanted by her friends?

The next day was Christmas Eve. Veronica didn’t have to work, but she went into her office and made some calls anyway. She’d already given her staff the day off, so the administrative wing was mostly silent. Afterward, she spent most of the day watching Christmas movies on television, then prepared for Brady’s party. He’d sent over a formal invitation, and
she knew there would be television cameras when she arrived.

It was part of the process, something that would delight people, and she dressed with care for the appearance. She donned a long red dress, strapless, that shimmered as she walked. The fabric was iridescent, gathered at the waist, and fell into a full skirt that was given shape by a tulle slip beneath. She wrapped a silver shawl around her shoulders and carried a small silver clutch. Silver-jeweled strappy high heels rounded out the look.

A bodyguard in a tuxedo opened the limo door for her as she emerged from her private entrance. He was Alizean, tall and handsome, but there was no spark of desire as she gazed at him in his black coat and tie. He climbed in beside her and they were on their way.

The media was camped out in front of the Hotel Lefrevre, and Veronica did her best to look glamorous and happy. She waved as the cameras flashed, then turned and posed—an old habit—before entering the hotel. Brady was waiting for her, a petite, smiling woman at his side. Veronica hugged them both as Brady introduced Susan. She was truly happy for them, and yet she was jealous, too.

If only her own love life had gone so smoothly. But Susan was a delightful woman, and Veronica found that she really liked talking with Brady’s new love. Susan was down-to-earth, no-nonsense. She was pretty, but not gorgeous in that fake way that Hollywood encouraged.

They moved toward the old ballroom, and Veronica stopped in the entry, her head tilting back as she took it all in. The grand room was decorated beautifully, with candles, greenery and shiny lights and bows reflecting
from the mirrored surfaces along the walls. The plaster was chipped in places, the paint faded, but it wouldn’t remain that way for long if they had many more parties like this one. The room was filled with food and people, and Veronica’s heart felt full.

“Thank you, Brady,” she said, squeezing his arm when he came over and handed her a glass of champagne.

“For what?”