“You could have written to me.”
She exploded. “Written you a note. Of course. That’s how all husbands and wives communicate. By writing notes. Zahir! You are impossible. Why will you never speak to me? Why do you still keep your distance from me when we can’t keep our hands off each other when we are alone? No don’t answer that. I know why.”
“Why?”
She raised her eyebrows and shrugged, perfecting that nonchalant attitude when she was dying inside. “Because you want me for sex and you hate yourself for wanting someone like me.”
“You’re wrong.”
She looked up expectantly, daring not to hope. “No, I don’t suppose you do hate yourself.”
“How can you think so little of yourself to imagine I would not be proud to want you for yourself—all of you, your past and present.” He gripped her shoulders. “Do you hear me Anna? All of you. It is you who hate yourself.”
“Then why the distance?”
He let go and shrugged lightly. “That is my character and you will have to accustom yourself to that. I am who I am, as you are who you are. I accept you, now you must accept me.”
“I don’t have much chance when I see you only for stolen moments during the day and at night when we have other things on our mind.”
“Then that will change, will it not, when I come to Paris with you.”
“No. I’m going alone with Matta and Muma Yemena. Just us.”
“And why would you want that?”
“Just for some quiet, normal time with my son.”
“Our son.” He opened the door behind him. “And I am coming.”
“To control me, to control Matta? That’s it isn’t it?”
She waited for an answer that didn’t come.
“Just accept it, Anna. I am coming.”
He closed the door leaving her alone and in emotional turmoil once again. She was obviously correct. His need to control surpassed everything.
Zahir walked with his usual sense of purpose through the reception rooms back towards his office, knowing there was nothing about him that reflected the turmoil he kept locked inside. And that was how he liked it.
She was wrong. He kept his distance from her because he had no choice. He couldn’t risk coming closer to her, easing the sadness that he still felt lay deep inside of her. Because the one thing that would ease her pain was the one thing he could never admit. He rubbed his hand on his scar, feeling the heart beat underneath. Scar tissue strengthened the skin, effectively sealing whatever was underneath by an ugly but well nigh impenetrable barrier. He had no idea what lay beneath the scar and he had no intention of ever finding out.
And she was also wrong about his wish to accompany her to Paris. It wasn’t his need to control that made him want to go with her. It was fear. Fear that she would leave him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Zahir couldn’t take his eyes off Anna.
She sat opposite him, looking out the window at the grey clouds as they descended into Charles de Gaulle Airport. Her eyes were bright, lit from inside, in a way that made him sad. He hadn’t seen her like that in Qawaran, despite the fact that she had seemed to blossom there. His eyes flicked to her fuller breasts, where the nap of her silk shirt gleamed where it pulled slightly when she moved. He felt himself stir, wanting her just as he always wanted her. He thought once they were lovers then his need for her would lessen. But, he thought, grimly, it was intensifying if anything and getting more out of control. He hated being out of control. He scowled and followed her gaze.
“You don’t like Paris?” Anna obviously mistaking the cause of his scowl.
“It’s a city, like any other.”
She smiled and gazed back at the city that was coming into view beneath them.
“Well, if you don’t like it, then why come? Think I’ll run off with your son?”
“What would be the point? There is nowhere you can hide from me. I would find you as I found you before. And you know that.”
He watched her swallow and a moment of panic flit across her face. He sat back and sighed. He was annoyed with himself. It was a low blow. He was angry with her because he wanted her so much and his need was growing in ways he couldn’t control. Ways that he didn’t wish to consider. But he still didn’t need to have taunted her with her lack of freedom.
She soon recovered though and met his gaze with an equally irritated one.
“Then why are you here? You always seem to have too much to do in Qawaran. I’m surprised you could get away. Don’t tell me that it’s my allure that’s pulled you away from all things important.”
“I have business in Paris.” He saw her face drop slightly and felt its echo more loudly within himself.
“I see.”
The tilt of her chin as she looked out at the patchwork of fields below touched him.
He leant forward, cupped her chin with his fingers and drew her face round to his, searching the large expressive, blue-grey eyes that failed to hide her feelings.
“But nothing I couldn’t have accomplished from Qawaran. I wanted to be with you.”
He felt the rush of blood surge as her eyes, full of hope, traced his lips. “I’m glad you came.”
Her eyes were darkened with anticipated passion.
He sank back into his chair and closed his eyes, trying to control his need to take her then and there.
“Talk to me, Anna. About anything.”
She laughed, able to read his mind. “Paris then. It’s like coffee and cream.”
He shook his head. “You, Anna, are obsessed with food these days. You must be, because I’ve heard Paris described in many ways but none like that.”
“No really. It’s such a creamy city. I remember the first time I came here with Abduallah.” Her quick glance at him was to check to see if he resented the reference to Abduallah. Despite his love for his brother he couldn’t help feeling a twist of jealousy. He controlled it instantly. “I thought it more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen. The light was so soft, the buildings so old and grand, the people so chic.”
