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She nodded slowly, a smile playing around her lips, so that he pushed up to standing and rounded the table. He extended his hands to her and she put hers in them without hesitation. When he pulled her to standing, her body cleaved to his.
“Dance with me.”
“That’s my consequence?”
“Yes.”
“There’s no music.”
“Isn’t there?”
She frowned.
“Listen.” He lifted a finger to her lips, to encourage silence, and then smiled as he wrapped his hand around her waist, holding her flush to his body.
He moved slowly, his hips nudging hers, and she did as he said: listening.
And she heard it.
The whispering of the wind, fast and insistent, melodious as it passed through the windows of this carved building; the desert animals – tigers sprinting and calling to one another, birds flying overhead, their songs filled with the magic of this ancient land.
She pressed her cheek to his chest and danced with him, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
His body moved and hers responded; a silent call they answered together, in perfect unison.
“Why haven’t you ever asked me any of this before?” She murmured, the words adding to the sense of music surrounding them.
“When would I have had time?”
She exhaled once more, pressed her cheek to his chest, and shifted as the rhythm of his body dictated.
“You make it sound as though you were burning up with curiosity. Until a week ago, you didn’t even recognize I existed.”
“That’s definitely not true.”
“You didn’t recognize me as a woman.”
“No. You were my wife.”
She rolled her eyes, leaning back a little so she could see his face more clearly. “An odd distinction.” The moon shifted from behind a cloud, highlighting his face in silver light, making shadows and planes of his features. “Did you want to marry her?”
“Who?”
“Elena.” His grip around her waist loosened for a moment but when her eyes flew to his face, there was nothing there to suggest he was emotionally disturbed by her question. “Amit’s mother,” she explained. As though he could have forgotten who she was referring to.
“No.”
Chloe frowned. “You loved her?”
Raffa stopped moving his hips, standing still, holding Chloe to him. “I thought we just discussed this.”
Chloe frowned, her lack of comprehension obvious.
“I do not believe in love, Sheikha. It’s a drug, an addiction that drives people crazy.”
Chloe thought of the rumours about Elena and winced. Was it possible the other woman had lost her mind? That Raffa’s harsh refusal to accept love, even after Elena had borne him a child; his refusal to admit to feeling love, had taken her sanity?
Chloe could almost understand how that might feel.
