He shut down that line of thinking. It would not happen. He would not touch her.
His engagement to Christine would be honored. Though he and his fiancée did not have a physical relationship, they had made an agreement. And he would respect that.
If Samson had had the foresight to stay away from Delilah, he would’ve been spared quite a bit of trouble. Zayn intended to spare himself the trouble. He would not touch Sophie.
He adjusted his hold on her, disengaging his arm from hers and placing his hand on her lower back. The gesture was provocative, more intimate than the previous one. He was doing it to test himself. Doing it to prove to himself that he was not a slave.
She tensed beneath his touch, but did not look at him. She didn’t stop. Perhaps she was testing herself, too.
No, he would not think of that. That way lay madness.
They walked from the dining room, and down the corridor that led to his quarters.
The study was different to the rest of the palace. Most of this portion of it was. Zayn had never moved quarters when his parents had left. Instead choosing to stay in the rooms he had called home from the time he was a child. He had remodeled them as an adult. The study had a more European feel to it. Dark wood bookcases, large windows that overlooked the gardens outside. And armchairs. Places for him to read. When he had given up partying, when he’d given up womanizing, he’d had to find a hobby. Reading seemed as good as any.
“Well, this is different than what I imagined.”
“What is it you imagined?” he asked.
“Well, not this.”
“I am gratified that I was able to surprise you.” He released his hold on her and gestured to one of the velvet armchairs. “Please have a seat.”
He took a seat across from her, a healthy amount of space between them. “Would you like something to drink?”
“I feel a brandy is in order.”
He chuckled. “A brandy. Yes, naturally.” He stood again and made his way over to the bar in the corner of the room, picking up a decanter and pouring both of them a healthy portion of amber liquid. He made his way back over to the chairs, handing her a glass, careful to ensure that his fingers did not brush hers.
He took a seat across from her again.
“Thank you.” She swirled the liquid, lifting it to her lips, blinking when it touched her tongue.
“Strong?”
“No. Not strong at all.”
“We wouldn’t want it going to your head. You have an interview to conduct.”
She cleared her throat and straightened, setting the glass on the rich wood side table. “Yes, so...about the Chatsfields.”
He waved his hand, silencing her. “No, that is not how we are doing this.”
“What?”
“If you want to interview me, it will be on my terms. We will do this my way, or we will not do it at all. We will go back to talking about the very hot weather.”
“That isn’t how an interview works. I’m not sure if you’ve ever had one conducted?”
“It is how an interview works with me. If you don’t like it, spend the remainder of your time here in your room, and get nothing from me.”
“You know, you really are a demanding bastard.”
“I have never claimed to be anything else.”
“Fair point,” she said, her tone dry.
“Your boss wants an article on the wedding. And I think in order for you to get a good picture of the wedding, you need to understand some things about the circumstances my country is in.”
“Okay,” she answered slowly.
“In order to understand why the marriage is important, you must understand the monarchy.”
“I was always a very good study in world history. I do know some things about Surhaadi.”
He leaned back in his chair, a smile curving his lips. “Really? Do enlighten me on all of your knowledge of my country.”
“I didn’t mean to sound all arrogant about it. It’s only that I am somewhat familiar.”
“Yes, well, you may be somewhat familiar, but it is in my blood. The history of Surhaadi is a part of me, like flesh over bone.”
She reached down and picked up her purse, pulling out a small black device. “Tape recorder.”
He inclined his head. “Of course.”
It stood to reason that she would be recording their interactions, for ease when she compiled the conversations into an article. But it also made him conscious of the fact that he would have to be very careful in what he told her. She would have his words recorded, and she would be able to play them back, turn them over. Dissect them for meaning.
He continued. “But, of course, before you can understand the monarchy, you must understand how it was founded.”
“If you insist.”
He could tell that she was quite annoyed with him. Quite annoyed at being subjected to a history lesson rather than simply being handed the information she was after. But he had to keep her here, and he was busily trying to construct a way to do that. To keep her hanging out for information that he did not have, so that she would remain of her own accord. There was little honor in this kind of behavior, but he had given up any chances of being truly honorable years ago. He could hardly grieve the loss of it now. He could only afford it where the treatment of his family was concerned. And nowhere else.
In actuality, he had no intention of throwing her in a dungeon. And were she to escape the palace there was a limit to what he could do. Certainly, he was the sheikh, but he could hardly have a woman going to the media and claiming he had kidnapped her, and was holding her in the palace. Which meant that if she escaped he could not go after her. In which case she would simply be written off as a spurned lover. Or a woman who had been spurned in an attempt to be his lover.
That his reputation could transcend. The kidnapping very likely not.
“I do insist.”
“Okay, then let’s start at the beginning.” She leaned back in her chair, her hand poised on the record button.
“My family has been in Surhaadi for at least a thousand years. Of course, at the time it was not one unified kingdom. Rather, it was a territory populated by a series of independently ruled tribes.” This was like reciting remedial history, and he’d never paid much attention to history in school, but as an adult he had started to appreciate his country’s past. Had started investigating it on his own.