He closed his eyes so he could see better what she was describing. “It is all that—and more.”
“And I met you here.”
He felt himself draw away. “What I never understood was why Abduallah wasn’t keeping you company that evening in the hotel bar. Where was he?”
She blinked softly, looking down at the flat plain beyond which the city glinted through a misty haze. But he knew she wasn’t thinking about the city, her gaze was too abstracted.
“Zahir. Don’t you understand? He was with friends. We weren’t together then. We weren’t a couple but he wanted to pretend we were, for your sake.”
“For my sake. What are you talking about?”
“Abduallah, he—”
“Didn’t want to admit that his marriage had failed?”
She raised her eyebrows momentarily. “Something like that.”
He didn’t understand her resigned tone. “He shouldn’t have worried. These things happen. And it would have made things easier between you and me.”
“I couldn’t betray him.”
He flicked a strand of hair back over her shoulder. “And there was me thinking you had betrayed him.”
“No. I had only betrayed myself.”
“And what is that meant to mean?”
“It was the first time, since that time I spoke to you about, when I was 14 that I had been with a man.”
“Apart from Abduallah, you mean?”
She sighed. “Let’s change the subject.” She took his hand as they both looked out the window. “Paris. It’s a city for walking.” She looked around at the door beyond which she knew the bodyguards were relaxing. “Do they have to go everywhere with us?”
“Of course.”
“But wouldn’t it be nice, just for once, if we were alone? I want you. All to myself.”
He laughed. “You are a greedy, selfish girl.”
S
he loved it when he laughed. She studied his face. The lines were relaxed and humor sparkled in his eyes. His short hair had grown longer recently and fell back from his face in soft waves until it just skimmed his collar. She pushed her fingers through it, not only enjoying the feel of the thick hair through her fingers, but enjoying the flare of sensuality that ignited in his eyes at her touch. She sat back opposite him purposefully.
“Greedy am I? Perhaps I should stop being so greedy. Yes, I wouldn’t want you to think me so out of control.”
“Woman,” he growled, “this is the only time I’m telling you not to listen to me. Be greedy.” He leaned over and rubbed the palms of his hands firmly up her legs.
“No,” she said primly, “it wouldn’t be right, not with so many people about.”
“They are the other side of a door through which no-one would dare enter without first knocking and then awaiting my command to enter.”
His hands moved up her body and drew her to him. She could no more resist the pull of his body than defy gravity.
He kissed her long and hard, until she lay beneath him, her hands around his hips, drawing him harder to him.
Then she broke away from his lips, smiling. “Not now, Zahir. Matta will be awake shortly and will join us.”
As if on cue, a knock on the door was met with a brief command to enter and a sleepy Matta stumbled towards them—an innocent expecting arms to be open for him, expecting reassurance and comfort and receiving it.
With Matta stretched out half-asleep across Anna’s lap, Zahir put his arms around them both and kissed her hair.
She brushed her hand against Matta’s hair and turned to Zahir. “And not only bodyguards, why not give Muma Yemena a few days off to. I know she has relations in Paris.”
“So considerate of you Anna,” one eyebrow wryly raised. “Nothing to do with the fact that you want him all to yourself too.”
“I just want us to be together, just the three of us, like a normal family.”
“Normal? What is so good about that?”
“Everything.”
She closed her eyes as his hand trailed her face, around her eyes and mouth.
“There is nothing ‘normal’ about you.”
“Don’t say that,” she whispered.
She felt his lips on her eyelids, still closed so that he couldn’t see the hurt that his words had caused.
“You are extraordinary in a very positive, exciting, way. Ordinary to me is something of no interest. Open your eyes.”
She did. “Then perhaps we’re two misfits together.”
He smiled. “Perhaps.”
It still hurt. She shifted away as the plane bumped twice onto the tarmac and the sound of the brakes filled the cabin, the roaring awaking Matta for a second time. She was glad of Zahir’s distraction as he lifted Matta into his arms and sat him on his lap to look out the window.
She didn’t want to be a misfit. She wanted to feel normal.
“So, Matta, what do you think we should do first in this beautiful city?”
Matta rubbed his eyes and peered out the window. “Don’t know.”
“Something very special, I think.”
“Food?” suggested Anna.
Zahir laughed. “Of course. And what else, hey Matta? You remember what we talked about last night?”
Matta’s eyes brightened. “Disneyworld!” he shouted.
Later that afternoon, with Matta nodding sleepily on top of Zahir’s shoulders, they walked through the leafy streets of the Marais district, only one bodyguard following at a discreet distance. A rich light flickered through the canopy of sun-scorched leaves onto the bustle of commuters, shoppers, and people just stopping and staring at the district’s beautiful historic buildings.
“So where exactly is your house?”
“I keep two homes here. One for the family is just off the Champs-Élysées and one for me.” He turned to the old building facing them. “Here.”
She looked up at the four-story building. “Some house.”
