Читать книгу Dreaming Of... France - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 14

AMMAR led Noelle into the darkness of his own bedroom, to the king-sized bed with its rumpled duvet. He hesitated, wanting so much to be with her and yet …

He’d never spent an entire night with a woman before. Even now, just the thought made him tense, panic. He hated the duality of his own desires, the longing to draw her close even as memories reared up and demanded he keep his distance.

‘Ammar?’ She placed one slender hand on his shoulder, her touch cool and soft. With effort he turned to her and smiled. At least he hoped he did. His mouth curved, at least. The moonlight, he saw, streamed over her, turning her skin luminescent. Her chestnut hair tumbled down her back in artless waves and her eyes were wide and trusting. Even now, when he’d demanded and denied and become angry, she trusted him. She followed him and waited with a patience that felt unbearably gentle. He was humbled, but he was also afraid.

He never let women close. They never spent the night, they never touched his heart. Only Noelle had succeeded, and in fear—both for her and, yes, for himself—he’d walked away all those years ago. Could he stay now? Could he finally put the ghosts of his past, the mistakes and sins and endless regrets, to rest? She reached up and cupped his palm with her cheek.

‘I don’t have to stay.’

Ammar felt his throat tighten so it hurt to speak. ‘I want you to.’ He knew he sounded grudging. Why, even now, did it have to be so difficult?

Noelle reached past him and pulled the duvet back. ‘Well,’ she said, smiling a little, ‘it’s freezing in here so I think I’ll get under the covers.’

He watched in a sort of dazed incredulity as she got in the bed and scooted to one side, pulling the duvet up to her chin. She looked so right there, he thought, in his bed. That was the most incredible thing of all.

‘There’s plenty of room,’ she told him, her expression almost mischievous over the edge of the duvet. He loved that even now she could tease. How much was it costing her?

Ammar got in the bed, feeling wooden and awkward as he stretched out next to her. He desperately wanted this to be normal, but he didn’t know how to act. What to feel. Surely not this blind panic that fell over him like a fog, memories shrieking inside him.

Sleep. They were meant to sleep. Ammar closed his eyes. Belatedly, he realised he should touch her, he wanted to touch her, so he laid one hand on her shoulder. He felt that shoulder shake and he tensed.

‘What?’

‘Ammar, you’re acting like … like you’re at the dentist or something.’ He realised she was actually laughing, just a little, although underneath he sensed her confusion and hurt. He froze, unsure again how to feel. Anger felt more familiar, yet he struggled against it. He didn’t want to feel it, to ruin the moment, awkward as it already was.

Then she rolled over to face him and placed her palms, so warm and soft, on his bare chest. ‘Come here,’ she whispered and, strangely, miraculously, it felt like the simplest and most natural thing in the world to pull her towards him.

‘You come here,’ he said, and she snuggled into him, the warmth and closeness of her short-circuiting his senses.

‘I can do that,’ she whispered, and he felt the silk of her hair brush against his chest, his cheek and tickle his nose. He pulled her closer.

He could do this. He could really do this. She fitted against him, he thought, she felt right. Yet, even as that thought formed, other darker ones chased it. Memories.

Never trust a woman, Ammar. Never let one close. Never show weakness.

He heard the angry echo of his father’s voice, the cruel laughter of the woman he’d thought, naively, he’d loved. Felt the crack of his father’s palm against his cheek, the rush of humiliation and shame dousing all desire.

Noelle brushed his cheek with her fingers, the touch as gentle as a whisper, and in surprise he opened his eyes, drawn from the agony of the past. ‘Don’t,’ she said softly. ‘Whatever it is, don’t.’ He gazed down at her, blinking in the darkness. He could barely make out her face, but he knew she looked completely serious.

‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t let it control you,’ Noelle said quietly. ‘Don’t let it win.’

Ammar drew her closer to him. ‘I’m trying,’ he said and yet, even then, with her in his arms, he wondered if it would be enough.

