Читать книгу Six Sizzling Sheikhs - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 14

CHAPTER SEVEN

LUCY slept badly that night. She could have blamed it on Sam, who woke several hours after he’d first gone to sleep, his body clock hopelessly out of sync—but in truth she’d been wide-eyed and awake before Sam had ever uttered a sound.

It wasn’t Sam keeping her awake; it was Khaled.

She felt tangled up inside, memories, beliefs, hopes, suspicions all twisted. She didn’t know which was true, what to trust. Who to trust.

Is that obvious as well?

Could you love me again?

Sensible.

Lucy groaned aloud, sleep no more than a distant memory. Outside stars glittered in a velvety black sky, and the breeze wafting through the French doors was a soft, sultry blanket around her.

What kind of man was Khaled? Was he the reckless, uncaring playboy she’d so stupidly given her heart to? Or was he a man shaped and strengthened by life’s trials, a man she could love now, love deeply, not with the silly, desperate infatuation of four years ago?

With the love of a woman, rather than that of a besotted fool.

Lucy closed her eyes, not wanting to ask the questions, much less seek the answers. She couldn’t take the risk of knowing Khaled again, of opening her heart to him.

Of watching him walk away again.

So why, despite her insistent refusals, was she actually thinking of it, of Khaled, again?

Wanting.

Marriage.

It was absurd, unnecessary. Ridiculous. Dangerous.

Tempting.

That was the problem, Lucy realised despondently. No matter how hard she tried to guard her heart, Khaled stole round the barriers, toppled the fences. He came right in without even realising it and laid siege to her very soul.

And she couldn’t let him. She couldn’t let herself risk or feel love.

It was too hard when it all came crashing down. And she knew from hard, painful experience that it was just a matter of time until that happened.

By the time the sun peeked over the jagged mountain-tops, Lucy felt even more exhausted than when she’d gone to bed. Sam, however, in the manner of most three-year-olds, was fairly bouncing off the walls of their room, peppering Lucy with questions.

‘When will we go swimming? Where’s Khaled? What about the spiders?’

‘I don’t know, Sam,’ Lucy replied wearily, yet still managing to summon a smile. ‘I imagine we’ll see Khaled at breakfast, and he can tell us about our day then.’

A female servant soon knocked on their door and led them to a terrace where there was a table set for breakfast, overlooking the gardens.

‘Good morning.’ Khaled strode towards them, smiling, and with a squeal Sam flung himself round Khaled’s knees.

‘Sam!’ Lucy said reprovingly, but Khaled shook his head. He tousled Sam’s hair and disengaged himself from the stranglehold on his legs with only the faintest grimace of discomfort.

‘I’m happy to see you too, Sam. Are you hungry?’

Lucy looked round for Ahmed, and saw with a twinge of relief that he was not present.

‘I thought we could relax today,’ Khaled said as he led them to a table set with a wide variety of breakfast items, from English sausage to the more traditional Arabic flat-bread with a spicy topping of tomatoes and white beans. ‘Recover from jet lag, swim and just enjoy the gardens.’

‘Swim!’ Sam shouted, and Lucy laid a steadying hand on his shoulder.

‘He’s just a little bit excited,’ she said with a wry smile, and then felt one of those disconcerting lurches when Khaled smiled back, his golden gaze so very direct.

‘I’m glad. And how are you this morning, Lucy? Did you sleep well?’

‘Well enough.’ Lucy kept her voice light as she accepted a cup of coffee from Khaled, made just the way she liked it, including the sugar. ‘And you?’

‘The same,’ he said, and somehow she knew she hadn’t fooled him. It gratified her—stupidly, perhaps—to think he hadn’t slept either.

Had she kept him awake? Had memories of other nights, nights they’d had together, kept him awake, as they had her?

Had he had memories of them lying together, their limbs twined together among the sheets, sleepy and sated?

Why was she thinking like this, feeling like this?

Remembering at all?

Lucy took a hasty sip of coffee to divert her mind, nearly scalding her tongue, as well as diverting Khaled’s knowing gaze.

After breakfast they all returned to their rooms to fetch swimming costumes. A few minutes after Lucy had changed into her modest one-piece and wrapped a sarong firmly around her waist, Khaled knocked on their door. Sam flung it open.

‘Ready?’ Khaled asked, smiling.

‘Ready!’

