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Noelle said nothing. She looked pale, her eyes wide, her lips pressed together. ‘What happened?’ she finally asked, and Ammar realised he had stopped speaking.
‘She seduced me. I was fourteen years old; I’d never even touched a woman that way. And my father … my father had paid her to do it all—the kindness, the smiles and, of course, the seduction. And then—’ He stopped, hating that he had to tell this part of the sordid tale. ‘When we … when we were going to … she rejected me. Told me she was only pretending to be interested in me because my father had paid her to teach me a lesson.’
Noelle drew back. ‘A lesson?’
‘Everything was a lesson with him,’ Ammar said flatly. ‘A means to an end, a way to mould me into the shape he deemed fit.’
‘And what lesson,’ she asked after a moment, her voice shaking, ‘was that maid?’
‘Never trust a woman, or become close to her. Never show weakness.’ He recited the mantras in a monotone; he could almost hear his father’s harsh voice repeating the words.
‘That’s terrible,’ Noelle said quietly. Ammar said nothing. He agreed with her, but what difference did it make? What difference did telling her make, if he couldn’t change after all? ‘And so,’ she continued slowly, ‘that’s what this is about? You don’t trust me?’
‘I haven’t trusted anyone,’ Ammar said. ‘I haven’t let anyone close, except for you.’ And every time he tried to be close with her, as physically close as he so desperately wanted to be, his mind froze and the memories took over. So he went blank, just as he’d done as a boy, a child, because that was what he did. That was how he survived. It was simple, really. Basic psychology. Yet understanding what he did—and why—didn’t make it any easier to stop. No matter how much he wanted to.
Noelle was silent for a long moment, her head bowed, her hair covering her face. He wished he could see her expression, her eyes. ‘Do I remind you of that maid?’ she asked finally, and he heard the hurt in her voice. ‘Do I look like her or something?’
Ammar sighed, the sound one of both resignation and impatience. ‘Not at all. I’ve never …’ He hesitated, his hands instinctively curling into fists. Noelle looked up, waiting. ‘I’ve never felt about anyone what I feel for you.’
‘Even that maid?’
‘Even her.’
She was silent for a long moment. ‘And on our wedding night?’ she finally asked. ‘And in the hotel two months later? Were you … did you feel this way then?’
Ammar let out a shuddering breath. ‘Yes—’
‘So you didn’t just mean to let me go?’ She sounded sad, but he heard the accusation.
‘It was complicated,’ he said tightly.
‘Oh, Ammar—’
‘No more questions,’ he snapped, and she blinked, looked down. Damn. He wasn’t handling this right but, God help him, how was he supposed to handle it? He felt as if he had just shed every defence, every protection, and it was horrible, all the old scabbed wounds were being ripped open, raw and bleeding. He had to fight the urge to either attack or retreat, not just stand here and take it. Listen to her questions and even answer them. ‘We’ve talked about this enough.’
‘Have we?’
Impatience bit at him. ‘Noelle, I’ve told you more about my past, about myself, than I have to another living soul. And every word is like a drop of blood.’ He forced himself to speak calmly. ‘Could we just take a break from this conversation? For a little while?’ She said nothing and he let out a long, slow breath. ‘Please.’
She gazed at him, her eyes dark and wide. ‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘Of course we can.’ And relief so deep poured through him that he felt as if his body shook from it. He drew a shuddering breath, managed a smile. ‘We should head back home. I’d rather drive in the daylight.’
‘OK.’ She slid off the rock and, to Ammar’s shock, she reached for his hand. His fingers curled around hers as a matter of both instinct and need. ‘Let’s go,’ she said, and she led the way back to the Jeep.
Noelle walked hand in hand with Ammar, her mind spinning with what he’d just told her. It must have cost him to confess such secrets to her. It must have cost him so much.
They walked silently through the long grass and in her mind’s eye she saw Ammar as she remembered him from her own childhood, a sullen, lanky boy with liquid eyes and a reluctant, beautiful smile. What kind of childhood had he had with a father like that? What kind of life had he had?
The thought of her own father teaching her such a cruel and malicious lesson was unthinkable. Yet Ammar had learned such lessons, it would seem, over and over again. No wonder honest, loving intimacy of any kind was so difficult for him.
She thought of the door knob turning on her wedding night. Ammar flinging her away from him when she’d reached for him that awful evening in the hotel. Kissing her the other night, rolling away from her today. He desired her; she’d felt it, known it. And now she believed it, understood he’d never really been rejecting her. He’d just been fighting his own demons. His memories. And now he’d finally shared them with her, shared the most intimate and revealing thing about himself. For a man intent on being invulnerable it was a pretty amazing thing to do. It was a miracle.
Ammar opened the passenger door of the Jeep and helped her inside. She could feel the tension in his body, saw a muscle flickering in his jaw. She knew he hated her knowing his secrets, hated feeling so exposed.
She laid a hand on his arm, felt the muscles jerk under her touch and then he stilled, his face half-averted.
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, ‘for telling me.’
He didn’t speak, just nodded, his face still turned from hers. It would have to be enough.