He must have slept, although it seemed to take an age. He heard Noelle’s breathing finally deepen and slow in sleep and he remained holding her, in a sort of exquisite tension, enjoying the feel of her even as part of him longed for escape. Distance. Safety. And then, amazingly, sunlight streamed across the bed and it was morning, and he was slowly, languorously moving towards wakefulness, conscious only of the warm, round form fitted so closely to him, the flare of desire he felt in his groin as he moved his hand across her pliant softness, the silky fullness of a breast filling his hand.

Desire flared deeper and he rolled on top of her, his hands seeking her most private places as his lips moved over skin. He heard a moan and didn’t know whether it came from him or her; it didn’t matter. His hands slid over sleep-warmed skin, and her arms twined around him as he nudged apart her thighs with his knee.

‘Ammar …’

Consciousness crashed over him and he froze, even as Noelle said his name again, reminding him who she was. Who 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 now you’re the one in charge,’ Noelle said, still trying to keep her tone light, although she knew they were venturing into deeper and dangerous waters. ‘What will you do with Tannous Enterprises?’

‘Legitimise it,’ Ammar said flatly, and Noelle felt her heart squeeze at the admission, and the steely determination of his tone.

‘What does that really mean?’

Ammar just shook his head. Noelle glanced at him, saw how his eyes were narrowed, although whether from the glare of the sun or some dark emotion she couldn’t say.

‘All right, let’s talk about something else,’ she said. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’

‘What?’ Startled, he glanced at her.

‘Your favourite colour. Mine’s green, although when I was little it was bubblegum-pink, pretty predictable, I know. I always wanted a dress in that colour, a Cinderella kind of dress.’ She smiled as she turned to face him, keeping everything deliberately light. ‘So what’s yours?’

Ammar tilted his head, clearly giving the question some serious thought. It reminded Noelle, poignantly, of how he used to be when they’d dated, so intent and yet so gentle. When I was with you, I was the man I wanted to be. ‘I don’t,’ Ammar finally said, ‘have a favourite colour.’

‘You must.’

‘I must?’ He glanced at her again, bemused. ‘Why must I?’

‘Everyone has a favourite colour.’

‘I don’t.’

She let out a laugh, half-exasperation, half-amusement. ‘You decorated your dining room in red. You wouldn’t have chosen that colour if you didn’t like it—’

‘I didn’t choose it. I had someone decorate it for me.’

Of course. She couldn’t quite see Ammar looking at paint samples. And yet he’d chosen her clothes. ‘You told me you liked bright colours—’

‘On you.’

‘So perhaps a bright colour is your favourite,’ Noelle suggested helpfully. ‘Orange? Baby-blue? Or pink, like me?’

His lips twitched. ‘None of the above.’

She sat back in her seat, arms folded. ‘All right, I’ll choose a colour for you.’

He arched his eyebrows, a tiny smile hovering now about his mouth. She loved his smiles, even the small ones. Each felt like a victory, a blessing. ‘And what colour will you choose?’

Noelle considered. ‘Yellow,’ she finally said. It was the colour of sunshine and mornings and freshness. The colour of hope. And she needed some hope.

‘Yellow,’ Ammar repeated and she nodded.

‘Yes. Yellow.’

‘Well, there’s plenty of yellow in the desert,’ he said after a moment. ‘So perhaps it is my favourite colour after all.’

‘Maybe that’s why you chose to live here,’ Noelle said, a teasing lilt entering her voice. ‘Even without the ocean view.’

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. ‘Even without.’ Then he shook his head slowly, a frown drawing his brows together. ‘But the realtor promised ocean views.’

She let out a sudden burst of laughter. ‘For a second there, I almost believed you.’

‘I know I don’t joke very often.’

‘I like it,’ Noelle said quietly. ‘I like when you smile, and especially when you laugh.’

His glance flicked to her, his smile softening his features, every trace of harshness gone. ‘You always brought that out in me.’

‘I did?’

‘From the moment I met you. You made me laugh, even when I had nothing to laugh about.’

Noelle’s heart seemed to turn right over. Silently she reached for his hand and Ammar laced his fingers through hers. Neither of them spoke, but they didn’t need to. The silence was a golden thread drawing and binding them together.