He led them down to the pool, which was every bit as spectacular as the view from above had promised. It had been built into the mountainside to resemble a natural lagoon, complete with waterfalls, rock slides and a little bridge.

Equipped with armbands, Sam was in heaven. He plunged in up to his waist, and then turned to Khaled.

‘Come in!’

‘All right.’ Khaled shrugged off his tee-shirt, and Lucy sucked in a breath.

She’d forgotten how beautiful he was.

Yet she hadn’t, not really; she’d tried to, and failed. For just one glimpse of the hard, sculpted muscle of his chest, golden skin and fuzz of dark hair made her remember with a rush how that chest had felt against her body, how his hair had tickled her lips. How his skin was hot and taut and so surprisingly smooth.

Khaled wore only a pair of swimming trunks, and Lucy saw the thick support brace wrapped around his knee, covering his leg from mid-thigh to nearly mid-calf.

Lucy watched Sam and Khaled swim together, content for the moment to spend some time stretched out on a lounger. Sam hadn’t had much experience with pools or swimming, but he caught on quickly, and within minutes he was launching himself at Khaled, who caught him before tossing him up into the air. Each time Sam landed with a splash and a giggle of glee, and bemusedly Lucy didn’t know which sound was louder.

It tugged at her heart to see them together, looking so natural, so happy, so right. It made her regret the years they’d all lost, when Khaled hadn’t been a part of Sam’s life.

She’d convinced herself that Sam didn’t need Khaled, that she didn’t.

Now she wondered whether they both did. The thought terrified her.

Sam hurled himself into Khaled’s arms yet again, and Lucy smiled wryly. Khaled couldn’t have created a better picture of familial bliss if he’d planned it. Maybe he had, she acknowledged, but he couldn’t have contrived Sam’s devotion to him. In fact, she wondered if Sam’s easy acceptance had taken Khaled by surprise, had made him determined to suggest this outrageous marriage.

A loveless, sensible marriage.

Is that obvious as well?

Stop it, Lucy told herself crossly. Stop thinking, wondering, hoping.

A marriage between them would never work.

Why not? a voice whispered insistently, and Lucy forced herself to answer with a cool mental logic.

Because she couldn’t live her life entirely in Biryal. Because she didn’t love Khaled, and he didn’t love her. Because getting married simply for the sake of a child wasn’t a good enough reason.

Because Khaled would get tired of her. Again. He would leave. Again.

You’re afraid.

She could almost hear Khaled saying the words, although the revelation had come from her own heart.

She was afraid of being hurt again, of loving Khaled and losing him one more time.

‘Mummy, come in and play with us!’ Sam held out his arms beseechingly, and with a smile Lucy rose from the lounger.

‘All right.’

She could feel Khaled watching her as she slid off her flip-flops and sarong and self-consciously adjusted the straps of her swimming costume, as if she could somehow make it cover more of her body.

And why should it matter? He’d seen her already, all of her, had touched and kissed every part.

Of course, that had been before Sam. She carried a few more pounds now—not too many, but enough for her to notice. She had several stretch-marks on her tummy that had faded to persistent silvery streaks. She looked different.

She found herself glancing at Khaled’s damaged knee, now submerged in the pool, and thought, We’re both different.

They both had battle scars, marks which showed that sometimes life was hard. It had changed them on the outside, as well as on the inside, and that, perhaps, wasn’t a completely bad thing.

They spent another hour in the pool, laughing and chasing each other, and even as she played with Sam Lucy couldn’t shake the feeling of awareness that prickled along her skin and warmed her body both inside and out. She was aware of Khaled, aware of his slick, bare, water-beaded skin so close to hers, aware of his golden eyes sweeping over her even when he wasn’t looking at her.

She knew he was aware too, that he felt the tension and expectancy build with the latent force of a volcano; that he felt the same pressure that mounted inside her when his arm or thigh brushed against her in the water. When Sam did a particularly daring jump his laughing eyes met hers—and held them.

She couldn’t look away. She didn’t even want to.

She felt the need and the desire—building inside her, threatening to overflow—and something else, something warm and hopeful and good—and she didn’t try to push it back down or pretend it wasn’t there. She should have; that would have been the sensible thing to do. But for a moment she didn’t feel sensible.

She felt wanted.

Wanting.

Finally Sam tired out, and Lucy towelled him off on her lap, loving the feel of his damp, sun-warmed little body.

