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The relaxed, enjoyable evening—the evening she had thought was relaxed and enjoyable but in fact had probably just been him tolerating her, going along with things to pass the time and distract her, was over. She was dismissed, his thoughts turning to something else entirely. He didn’t have to say that all he wanted was to get out of here and deliver her to her husband-to-be. It was written into every action he took, hidden under the careful mask of politeness.
Now she really was tired. She felt like a balloon when all the air had escaped from a small leak, limp and flat, but the thought of heading up into the icebox that was her bedroom held no appeal at all. Karim was moving, getting to his feet, picking up cushions from the settee, dropping them on to the floor.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Your bed.’ A wave of his hand indicated the sofa. ‘Mine.’ This time he gestured towards the cushions at his feet. ‘You don’t want to freeze upstairs.’
‘N—no...’ It was disconcerting, almost as if he had read her thoughts.
‘A bit of a tight fit, but it will have to do. I’ll get some blankets.’
She had been tired, but would she be able to sleep now? Clemmie asked herself when, a few minutes later, she was ensconced on the settee and firmly wrapped in the blankets Karim had brought down from the bedroom. She was cosy enough—physically at least—but a sneaking chill was winding its way around her thoughts.
Was Karim really acting out of consideration for her or was he merely settling there on the floor to keep a watch over her, make sure she didn’t attempt another escape during the night? She’d freeze to death if she did; the knee-length pink tee shirt style nightdress she had pulled on was modest enough but no protection against the bitter night, but clearly he didn’t trust her. Turning restlessly on the lumpy sofa, she fought to get comfortable. It was impossible to get her thoughts straight on Karim. One moment he seemed to care just a bit. The next she was sure he was only doing that duty he believed was so important. Her eyes went to where Karim still sat in the one chair, a black, bulky figure in the darkness. Now that the candles had been extinguished for safety, the only light came from the glow of the fire, banked down ready to last through the night. His arms rested along his thighs, shoulders hunched forward as he stared into the grate. Was she destined only ever to have ambiguous feelings about him?
That thought made her stomach clench at the realisation that her time with him was ebbing away fast. Once the dawn came he would find some way of getting the car moved, getting them on their way. And if the future had seemed grim enough before, the thought of the loveless political marriage she had to make hovering like a black cloud on the horizon, now the prospect of getting there and watching Karim walk away out of her life seemed impossible, unbearable. How had he come to mean so much to her in such a short space of time? And how could she let him go when they reached Rhastaan?
Let him go! Burying her face in the blanket, she forced back the bite of acid in her mouth. She wouldn’t let him go. She would have no part of it. He would just turn and walk away from her. Job done. Duty fulfilled. Not a single look back.
Somehow she fell asleep but in her dreams there were dark shapes and shadows haunting her mind, chasing after her. She was running, calling out for Karim, but he was ahead of her. Always ahead of her, walking away, and no matter how fast she tried to run, he was always so far ahead of her even though he was just walking. But her father and Ankhara were behind her, catching her up, coming closer with every step they took.
‘No...’ She wished she could shake them off but they were coming closer. ‘No—no!’
‘Clementina...’
Someone had caught up with her, caught her. They were holding her arm, shaking her...
‘Clementina.’
She knew that voice—recognised it... A rush of memory jolted her awake, bringing her upright in shock, eyes wide, staring into the dark face that had haunted all her dreams but only because it had always been turned away from her. Now he was here, so close, perched on the edge of the settee, his hands closed about her arms, the heat of his palms burning into her skin. He had discarded his sweater and the trousers he had been wearing, his only covering a white tee shirt and dark boxers. She could barely see his features in the shadows but the dark pools of his eyes drew her in.
He was too close. She was drowning. She could hardly breathe, the little air she could snatch in tangling in her throat as she stared up at him. And that air was touched with the scent of his skin, still warm from the blankets he’d been sleeping in.
‘What happened?’
‘I—was scared. Ankhara...’
Hell, he’d really messed up, Karim reproached himself, telling her about Ankhara. Nightmares were bad enough; the thrashing of her body and the way she’d moaned in her sleep had brought him awake fast. She’d been dreaming about the man who’d sent men after them. Who would try to put a stop to this marriage if he possibly could.
‘It’s all right.’
Did she know what it did to him to see the way her eyes had widened, deep as lakes in the whiteness of her face? How could he ever have thought her the wild, careless party girl she’d been described to him as? The woman who had carelessly tossed her duty to her family, to her country, aside when she had set out to seek her own pleasure, heedless of anyone else. There was more to it than that. Another reason why she had come here. He didn’t know what it was but he was sure there was something underneath her apparent recklessness. Perhaps it was something to do with this Harry—whoever he was. A friend? A lover?
‘Clementina, it’s all right—you’re safe.’
And she would be safe if he had anything to do with it, he vowed inwardly. He would make sure she reached Rhastaan safely if it was the last thing he did. He didn’t allow himself to acknowledge that that vow was made for Clementina herself, not just for the debt he owed to Nabil’s family.
‘C-Clemmie...’ Her voice was low and husky, that trace of breathlessness still lingering in a way that tugged at his nerves.
‘What?’
‘Clemmie,’ she said again, more strongly this time. ‘My—friends—call me Clemmie.’
‘Is that what we are? Friends?’
The battle he was having with the sexual hunger that had flared as soon as he had taken her in his arms to waken her made his question rough and raw, catching on her mood, changing it in a second. She frowned, bit down on the softness of her lower lip as she considered, then shrugged in a way he couldn’t interpret. Not with his head full of forbidden thoughts of how he wanted to reach out and ease her lips apart, stop her from injuring the soft flesh. He wanted to soothe the injury she was inflicting on herself with the sweep of his tongue. She was so close, the scent of her body so warm that he could almost taste her on each breath he drew in, and the cotton boxers provided little or no concealment of the aching hardness that those thoughts, the enticement of her body had built between his legs.
‘If that’s how you want it,’ she muttered. ‘After all, what else could we be?’
‘What else indeed,’ he agreed, nodding slowly. Then, seeing her shiver in the night air, he frowned sharply. ‘You should get back under the blankets—go to sleep.’
Her eyes met his, shadowed and defiant.
‘I don’t want to sleep. I’m afraid that if I close my eyes it will all come back again.’
‘But you need to rest...’ And he needed to get the hell away from her before he gave in to the carnal thoughts that were frying his brain.
‘Couldn’t you hold me?’
It was the last thing he had expected, the last thing he needed, and it knocked him off balance for a moment, almost reeling back where he sat.
‘Clemmie...’ His voice was thick, rough, and it was only when he heard himself say it that he realised he had conceded and used the name she wanted him to call her.
Her pink tongue slicked over her lips, leaving behind a gleam of moisture that had a kick of cruel temptation out of all proportion to its size. Hunger clawed at him, forcing him to clamp his mouth shut on a groan of response.
‘Please hold me. Just till I get back to sleep.’
She moved the blanket aside, opening a space under it for him to join her, and the movement revealed the slender pale length of her legs, the sight draining all the moisture from his mouth in a second. He tried to speak, to tell her how crazy this would be—how wrong—but his voice failed him and she was already talking again, taking his silence for some sort of concession of agreement.
‘I don’t think I could possibly sleep if you don’t. And you must be cold out there in what you’re wearing.’
He was cold. In spite of the fire, there was no real warmth in the air and he was thinking longingly of being under the blankets and huddling into them.
But the truth was that he was also thinking more longingly of being under the blankets with her and holding her close. In spite of the cold, his body burned at the thought.
