he was. He would not make love to her like this, a hurried, desperate fumble, even if he wanted it so badly his body shook. Even if it would be easier to keep his mind blank, always blank, and just lose himself in her as quickly as he could.
No. She deserved more than that. Damn it, so did he. Slowly he rolled off her, flung one arm up over his head. His body shuddered with the loss of her, desire still pulsing through him, an undeniable ache.
‘Ammar,’ she said softly, and he heard all the hurt and rejection in her voice.
He knew he should explain. Apologise. Say something. But he just lay there, silent, his mind a numb, frozen wasteland. It took all of his effort, all his willpower to block out the memories.
Did you think I actually loved you, you stupid, foolish boy?
‘Ammar, tell me what you’re thinking.’
He dropped his arm, forced himself to meet her unhappy gaze. She nibbled her lip, her eyes swamped with uncertainty, dark with pain. ‘I’m not thinking anything,’ he said, and heard how remote he sounded. How cold. Why couldn’t he gather her in his arms, explain to her that he wanted to make love to her, but he wanted to do it properly, without the fear of the memories swarming him, destroying him? He wanted to reassure her, but he was afraid of her rejection. Her revulsion. The words thickened in his throat, lodged in his chest like a stone. He stayed silent.
‘I’m going to shower,’ Noelle said and slipped out of bed and across the room. She was gone before Ammar could answer back.
Noelle walked quickly down the corridor to her own room, her head lowered, her vision near-blinded with tears. Stupid, to be crying again. Yet, no matter what Ammar said about desiring her or how beautiful she was, she still felt completely rejected, ugly and unloved when he rolled away from her, refused to make love to her as her body—and heart—demanded.
Why? Why had he turned away from her again? How could she believe he desired her when everything he did said he didn’t? Miserably she turned on the shower as hot as she could stand it and, shrugging out of her nightie, stepped under the spray.
It had felt so good, so right to sleep in Ammar’s arms last night … even if it had taken him an age to relax just a little bit, and even longer actually to fall asleep. Noelle had lain there, savouring the warmth and solid strength of him even as she longed for more. Always, she thought now, despair sweeping through her, longing for more.
And yet this morning, when he’d drawn her from sleep with his touch, every caress sending her spinning into pleasure … it had been wonderful. So sweet and yet so powerful, which made the crash to reality—and rejection once again—so much harder to bear.
Even now, doubt worked its corrosive power on her heart, her hope. How could Ammar care about her if he couldn’t bear to touch her? How could he want a marriage when closeness of any kind was so painful for him?
How could any of this possibly work?
Resolutely Noelle turned off the shower and stepped out into the cool morning air. One day at a time, one minute at a time, if necessary. That was all either of them could take.
And yet doubt still whispered its treacherous message: what if it doesn’t work? What if he breaks your heart … again?
Ammar turned to see Noelle coming down the stairs, her hair damp and pulled back into a loose ponytail. She looked pretty and fresh and so very lovely, but there were shadows in her eyes. Always the shadows. That morning, he knew, would cast a long one over the rest of the day. He would have to work hard to dispel it.
‘I’ve had my housekeeper pack us a picnic,’ he told her, managing a smile. ‘And I’ve taken the liberty of packing you a few extra clothes—I don’t think the clothes in your room ran to the sort of protective gear you need for desert travel.’
Noelle smiled back, although he felt that it took as much effort as his did. ‘You know better than me,’ she said.
Ammar led her out of the house to the soft-topped Jeep he’d driven round to the front of the property. Noelle slowed, gazing around at the sweep of desert, endless in every direction.
‘So who sold you this piece of real estate?’ she asked, and Ammar let out a rather rusty laugh.
‘He told me there were ocean views from the top floor.’
Now she laughed, just a little bubble of sound that still made Ammar’s heart sing. And reminded him that he still had a heart. ‘I guess you were disappointed.’
‘There is a small oasis about forty kilometres from here,’ he told her as he started up the Jeep and headed away from the villa. There were no real roads, just old Bedouin tracks in the sand. It would be a bumpy ride.
‘Seriously, though,’ Noelle said. ‘Why the desert? Why not a private island in the Med like your father?’
Ammar felt his hands tense around the steering wheel. ‘I’ve been like my father in too many ways,’ he said after a moment, his tone, he knew, cold and steely. He felt Noelle stiffen. She didn’t want to hear about that. God knew, he didn’t want to talk about it. Yet it remained between them, a heavy, palpable thing. At some point words would have to be said. Secrets confessed, shame admitted. ‘In any case,’ he added lightly, ‘I’ve never liked Alhaja Island. I chose to live in the desert because it’s the exact opposite. Space, freedom.’
‘A sea of sand,’ Noelle observed. ‘You can still feel trapped.’
He glanced across at her and saw she was looking out at the sand, endless undulating waves of beige, punctuated only by occasional boulders, their edges sharp and unforgiving against the soft sweep of sand. ‘Do you feel trapped?’ he asked quietly.
She didn’t answer for a long moment. Ammar’s hands gripped the wheel so hard his joints ached. ‘Let’s talk about something else,’ she finally said, still staring out at the sand, which Ammar knew was no answer at all.
Do you feel trapped?
How could she answer that? Yes, she did feel trapped, but not by the desert that stretched all around them. She felt trapped by memories, imprisoned by ignorance. She felt as if both she and Ammar were defined by their past hurts, and she didn’t even know what his were. She struggled against her own fear of rejection, but it was hard. Too hard. How did you fight against that? How did you stop feeling trapped by what you felt, who you were?
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, knowing she needed to break out of the desperate circle of her thoughts. ‘What is there to see in the Sahara?’
‘I thought we could drive to that oasis I told you about. There are some interesting ruins there, the remains of a medieval trading post that were buried in a sandstorm hundreds of years ago. They were excavated by archaeologists a while back, but no one visits them much any more.’
‘Well, it is quite a trip,’ Noelle said lightly. ‘How far away are we from the nearest city?’
‘Marrakech is closest, about two hundred kilometres.’
‘I suppose you value your privacy.’
‘I do. I don’t come here very often, though. I’m usually travelling for work.’
‘And