Khaled slung a towel around his hips—had his navel always been so taut and flat?—and said, ‘I’ll have lunch brought to the terrace. And then, Sam, perhaps a rest before we see the spiders?’

It was a sign of how tired Sam was, as well as how much he’d come to listen to Khaled, that he only protested once, and even that was halfhearted.

They ate by the poolside and Lucy could see that Sam was already fading as he picked at the chicken nuggets—English food that Khaled must have arranged.

‘I’ll take him upstairs,’ Lucy said, and Sam curled around her, his head on her shoulder, as Khaled led her back through the palace to the bedroom.

‘I wonder if I’ll ever get used to the size of this place,’ Lucy said after she’d tucked Sam in his bed. Khaled was in the little shared sitting room, still clad in only his swimsuit and towel. ‘I might need a map.’

‘I hope you’ll get used to it,’ Khaled replied with a smile, but Lucy didn’t miss the intensity in his eyes. Her breath hitched and her heart began to thud.

‘Khaled…’

‘Don’t.’ She stared in surprise, and he crossed the room to press a finger gently against her lips. ‘Don’t say no. Don’t tell me all the reasons why this isn’t going to work.’ Lucy tried to speak, but her lips just brushed Khaled’s finger, and her tummy tightened at the sensation.

‘Just let’s be, Lucy,’ Khaled said, his voice a soft, lulling whisper. ‘Do you remember how it was before—enjoying each other’s company, enjoying each other?’ She shook her head, not wanting to go there, even though it was already too late. Her mind, heart and body had all travelled down that dangerous road, remembering just how sweet it had been.

False; it had been false.

Yet could this be real?

She reached up and caught his hand with her own, pushing it away from her mouth.

‘All right,’ she found herself saying, surprised. She hadn’t intended to say that at all. She’d meant to lay out her arguments, all those logical, sensible reasons she’d catalogued in her mind. ‘Let’s enjoy these few days,’ she said, her voice firm and unwavering. ‘For Sam’s sake.’

‘And for our own?’ Khaled’s eyes burned into hers, yet Lucy heard a lilt of what sounded almost like uncertainty in his voice—uncertainty and hope. ‘Just to see how it could be?’ he added in a whisper.

‘It can’t,’ she said, and she’d never sounded so uncertain, so desperate not to be right.

Khaled smiled, uncertainty replaced with satisfaction. Damn him. He knew his effect on her, knew how weak she was.

‘A few days,’ he agreed, and from his tone Lucy knew he thought that was all he’d need.

The next few days passed in a pleasant haze of sightseeing, swimming and enjoying the surprising treasures of Biryal. Khaled took them to see the pearl divers on the coast. The art of Biryal’s ancient trade was now a tourist attraction, as pearls were now made synthetically in an oyster farm.

He showed Sam the spiders with their huge, yellow webs as promised. Lucy stayed well behind, even as Sam stared, fascinated, his hand clasped tightly with Khaled’s.

He took them to a national museum in Lahji, and Lucy was impressed with the clean, wide streets; the ancient buildings were cheek-by-jowl with modern skyscrapers. It was a small city, compact and well-maintained, and she could begin to see why Khaled was proud of his country, why he was dedicating his time, his life, to improving the condition of its people.

During these outings Lucy let her mind drift, enjoying the sun on her face, the breeze from the sea, the feeling that they were a family. A real one.

She didn’t let herself think about how it couldn’t last, what would happen when she returned to London, to her life. Khaled…what would he do?

What would he want, demand?

Her mind slipped away from such questions, and certainly from their possible answers.

Yet even in the pleasant passing of time she felt the latent need and memory deep in her belly, and also in her heart. She felt it lurch inside her every time Khaled looked at her, that knowing little smile quirking the corner of his mouth upwards, his eyes gleaming, making her ache.

Her mind slipped away from that too.

A week after they arrived, Khaled stretched out on the lounger next to hers as Sam splashed in the shallow part of the pool.

‘There will be a magnificent sunset tonight,’ he remarked casually, too casually, and Lucy waited, eyebrows raised.

‘I thought we could take a picnic supper to the Dragon Grove.’

‘Dragon Grove?’ Lucy repeated, smiling. ‘That sounds intriguing. I’m sure Sam will love it.’

‘Alone.’ Khaled’s eyes sought hers and found them. Lucy swallowed.

