almost, though she did not for one second mistake that leashed power in him for anything else. She could feel it as if it was a third presence in the room.
She could feel it inside her, turning her to flame.
Anya frowned at him. “Is that the question you wanted to ask me?”
He laughed at that, as if it was funny, when she felt so sure that it was crucial that he ask her his question. That it was fate.
But he was laughing. And Anya took the opportunity to ask herself what she was doing here. Why wasn’t she on her way to the American embassy right now? And if she really wanted to sleep in that glorious bed—which she truly did, after a prison cot—why wasn’t she up in that suite right now, continuing to pamper herself?
Why was she sitting here next to Tarek, imprisoning herself by choice, as if he was cupping her between his palms?
Worse still, she had the distinct sensation that he knew it.
“It is more a proposition than a question,” he told her.
And Anya did not need to let that word kick around inside her, leaving trails of dangerous sparks behind. But she didn’t do a thing to stop it. “Do you often proposition your former captives?”
“Not quite like this, Doctor.” He didn’t smile then, though she thought his eyes gleamed. And she felt the molten heat of it, the wild flame. She thought she saw stars again, but it was only Tarek, gazing back at her. “I want you to marry me.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“MARRY YOU?” HIS suspicious doctor echoed.
Notably not in tones of awe and gratitude, which Tarek would have expected as his due from any other woman not currently seeking asylum in the Canadian provinces.
But then, that somehow felt to Tarek like confirmation that this woman was the correct choice for this complicated moment in Alzalam’s history. And for him, because she was...different. A challenge, when women had always been an afterthought at best for him.
“It is an easy solution to a thorny problem.” He watched, fascinated, as a hint of color asserted itself on her fine cheeks. “I assume you acquainted yourself with the media coverage of your case before dinner.”
Her color deepened. “I did not.”
He lifted his brows. “Did you not? I find that surprising.”
She moved her shoulders, but it was less a straightening, or even a shrug. It was more...discomfort, he thought. And he found he liked the idea that she was not immune to him, to this. That he was not the only one wrestling with entirely too much sensation.
“I haven’t had access to the internet for a long time,” she said after a moment. “It seemed almost too much, really. I’m sure that will pass and I’ll find myself addicted to scrolling aimlessly again. Isn’t everyone?”
Tarek did not allow himself the weakness of addiction. But he did not say this here, now. He liked, perhaps too much, that she had not raced off to look herself up. That the stories others told about her—and about him—had not been her first priority.
That she was in no hurry to resume her old life could only support his proposition, surely.
He should not have let that notion work in him like heat. “I assume your ambassador and his men shared with you that you have become something of a cause célèbre.”
Anya didn’t meet his gaze. And though he hadn’t known her long at all, it was clear that looking away was not usual for this woman. She was all about her directness. She was forthright and pointed. A scalpel, not a soft veil.
That, too, was its own heat inside him.
“I don’t exactly know how to process the notion that anyone knows who I am,” she said after a moment. “I know some people enjoy being talked about like that, but I’m not one of them.”
“Allow me to recap,” Tarek offered, sitting back in his chair so he would not indulge himself and touch her. Though he marveled at how much he wished to do so. “Because I did spend the evening catching up on the sad tale of the American doctor we so cruelly imprisoned here while handling a small, inconsequential revolution. After she illegally crossed our border.”
Her gaze snapped to his then, and Tarek wondered why it was he preferred her temper when he would not have tolerated it from anyone else.
“Careful,” she said softly. “The mocking tone doesn’t help your case.”
“Forgive me. It is only that looking at you, it is hard