Their Impossible Desert Match (Mills & Boon Modern)

by Clare Connelly

  At the very edge of the horizon, where sand met sky, whispers of purple were radiating like flames, promising the break of a new day. Soon it would spread, licking upwards, covering the heavens in colour, and then it would begin. How they acted on this day would determine so much.

  She spun back to face Amir. His back was still turned. The sight of him like that, closed off to her, sparked a thousand emotions in her gut. Something inside her snapped, but underneath it all was the wonderment of her realisation.

  ‘What if I stayed?’ she said quietly, moving towards him, circumnavigating his frame so they were toe to toe, eyes clashing.

  ‘I won’t allow it, and nor will your brother.’

  Anger exploded in her gut. ‘Neither of you can control me,’ she said fiercely.

  ‘This isn’t about control. It’s about your safety.’

  ‘You’re saying you can’t keep me safe until this is over?’ she challenged him, so close she could feel the exhalations as he worked to control his temper.

  ‘I’m saying your safety would become all I could think of,’ he contradicted, putting his hands on her shoulders. ‘And I need to focus on this—the country—with all of my attention. In Taquul, you will be safe.’

  ‘Maybe I don’t just want to be safe, trapped in Taquul, dull yet protected,’ she responded. ‘Maybe I’d rather be at risk here with you, than anywhere else in the world.’

  The words were thrown like a gauntlet. They stared at each other, the meaning behind her statement impossible to miss.

  She waited, needing him to speak, but he didn’t, and so she asked, quietly, her voice just a whisper, ‘Do you really want me to leave, Amir?’ She pressed her hand to his chest, feeling the thudding of his heart, wondering if it was beating for her.

  ‘I need it.’

  She shook her head, pain beginning to spread through her. Why couldn’t he see what was right in front of him?

  ‘I’m not afraid.’ She tilted her chin defiantly. ‘You overreacted earlier this week, when the man threw a coffee cup at me, and you’re overreacting now. I’m not made of glass.’

  ‘Overreacting? Did you not hear me, Jo? I’ve just had the chief of my military agency telling me to detain you.’ A shiver ran down her spine at the ugliness of that—how quickly people could turn! ‘If it turns out that this attack had any degree of government assistance then those calls will become louder. Here in Ishkana, to almost all of my people, you are the enemy.’

  Stricken and pale, she trembled. His eyes swept over her, spreading nothing. No warmth. She felt cold to the core of her being.

  ‘You will leave this morning, instead of tomorrow afternoon. Understood?’

  ‘No!’ She shook her head in a last-ditch effort to make him see things as she did—or had. She couldn’t deny the kernel of fear that was spreading through her. But she had to be brave—more was at stake now. If he knew how she felt and what she wanted, would it make a difference?

  ‘You’re the one who doesn’t understand. I don’t want to leave now. I don’t want to leave tomorrow. I want to stay here in Ishkana with you, for the rest of my life, however long that might be. Anything else is unacceptable to me.’ She pressed her hands to her hips, adopting a stance that was pure courage and strength when inside she was trembling like a leaf.

  His expression was impossible to interpret. Dark eyes met and held hers, and he said nothing for so long that her stance began to weaken, one hand dropping to her side, a feeling of loss spreading through her.

  ‘It’s impossible.’

  ‘There would be difficulties,’ she corrected. ‘But what we have is worth fighting for.’

  ‘If things were different,’ he said quietly, his hands lifting to catch her face, cradling her cheeks as he held her so he could see everything that crossed her expression, ‘I might want that too.’

  It was both the bursting of light and hope within her and the breaking apart of it too. ‘Things don’t need to be different. I’m here with you now. Does it make any sense for me to be elsewhere?’

  His eyes swept shut. ‘There’s no future for us, inti qamar. We’ve always known that.’

  Her heart was in pain. ‘Don’t you see what I’m trying to tell you?’

  He moved a finger to her lips. ‘Don’t say it.’ His Adam’s apple jerked as he swallowed. ‘Please don’t say it. I don’t wish to hurt you by not answering with what you would hope to hear in return.’ He padded his thumb over her lower lip.

  ‘So then say it,’ she whispered. ‘I know you feel it.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’ He shook his head. ‘I fought this. I fought you.’ He had. When she’d first come to Ishkana he’d tried so hard to stop any of this from happening. ‘I should have fought harder.’ He stepped back from her, and again she had the sense that he was ending the conversation, making an arbitrary decision that there was no more to say.

  It violated everything she felt and wanted. She stamped her foot as he crossed to the door. He was leaving.

  ‘I love you, Amir.’ He stopped walking and stood completely still. ‘I have fallen so completely in love with you, and not just you—this damned country of yours. I want to stay here with you as your wife, to live my life at your side. Whatever the risks, I want to be here with you.’ His back was ramrod straight. ‘I love you.’

  She felt as though she were paused mid-air, waiting to have a parachute pulled or to drop like a dead weight towards earth. She didn’t move. She waited, her lungs burning with the force of breathing, her arms strangely heavy.

  ‘Loving me is—’

  She held her breath.

  ‘I don’t want your love.’

  She flinched.