‘What about Sam?’ she asked, her voice sounding rusty. Khaled shrugged.

‘He is comfortable here now, is he not? I have hired a nurse to watch him. She is reliable, warm.’

‘You didn’t think to consult me?’ Lucy asked, hearing the sharpness in her tone, feeling it, and so did Khaled. He reached out and brushed her cheek with his fingertips; Lucy flinched away.

‘So prickly, Lucy. Does it matter?’

‘I don’t like you making decisions about Sam without me,’ Lucy replied stiffly.

‘I hired a babysitter for an evening.’ Khaled shrugged. ‘Do you want me to clear every decision I make with you, Lucy? Because, I am telling you now, I will not. Sam is my son—as much my son as he is yours. Remember that.’

Lucy half-rose from the lounger, her body tense and ready to fight. ‘Are you threatening me?’

Khaled muttered an oath in Arabic, his eyes darkening dangerously. ‘No, though you see threats everywhere, like spiders! I am telling you, Lucy, that you cannot threaten or manage me. I won’t grovel for Sam’s attention or access to his life. So don’t try and make me.’

‘I wasn’t—’

‘Weren’t you? You are always trying to be in control, to make the decisions.’

‘Of course I want to be in control,’ Lucy snapped. ‘I’m not going to sit here passively while you rearrange Sam’s life to suit your own purposes!’

‘Which are at cross with your own?’ Khaled shook his head, and his voice turned soft. ‘You see how easy this would be if we were married?’

‘Hardly,’ she replied, even though her heart bumped unevenly in her chest. ‘Then you’d just expect me to do your bidding.’

Khaled laughed, one eyebrow arched. ‘Oh? And wear a hijab as well? Who told you that?’

Lucy felt her cheeks flush. She was uncomfortably aware of the assumptions she’d made, and yet she felt in her gut that they were true. That they could be, anyway. ‘No one did,’ she muttered. ‘I don’t need to be told.’

‘Because this is an Arab country? We are Westernised, you know. Civilised too.’

Lucy looked away. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘It does,’ Khaled said quietly, and she heard a note of sorrowful sincerity in his voice that resonated deeply within her. ‘It does,’ he repeated. ‘Because you have so many of these assumptions, and I realise it is time to correct them, even if…’ He paused, his gaze slipping from hers. ‘Even if it is uncomfortable. The truth must be told and faced. I will do so tonight…when we are alone.’

The invitation had been replaced by a command. Lucy pursed her lips. She wasn’t going to argue simply for the sake of it, and if Khaled meant what he said about correcting her assumptions then she wanted to listen.

She needed to hear the truth, whatever it was.

Sam was surprisingly amenable to being left with Hadiya, the nurse Khaled had hired. She was a young, smiling, round-cheeked woman and Lucy couldn’t find a single thing wrong with her. Perversely, she had tried.

They left the palace in the late afternoon to give them enough time to reach the grove before the spectacular sunset Khaled had promised.

‘What is this Dragon Grove?’ Lucy asked as she climbed into the passenger seat of an open-topped Jeep.

‘One of Biryal’s treasures. I know it may look like a dusty, scrubby island to you, but the interior has many beautiful sights. One of them is this grove. The trees are native only to this island and one other.’

Intrigued, Lucy sat back and let the hot, dry breeze blow over her as Khaled started the Jeep and they began the precarious route down the mountain.

They didn’t speak, but it was a surprisingly companionable silence. The heat made Lucy feel almost languorous, and the questions and worries that nibbled and niggled at her mind slipped away once more.

She would enjoy this evening she resolved. One evening, for pleasure. One evening without worrying, fighting, fearing. It was all too easy a decision to make.

Khaled turned off the main road that led to Lahji and entered a protected nature reserve, which was mostly rocky hills dotted with trees. Lucy knew this must be the grove he’d mentioned, for the trees were indeed unique. They had thick, knobbly trunks, their branches with bristly dark leaves thrust upwards, like a brush. It looked, Lucy thought, as if the trees were raising their arms to heaven.

‘Dragon’s Blood trees,’ Khaled told her as he parked the Jeep. From the back he fetched a blanket and picnic basket. ‘When their bark is cut, a thick, red resin comes out. It used to be called the blood of Cain and Abel. It is known to have healing properties.’