“I wanted to be in the midst of things. There is more life here for me.” Scooping Matta over his head, he held the sleeping boy in his arms and, after punching in a security code, entered the large courtyard, complete with huge tubs of orange trees. The security guard immediately entered an adjoining building, leaving the three of them alone for the first time.
Anna looked around the huge open-plan space in amazement. “Wow. I would never have believed this existed inside a seventeenth-century building.”
The ostentatious seventeenth-century façade had given way to twenty-first century living inside. The black-painted wooden floors, together with the white plaster walls and minimalist furniture spoke simplicity and luxury at the same time. It was Zahir through and through.
“I had it redesigned to suit my needs.”
“And you need a lap pool down the length of the house?” said Anna as she walked over to the glass wall that separated the pool, lit from overhead by a high, domed glass ceiling.
“Of course. I love water.”
“A desert king who loves water.”
“All desert kings have the greatest respect for water.”
Zahir let Matta gently down onto the couch and covered him with a soft angora throw. She smiled and leant back against the wall. She loved watching him with Matta. Once he was settled he snuggled down for a sleep, tired out from all the excitement and candy.
“Your home is beautiful.”
He smiled, his lips sexily curling as he approached her and pulled off her jacket from around her shoulders.
“I like beautiful things. Particularly when pared down to their original state.” He threw the jacket onto the leather couches before slipping his hands around her body.
She wriggled away, laughing. “I have to get Matta to bed. He’s exhausted. Just as well he ate well earlier. He’s out for the count.”
Zahir scooped him up gently. “I’ll take him to bed.”
Anna took a sip of her wine and watched the flames of the fire lick up the chimney, lighting stray pieces of filmy stuff that stuck to the chimney before sending them up, into the sky overhead. She’d always loved open fires and although it was still summer Zahir had indulged her.
She yawned and stretched out on the rug. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt so relaxed. She smiled as she listened to Zahir say goodnight to Matta in Bedu through the intercom. It was followed by a silence in which Anna just knew that Zahir had kissed their son. She closed her eyes, feeling them prick with emotion. It was all she had ever wanted and it was all that she’d never dared dream.
Anna didn’t hear Zahir re-enter the room. She didn’t need to. She felt his presence as if it were something tangible—a shift in the air, a tensing in the ether. He slipped his arm around her and joined her on the floor in front of the fire.
He sighed, a deep contented sigh that said more to her than words could ever do. They were alone, with the future ahead of them, and all before them. They were so strong together. She stretched out her legs and curled them on top of his as if his body were hers. Nothing could break this bond. Nothing. She tilted her head upwards, leaning against his shoulder and heard the fire hiss as a flame worried a piece of resiny wood and the light flickered across the ceiling above.
“Thank you for today. It meant everything to me. It was just lovely.”
“It was you that made it lovely. Not me. It’s you that makes these things happen, makes them work, makes them complete.”
The words came straight from his heart, she could feel it in the timbre of his voice and in the simplicity of his words. Whenever he said anything that was important he phrased it in the most simple terms. And that was him, she thought. Honest, upright. A “good” man all right. Someone who could be trusted with anything. Perhaps even the truth. Except he didn’t want to know the truth about Abduallah.
She shifted. “Zahir. About Abduallah, I—”
He frowned. “You don’t need to tell me any
thing. I told you once that my memory of Abduallah, as he was and what he stood for, is important to me.”
“But—”
He hushed her with his finger before it traced her lips. “But, nothing. All I need to know is here, in the lines of your body, the curve of your lips. I don’t need to know anything more. He kissed her hair. “I trust you, Anna, like I’ve never trusted anyone before.”
And she could see it in his eyes. They were naked, undefended for the first time ever. But still, deep inside of her, there was a wavering, flickering fear that refused to be extinguished.
He kissed her, stilling her mind, pushing the fear down, until she had no more thought of it. Like everything else he did, his mind was completely focused on her, his lips moved over hers with power and passion but this time with also an exquisite gentleness that was more mind-blowing than anything that went before.
She opened her mouth under his and he pulled away and touched her lips, his finger tracing around her mouth before her lips came around his finger and her tongue swept its length. She watched his eyes darken as they focused on her lips. He slowly withdrew his finger and kissed her again with the same intensity of focus but deeper, more strongly now.
Slowly he pushed the buttons of her shirt through each hole, taking time after each one, to pull the shirt open wider and drop a kiss on each newly revealed inch of skin.
He smiled, as if presented with a feast, as he pushed open the undone shirt and he descended once more, his lips trailing kisses over her stomach and up to her bra. He kissed her breasts over the bra, making no move to undo it. His tongue followed the curve of the top of the satin. Her heart thudded in her chest. His hands pinned her down so she couldn’t move. It was the most exquisite torture. She wanted to respond. She tried to shift her legs, her hips, but he sat down lightly on top of her so she couldn’t move. Then he very slowly unclipped her bra and gently nudged the flimsy piece of white satin aside.
The Sheikh's Bargain Bride (Desert Kings) Page 10