  ‘I will never return it.’ His eyes bore into hers, the seriousness of what he was saying eclipsed by a look that showed her he meant every horrible word he said.

  ‘Then what exactly have we been doing?’

  He clamped his lips together, his jaw pressing firm. ‘Not falling in love.’

  She shook her head; she couldn’t believe it. ‘I have been.’ She swallowed past a wave of bitterness. ‘And nothing you say will make me change my mind on that.’

  His response was to walk away from her, across the room. At the door, he turned to face her. ‘Forget about me, Johara. Go home to Taquul, live your life. Be happy. Please.’

  The helicopter lifted from the palace, and he watched it take off into the dawn sky. With one call he could have it summoned back to the palace. A word to a servant and the pilot would respond, bringing the helicopter—and its passenger—back to him. I want to stay here with you as your wife.

  It was impossible.

  If this morning’s outbreak of violence had demonstrated anything it was that the people of Taquul and Ishkana would never tolerate anything of the sort. Detain the Princess.

  If he weren’t Sheikh? And she weren’t a princess?

  No. He wouldn’t lose himself in hypotheticals. He was Sheikh Amir Haddad of Ishkana and his allegiance was—and always would be—to his country.

  He wouldn’t think of her again.

  ‘It makes sense, Jo.’

  She sat very still, listening to her brother, her eyes focussed on the spectacular view framed through the windows of this room. Desert sand, the crispest white, spread before them, meeting a sky that was a blisteringly bright blue.

  It was just as it had been from the ruins.

  So much of Taquul was like Ishkana.

  ‘You must be able to see how right this is. It’s what our parents wanted, it’s what I want, what he wants. I think deep down it’s even what you want.’

  ‘Well,’ she couldn’t help drawling her response, ‘I’m glad you’ve given what I want some thought, seeing as I’d be the one marrying him.’

  ‘You used to like Paris,’ Malik said with a shake of his head, coming to sit be
side her. The smell of his tea reached her nostrils.

  ‘I still like Paris,’ she agreed. ‘I consider him a friend. But I don’t intend to marry him.’

  Malik sighed. ‘What’s got into you?’

  She turned to face him, her eyes clear. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’ve been...different...since you got back from Ishkana.’

  Got back. Returned. Came ‘home’. All perfectly calm ways to describe the fact she felt as though a rocket had blasted her world into pieces.

  ‘I felt the same way about this before I left. I have never intended to marry Paris. Not really.’ She sighed. ‘I can see the sense of it. I can tell it’s what you want, and yes, I can see why. But I won’t marry him.’

  ‘He cares for you.’

  I love you. He hadn’t said anything back. Did that mean he didn’t love her? Or that he couldn’t love her?

  It didn’t matter. Four weeks had passed. Four weeks. With effort, work and a lot of the reason, sympathy and diplomacy Johara had advocated for, peace was being forged, and it was strengthening with every day that passed. Life was normal again. Except it wasn’t. In the middle of her chest there was an enormous black hole. She went through the motions each day, imitating the woman she’d once been. But while her body had returned to Taquul, her heart and soul had remained behind in Ishkana. She doubted the two would ever reunite.

  ‘I can’t marry him,’ she said, more strenuously.

  ‘Why not?’

  Why not? The truth was screaming through her. She stood uneasily, jerkily, moving to the window. The maze was around the corner. If she leaned forward, she’d be able to see just a hint of its verdant walls. She closed her eyes, nausea rising inside her.

  ‘I am different.’ The words were barely a whisper. She heard the rustle of clothing as her brother came to stand behind her. ‘Something happened in Ishkana and it’s changed me. I might have been more malleable once. I might even have agreed to this, to please you, and because yes, I can see that it makes a sort of sense. But not now. I can’t. Please don’t ask me again.’

  ‘What happened, Jo?’ There was urgency in his question. ‘Did someone hurt you?’ She heard the fear beneath the statement. Why couldn’t they stop worrying about her? As though she were so fragile, and couldn’t look after herself.

  ‘I was treated as an honoured guest,’ she assured him. ‘No one hurt me.’

  And because the words had been pressing down on her like an awful weight for a month now, she said them aloud, needing to speak them to make them real, and to understand them better. ‘I fell in love.’ She angled her face towards her brother’s. ‘I fell in love in Ishkana. The idea of marrying Paris—or anyone—makes my blood run cold. Please don’t ask it of me.’

  ‘Fell in love?’ he repeated, frowning, as though this was an entirely foreign concept. ‘With whom?’

  Was there any sense in lying? She bit down on her lip, searching for what she should say or do.

  But Malik swore, shook his head. ‘No. Not him.’

  ‘Yes.’ She twisted her fingers at her side, seeing her brother’s shock and wishing she hadn’t been the instrument of it, and also not caring, because inside she’d grown numb and cold.

  ‘Johara, you cannot be serious.’

  She bit down on her lip. ‘I love him.’

  ‘This man is—he is—’

  ‘What is he?’ she challenged defiantly, anger coursing through her veins. ‘The war is over.’

  ‘But the sentiments are not.’ He sighed angrily. ‘We were at war a long time. You might be ready to forget that but our people won’t. There’s been too much loss. Too much hurt. It’s going to take time and you, a princess of Taquul, cannot simply do as you wish.’