He reached for her hand to help her across the rough ground, and Lucy took it naturally. Khaled, she noticed, walked with that same stiff-legged gait, but he did not appear to be in pain.

He spread a blanket on a smoother stretch of ground positioned above the grove so they could watch the sun begin its descent towards the trees.

Lucy helped him spread the blanket out before they both sat down. Khaled rested his elbows on his knees, his thoughtful expression on the distant horizon. The sun was turning the colour of a blood orange, large and flaming.

Lucy watched him for a moment. The harsh profile had softened a bit in reflective silence, yet she thought she saw a certain determination in the set of his jaw.

‘Shall we eat?’ she asked, and Khaled turned to her with a distracted smile.

‘Yes. I asked the palace cooks to pack a feast.’

As Khaled began to unpack the picnic basket, Lucy saw that there was indeed a feast: roast chicken seasoned with cumin, aubergine salad, pastries plump with dates and a bottle of chilled white wine.

‘I thought countries such as yours forbade alcohol,’ Lucy remarked, taking the glass Khaled poured her. She realised that wine had been served at most meals, although it hadn’t really registered with her until now.

‘I told you, we are Western now,’ Khaled replied, smiling. He raised his glass in a toast. ‘Saha.’

‘Saha,’ Lucy repeated, and they both drank. ‘What does that mean?’

‘To good health. It is a traditional toast.’

They ate in companionable silence, although as it wore on Lucy felt her nerves start to fray. Before tonight there had always been the safety of Sam between them; Khaled hadn’t tried to see her on her own after that first night. Evening meals had been chaperoned by Ahmed, and Lucy had retired to the safety of her suite, with Sam as her excuse. Khaled had let her go.

Now that they were finally alone, she realised how safe Sam’s presence had made her feel. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy as she tried to manage a chicken drumstick or date pastry. The food was tasteless and dry in her mouth, and she could feel her heart rate kick up again, all in reaction to Khaled.

Had he always made her feel this way?

Of course he had. From the moment she’d first laid eyes on him strolling lazily across the rugby pitch, she’d been helpless. Hopeless. Wanton.

Cool, composed Lucy Banks had melted like warm butter in Khaled’s hands under the heat of his carelessly given smile.

And he’d known. She’d always been able to tell that, had seen the amused flicker of awareness in his eyes, and still she hadn’t cared. She couldn’t change.

When Khaled had beckoned her, smiling with languorous confidence, she’d gone to him. Had been glad to.

And now it was happening again. Khaled’s gaze had turned speculative and heavy-lidded over the rim of his glass, and Lucy felt herself begin to melt, her body betraying her as always. Desire took the place of reason, of pride. Of safety. Lucy forced her gaze away from Khaled.

The sun, she saw, was nearing the tops of the trees, sending out long, orange rays and flooding the sky with supernatural colour.

‘You’re right,’ she said in an awkward attempt to fill the expectant silence, to keep the treacherous reactions of her own body at bay. ‘The sunset is spectacular.’

‘There are many beautiful things about Biryal.’

She glanced at him sharply. ‘Is that a sales pitch?’

Khaled chuckled and stretched out on the blanket, his body long and lithe next to hers…close to hers. Lucy inched away; the temptation to sidle closer, to feel the long, hot length of his thigh against hers, was too great.

As much as she’d told herself she would enjoy this evening, she wasn’t. She couldn’t. Her nerves and fears were on high alert. She was so weak when it came to Khaled; he could have her so easily, and he knew it. Even now he knew it. And, if he did, what would be left of her happiness? Her self-respect? Her safety?

‘Not really,’ Khaled said after a moment. He reached one hand out to lazily brush a tendril of hair behind her ear. Lucy forced herself not to react. ‘Your hair is always so silky,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve dreamed of touching it, of feeling it between my fingers like cool water.’ There was a surprising ache of yearning in his voice that had Lucy shaking her head, sending more tendrils escaping to brush her cheeks. Khaled threaded his fingers through them, smiling.

‘You haven’t…?’ she began, mesmerised by the feel of his hands in her hair, of his knuckles barely brushing her cheekbone. She wanted more.

‘Haven’t I?’ His fingers, tangled in her hair, drew her slowly, inexorably to him, as she’d been afraid they would. As she’d wanted him to.

He drew her towards him, and she went. She didn’t resist, didn’t even consider it. She couldn’t, for she wanted the promise she saw in his eyes, and when his lips barely brushed hers she felt that promise fire her soul.

