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“I want to sleep with you to close the book on what we were.”
“You closed that book,” she pointed out, trying her hardest to regain control of the situation. But a new form of grief was snaking through her – when she thought she had no more sadness to feel, she realised how wrong she was.
“Apparently not.”
There were two clear choices. One right and laced with pain and denial, one wrong and loaded with pleasure and dreams; but a fleeting pleasure that would
lead to pain.
“That you would offer me money for sex cheapens everything we once were,” she whispered huskily. She stepped away from him and the pain, as predicted, perforated her being instantly.
“Fine. Then come with me for a night. To be with me. Because you want me. Because you’ve missed me.”
She shook her head, but his words were wrapping around her heart, binding her to the promise of what he offered.
He moved to her again, cupping her face with his powerful hands. They were warm and firm.
“You have carried another man’s baby inside of you. Had he not died, he would be here with you still. I want … I need…” There was such a look of torture in his face that she was tempted to tell him the truth, but he continued before she could form the sentence. “I want you to be mine again.”
The words wrapped around her, stealing breath from her body. When she spoke, the words were thin and high-pitched.
“I’m not an object. A possession.”
She bit down on her lip, knowing there was an inherent lie in what she’d said. “But I was as much yours as any person could be, at one time. And you left.” She turned away from him and walked towards the window. It looked out onto a narrow garden, and beyond it, a high, brick wall. Hardly an inspiring view, but by night, it made no difference.
She saw her reflection.
Thin.
Pale.
Gaunt.
Half-alive. Waiting for sleep, for her dream-life, where she could be happy again.
She swept her eyes closed. “You don’t know what I’ve been through.”
Was she talking about her lover’s death? Anger at that idea burst through him. A desire to erase the other man from her body and heart pushed determination into his words. “One night. And a hundred thousand American dollars.”
Her sob was not what he’d expected. She shook her head and turned to face him. “Get out.”
Had he miscalculated so badly? He had intended to provide her with an offer that was beyond anything she could refuse. He had wanted to make it impossible for her to say no. And yet…
“I loved you.” She swallowed the bitterness from her mouth; it tasted like burned metal and ash.
She had loved him, and she had loved him hard. When he had been sad and broken, she had loved him until his heart sung. She had loved him when she had no clue who he was, how powerful he was, nor what he was worth.
But it had been an impossible love, founded on the lie of who he was and what he could offer. He’d been selfish to take her virginity and more so to accept the gift of her heart, knowing that he would always have to return to Kalastan and his life there.
He had responsibilities and duties that had superseded what he could provide for Sarah.
According to Zahir, he still did.
“One night,” he said with a simplicity that belied his hope; his desperation. “And all your worries will go away.”
He was right. At least, her financial worries would be solved.
One hundred thousand dollars was more money than Sarah could imagine.
