But thoughts became entangled and disappeared altogether as she realised that once again she’d reached that strange plateau, but this time she knew the wonder of the experience that lay beyond it, and she moved beneath him, searching for the connection that would repeat it, moving faster, with him, rising higher, wanting the nearly unbearable tension to break again, to shatter her so she could be new again.
It came, and with it a shout of exultation from Azzam, then his movements slowed and he collapsed on top of her, his body hard and hot, slick with sweat, his lips by her ear, murmuring words she didn’t understand.
She held him tightly, aware this might be the only time they could lie this way, and knew she loved him—probably would always love him. She looked up at the moon, silently telling it of her love, and knew, too, that the magic of this memory would light her life just as the moon had added magic to their lovemaking.
Azzam rolled away from her, remaining close, raising his upper body on his elbow, his head on his hand, looking down at her, his free hand running across her skin.
‘You are a ghost, an apparition, a thing of wonder and delight. That is what I said to you in my language.’
Now he touched her face.
‘You are happy? No regrets?’
Still lost in a place beyond words, she smiled and shook her head, then, as if remembering something, he frowned.
‘Alex?’
Her name was more tentative on his lips than she had ever heard it, then, still frowning he ran his hand down her body, sliding it between her legs, touching the wetness lingering there.
Now he frowned, as if remembering something, studying her, the frown deepening.
‘You were a virgin?’
It was more an accusation than a question and it cut into her hazy, drifting thoughts, bringing her back to earth with such a jolt she sat up and stared at him.
‘Is that a sin?’ she demanded, so annoyed at being shaken out of her little bubble of happiness she could have slapped him.
‘Not a sin, no,’ he said quietly, touching her on the shoulder. ‘But you should have said— I could have hurt you— I wouldn’t—’
‘If you say you wouldn’t have had sex with me if you’d known, I might just hit you,’ she warned. ‘And if you mention it again—as if I had some kind of rare sexually transmitted disease—I will walk home from this place if it takes me all night.’
Angry and feeling somehow humiliated, as if her virginity had been an affront to him, she reached out and grabbed the first thing that came to hand, which happened to be his gown. Clutching it in front of her, she moved away from him.
‘Alex!’
Azzam said her name but had no words with which to follow it. Somehow, on top of what had happened, he’d made it worse—offended her in some way he didn’t understand.
‘Well?’ she demanded, his gown wrapped around her body, tucked in above her breasts so she wore it like a sarong while she searched among the tumbled cushions, presumably for her gown and underwear.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ he admitted. ‘I don’t know what to tell you. I want to say I’m sorry, but I’m not, for what we shared was, to me, truly amazing—something very special and something I will always remember.’
‘Then that makes two of us,’ she snapped, finding her gown. Discarding his robe, she pulled the silver sheath over her head. But she wasn’t done. Grabbing the small silver bag she’d brought with her, she pulled out a cloak. In the haze of what was happening, Azzam still registered the fact that it must have been silk for it to have folded so small. Now she’d donned it over the silver dress and stood, a slender, muted figure all in black, the milky white skin no longer tantalising him, although the shining hair still shamed the moon with its beauty.
‘You are still you beneath the gown and cloak,’ he reminded her, but she didn’t speak and he knew he’d broken the bond between them—a bond he’d been beginning to believe might form a solid foundation for something special.
CHAPTER NINE
THEY flew back to the palace in silence, Azzam wondering if he’d ever understand women. From the helipad behind the palace he could walk her as far as the door to the women’s house where she was staying, or to his own quarters—equidistant.
He wanted to do the latter, not because he had any intention of making love to her again this evening but so they could talk and maybe sort this out. But how to ask? The woman was a puzzle to him, an enigma! She must be, what, late twenties? And undoubtedly there were plenty of women of her age who were still virgins, but a woman as beautiful and desirable as she was?
He shook his head, further thought beyond him.
‘I don’t like to part like this,’ he said, when they were on the ground, the engine off and the blades slowing. ‘Would you come with me to somewhere we can talk—only talk? I realise you are upset, and with me, but whatever I said it was inadvertent. The experience we shared was very special to me, more special than I can put into words.’
The black-garbed figure shrugged her shoulders.
‘I don’t think there’s anything to talk about,’ she finally said. ‘After all, I’ll be gone before long. As soon as the children are settled I’ll be leaving.’
The cool, offhand statement thudded into Azzam’s belly like a punch from an assailant and desperation grew within him.
‘We could talk about that—about your plans,’ he said. ‘Must you go so soon? Might you not stay a while, see my country, learn a little of its ways—maybe stay—’
He’d been about to say ‘forever’ but had pulled back the word at the last moment, thinking it might frighten her. Women needed to be wooed, not hit with marriage proposals out of the blue. And though they were technically married, he was beginning to realise that what he wanted with this woman was a real marriage…
What had he been about to say? Maybe stay—what? Alex found herself pondering this to stop herself thinking of other things. Like the pathetic way she’d reacted to the virgin thing out there in the desert! Like the way her body was behaving as if the coldness between them didn’t exist. Beyond all reason, it was yearning for his touch, and the excitement of his lovemaking…
‘I don’t think talking will help,’ she finally replied, knowing the more she was in this man’s presence the less likely she’d be to get over this yearning business. Discovering she was in love with him had been one thing, but discovering what his body could do to hers, that was entirely different. She could hide her love, but was she strong enough to control these new urges of her body, and if she gave in to them, wouldn’t he guess the other part?