‘Lucy…’ he murmured against her mouth, like a supplication, a prayer.

‘Oh, Khaled.’ Her hands slid up of their own accord to caress the smooth skin on the back of his neck, his stubbly jaw, to rake through his hair. She wanted to feel him, every bit, had been aching for his touch. It had been so long. Too long.

Yet even as desire swamped her body her mind rebelled. Not this. Not now, not again…

Body and heart warred against each other and helplessly she shook her head. A tear she hadn’t meant to shed escaped from beneath her closed lids and plopped on Khaled’s thumb. He drew back in appalled surprise.

‘You’re crying.’

‘No.’ She shook her head again, laughing a little bit, embarrassed, for two more tears had streaked down her cheeks. Even now her body betrayed her.

‘Why?’ He looked so genuinely bewildered that she laughed again, a hiccup sound halfway to a sob.

‘Because…I don’t know…’ She drew a breath, willing the tears to recede, and the desire too; she needed to find her composure once more and don it like armour.

‘I didn’t mean to make you sad.’

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and saw him frown ruefully and run a hand through his hair, mussing it. The last wedge of sun glimmered on the horizon before it sank beneath the mountains and the night settled softly around them.

‘I’m not sad,’ Lucy said, and her voice came out firmly. She swallowed the last threat of tears and forced herself to look at Khaled directly. ‘Just emotional, perhaps. There’s been so much change recently, and the future is so uncertain.’

‘It doesn’t have to be.’

She shook her head, not wanting to start down that road. ‘And I’ve admitted before,’ she continued firmly, ‘that I am helpless when it comes to you, like a moth to the candle flame.’ Her mouth set in a grim line. ‘It’s not something I’m proud of.’

‘You make it sound like weakness.’

‘It is.’

Khaled was silent for a moment. ‘Would it be,’ he finally asked, ‘if I hadn’t left?’

Lucy drew back, startled. ‘What do you mean?’

He shrugged. ‘You’ve defined everything—me, yourself, our relationship—by the fact that I left without telling you.’

‘Of course I have,’ she snapped. ‘How could I not?’

‘Sometimes,’ Khaled said quietly, his eyes intent on hers, ‘I wish I hadn’t left.’

The breath left Lucy’s body, left her feeling dizzy and airless. She drew another breath and let it out shakily. ‘Do you really?’ she asked, hearing both the doubt and the desire in her voice. He offered her a twisted smile.

‘I told you I would correct some of these assumptions you have,’ Khaled said. His voice was soft, yet even so it held a certain grim resolution. ‘And one of them is about why I left—left England, left rugby—left you.’

Lucy’s hands curled into claws, her fingernails biting into her palms. Her heart began a relentless drumming. ‘All right,’ she said evenly. ‘So, tell me.’

Khaled’s gaze slid from hers; it was the first time he’d been the one to look away. Lucy felt his emotional withdrawal like a physical thing, as if a coolness had stolen over her.

‘You, of all people, know how I’ve had muscle strain in my knee,’ Khaled began. He kept his voice even, unemotional, his gaze on the now-darkened horizon. Lucy didn’t speak. Of course she knew; she’d iced and massaged his knee many times in the two years he’d played for England. The team physician had diagnosed stressed ligaments, and Lucy had agreed. An X-ray early on had shown nothing more serious. ‘I always assumed it was simply repetitive-strain injury,’ Khaled continued. ‘It was the easiest thing to believe—’

‘It was the diagnosis we gave,’ Lucy interjected quietly. She felt a sudden stab of guilt. If she had misdiagnosed Khaled, if the team physician had…

Briefly he touched her hand with his own, then removed it. ‘This is not your fault.’

Lucy said nothing, but the question ‘What isn’t my fault?’ seemed stuck in her throat and hovered silently in the air between them.

‘I didn’t tell you all my symptoms,’ Khaled explained, his voice heavy and quiet in the stillness of the evening air. ‘I ignored them myself. The severity, at least.’

‘What?’

‘It doesn’t matter now. It’s all past.’ He gave a sigh, raking his hand through his hair once more. ‘In the end, that final injury offered an unarguable diagnosis.’ He looked at her directly, bleakly honest. ‘I didn’t have a torn ligament, Lucy. I had loose fragments of my knee bone, of the patella.’

