not good at small talk.’
‘Then it will be useful to practice. Come on, Karim. Talk to me.’
Talk? Telling himself that the sooner she settled down the sooner they’d both get some sleep, Karim sighed and rubbed his fingers over his temple. ‘Have you ever heard of dune driving? Because the next stretch of our journey has some of the best dune driving in Zangrar. Steep dunes, spectacular views, exciting drops. It’s the best adrenaline rush in this part of the world—’ he broke off, surprised at himself. Why had he picked that particular topic? What was it about Alexa that made him remember the heady days when pleasure had come before responsibility?
‘Don’t stop,’ she murmured. ‘I want to hear more. You did it when you were young?’
‘As soon as I could drive.’
‘And did the Sultan go with you?’
Karim stilled. ‘Always you ask about the Sultan.’
‘I’m trying to build up a picture.’
‘Yes,’ Karim said finally. ‘Before life became too serious to allow such frivolities, the Sultan had a passion for dune driving.’
‘What does it involve?’
‘Driving up the side of a dune and plunging over the top. A bit like a roller coaster, only less predictable and more hair-raising. And a great deal more uncomfortable if you topple the vehicle.’
‘Did you?’
‘A few times.’ Karim started to smile and then stopped himself, remembering that this was supposed to be distraction therapy, not a trip down memory lane.
‘It sounds dangerous.’ Her voice was sleepy. ‘I’m surprised the Sultan was allowed to do that if he was the heir to the throne. Wasn’t he surrounded by people telling him what to do?’
‘He was sent to boarding school at the age of seven, and from there went straight into the army. The time he spent in Zangrar was very precious because no one really bothered with him.’
It was a long time before she spoke. ‘That’s a very young age to leave your parents.’
‘It is the custom.’
‘I wouldn’t do that with my children. I’d keep them close. Didn’t the Sultan’s mother object to him being sent away? Or wasn’t she given any choice?’
Increasingly discomforted by the direction of the conversation, Karim made a mental note never to wake a distressed woman from sleep again. Suddenly the atmosphere in the tent seemed dangerously intimate and filled with shadows of the past that her words had inadvertently released. ‘The Sultan’s mother died when he was little more than a toddler. He was sent away by his stepmother.’
‘Oh. That’s terrible,’ she breathed softly. ‘Then it’s no wonder that he isn’t interested in emotional relationships, is it? He’s probably had no experience of love.’
‘I thought you didn’t believe in love.’
‘I didn’t say that.’ She smothered a yawn and her eyes drifted shut, her thick, dark lashes forming two perfect crescents on her pale cheeks. ‘I said that this marriage isn’t about love. That doesn’t mean I don’t think love exists. Actually, I do believe that love exists. For the lucky few. It’s finding it that’s the problem.’
Deciding that the conversation had progressed far beyond his comfort zone, Karim rose to his feet. ‘You should rest.’
She didn’t even answer and he realized that she was already asleep, her breathing even and peaceful, the tears on her cheeks now dry.
Karim stared down at her with exasperation and then strode back to his corner of the tent, aware that, while she’d drifted back into the welcome oblivion of sleep, he now had to deal with all the uncomfortable and unfamiliar emotions that their conversation had aroused.
And one thing he knew for sure—sleep would be a long time in coming.
Alexa woke to find herself alone in the tent.
Then she heard Karim’s voice just outside and knew that he hadn’t gone far. Not that she would have blamed him if he had. After being subjected to the torrent of her emotions the night before, a man like Karim must be stifling the urge to sprint fast in the opposite direction.
She closed her eyes, feeling washed out and weedy. It was a recurring nightmare and it always had the same effect on her.
But it was the first time that she’d shared the experience with anyone. And not just anyone, but a man who epitomized everything it meant to be tough and strong. A man, to whom the mere concept of being frightened by something so intangible as a dream, must have been unfathomable.
Alexa covered her face with her hands and gave a groan of embarrassment.
What must he have thought? Even in the depths of her distress, she’d sensed his discomfort. The only reason he’d remained seated on the bed was because she’d gripped his arm and begged him not to leave her.
But he hadn’t left her, had he?
Despite being dramatically out of his comfort zone, he’d stayed by her side until she’d fallen asleep. And, because she knew that it hadn’t been an easy thing for him to do, it somehow made the gesture all the more touching. He’d stayed, and that was what mattered. Clearly an upset woman wasn’t his favourite challenge, but he’d remained by her side until she’d fallen asleep.
No one had ever done that for her before. Not one person.
Pondering on that thought, Alexa slid out of bed, dressed swiftly in her trousers and combat boots, twisted her long hair into a coil and secured it on top of her head. Dressed, she felt more in control. Or did she feel more in control because she’d shared her darkest moment with Karim?
For the first time in her life, she hadn’t felt alone.
Feeling pathetically grateful towards him, Alexa left the tent and was immediately confronted by his powerful shoulders and lean, long legs. He was in conversation with several men from the camp, but he turned as he heard her emerge from the tent. Their eyes met and held.
He said nothing, and yet the moment felt intensely personal—a silent acknowledgement of a secret shared. Then he gave a brief nod and Alexa felt her insides tumble. Suddenly she felt ridiculously nervous and had absolutely no idea why.
‘Good morning.’
He dismissed the man he was talking to with an abrupt wave of his hand. ‘You are feeling all right?’
She dug her hands in her pockets. How was she supposed to reply to that? No, she wasn’t feeling all right. Suddenly she felt as vulnerable as she’d felt when she was eight years old, clinging to the desperate hope that someone, somewhere would care for her and take the pain away if only she could find them.
But at least at the age of eight, she’d had childhood on her side as a decent excuse for such foolish fantasies.
What excuse was she using now?
