music the driver had found on the radio weaving patterns through his mind, giving birth to yet another unsatisfactory line of thought.
For, whatever troubled her, and however her mind worked, she was closing him out again, fleeing from him in mind and spirit as surely as she had fled from him in the stone passageway. Was this her tactic, then, to stay silent in the hopes he would leave her alone?
Not a chance.
He hadn’t dragged her out here simply so she could cower in a corner and pretend he wasn’t here.
‘How long have you been with my mother?’
He caught her sigh, felt her resignation and more than a hint of resentment that she would not be able to avoid answering his questions, and was simultaneously delighted that his tactic was working and annoyed at her reaction. Was it such a chore for her to be with him? Such an imposition? Once upon a time she would have turned and smiled with delight at the sound of his voice. She would have slid her slender hands up his chest and hooked them around his neck and laughed as he spun her slim body around, laughed until he silenced her laughter with his kisses.
Once upon a time?
Since when did nightmares start with ‘once upon a time’?
‘How long?’ he demanded, when she took too long to answer.
Tentatively she turned her head towards him, her gaze still hovering somewhere around his knees. ‘A year. Maybe a little longer.’
‘I didn’t see you at Xavian’s—Zafir’s—wedding. But you must have been in the palace then.’
‘I chose not to go.’
‘Because I was there?’
Her eyes flicked up to his. Skittered away again just as quickly.
‘Partly. But my h…Hussein’s family were also in attendance. And some of his associates. It was wiser for me to keep my distance.’
He wondered why she had hesitated over calling him her husband. But if he was honest he was more annoyed that it wasn’t his presence that had kept her away. ‘You don’t get on with them?’
She seemed to consider his question for a while, sadness welling in her eyes. ‘It is easier for all concerned if I remain in the background.’
He took it as confirmation. ‘And so my mother took you in.’
She nodded, the long dark curve of her lashes fluttering down. She was all about long lines, he realised. Always had been. Still was. The long sweep of her lashes, the smooth line of her high cheekbones and the sweeping curve to her jaw, the generous symmetry of her lips.
And maybe for now the rest of her was hidden under her voluminous robe, but he remembered how she looked. How she felt under his hands and the way she moved. Though the robe covered her completely, he knew she was little changed from those days.
His head rocked back, his hands raking through his hair as he was overcome by the sheer power of the memories of the past.
She could have been his. She should have been. She had already been part of him, as much a part of him as breathing, and he could have had her—all of her. Oh, God, and he’d been tempted…so tempted. And in the end only the vow he’d made had held him back.
Because she’d been so perfect. And he’d wanted everything to be right for her. He’d wanted everything to be as perfect as she was. And for that reason he had not touched her that way. Not until their wedding night, when they could be united for ever. Legally and morally.
Body and soul.
A wedding night he had wanted and planned and longed for with all his heart. A wedding night they had never had.
Because she’d given herself to someone else first.
God, what kind of madness had made him think he was ready to face again the woman who’d done that to him?
He brought his head back down on an exhale, opened his eyes and saw her watching him, her dark eyes so filled with concern that his fingers stalled in his hair. Damn it, he didn’t want her sympathy! He let his hands drop into his lap.
Her eyes followed the movement, a frown marring her perfect brow. ‘Are you all right?’
And it took him a breath or two until he was sure he was back in control, until he’d clamped down on the memories of heated kisses and shared laughter, of silken skin and promises of for ever that had come surging back in such a tidal force of emotion, the feelings that had lain buried for so long under a concrete-thick layer of hatred.
‘Jetlag,’ he lied, his voice coarse and thick, and designed to close off all conversation as he turned away to stare unseeingly out of his window.
CHAPTER FOUR
TWO hours out of Shafar the cars turned off the highway, heading along a sandy track through the desert. They would meet up with the narrow coast road much further on, where the track met the coastline, and where their camp should be ready for them if they needed to stop.
The going was tougher here, and the cars ground their way over the uneven and sometimes deeply rutted track, their passengers bouncing upon the upholstery as the car jolted them around. Far ahead they could just make out the smudge on the horizon that marked the beginning of the red mountains, where they were headed—a smudge that slowly grew until their jagged peaks rose high in the windscreen as they made progress over the bumpy and desolate terrain.
They stopped further on for a break at a welcome oasis, the cars pulling under the shade of a stand of date palms, the passengers more than ready to rest their jolted bones. A short break now and they would still make Marrash tonight, leaving enough time tomorrow for the necessary inspections and at least the preliminary negotiations. If all went well they would be back in Shafar no later than tomorrow evening.
Sera climbed from the car, happy to stretch her legs, but even happier to escape the hothouse atmosphere in the back seat for a few minutes. Her temples and neck promised the onset of a tension headache. Even the fiery ball of the sun and the superheated air was some kind of relief. She knew it would only be a matter of time before he’d find another angle of attack, another means to criticise her and find fault, but for now she’d had enough of the brooding silence and the constant anticipation of yet another volley.
The drivers were busy pulling things from the backs of the vehicles, organising refreshments and checking the vehicles, their conversation like music on the air. Rafiq was there too, she noticed, wanting to help even over their protests that they should be serving him.
She walked towards the inviting pool, breathing a sigh of relief, certain he wouldn’t listen—not if it meant the alternative was spending more time with her. Which meant that at least for a few blessed minutes she had some space to herself.
The oasis was small, no more than a scattering of assorted palms clustered around a bubbling spring that spilled into a wide pool, with an ancient stone shelter to protect travellers caught in the sandstorms that rolled from time to time over the desert that surrounded them on all sides. A tiny slice of life in the midst of nothingness. And there was life. Tiny birds darted from bush to bush, and brightly
