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“Hypocritical,” she hissed, shaking her head wearily. “Our entire relationship was predicated on the basis of meaningless sex and now you’re telling me that it does mean something?”
“You are my wife,” he said slowly, the words ground out. “And you are carrying my baby. You are also the only woman I have ever been in a relationship with for more than two nights. What do you think?”
Her heart was racing and her blood was burning. Millie felt as though she wanted to collapse against the wall and give in to the angry tears that were threatening. He was so infuriatingly contradictory. She had no idea what he felt or wanted, and her own wants were also murky to her.
He paced towards her slowly, giving Millie plenty of time to react. She could have stormed away, or told him to stop, but she didn’t. Millie stood perfectly still, her breath coming in raspy bursts, her eyes following his progress with wary curiosity. “I have just told you I chose celibacy rather than risk hurting any other woman. Do you honestly believe I would reverse that course now, while married to you?”
She stared up at him, so many conflicting emotions exploding through Millie that her eyes felt filled with stars. “I don’t know,” she whispered eventually, with a small shake of her head.
His hands caught her cheeks, his fingers splayed wide, trapping her gaze on him. “Yes, you do.” His eyes bore into hers, flecked with shades of caramel and grey. “Look at me, habibi. You say you loved me once. Is that really the action of the man you loved? Do you think me capable of that? Do you think my control so paper-thin that I would take up with a mistress while married to you?”
She didn’t know what to think! Everything had been turned on its head. In a billion years, Millie would never have guessed Zafar had been single for such a long time. She’d carried the wounds of their break up on her shoulders, and it had changed her fundamentally, but until now, she’d had no idea that he’d been equally affected by what they’d been through.
“I never loved you,” she said valiantly, because it felt important to stress that point. She was so absorbed by her own thoughts that she barely registered the flickering of something deep in his eyes. Her mind was in a state of total flux. “I certainly didn’t think you capable of…” but she broke off, because the past seemed like such a long time ago, and discussing it was futile. Caught and held by his broad, strong hands, she simply closed her eyes, trying to blot him out. But with darkness of vision came hyper awareness of all the other senses — his intoxicatingly masculine fragrance, as though he were the embodiment of the desert and the tangy spices that characterised the culinary dishes of this nation, his husky breathing, his warm hands, even the pulsing of blood through his veins against the fine skin of her face. She swallowed through a dry throat and blinked up at him.
“Of hurting you,” he finished, the words dark, his eyes flashing with obvious regret.
She bit down on her lip, shifting her head the smallest amount to indicate her agreement, wary of dislodging his hands.
“It was the way it had to be,” he said, the explanation making little sense.
“Why?” She demanded. “You pushed me away deliberately. For what reason?”
“I told you then —,”
“That you didn’t love me,” she repeated, the pain of that filtering through her anew, reminding her of the futility of this. “And yet you were such a good actor. That whole summer, I felt as though—,”
“I know how you felt,” he growled. “Or what you said you felt then. But what you claimed to want was impossible.”
She pulled away from him, anger a blade bracing against her spine. “I don’t care, Zafar. It’s ancient history now.”
“Is it?”
“Yes – and I’m going to make damned sure it doesn’t repeat itself. Again.”
“Do you really think you’re capable of that?”
“What do you mean?”
His gaze swept her face. “Do you not feel at times that you are fighting a tide?”
Her body quivered, an answering flush spreading through her limbs. “It’s just sex,” she snapped. “And it will definitely not be happening between us again. Ever. Got it?”
* * *
He stared at the email,a frown on his face. It was a simple logistical correspondence, detailing the necessities for an upcoming trip to the eastern provinces to personally oversee the problematic highway development. There was nothing particularly enthralling contained within the note, and yet as he re-read the bullet point outline of plans, his brain conjured images of that part of Abu Qara, the distant lands that brimmed with history and culture, from the ancient spice markets at the foothills of the Althasa mountains, to the temple of Kal’ak ahm and one of the largest oases in the desert. He thought of the brightly coloured tents that created his travelling residence, the camels and heat, the lifestyle that was so free from the strictures of the palace, and in every single vision, he saw Amelia.
Her wonderment at the sounds and smells, her vibrant blue eyes dancing with delight as she sampled the Eastern provinces’ foods for the first time, dipped her toes in the warm water of the oasis, enjoyed the silhouette of the ancient palm trees against the night sky, stars that looked like diamond dust in the desert’s tranquility. He thought of the way she’d been this past week, how tense in his presence, how quiet, how obviously unhappy, and he ached to wipe that away.
Nights had been a form of torture. Lying in his bed with Amelia on his left, her body so soft and proximate and completely forbidden, he had yearned for her in a way that was like being pushed through wildfire. He was barely sleeping, but he considered that a fair penance, when he thought of the pain he’d wrought in her life. Didn’t he deserve this?
And didn’t she deserve a trip to the desert? An invitation, at least. The opportunity to decide if an interest in seeing more of this country she’d always professed to love would outweigh the burden of time in close proximity with him.
Before he could second-guess his instincts, he lifted the receiver of his telephone. “Inform the Emira I’d like a moment of her time. Yes, now.”
He stood even as he replaced the phone in the cradle, striding across his office and out the door. It had been seven torturous nights since they’d made love, each of them punctuated by temptation and denial for Zafar. It was playing with fire to invite more time with Amelia, and yet as he drew nearer to his royal apartment, Zafar’s step quickened.
* * *