Eventually Noelle leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes. Sitting there with the sun on her face and the breeze blowing over her, she felt an easing inside, an unfurling and blossoming of a long-dormant seed, a seed of happiness. Of hope.

‘We’re here.’

She must have dozed, for Ammar nudged her gently and she realised she was leaning against his shoulder. She felt the heat of him, inhaled the tangy, spicy scent of his aftershave and scrambled to a seated position.

‘Sorry. I was lulled to sleep by the Jeep, I suppose.’

‘More like jolted to sleep,’ Ammar said with a little smile. Three smiles today, Noelle thought, and counting. ‘Let’s take a look around.’

The oasis was still and lovely, a placid little sea of blue fringed by palms, flung down in the desert by an almighty hand. Noelle bent down to trail her fingers through the warm water.

‘There aren’t any creatures in here, are there?’ she asked a bit belatedly.

‘Just a snake or two, but they tend to be shy.’

She jerked her hand back before she realised he was teasing her. ‘You’re actually joking,’ she said. ‘Again.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Must be a good day.’

‘A very good day,’ she agreed. She straightened, smiling. ‘You did find my toc-toc joke funny, back in the day.’

‘S-cargot.’

A thrill ran through her, that he’d remembered. ‘It was pretty dreadful, I know.’

‘No, no, it was good.’ He smiled—that made four now, and this was a proper one—his hands in his pockets as he tilted his face up to the sun. ‘Very good. I don’t like to eat them, though.’

‘Eat them?’ Noelle repeated rather dazedly, for the sight of Ammar’s smile had plunged her into a sudden spinning void of lust. He was an unbearably attractive man, even with the buzz-cut and the scar. She would never grow tired of looking at him, of gazing at the hard angles of his cheek and jaw, the sexy, sculpted pout of his lips, the lean, powerful lines of his chest and shoulders. And, more than that, she would never tire of the way his eyes lightened to bronze when he smiled, and how that single, simple curving of his lips made her feel as if she’d scaled Everest, as if she were on top of the world.

Ammar turned and caught her looking at him and Noelle knew every emotion was reflected in her eyes, visible on her face. ‘Snails,’ he clarified huskily, and Noelle scrambled to make sense of what he was saying, which was exceedingly difficult when all she could think about was how wonderful he looked and how much she wanted to touch him.

‘Snails,’ she repeated, still dazed, still filled with desire. Ammar reached for her hand. His own face was inscrutable as always, yet his eyes blazed intent. Or was she just hoping they did, and that he felt the same tidal wave of lust that was crashing over her? He’d felt it last night, she knew he had, and this morning, too—he’d wanted her. She had to believe that. She just didn’t know why he’d stopped.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you the ruins.’

She let him take her hand and lead her to the ruins a little way from the water. At first the remnants of the medieval city looked like no more than boulders scattered in the sand but, as Ammar led her through, pointed out the foundations of a house, the still straight line of a road, she saw the order of it, a civilization lost for centuries.

‘What happened?’ she asked, turning in a circle as she stood in what Ammar had said was most likely a shop. He braced one hip against a weathered piece of wall, his eyes narrowed against the sun’s glare.

‘No one knows for certain, but archaeologists believe a sandstorm covered the entire town about six hundred years ago. Destroyed everything in a single day.’

‘Wow.’ Noelle swallowed and studied the remnants of that day. I know what that feels like. She didn’t say it, didn’t even want to think it. For once she didn’t want the pain of the past to interfere with the present. The sun was shining, Ammar was smiling and the day stretched before them, promising, maybe even perfect. ‘Show me the rest,’ she said, and he reached for her hand again.

They wandered through the rest of the ruins hand in hand, stopping to pace out a house or examine a doorstep or window well. It was amazingly relaxed, natural even, in a way that made Noelle’s heart sing. She wanted this day to go on for ever.

Eventually Ammar led her back towards the oasis, to a sheltered spot where a couple of palm trees shaded them from the relentless sun. She watched as he spread out a blanket, desire spiralling inside her once again as she gazed at his lean brown arms, powerfully corded with muscle, the T-shirt he wore clinging to his washboard stomach. She sucked in a breath as he glanced up at her, his amber eyes seeming to burn into her. He must know how he affected her, she thought. He must. She only hoped she affected him the same way.

