She must have dozed off because when she awoke, a misty, rain-washed moon cast its weak light over her as she lay on the chaise langue before the French windows. It was late. The long dusk had faded into a dense, misty indigo light. She shifted, rubbed her eyes and wondered what had awoken her. The door closed softly and Zahir entered the room, switching on a dim lamp.
He looked exhausted, grim. He stood over her, his hair ruffled, his clothes soaking, water pooling onto the wooden floor, the drips from his sleeve forming expanding drops of darkness on the throw that covered her. She shivered and instinctively moved away. She was looking at a stranger.
“You tried to tell me didn’t you?”
Even his voice sounded strange to her ears: rough, unused. She nodded but he didn’t see; he turned around and repeated the question.
“You tried to tell me didn’t you?”
“Yes, I tried.”
“You could have tried harder, Anna.”
She shook her head, injustice giving her the strength to face this stranger. “That’s not fair. I did try but you made it clear that you didn’t want to hear what I had to say.”
“A gay bar. A gay man. Was this man, James, my brother’s lover?”
The hoarse, tortured tone in which he uttered the last few words tore at her heart. She’d never heard that tone of vulnerability in him before. It revealed a side to Zahir that had long lain hidden, she knew, even from himself and it broke down their separation. He was no longer a stranger.
“I don’t think so. Closest confidante, more like. To my knowledge Abduallah was celibate. He didn’t like being gay.”
“Oh.”
Despite the soft patter of rain that now fell, temporarily hiding the moonlight, Anna could hear a wealth of meaning in the cracked one-syllable word.
“He thought you’d be ashamed of him.”
“Well I’m not. I could never be ashamed of him.”
She rose and came over to him and put a hand onto Zahir’s arm. “Then what made him think you would be?”
Zahir shrugged. “Me, I suppose. The person I am: the fighter, the business-man, always tough, always black and white.”
“Abduallah didn’t know you and I don’t think you even know you. That’s not the person you are. Not deep down.”
“And then there is our culture, our society. It is strong, but not unyielding.”
“Abduallah’s difficulty lay in accepting who he was, himself. He felt you wouldn’t approve, he felt he wouldn’t fit in, but more than that he couldn’t accept his own nature. He hated himself.”
“No,” the moan vaguely formed the word.
“I’m sorry, but he did.”
“And I thought it was you—however indirectly—that you and your connections were responsible for his death.”
“Zahir, I tried to save him. I married him in ignorance and got a divorce as soon as I realized the truth. I only came with him to Paris to see you because he pleaded with me to, because I wanted to help him. I wanted him to believe in himself. His friends, friends like James, wanted to help him. He had the choice and he chose not to live.” She looked down at the rain-slicked courtyard below the window. “Not even for Matta.”
Zahir turned then, his face weary, his eyes ineffably sad.
“You have it wrong Anna. I was responsible for my brother’s death. I thought you disloyal but you were being loyal to Abduallah and I thank you for that. You kept your faith with him to the end—and beyond—you even lied for him when it wasn’t in your interests to do so. I thought you were the opposite of the things that I held dear, when you were in fact far more loyal than I could ever be.”
“No, Zahir, that’s ridiculous. You did what you could.”
“But it wasn’t enough was it?”
The bitterness in his tone shocked her.
Anna knelt on the bed and pressed her warm body to his wet one, trying to pull him towards her but he resisted, his eyes looking down upon her with a distance that chilled her. Still she would not stop. She curled her hands firmly around resisting, stone shoulders, her hands bunching into the damp material of his shirt.
“Zahir, stop it. Stop this. You can’t do everything. You can’t control everything. You can’t save everyone.”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand. He was the world I was fighting for. Without that? Where is the meaning?”
“Look at your sisters, look at Matta. And Abduallah—he loved you for who you were, absolutely. So don’t think your sacrifices were in vain. They weren’t. They’ve given your family, and your people, everything. Without you, they would have nothing.”
“But Abduallah would have been alive.”
“You don’t know that.”
She felt the tenseness in his body fall away then as if something stern that had been holding him together had been released. She cupped his cheek, the face that was so compelling, so stern, so arrogant, now vulnerable in the extreme.
“He died because of me.”
“No.” She’d never seen him this desolate, this out of control. Her hands found no resistance now and she pulled him closer to her so he would have to listen, have to understand. “No, he didn’t. He died because he couldn’t take the hand of cards that life had dealt him.”
He looked up at her with eyes that were grief-stricken. She’d never seen him like this, could never have imagined he would let anything get to him like this. He looked at her as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said, hadn’t felt the touch of her hands on his body.
He closed his eyes, lost in a world of pain that he didn’t want anyone else to enter. “He turned away from his family because he believed we could not understand and would condemn.”
“You didn’t know him but he didn’t know you either.” She slipped her arms around his back, weaving her fingers together, and was shocked to feel him flinch. But she refused to let him go.
“Don’t try to comfort me. There is no comfort to be had.”
But she would not be pushed away and she held him more tightly still.