‘Perhaps tomorrow,’ he said, his voice sounding strange—hoarse? Strained?
‘Perhaps,’ she agreed, lying through her teeth, knowing she would do everything in her power to avoid him and, if it was impossible, to see him only in the company of others.
He climbed out of the helicopter and walked around to help her out. She held the cloak around her as if it was armour that might somehow protect her, but he put his hands on her waist and lifted her easily from her seat, and the heat of his hands burned through the layers of cloth so she felt as if he’d branded her, the outline of his fingers burned into her skin.
He walked with her to the rear door she now knew led to her quarters, and spoke quietly to a man who sat nearby. The man slid off into the shadows, and Azzam stood with her, this time resting his hands on her shoulders and peering into her face.
‘You won’t change your mind? Won’t sit with me a while and talk?’
‘No, thank you!’
She knew she sounded tetchy but she was feeling that way too, for the man’s hands on her had reawakened the barely diminished fires of earlier and her body clamoured to lean into his, to feel his contours—to know him…
‘Then there is only one thing left to say,’ he said, with the smile she’d seen so rarely, but which had the power to light up her heart.
‘And that’s goodnight,’ he murmured, and before she cou
ld retreat he bent his head and kissed her lips, the softness of his skin accentuating the hard demand behind that simple kiss. Her heart rate soared and imps danced in her head, distracting her from the common sense she knew she needed—desperately.
Now her body was leaning into his, the kiss was deepening, and the longing to be with him, naked, feeling all of him, was all but overwhelming her. Then one small thread of common sense came through for her. If this was how she felt after making love one time, how much worse would it be after two—or four—or fifteen…?
She broke away. What was the point? She didn’t want an affair with this man. She didn’t want it to be more difficult to leave this country. Already it would be bad enough, leaving Samarah and the children, whom she was coming to love.
He released her, and it was only in her foolish heart she felt reluctance in the release.
‘We will talk,’ he said, opening the door for her, waiting until a young woman appeared then speaking to her, no doubt asking her to see Alex to her room.
‘Goodnight,’ she said, though with sadness. But what else was there to say?
‘Goodnight,’ he echoed, then he walked away.
Alex followed the young woman to her room, then shooed her away, assuring her she could undress herself. She stripped off the cloak, then the silver dress, casting it into a heap on the floor, wanting to bundle it up and drop it into a rubbish bin then wanting to see it cleaned so she might take it home as a reminder of a magical, if thoroughly disturbing night.
Seeing herself in the mirror made her grimace, faint red marks that would turn to bruises on her limbs and body. But remembering how they’d got there, remembering the pleasure the man had generated in her body, she couldn’t regret anything that had happened. The only regret she had for was the way it had ended. But how else could it have ended? There could be no affair—she was going home—and that was quite apart from the fact that for some reason he hadn’t liked her being a virgin.
Well, bother him!
She went to bed, wondering if sleep would come, her body more alert, more wired than it had ever been.
Sleep came.
She woke to sunshine making patterns on the silk coverlet again, and she stretched, lazily, a little sore, but with no regrets.
Sitting up in bed, she realised she had company. Tasnim was sitting by the door, the child as silent as she usually was. Alex opened her arms and the girl ran into them, hugging her tightly, then she slipped off the bed and went away, returning with Zahid and the baby, Masun.
‘All my family,’ Alex joked, as she hugged them all, then waggled the baby in the air so he crowed with laughter. If only they could be her family—her laughing, happy children.
Impossible!
A selfish dream…
But one that bit in deep, probably because her own family was all but gone, leaving behind such pain and hardship…
Ghaada was by the door now, and she translated as Tasnim and Zahid rattled on, telling Alex the car was waiting, they were going in a car, please could she come.
Now!
Alex laughed. Typical family! The children had been waiting, not to see her but to go for a ride in a car, obviously something new for them. Ghaada took them out of the room so Alex could dress, reminding the children Alex also had to have her breakfast.
‘I will keep the baby here,’ she said to Alex, ‘for the car would be too tiring for him and you do not need the distraction.’
‘But I thought you could accompany us and tell me what I am seeing,’ Alex said, and Ghaada shook her head.
‘As well as a driver, His Highness has arranged a—is it tour guide you say? He has planned the tour for you and told this young woman where she is to take you. Hafa will bring your breakfast, and the car is waiting when you are ready.’
Soon after Ghaada and the children departed, Hafa entered, carrying a tray with a coffee pot, a cup, sugar and sweet pastries on it.
‘I select an outfit for you?’ she asked, as Alex sat down to breakfast, surprised at how hungry she was feeling.