‘Come here,’ he commanded huskily and, with a thrill of both nervousness and hope, Noelle went to him. He took her by the hand and tugged her down to the blanket, his knee nudging hers, his body so very close.

‘Shall we eat?’ he said, and his voice sounded hoarse. He feels it, Noelle thought, he must feel it.

‘OK.’ Her voice was a scratchy whisper. She struggled to eat, even though each morsel he gave her was delicious. Her hand shook as she finally accepted a fig from him, soft and ripe. Touch me, she wanted to cry. Touch me. Show me you love me. She bit into the fig, its lush sweetness filling her mouth, yet she was only conscious of Ammar watching her, his gaze so heavy and intent.

Her whole body felt hot, liquid, the centre of her starting to melt. She felt a bit of juice from the fig dribble down her chin and Ammar reached forward and swiped at it with his thumb. Her lips parted, her eyes closed, her body instinctively giving every signal it could to show him how much she desired him.

With a groan of surrender—or was it despair?—Ammar cupped her face with both of his hands and drew her to him. The feel of his lips on hers was like a drink of water in the desert, as life-giving as the oasis itself. She needed him.

She brought her hands up to his shoulders, pulled him closer, pressing herself against him as her head fell back in helpless assent. She didn’t speak, terrified to break the moment, the spell of desire that had surely been cast over both of them, for Ammar was kissing her hungrily, his tongue delving into the softness of her mouth, his hands finding the fullness of her breasts.

He stretched out beside her, sliding his hand under her shirt, his touch warm and sure. It felt so unbelievably, unbearably good, and Noelle could not keep herself from pressing his hand against her tummy, holding it there, because she was still so afraid he would stop.

He lifted her shirt higher and bent his head to her breasts, nudging the lace of her bra aside. Noelle heard a sound come from her own mouth, a moan of intense longing she’d never heard herself make before. ‘Oh, Ammar,’ she whispered. She swallowed down the words she wanted to say. I love you. ‘I want you so much.’

She felt him still, tense. Oh, no, please, she thought, please don’t pull away from me again. What was wrong with her?

The moment seemed suspended, endless. His lips still brushed her breast, his hands on her skin. Neither of them moved or spoke. Noelle didn’t even breathe.

Please …

Then, deliberately, as if it were a decision he had to make, Ammar lifted his head and kissed her on the mouth, deeply, a promise. Relief and need poured through her, an overwhelming rush of emotion. She reached for him instinctively, her hand skimming along his chest and torso, pulling her to him, but suddenly Ammar tensed and rolled away and Noelle let out a cry of frustration and, far worse, hurt.

‘Why do you do that?’ She sat up, stared at him, still lying on the ground, his body rigid, his arm flung over his face just as before. ‘I know you want me. Physically, at least—’

‘It’s not you.’ He spoke flatly, his face still covered. ‘It’s never been about you.’

‘Really? Because it feels like it’s about me. I’m the one you push away, the person you reject—’ She heard how sharp her voice sounded, but that was better than letting him see how devastated she felt. She struggled to sit up, pulling her shirt down to cover herself.

Ammar didn’t say anything. He was staring up at the sky as if he were cloud-gazing on a perfect summer’s day, as if nothing were remotely wrong.

Fury rose up inside her, clawed its way out. ‘Don’t do that. Don’t blank me out. I hate it when you do that.’ Her voice shook and in a sudden burst of frustration she reached over and hit him hard on the shoulder.

He caught her hand in one quick movement, held it, firmly yet with leashed strength, in his. ‘Don’t hit me,’ he said in a cold, flat voice she barely recognised. ‘Don’t ever hit me.’

Noelle stared at him, her hand still caught in his, his face so blank and remote, everything about him distant and strange, and with a choked cry she yanked her hand away and struggled up from the blanket. Ammar still said nothing, didn’t react at all, and blindly she turned and strode away from him, through the long grass.