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‘I would have walked over fire to save that baby.’
The sadness in his statement was gut-wrenching. She nodded slowly, tears making her eyes sparkle. ‘I know that.’ Because that was exactly what he was doing this time around. From the moment he’d heard of her pregnancy he’d done everything he could to draw her into his life, to be sure these babies were cared for. Ultimately, that was what he cared about—making sure history didn’t repeat itself, in any way, shape, or form.
‘You must hate her.’
He made a sound that was halfway between a gruff laugh and a sigh of disbelief. ‘I do. She is the worst of the worst.’
Love had turned to hate; he’d never love again. He’d said that, over and over, and she’d wondered if it was truly possible to live without love, but now it was as if he were whipping her with his words, the very idea tearing something vital and irreplaceable apart inside her, because she understood. She understood why he couldn’t contemplate loving someone again. He’d loved, he’d trusted, and he’d been burned—the kind of burned from which one didn’t recover. What he’d been through was too much. He was broken.
Only, she desperately didn’t want him to be. Her mind was spinning too fast, trying to make sense of a conundrum, but attempting to reach the answer was as difficult as catching soap in the bath. Her brain wouldn’t work.
‘I was so angry with you that night.’ He stopped walking, staring at her. ‘After Ethan called me, and said what he did, all I saw was Fatima. I swore I’d never be fooled by a woman again and, in that moment, it was so easy to believe the worst. I was furious—with myself, with you, with the world.’
India’s lungs were expanding and contracting without catching air. She felt faint.
‘I get it,’ she said, slowly, her voice thick. ‘I didn’t then, but knowing what you went through—’
He lifted a hand, as if to touch her cheek, then dropped it. ‘What I went through with Fatima was a nightmare, but it was with Fatima, not you. I should have given you a chance to explain. I should have believed you. God knows I wanted to.’
She looked away, wondering at the mixture of pleasure and pain that was lancing her.
‘I have been fighting myself ever since you arrived in Khatrain—for longer, if I’m honest—wanting to believe you, wanting to listen to you, but knowing that listening is a fast track to being lied to.’
It made sense, and, more than that, it showed her how awful his heartbreak must have been, the first time around. She lifted a hand to his chest, sympathy colouring her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry for what she did to you.’
‘When you told me about your pregnancy, all I could think was that I had to act to protect our baby. I think about that every day, wondering if I missed some vital sign, if I had paid more attention, would things have been different? I don’t mean that I wish to have married her, only that for her to have gone to the lengths she did...what did I miss? What could I have done differently?’ He lifted his shoulders at the rhetorical question. ‘So when you arrived, I swore I would miss nothing.I had to keep you here, to know that you were safe and well, that our baby, or babies, as it turned out, were fine. Fear drove me to act in a way I’m not proud of, India.’
His admission pulled at something in her chest. She blinked up at him, her heart exploding with love. She wanted to wipe away his guilt, his worries. She wanted to make him smile.
‘From the moment I got to Khatrain we have been in agreement about one thing: that our children are our priority. That’s how you’ve acted. Even when you have made me so mad I wanted to scratch at your eyes, I have always, always known that you were fighting for our kids. And I love that.’ Her voice cracked a little as she said the final sentence, her heart begging to be unleashed, to be freed by her admission.
He growled. ‘You gave up university to care for your mother, you work a job you are overqualified for to support your brother, and now you make excuses for me. At some point, your heart of gold is going to become a liability.’
‘Is it?’ She moved closer, so their bodies brushed, and she felt a rush of heat between them, a sensual awareness that she now understood was so rich and urgent because it was driven not just by sex but also by love. ‘I think it’s going to guide me pretty well, actually.’
He furrowed his brow, not understanding.
‘Khalil, listen to me,’ she murmured urgently. ‘I’m not Fatima. I’m not going to use you, I’m not going to hurt you, I’m never going to lie to you. What I will do, if you’ll let me, is be your wife.’ She brushed her thumb over his lower lip then pushed onto the tips of her toes, kissing him slowly, savouring the feeling of their mouths dancing together. ‘In every way, your real wife.’
‘You know that’s what I want,’ he growled, deepening the kiss, his hands against the small of her back, holding her to him, so stars burst through her and desire ran rampant. He took a step forward, pressing her back against a broad, ancient tree with a wide canopy, so they were shaded from the sun, mostly hidden from view. He found the waistband of her shirt and pushed at it, his fingertips connecting with her bare flesh. A moan was trapped low in her throat, and she succumbed to it, to him and to this perfect moment. But it wasn’t simply a moment. It was one moment in a thread of moments, a lifetime of memories they would make together, side by side, just as she’d always wanted.
‘I will never get tired of this,’ he promised, pushing at her skirt, finding her underpants and guiding them down as he freed himself from his trousers. He lifted her easily, wrapping her legs around his waist and pushing into her, kissing her as he possessed her, as his body moved with hers. She held onto him for dear life, pleasure usurping everything else; every single one of her senses was in overdrive, so the sky, the grass, the warmth, the fragrance of the blossoms that surrounded them, all took on a startling clarity. She dug her nails into his shirt-clad back, her heels interlocked, holding him deep inside until they reached a euphoric, shared release.
It was so perfect, and she knew then that she was right. She loved him. And she had to tell him. That was terrifying, but it was also important—how could she marry him and keep that secret? She’d just promised him she wouldn’t lie to him—what was that if not a lie?
‘You are incredible.’ He kissed her hard, his tongue flicking hers as he lowered her to the ground.
‘I need to ask you something.’
He lifted his brow, focussing on straightening his clothes, so he wasn’t looking directly at her. ‘Right now, you could ask me for all my worldly goods and I’d happily comply.’
She pushed aside his assurance. Wealth, when you were Sheikh Khalil el Abdul, was easy to part with. His heart, on the other hand, was likely under far tighter lock and key.
‘We’ll see,’ she murmured.
‘What is it?’
‘I’m just wondering how sure you are about the whole love thing.’
