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‘It’s not a heap of scrap!’ Clemmie flared, coming to the defence of her sweet little car. It might be old, it might be a bit battered, but it was hers and it had spelled freedom and escape when she had needed it most. ‘We can’t all drive the latest luxury four-wheel...’
‘You could if you wanted to—’ Karim cut in sharply, bringing her to an abrupt halt ‘—if you’d stayed with your father or in Rhastaan. As Nabil’s queen...’
If Nabil would even let her drive, Clemmie told herself. Young as he was, he was traditionalist enough to insist on his wife staying inside, emerging only with an escort, or with Nabil himself. Women in Rhastaan had not been allowed to drive during his father’s reign. So would that be permitted now?
‘Now I wonder why—’ she began, only to break off as a worrying, disturbing thought hit home like a blow. ‘My car won’t move?’
‘Not an inch, not in these conditions. And as my car is trapped in the yard behind it, then we’re stuck. Unless I can get a garage truck out—do you have a number?’
He gestured towards the old-fashioned phone on the hall table. Clemmie’s heart sank several degrees lower.
‘That’s not going to help. I had it cut off as part of my preparations to leave. I’ve been relying on my mobile, even though the reception’s unreliable.’
She pulled her phone out her pocket, checked it, then held it out to him, her face spelling out her disappointment.
‘Nothing. Yours? Or your tablet? It was working when I arrived.’
One touch of his thumb to the phone told the same story. Not a single bar to indicate any connection. And it was the same with his computer.
‘The Internet’s down too—everything. This storm has really damaged everything. So, for the foreseeable future, we’re imprisoned here until something changes.’
She wished he hadn’t used that word ‘imprisoned’. It sounded too stark, too dangerous, too scary to face in a moment like this, isolated in this tiny cottage with a man as dark and ruthlessly determined as Karim Al Khalifa.
‘Then what...’ she began, wondering just how things could get any worse.
But, even as she spoke, the single light illuminating the hall flickered, crackled loudly and then went out, leaving them in total darkness.
‘Karim!’
His name was a cry of shock and near panic, the instinct to turn to him coming from somewhere deep and unexpectedly primitive. The blackness around her was thick and almost impenetrable, the only hint of any light coming from the reflected whiteness of the snow beyond the window. She struggled up from her seat on the sofa, the breath hissing in through her teeth as she put her weight on her bruised ankle.
‘I’m here.’
Something flared in the darkness. He was using the phone as a torch, the screen lighting the room for a moment. It shone straight up into his face, showing it dark and shuttered, strangely shadowed in the glow, but Clemmie felt that she had never been so pleased to see anyone in her life. The cottage that had previously been safety and home to her now felt like something else entirely. The real world had invaded her sanctuary. It was Karim who had brought that reality, that world in with him, and yet it was Karim that she felt she could turn to. She was glad that he was here. Only one day earlier he had invaded her life, shocking and disturbing her, and yet without him she would have felt lost and adrift on a sea as wild as the storm raging outside.
Karim seemed almost like part of that storm. Harsh and forceful as the weather, like some untamed creature that had come in from the night, his power and presence filled the small house. It was strange that the golden tones of his skin, his name and his accent all came from a land of heat and sun, but here, in the dark and wildness of the icy snow, he still had a power that seemed at one with the elements. This was her home and he was the intruder, but in the darkness and the cold she was grateful for the strength of his very physical company.
‘The power’s gone...’ Stupid and weak as it sounded, it was all she could manage. ‘Are you sure we’re stuck here for the night?’
‘Certain.’
He’d been flicking switches, checking plugs, to make sure that it was not just the bulb or the wiring in the hall and now he was nodding grimly, mouth clamped tight over the anger he clearly would not allow himself to express.
‘Nothing, damn it. Do you have a torch? Candles? I need to conserve the power on my phone.’
‘Candles in the cupboard under the sink. My torch is in the car.’
She’d thought she might need it on the journey to visit Harry, not once she was back safe in her own home. It was a struggle to just stand there and watch him as he groped his way to the kitchen, hunted in the cupboard. Rattled by all that had happened, and with her twisted ankle still nagging at her painfully, she was so tempted to move to his side, fling her arms around him...feel his strength close around her as it had done when he had picked her up from the snow outside. What stopped her was an instinctive feeling that that would be overstepping an invisible line, risking...
Risking what? A stunningly physical response or, more likely, an immediate rejection—or, even worse, a careful, condescending putting her away from him so that he could get on with the practical matter that he was focused on. She couldn’t bear the humiliation of that and it was more than enough to hold her where she was in spite of the yearning that still twisted in her stomach.
A scratching sound of match on box from the kitchen seemed unnaturally loud in the silence. There was a small flare, and the flickering flame of the candle added a tiny light to the darkness.
‘There are no holders...’
‘No, but we could stick them on saucers,’ Clemmie told him, making her way gingerly into the kitchen.
Luckily the cupboard containing the plates and cups was at the other end of the kitchen so, even feeling her way with her hands, she was in no danger of touching him. But she could still see that stunning face in the flickering candle flame, could scent his skin and his hair, drying slowly after the exposure to the snow. She could even see the tiny flecks of the white flakes that decked his long lashes like miniature diamonds and her mouth itched to kiss them away, licking the moisture from his lids with her tongue.
And where had that thought come from? Shock at the way her mind was working had her banging the saucers down on the kitchen worktop with a distinct crash. She had never felt like this with anyone before. And not just because she had tried to keep her mind off such things. She had just never felt this way ever.
‘Careful!’ Karim’s reproof was low and strangely touched with warmth. It was as if he knew only too well what was going through her mind and that thought made her hand shake as she reached for another of the candles.
‘Careful yourself—they’re my saucers—my candles...’
To her horror she had mistimed the reach, her fingers grabbing at the candle Karim held rather than the spare unlit ones in his other hand. In the same moment the awkward movement twisted at her sore ankle again, making her overbalance and tumble headlong towards him.
‘Careful!’
It was so very different this time. Every trace of that warmth, the light amusement had faded from the single word and the edge on his tone sent shivers down her spine. Shivers that combined with the shock of electricity where her fingers had closed over the hand that held the candle. It was impossible not to think of the shape she held, long and hard, and capable of such heat.
She had one moment to try to recover, one moment of looking up straight into his eyes and seeing the darkness there that was more than the shadows surrounding them, the burn of something that was more than the reflection of the flame he held between them. But then, as she almost overbalanced, he reacted swiftly, dropping the candle into the sink so that she didn’t fall dangerously close to it but instead stumbled right into his arms.
In the darkness again, it was more than she had anticipated. More than she could ever have expected. Her face was up against his chest, pressed into the softness of the cashmere, crushed against the hardness of collarbone and ribcage, inhaling the scent of his skin, feeling the heat and the muscles in his throat against her brow. She heard him draw in a sharp breath, sensed him swallow hard, wished she could do the same to ease the choking dryness in her own mouth.
She felt his hands come out to hold her, stop her from falling, and her breath caught in her throat as the heat of those hard palms reached her through her clothing, searing the skin on her thighs, her waist. She could have sworn that his hands lingered, curling closer, holding her against him so that she couldn’t break free even if she’d wanted to. But breaking free was the last thing on her mind. Her heart had taken off at an alarming rate, blood thundering in her ears. But Karim’s pulse rate was as cool and controlled as if he had simply just caught hold of the handle of a broom or mop—rather than a living breathing woman.
And yet...
‘Shall we try again?’
