Читать книгу One Desert Night: Destined for the Desert King / Hidden in the Sheikh's Harem / Claimed by the Sheikh - Kate Walker - Страница 18

CHAPTER ELEVEN

WHAT A DIFFERENCE a week could make. Aziza yawned widely, stretching luxuriously in the bed and feeling the tiny aches and tender spots that had resulted from long nights with Nabil.

Long, passionate nights, and even longer, sensuous days. Nabil had never actually described this trip to the mountain palace as their honeymoon, but the truth was that that was exactly what it had turned into. Because, after all, wasn’t that what a honeymoon was all about? About spending time with your new spouse without anything interrupting the private moments? About having the freedom to discover the sexual delight they had in each other and indulge in the pleasures of married love?

Not that love had anything to do with it, at least on Nabil’s part. The thought made Aziza flinch and start into a sitting position. The movement of stretching her arms wide had brought them into contact with the rest of the bed, forcing her to the awareness of the emptiness on either side of her.

Hadn’t it been this way all week? Every morning she had woken to find that Nabil had got out of the bed before she stirred, leaving her alone and letting the sheets where he had lain grow cool and empty without the warmth of his body there.

But this wasn’t like all the other times. It was still the middle of the night, the room in darkness. Outside the high windows the only light was the starlit sky, the faintest breeze stirring the delicate curtains the only sign of movement in the silent palace.

Where was he? And what had pulled him from his sleep tonight?

Slipping from the bed, Aziza pushed her feet into soft slippers and pulled a white silky robe on over her nakedness. Padding silently over the cool marble floors, she made her way out of the bedroom, through the royal suite and down the long, silent corridors.

The waft of a breeze from a door left slightly open alerted her to just where Nabil must be. There was a balcony there, smaller and higher than the one outside the banqueting hall of the city palace where she and Nabil had met that first night, but enough like it to have memories of that meeting swirling in her thoughts as she peered through the partially opened door.

‘Nab...’ she began, but what she saw froze the words on her tongue and had her pulling back slightly, out of sight.

Just as on that first evening, Nabil was leaning against the high wall of the balcony, staring out at the darkened valley below. He had only paused to pull on a pair of jeans, with nothing on his chest or his feet, and the moonshine brushed his powerful shoulders, the long line of his ribcage, with a wash of silver. His face was set and intent, his gaze fixed on some point away on the far horizon, and the dark shadow of his beard could not conceal the tight compression of his mouth, the tension in the muscles of his jaw and throat.

He looked disturbed and alone, so much like the way he had looked that first night. Then she had felt concern and sympathy for him, so much that she had made a move to break into his mental isolation. But tonight she didn’t dare to speak, to make any move or sound that would draw his attention to her. Tonight was not the time to break into whatever bleak dreams enclosed him.

Particularly not when she saw him lift his left hand and rub at the white line of the scar on his face, fretting at it with obvious disquiet.

The ghost of tragic Sharmila must have surfaced in his thoughts, possibly even seeming to reprove him for marrying another bride, for sharing the heat of passion in their bed.

There was no way that Aziza wanted to take the risk of being told that Nabil regretted the passion they had shared when it revived memories of the bond he had enjoyed with his tragic young love. Silently, reluctantly, she turned and crept away, leaving Nabil to the darkness of his thoughts.

Perhaps one day she would learn how to handle the changeable moods that this new husband of hers displayed so openly. One moment he would be calm, attentive, considerate. He took her riding out along the mountain paths, or swam in the huge swimming pool, built indoors to hide them from the burning heat of the desert sun. But then in the space of a heartbeat he would change, his disposition becoming darker, withdrawn, and each time he had left her bed she had recognised how hard she found it to reach him.

Once the restraint between them had been stripped away on that first night, from then it had taken just a second to put a light to the hunger that they felt for each other, heating the blood in their veins until they were molten with passion. In the space of a heartbeat they would lose themselves in each other, obliterating reality in the heat they created between them.

But when the burn of passion ebbed, when they lay silent and sated on the cool sheets, as the throb of fulfilment slowly ebbed between Aziza’s legs, her pulse slowing to a heavy, lazy beat, she had felt Nabil stirring, raking long fingers through the black sleekness of his hair. It had taken an effort to turn to him, one day, fighting against the wash of exhaustion, the way that her eyes felt as if they were weighted down so that it was impossible to lift her heavy lids at all.

‘Where are you going?’

She’d had to make an effort to put no note of complaint into it and, although her hands itched to fasten around the long muscular arms that were now pushing himself up from the mattress, she clamped them tight down by her sides to keep them from reaching for him.

‘Things to do,’ he’d said, pulling on the trousers that had been discarded on the floor in the heat of their rush to the bed.

‘Such as? This is our...’ But no, the word ‘honeymoon’ was obviously going to be a mistake. A red rag to a bull if the swift, flashing glance he’d turned in her direction was anything to go by.

How did someone switch off so completely just like that? She’d been fighting hard against the sleep that had still threatened to overwhelm her, and all she’d wanted was to curl up close to him, to drift away on the warm sea of contentment into the peace of dreams.