They didn’t speak on the way home and when they got back to the house Ammar excused himself with work. Noelle wandered up to her bedroom, restless, her mind still spinning.
She spent the afternoon lying on her bed, watching the shadows lengthen on the floor, her mind in a daze as memories paraded through her consciousness, a montage of remembrances that were made even more poignant and bittersweet by this new knowledge.
She saw it all differently now, from Ammar’s perspective. She saw a man who longed for love, yet whose life had forced him to spurn it on every level: physical, emotional, spiritual. And yet still he’d wanted and, more than that, he’d tried. It made her, she realised, love him more.
And she revelled in the freedom of knowing, all those years ago, and even last night, that it hadn’t been her. He hadn’t been rejecting her, not the way she’d always feared. She believed him completely now, knew he did find her desirable. And that knowledge was both thrilling and wonderful.
She felt as if the fear that had dogged and haunted her for so many years had finally fallen away. She was free—free to love Ammar as she knew now she wanted to, love him fully and deeply and completely.
And she wanted to tell him so.
She watched the room darken and twilight settle on the rolling desert hills, casting long violet shadows on the sand. She felt a new sense of both peace and purpose, and with a smile she swung her legs off the bed and went in search of Ammar.
He wasn’t anywhere in the house and so she went out into the garden, now cloaked in darkness. She heard the sound of water slapping the sides of the pool and stopped a little distance away, watched as Ammar cut smoothly and assuredly through the water. He was a good swimmer; perhaps that, in part, had saved his life. She watched him for a moment more before an idea came to her. Smiling a little, even as her heart began to thud with frantic, fearful beats, she turned around and went back to her room.
Ammar swam with sure, even strokes, the movement propelling him forward, taking over his thoughts. Exercise was, he had long ago discovered, a great way to work off anger and blank his mind out at the same time. Just what he’d needed when his father had made one of his repellent requests. Call in a loan. Demand a bribe. Lie, cheat, steal. Over the years he’d stopped thinking about what he was doing, refused to remember the conscience that had pricked him as a still-naïve boy.
But, Papa—
The only answer had been his father’s fist.
Ammar increased his speed. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest. He didn’t want to think. Couldn’t remember. Not his father, not all the things he’d done, and most certainly not the look on Noelle’s face when he’d told her about his past. His weakness.
He finished another lap and hauled himself onto the side of the pool, his heart beating so hard it hurt. His lungs ached and water ran down his face and chest in rivulets. He drew in a shuddering breath and was resolutely turning back to the pool when he heard her.
‘There you are.’
He turned, surprise streaking through him like lightning at the sight of her. Noelle stood in front of him, dressed only in a forest-green string bikini. He’d bought the bikini so it shouldn’t surprise him to see her wearing it. He’d wanted to see her wearing it, had imagined peeling it slowly from her body. Now he saw it fitted at least, unlike the other clothes. It fitted very well.
She smiled and sat on the edge of the pool, sliding her long, shapely legs into the water. She had the most gorgeous skin, Ammar thought, like golden cream. The top two triangles of the bikini left very little to the imagination and he found his gaze was riveted by the sight of her really rather perfect breasts barely covered by those scraps of cloth. Bikinis, he thought, were indecent. Indecently beautiful.
‘The water’s warm,’ she said, trailing her fingers through it. She had to lean over to do it, giving him an even better glimpse of her breasts. Ammar felt himself harden. He wanted her now, had always wanted her, imagined pulling her into the pool and taking her right there. Didn’t they both need the release?
And yet he knew what would happen if he did just that. The memories would take him over, shrieking inside his head, and his mind would go blank—the only way he knew of dealing with it—and he’d push her away. And now she knew why. She knew his most pathetic, shaming secret and he hated it. Why the hell was she here?
‘I was just getting out,’ he said, knowing he sounded surly.
‘Don’t go just when I got here,’ she protested with a playful smile, but he just shook his head.
‘I have work to do.’
‘At night?’
‘I have many responsibilities, Noelle.’ He sounded like a schoolteacher.
‘Am I one of them?’ She arched her eyebrows, her legs stretched out, and with one toe she gave him a little splash. She was flirting, he realised in disbelief, or trying to. It reminded him of how she used to be, light and smiling and playful, and how he’d been with her. Trying to unbend. Learning to love.
‘I’m busy,’ he snapped, and he saw her smile falter. She glanced downwards, biting her lip, and he felt like the biggest jerk in the world. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said grudgingly.
She glanced back up at him, her playful smile resolutely restored. ‘So you’ll stay?’
And, unbelievably, he found himself nodding. ‘All right. Fine.’ He’d stay, but he’d still sound like an ass.
Reluctantly Ammar watched her. She’d leaned over the pool again, gazing into the water, and if she leaned out much more she was going to pop right out of that bikini.
‘You’re too thin,’ he said abruptly, and Noelle glanced at him in surprise.
‘You’re being unusually charming tonight, Ammar.’
‘You are,’ he insisted. He knew he was saying all the wrong things but the right ones terrified him too much. And he was pretty sure he didn’t want to hear what she might have to say. ‘Why have you lost so much weight?’
Noelle shrugged. ‘I work in the fashion industry. You’ve got to be thin.’