  ‘Of course I can.’ She held his gaze levelly, her expression firm. ‘I refuse to be bound by a war that has ended, by a war that was started a century ago. I refuse to hate a man I hadn’t even met until a few weeks ago. I love him—and you cannot, will not, change my mind or my heart.’

  Malik glared at her with a mix of outrage and disbelief. ‘I forbid it. I forbid any of this. You will marry Paris and that’s the end of it.’ He stared at her for several more seconds then turned, stalking towards the door. He slammed it behind him; she didn’t so much as flinch.

  Amir told himself he wouldn’t ask about her. This day wasn’t about Johara. It wasn’t about him. This was an event marking six months of hard-fought-for peace, a meeting with Malik Qadir, to show the world that the two leaders were intent on progressing matters. It hadn’t been smooth sailing, but each little outbreak had been quickly quelled. All-out war had been avoided.

  ‘Let me stand by your side. Let them see us united.’

  He heard her voice often. Her promises. Her offer. Her desire.

  ‘I love you.’

  He wouldn’t ask about her.

  Within minutes, this would be over. A handshake in front of the media, and then they’d slip into their separate cars, go in separate directions, lead separate lives. Because they were Qadir and Haddad and that was what they did.

  Malik had her eyes.

  Amir felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. But hadn’t it been that way since she’d left?

  The documents were signed—more trade agreements, a relaxation on sanctions, the beginning of an economic alliance that would strengthen both countries. The business was concluded.

  ‘Leave us.’ Amir surveyed the room, encompassing Taquul and Ishkana aides in his directive.

  Malik gave a single nod to show his agreement.

  There was the scraping of chairs, the sound of feet against tiles, the noise as the door opened to the corridor beyond, and then they were alone; silence fell once more.

  ‘The agreement is in order.’ Malik’s voice was firm. ‘Our people will benefit from this.’

  Amir nodded. He wouldn’t ask about her.

  ‘And it is timely too,’ Malik said, standing, extending his hand to bring the meeting to an end.

  If he was going to ask, it would need to be now. How is she? The words ran through his head, demanding an answer. He needed to know as he needed to breathe. Nothing more—just how is she? Was she happy?

  So much of his own happiness depended on that.

  ‘My attention can now be given over to the details of my sister’s marriage.’ Malik said the words simply, without any hint of malice. He couldn’t have known that his statement was an instrument of intense pain to Amir. He kept his face neutral, but his body was tense, like a snake ready to strike.

  ‘Marriage?’

  ‘Yes.’ Simple, with a smile. No ulterior motive. ‘You met her fiancé, Paris.’

  Amir nodded, standing, his chest constricting. ‘Yes, of course. When is the wedding to take place?’

  ‘Next week.’ He held his hand out for Amir to shake. Amir stared at Malik’s hand for several seconds, a frown on his face. He wanted to say so much! He wanted to ask questions, to know everything.

  But he didn’t have any right to ask.

  ‘Wish...her well from me.’

  A week came and went. Amir kept busy. He worked twenty-hour days, involving himself in every single ministerial portfolio. Very little went on that concerned his people of which he was not aware. He reviewed education initiatives, went through medical funding with a fine-tooth comb, oversaw high-level military meetings, and all the while he refused to pay attention to the days that were passing. He wouldn’t think about Johara.

  He didn’t deserve to think of her.

  She had offered herself to him—her heart, her love, her service to his country—she had given him everything she had to give and he had told her to go. He’d told her to have a happy life. And that was what she was doing—with Paris.

  He couldn’t think about what she would have looked like on her wedding day; would she
have smiled as she walked down the aisle? Was she nervous? Excited? Was she truly happy?

  He couldn’t think about what would happen after. Man and wife, the life they’d lead. He couldn’t think about her being kissed by another man, touched by him. He couldn’t think about any of it.

  He’d made his decision, and even as he’d told her to leave he’d known he would regret it. He’d expected this. He owed it to both of them to hold the course.

  This was for the best.

  ‘Did they ever tell you how they met?’

  Amir frowned, lifting his gaze from the wedding portrait of his parents, a decoration that had sat on his desk for so long he barely looked at it any more, focussing on Ahmed. The older man had been leaving, their meeting concluded. In fact, Amir had thought he had already left.

  ‘No.’ Amir shook his head. ‘They didn’t.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ Ahmed’s smile showed affection, but something else—strain. His eyes swept over Amir.

  ‘I was only twelve when they died. It wasn’t something we’d discussed.’

  ‘It was the night your father’s engagement was supposed to be announced.’

  Amir frowned. ‘They hadn’t met before?’

  ‘No.’ Ahmed moved to the photo, picking it up off the desk and looking at it thoughtfully. ‘She was a guest at the party, the cousin of a diplomat. Your father bumped into her—spilled a drink on her skirt, if I remember correctly—and the rest was history.’

  ‘You’re saying he was supposed to marry someone else until that night?’

  ‘I’m saying within half an hour of meeting your mother he insisted the engagement agreement be set aside. They were inseparable.’ Ahmed sighed.