He fought her off gently but firmly, pushing her arms away until she became furious and hit out. He caught her hand and looked down.
“I don’t want your comfort. Don’t you understand?”
“Tough. Because you’re getting it whether you think you want it or not.”
Zahir smiled then. “Remember, Matta told you not to tell off a sheikh.”
“And since when do I take advice from my son?”
He shook his head. “One more thing, tell me, did Abduallah want to come home?”
It was tearing her apart seeing him so devastated but this time, whatever the consequences, she had to tell the truth.
“No. He couldn’t face you.”
He turned away so she couldn’t see his face and blindly pulled her to him, his arm curling around her waist, drawing her into his body. And she held him like she would have held Matta when he came to her seeking comfort.
“Zahir,” she said gently, “there was nothing you could have done. Abduallah was on a path to self destruction before I met him. He was a man not happy with who he was and unwilling to face the truth about himself. Even his love for Matta couldn’t save him.”
He turned to her then and she’d never seen his face so open, so bleak before. It was as if all life had been leached from him and he saw nothing but pain. His gaze dropped from hers and fell to her lips but he made no movement. It was up to Anna to slip her hands round the back of his head, press her fingers through his hair and pull his face down to hers. She needed to reassure, she needed to show him her love for him and, above all, she wanted to connect with him again. He felt distant and she had to bridge that distance before it became insurmountable.
His lips were cool to her own. But she held hers there, softly pressing, feeling out his with her own, insisting on a warmth of feeling that she knew to be there. But still she could not feel he was present. She pulled away again.
“Zahir, please.”
He lifted his finger to her face and swept it across her cheek. “I’ve only ever seen you cry once before. When you were pleading for your son. And now?”
He looked at her with the old spark: whether it was curiosity or something else, she didn’t care. She was just glad to see something.
“Now, I’m pleading with you.”
He hesitated only a moment, his eyes roaming her face before he pressed his lips to hers and kissed her with all the heat and need that she could have desired. But too soon he pulled back. Silently he pushed up her sweater and pressed his cold hands against her warm stomach making her muscles clench with shock. He slid his hands under her bra and closed his eyes as his thumbs rubbed hard against her nipples. But his restless hands didn’t stay there; they slid under her body and before she knew what he was doing he’d lifted her in his arms and lain her down on the bed.
She gasped as his warm lips followed his cold hands and she felt the wet heat of his mouth upon her nipples, drawing them tight until she felt the instant spiral of desire swirl inside her, obliterating all else.
Then his lips moved to hers in a kiss, so intense, that she was barely aware that he’d removed the remaining clothes that lay between them until she felt the smooth slide of him inside of her. She gasped against his lips and fell into his quickening rhythm. There was no softness, no lingering sensuous enjoyment to their love-making this time. The intensity of the kiss was reflected in the intensity in his eyes and his body. It was as if he were desperate to make that connection with her, not just on the physical level but on the emotional. They climaxed swiftly—their bodies aroused as always by each other, but their minds unwilling and unable to prolong the sensory experience.
Afterwards they lay, facing each other, holding each other, their legs still entwined, Anna’s cheek pressed against Zahir’s chest, feeling his heart beat and praying that he wouldn’t retreat from her, that he’d passed through the pain and could go on again, stronger than before. But he was so proud, so controlling, that she couldn’t imagine what effect his newly acquired knowledge would have.
The pain hurt more, if anything, Zahir thought, after he’d made love to Anna. It was as if he’d chosen to embrace feeling, rather than do as he’d always done, and bury it so deep that even he didn’t know it was there. He looked down at her. She lay still, her cheek pressed to his chest. He knew her eyes were open, he could feel the flutter of her lashes against his chest. He understood the reason for her silence. She was giving him the only comfort she could. Herself. She was everything to him now. Everything. And the love-making they’d just had didn’t show her how much he felt for her.
But he would.
CHAPTER TEN
Anna sifted through the letters and plucked out a recycled brown envelope and turned it to see who it was from. The Sorbonne. She slit it with her finger and withdrew the paper with shaking hands. Her first assignment results. She read it and felt the grin slowly spread across her face.
She looked up at Zahir over the breakfast table. They were sitting outside, on the rear terrace of the house, surrounded by lush green plants and tall trees reaching up into a pale blue sky. No more had been said after the previous night. Zahir’s face under the soft morning sun was more open than before but what she read there didn’t comfort her. He raised his eyes suddenly to hers, the frown lines deepening, while his eyes reflected back to her a little of the light of her smile.
“Good news?”
“A+!” she dropped the results in front of him.
“You are surprised? I’m not.”
“Relieved is what I am.”
He picked up the letter. “And a personal note from the tutor inviting you to participate in the honors stream. We must go out and celebrate.”
She shook her head, smiling, her bare foot running up the side of his leg. “We must stay in and celebrate.”
“An excellent idea. Matta is wanting to stay another night at Firyal’s so we will have the night to ourselves.”
“And day.”
“A day in which to make amends for my behavior last night.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Your behavior? If you were bad I would have told you off. Just ask Matta.”