‘Osteochronditis dissecans,’ Lucy murmured. It must have begun after the X-ray, otherwise they would have picked it up. It was a rare condition, one she never would have thought of without more information, where the patella’s cartilage began to fragment and float. It was, she knew, very painful. ‘Still, it is treatable, with surgery—’

‘I had the surgery,’ Khaled interjected. ‘After my last injury. And that was when they diagnosed sudden onset of severe osteoarthritis. The osteochronditis had gone too far to be controlled.’

‘Hence the flare ups,’ Lucy murmured, silently adding, and the finished rugby career.

‘Yes.’ Khaled fell silent, and Lucy felt a ripple of frustration. He acted as though he’d explained everything, and she most certainly felt he had not.

‘I still don’t understand, Khaled,’ she said quietly, ‘why such a diagnosis would make you leave me in the way you did.’

Khaled averted his gaze as he spoke. ‘The doctor told me the arthritis would be degenerative, probably quickly so, because of my age and its severity. He gave me a year or two at most at my current mobility… Eventually I’d need a wheelchair.’

‘But you’re still walking,’ Lucy objected.

‘For now.’ He turned, smiling wryly, although there was a deep bleakness in his eyes reflected from his soul. ‘It’s only a matter of time, Lucy. And of course you need to know that…if you marry me. At some point I will most likely lose the ability to walk.’

‘At some point,’ Lucy repeated. ‘Have you had any X-rays since then?’

‘Yes, and the consultant admitted the damage was much less than he’d anticipated. But I still have the condition. That cannot be changed.’

Lucy was silent, trying to make sense of what he was saying. ‘You didn’t think to tell me this when you learned of it? When I was asking for you?’

‘I didn’t want to burden you with it,’ Khaled said, and a brusque note entered his voice. ‘I’ve seen what happens when someone is saddled with the long-term care of a loved one. I know it’s an impossible choice, and I didn’t want you to have to make it.’

‘But you should have let me,’ Lucy insisted quietly. ‘It was my right.’

‘And I considered it my right to keep the information to myself,’ Khaled returned, his voice sharpening.

Lucy shook her head, sorrow flooding through her. Her heart ached for Khaled four years ago—learning of such a devastating diagnosis—and for herself, longing to be with him. ‘I wanted to be with you,’ she said quietly. ‘Then. I would have stood by you, Khaled.’

‘I didn’t want your pity.’ Khaled jerked a shoulder. ‘I still don’t. I’ve learned to live with it, Lucy, but four years ago I couldn’t stand the thought of everyone I knew treating me with kid gloves, damning me with their mercy. Of you being that way. And if I’d told you, there would be no way to prevent it.’

Lucy drew her knees up to her chest. ‘I’m sorry you went through that,’ she said quietly, choosing her words with care. ‘And I can understand why you left, but…’ She felt Khaled tense—felt herself tense, and forced herself to continue. She knew it had to be said. Confronted. ‘If you really cared about me, Khaled, you would have been in touch. A letter, a phone call.’ Her voice trembled and she strove to control it. ‘Something.’

‘I thought about it,’ Khaled told her, and from the low intensity of his voice she believed it. ‘Many times. I wanted to.’

She shook her head. Even now the doubt was strong, the evidence overwhelming. ‘Did you really?’

‘Yes. But I didn’t in the end, Lucy, because I didn’t think it would ever work. For you. I didn’t want to be a burden to you, or to anyone. I know what that’s like.’

‘Do you?’ Lucy asked. ‘How?’

‘My mother was diagnosed with MS when I was little more than a baby. By the time I was five, she was bedridden. It was why there was never any more children. I saw how my father tried to care for her, how it poisoned their marriage.’

‘Poisoned?’ Lucy repeated, revulsion creeping into her voice.

‘He began to resent her. He didn’t want to, but I could tell. She could tell. He wanted a wife by his side, healthy and strong, giving him sons. And instead…’ He shrugged, spreading his hands. ‘My mother shrivelled and withered under his disappointment, and I couldn’t stand the thought of being the same.’

Lucy was silent, her heart aching for the boy Khaled must have been, as well as the man he’d become. His mother’s illness as well as his own injury had shaped him, hardened him.

Could there be an end to his bitterness? Could she provide it? ‘And you thought I’d react the same way?’ she asked in a low voice when the silence had stretched on too long. ‘That I’d be…disappointed somehow?’

