Jasmine.
Even if it cost him his crown. Even if it cost him his life. He would have them together. In the open. In the sun.
Cupping her face, he kissed her tenderly, kissing her closed eyelids, her cheeks, her mouth. A sigh escaped her lips as she swayed in his arms, turning her face toward his.
He wrapped her left hand in his own, pressing it up against his heart as he looked down at her. “I’ll tell Hajjar the wedding is off.”
Smiling, he grasped the enormous diamond ring and started to draw it off her finger.
But she closed her hand into a fist. He stared at her in exasperation.
“Jasmine,” he demanded.
Her face was blank of expression as she shook her head.
“You will be my honored mistress,” he said, his brow furrowed. “My queen in all but name. There will be no more sneaking in the shadows, no shame for your family. I will treat you as the highest lady in the land, and the whole country will follow my lead.”
“And Umar?”
“He will forgive us.”
“And you?” She slowly looked up at him. “When you take your bride, Qusay’s queen? What will become of me then?”
He set his jaw. The thought made him sick.
“Perhaps I will die a bachelor,” he growled.
“But you need an heir,” she whispered.
He shrugged, a casual gesture that belied the repressed emotion in his eyes. “My brothers’ children can inherit,” he said lightly. “Or their grandchildren. I intend to live a very long life.”
“But your brothers are not even married. What makes you think they ever will be?”
He felt brief uncertainty, which swiftly changed to anger and impatience. “They will.”
“They don’t even care enough about Qusay to live here. Do you think Rafiq would give up his billion-dollar business empire to come back from Australia and rule? And from what I’ve heard, Tahir is squandering his life away on the international party circuit—”
“People can change—”
“Are you willing to risk the throne of Qusay on that? To place that kind of burden on your younger brothers?” She shook her head desperately. “Even if they do someday have children or grandchildren…those grandchildren will know nothing of Qusay. You think our people would tolerate being ruled by someone ignorant of our languages, our customs?”
His jaw clenched as he looked away. When he looked back at her, his voice was full of agony he no longer tried to hide.
“Is there no chance you could get pregnant, Jasmine?” he said hoarsely. “Not even a small chance? We could see the best fertility specialist in the world, spare no expense, do whatever it took for you to bear my child—”
“No,” she said brutally. “I’ve visited some of the top obstetricians in Manhattan. I got second and third opinions. I can never get pregnant.” A sob rose to her lips. “I won’t destroy my family by becoming your mistress.” She wiped her eyes, lifting her chin. “I deserve more than that. And so do you,” she whispered.
He grabbed her shoulders savagely.
“I’ve waited for you for thirteen years. I’m not going to lose you again.” His hands tightened on her painfully. “Even if the whole world goes down in flames for it. I’m not going to let you go.”
She looked up at him, so impossibly beautiful. Unreachable.
Behind her, the bright flowers and garish red-and-gilt of the private room seemed flat, as if covered by dark mist. Outside the mirrored window, the green grass and brown horses and colorful shirts of the jockeys seemed to fade to black as Jasmine pushed away from him coldly, kneeling to pick up her hat and purse from the carpet.
“Marry another,” she said in a low voice, not looking at him. “Be the king you were born to be.”
He stared at her. “Is it so easy for you to thrust me into the arms of another?”
She sucked in her breath. Her eyes were stricken.
“No,” she choked out. “I hate the woman you’ll marry. Whoever she might be.”
“And I’ll hate any man who has you in his bed. Even the friend who saved my life.” He looked down at her, his jaw hard. “You won’t be my mistress. So there is only one answer. You will marry me.”
Her jaw dropped. “What?”
“Marry me. You must be my queen, Jasmine. Only you.”
Her eyes were huge. Then she seemed to shudder, blinking her eyes as if closing a door in her heart.
“It cannot be. You need an heir. If you married me—whatever you might think—you would be forced to abdicate.”
“I have the right to choose my own bride—”