“Not bad perhaps, but I can certainly be better and it is that I would like to show you.”
“Really? Where would you like to begin?”
They held each other’s gaze for a moment: hers playful, Zahir’s suddenly revealing a softness she’d never seen before. He reached over and caressed her cheek with his fingers.
“Where would you like me to begin?”
She brought the palm of his hand to her lips and kissed it, before looking up flirtatiously into his eyes. “I could demand an apology, I suppose.”
“You have it. I am everything you’ve ever accused me of: arrogant, stubborn, cold.”
“True. So if you’re sorry about that does that mean you’re going to change?”
He sat back in his chair. “Unfortunately no. I cannot.”
“Good. Because I’ve learnt how to warm your coldness.”
“Indeed you have.”
“And I know how to get through to your stubbornness.”
He frowned. “Stubborn is simply another word for sticking to one’s beliefs.”
“Yes and I know it’s hard for you to understand but sometimes, just sometimes, you’re wrong. And sticking to what you believe in when you’re wrong, is just plain stubborn.”
“I am always open to rational argument.”
“Just as well I’m going to be a hot-shot lawyer then, isn’t it?” She grinned. “So that just leaves your bossy, arrogant ways. And you don’t have to apologize for them either because I’d kind of miss them if they went away. I mean, where would the fun be in disregarding a bossy man.”
“You dare disregard me?”
“Of course. And where would be the thrill in teasing a humble man?”
“Fun and thrills. Is that all you are after from me?”
His brown eyes had slowly warmed and formed the hot connection she’d been seeking. A slow smile spread over her lips as she slipped off her sandal and lifted her foot under the table and swept the arch of her foot up his calf, his thighs, before she found her target and caressed him intimately. His eyes flicked closed momentarily as he felt the smooth caress of her foot, arched to cup him with her toes molding to fit his hardening shape.
“Exactly.”
“Come here.” His voice was gruff, hoarsely aroused.
“There you are again, being bossy.” Her foot didn’t stop moving. “I told you I don’t respond to bossy men.”
“You respond well to me, at night, in the dark. You recognize the truth of my words then. Perhaps I need to show you why you need to come to me now.”
He caught hold of her foot and rubbed his thumb up its length, touching enough pressure points to ignite several parts of her body at once. With her foot resting once more on his lap where it resumed its caress, his hands swept up her bare leg briefly tracing the moist curves of her sex over her panties before dragging his nails down her leg again.
He took her foot and let it drop to the ground.
“Come here,” he repeated.
She had no choice but to go. “It’s only because I want to,” she said defensively as she sat down on his lap. “You can be very persuasive.” He pulled her face to his in a kiss that made her forget what she was being defensive about. She pushed her hands under his shirt, wanting to feel more of him, needing his clothes to be gone. She pulled away from his lips and stood up, relishing the look on his face of unabashed lust as she stripped off her panties. She unzipped his trousers carefully until she could hold him in her hands as she straddled him, skimming the surface of his arousal with her own.
“Woman. You’re teasing me.”
“As I said I like to tease.”
Two strong hands pulled her down on him and all teasing ceased.
He knew what she was doing but he had no wish to stop. It was t
oo pleasurable even if it was ineffective. The morning had passed in passionate love-making outside in the bijoux garden overlooked by nothing but the birds, trees and sky. He’d made use of the softly springy, pungent chamomile on which to lie the tender, pale body of his lover—the only lover he would ever have in the true sense of the word, he now knew. He watched her skin peak under the chill of the light breeze and flush under the internal fire that his thrusting ignited, and all the while felt himself sinking deeper into this woman who had changed his life. It was only when the pale blue sky had turned to grey and they’d lain, hearts beating, soft rain coating their sweat-slicked bodies, that he felt her begin to chill and he carried her upstairs to the bed.
He didn’t make love to her again immediately but simply took time to indulge himself in the pleasure of looking at Anna’s beauty: her cool, blonde hair, blonder where the harsh desert sun had caught the top-most strands, more golden beneath. Fine hair, that poured like silk over the pillow and his muscled, brown fore-arm. He loved watching Anna’s pleasure: it was not superficial, but a deeply-felt thing that took its time forming and took its time dissipating. He loved watching her and absorbing the fact that somehow she had come to mean more to him than he did himself.
Strangely the thought didn’t appall him, it was so right. She completed him in a way that he didn’t even know was necessary. The only thing that appalled him was how he’d used her: the angry, bitter things he’d said to her when he’d believed she was not only married to his brother but, later, pregnant with his child; the force with which he’d coerced her into marrying him; the way he’d trapped this beautiful, free woman who didn’t ever deserve to be trapped again.
He lay alongside her but not touching her for a long time. Her eyes fluttered from time to time and drifted into a light sleep before awaking with that slow, pleasurable stretching of the limbs, the same sensuous pleasure gained from the feel of the fine cotton sheets against her body. Then she’d turn, knowing he was there, aware that he was still watching her but totally unselfconscious, she’d return his gaze.
The Sheikh's Bargain Bride (Desert Kings) Page 12