Khaled exhaled heavily. ‘You wouldn’t mean to be.’

‘I wouldn’t,’ Lucy broke in. ‘Full stop. But you never gave me that choice.’

‘It was my choice,’ Khaled returned, an edge creeping into his voice again. ‘First and foremost.’

And that was at the heart of it, Lucy thought, too sad to feel resentful. Khaled made the choices for both of them—he had four years ago, and he was doing the same now. ‘But what’s changed, Khaled?’ she asked. ‘Your medical diagnosis hasn’t, so why are you willing to risk marriage with me when you weren’t before?’

‘Because of Sam,’ Khaled replied. ‘And because I want to. I want you.’ His face hardened with determination. ‘I’m willing to risk it. I have to.’

Want, Lucy thought. Not love. Not even close. But what had she been expecting?

‘I know…’ He stopped, his expression hooded, distant, yet with the shadow of vulnerability in his eyes. ‘I wasn’t—I’m still not—the man I once was. The man you fell in love with. I’ll never be that man again.’ This last statement was delivered with an achingly bleak honesty that made Lucy stare at him with speechless revelation, sorrow swamping her once more. They’d both changed. They were different people now, reshaped by heartache and disappointed dreams. ‘Although,’ he continued, ‘you say you weren’t in love with me at all.’

There was an honesty in his eyes that reached right down to her soul, and she was compelled to be honest as well. ‘Maybe I was,’ she admitted in a raw whisper, and gently Khaled reached out to brush a tendril of hair away from her cheek.

‘And now?’ he asked, his voice just as soft as hers. Her heart began to beat so fiercely, she felt as if it would burst through her chest.

She wanted to tell him she loved him. She wanted to believe she loved him, this man who had shown her his weakness, who had given her his vulnerability. She wanted to trust in this moment. But as she stared at him speechlessly she knew she couldn’t. In the end all this was was an evening, a moment in time, an orchestrated intimacy, and she had no idea if it was real.

If Khaled was real.

Even now her heart rebelled, her mind whispered, you can’t trust him, what if he leaves again? What if he decides what’s best for you again?

And then a far more alarming whisper: what about Sam?

Could she marry Khaled for Sam’s sake, to give him the family neither of them had ever had? Could she keep herself from loving Khaled, from being hurt by him? And was that the kind of life she wanted for herself, for them all?

The other option was to trust him, give herself and her heart to him. Even now every instinct rebelled against that final, frightening step.

‘Lucy?’ Khaled stared at her, his jaw clenched tensely, realizing what her silence meant.

‘I…I’m sorry.’ She swallowed, feeling tears rise in her throat and crowd her eyes.

Khaled turned away, his gaze resolutely fastened on the horizon. ‘Then we must have a marriage of convenience,’ he said flatly. ‘For Sam’s sake. For your own too, perhaps. You would not enjoy living half a life with him, would you?’

‘No…’ A tear slipped coldly down her cheek and she dashed it away. She knew starkly that marriage to Khaled was best for Sam. Best for her, for, if she didn’t marry Khaled, if she didn’t keep involved in Sam’s life as a royal in Biryal, she would slowly, inexorably lose him to a life he would come to love—a life she wouldn’t even understand.

She might keep pace for a while, a few years, but what then? What about when Sam was older? When he didn’t need his mummy to come along for hugs and hand holding? She’d be left alone in London, hanging on, desperate, useless. Unless she married Khaled and stayed fully, firmly in Sam’s life.

After a long moment when both of them were lost in their own silent, separate miseries, she asked, ‘Just how…convenient would this marriage be?’

‘Not that convenient,’ Khaled replied, glancing at her sharply. ‘Surely you don’t want to be celibate for the rest of your life—especially considering what has been between us?’

The rest of her life; that was what they were talking about. Lucy swallowed. ‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Good. Because I certainly do not. I have been celibate long enough.’

‘How long?’ she asked, genuinely curious, and he shot her a quick, sardonic smile.

‘Long enough. There are not many opportunities in Biryal, even if I wished to take them. So.’ He turned to face her, his voice brisk, his face half-shrouded in darkness, although she could still see that his eyes burned. ‘Will you marry me?’

It was hardly how she’d imagined a proposal, a marriage, yet Lucy knew there was only one answer to give. Her heart twisting, breaking, she gave it through numb lips: ‘Yes. Yes, I will.’