‘I think for sightseeing my own jeans and shirt,’ Alex told her, determined to get her mind off the children and dreams of a new family, and into ‘going home’ mode.
Hafa seemed about to argue, but in the end she disappeared into the dressing room, returning with the clothes Alex had been wearing when she’d left Australia what seemed like a lifetime ago.
Their tour guide spoke perfect English, acquired, she explained, because she’d grown up in England where her father had run the European end of one of the royal family’s businesses. They went first to the markets in the old part of town, where Alex was dazzled by the multitude of aromas—herbs, spices, strange fruit and the ever-present frankincense. But a riot of colour also assaulted her senses, for the vivid yellow of open bags of turmeric powder and the deeper gold of saffron, the bright sheens of bolts of colourful silk, draped across stalls piled high with goods.
The children oohed and aahed as any children would, seeing such an array of goods spread out on either side of narrow alleys. They reached the area where metal objects—pots and pans, urns, vases and lamps—were sold, and Alex stopped to look more carefully. Surely she was entitled to take home one small memento, and if she could discover a small, shapely lamp like the one Tasnim had found, it would be the ideal souvenir.
And she could dream of wishes…
The children poked around among the treasures and it was Zahid who found a tiny lamp, holding it up to show Tasnim, no doubt commenting on how like hers it was. He held it out to Alex, who turned to the guide.
‘Can you ask how much—?’
She stopped, an unbelievable awareness striking her. She had no money! Not even Australian money, for her wallet was back at the palace, the last thing she’d thought she’d need.
‘It is very cheap,’ their guide told her, mentioning a sum in Al Janeen money that meant nothing to Alex.
‘No, it doesn’t matter,’ Alex told her, and she hustled the children on to the next stall, and the next, through the markets and back to the car, her mind in a whirl as she came to terms with just how isolated she was and how totally dependent on Azzam’s goodwill to get back home.
Although Samarah would surely help if Azzam’s promise to arrange her flight home didn’t eventuate—
No way! The thought of borrowing from her kind friend was too much. Bad enough she’d had to ask Azzam for wages.
They drove through the city, visited a museum that had reminders of the past, beautifully bejewelled camel saddles, magnificent gowns and exotic headdresses. Pictures of a distant past were arrayed along the walls, showing nomad camps, and herds of goats summering in the mountains—maybe not far from the children’s village. Also on the walls, photographic portraits of memorable faces, ordinary people going about their lives but with the strong, proud profiles of their race, the same profile Alex so admired in Azzam.
Eventually, when the children tired, Alex suggested they return home.
‘One more stop,’ their tour guide said, and now the big black limo left the city streets, heading out on a bitumen road across the desert. They drove for maybe an hour, then crested a dune and there beneath them spread the shining lagoon, pink around the edges with the daintily stepping flamingos.
‘The blushing lake,’ the guide said, as the children gazed in wonder at the birds. Alex was less interested in them, orienting herself by the nest mounds but seeing no sign of the tent in which she’d spent such a memorable evening. Wasn’t there a saying about desert people folding their tents and disappearing into the night?
Yet her memories couldn’t be folded away so easily, and a physical ache started up inside her as she longed to be back at the beginning of the magical night and maybe handling it all differently.
Better—oh, certainly better—for didn’t everyone make things better in their dreams?
Both children fell asleep as they drove back to the palace, and Ghaada appeared when the vehicle pulled up,
so she carried Zahid while Alex, after thanking their guide, carried Tasnim, feeling the girl’s slight body against her breast, feeling the love that had crept into her heart where these children were concerned.
It was a different love from the other love in there—the one that had slammed in without warning over what was a matter of days.
Could love happen like that?
So quickly?
Maybe it wasn’t love. Maybe it was nothing more than a strong physical attraction.
But as Alex left the sleeping Tasnim on her bed and returned to her own quarters, she knew that was wrong. Yes, she was physically attracted to the man—even more so after last night—but what she felt was more than that. It was a mix of admiration and respect and something that she couldn’t explain—some inner connection to the man—as if they were linked in the way speakers on phones in distant places were linked—brought together by some unseen, and to most people mysterious, power.
Hafa was waiting for her, with a message that Samarah would see her and the children in the colonnade at the usual time.
Alex thanked her and sent her away, assuring the kind young woman she could bath and dress herself, wanting to be alone for a while with her straying thoughts. But being alone didn’t help make sense of the chaos in her head, neither did it soothe the agitation of her body, although maybe Azzam wouldn’t be in the group at the colonnade this evening.
She lay on her bed, studying the marble fretwork of the window, marvelling as always at the talent of the master craftsman who must have carved it, thinking about shifting patterns to distract her mind and body. The knock on the door was louder than Ghaada’s or Hafa’s usual light tap, but without stirring much Alex called, ‘Come in.’
To her surprise it was Clarice who swept into her room, cast a knowing eye around it, and sniffed in a way that suggested the sumptuous suite was only a small step up from servant’s quarters.
‘I thought as we’re both strangers in this land—although I’ve been here long enough to be accepted and adored by the locals—we should get to know each other.’
Sheikh, Children's Doctor...Husband Page 13