‘I liked you better before. You were softer then.’
Her eyes flashed sudden fire. ‘Funny, but I could say the same thing about you.’
He let out a surprised, rusty laugh. She smiled and for a moment he felt lighter. For a moment he could let himself just be, enjoying the sight of a beautiful woman in a bikini. A woman he loved.
Terror clutched at him again and she shook her head. ‘Stop thinking so much, Ammar.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I can see it in your eyes. You start to look like a trapped rabbit—’
‘Are you,’ he growled, ‘comparing me to a rabbit?’
‘Yes.’ Her smile deepened, her eyes gleaming. ‘At least your eyes.’ Her gaze wandered slowly, deliberately over his bare chest and then lower. ‘Not the rest of you.’
His body responded to her obviously appreciative gaze. She slid off the side of the pool and waded towards him. When she was just a handspan away—so close he could inhale the sweet fragrance that he knew didn’t come from any soap or perfume but was just her—she lifted her hand and trailed one fingertip down the length of his chest, leaving goose bumps in its wake.
Ammar froze. Now he felt trapped, as trapped as a damned rabbit, caught between desire and that old instinctive fear. She was so close and he wanted her closer, even as he craved that distance and safety.
‘I want to help you,’ she said, and she might as well have poured ice cubes down his back. Into his heart.
‘I don’t want your help,’ he snapped, and she fell silent.
‘Help was the wrong word,’ she said quietly. ‘I want to love you, Ammar.’
She gazed up at him, expectant, hopeful, her eyes wide and clear, reflecting every emotion. Ammar said nothing. She bit her lip, taking its lush fullness between her teeth in a way that felt like a kick to the heart. He wanted to tell her he loved her, knew she needed to hear it, yet the words lodged in his chest, burning a hole in his heart.
I love you. Why couldn’t he say it? Three silly little words. Except there was nothing silly about them because he meant them utterly, with every fibre of his being. I love you. The last time he’d said those words, the woman on the receiving end had laughed in his face. Told him, the naked, naïve fourteen-year-old boy that he’d been, that she was only here on his father’s orders. He’d been devastated, of course he had, but he should have got over it. Should have moved on like any normal man would.
When he’d fallen in love with Noelle, when he’d drawn her to him and felt the explosion of fear in his chest, he knew he hadn’t. He’d thought it would be different when they married. He’d still so desperately wanted to believe he could have it all. Have her. Then his dreams had all come crashing down when his father had confronted him on what he’d hoped would be the happiest night of his life.
You will show your wife her place. And if you don’t, I will. Why do you persist in these naïve schoolboy dreams?
He’d known then just how weak he was. Too weak to admit the truth to Noelle. Too weak to let her know of his fear, his shame, the kind of life he’d lived. Too weak to risk it—or to stand up to his father.
‘Ammar.’ Noelle placed her hands on either side of his face and reached up on tiptoe to brush her lips against his own. He didn’t respond, felt everything inside him shut down, every response a big blank. What kind of man was he?
Hopeless.
‘I don’t think you realise,’ she said softly, ‘how much it means to me, that you told me—’
‘Don’t—’ Numb as he was, he knew he couldn’t stand her pity.
‘That you were never rejecting me,’ Noelle continued. She was smiling, although he could see tears shimmering in her eyes. She still held his face in her hands, his heart. He couldn’t move. ‘That you never actually found me undesirable or ugly.’
He swallowed, his throat so tight it hurt to get the words out. ‘You’re the loveliest woman I’ve ever seen.’
A tear slid down her cheek. ‘I believe you now,’ she whispered. ‘I believe you completely, and that’s the most wonderful feeling in the world.’
‘Is it?’ His voice came out in a hoarse whisper. His throat ached. His body ached. Everything inside him hurting.
‘You set me free, you know, with the truth. Free to love you without fear.’
He’d never thought of it that way. He had, he knew, only been thinking about his own shame and pain and weakness, and hiding it from her. Not what she might be feeling. What it might make her believe about herself. Carefully he brushed the tear still sliding down her cheek with his thumb. ‘I’m sorry.’
She shook her head, another tear spilling down her cheek. He caught it with his other thumb, his hands now cupping her face, his palms sliding against the exquisite softness of her skin. ‘Don’t be sorry. Not about—’
‘Don’t.’ Don’t pity me, he almost said, but he couldn’t bear to say the words.
‘We can work through this, Ammar.’
He dropped his hands from her face, took a much-needed step away. ‘I don’t want to work through anything.’
She blinked. ‘You don’t want things to change?’
God, yes, he wanted everything to change. ‘What I don’t want,’ he said shortly, ‘is to have this conversation.’
‘There seem to be a lot of conversations you don’t want to have.’ She cocked her head, studying him so he felt like some wretched specimen. ‘You haven’t been celibate your whole life,’ she said slowly. ‘That much I know. You’ve been with plenty of other women, I’d guess.’
‘Enough,’ he allowed.
‘How?’
He said nothing. He wasn’t about to tell her about the sordid, soulless encounters he’d had that passed for relationships in his sorry life.
‘I suppose,’ Noelle said after a moment, ‘you’ve been able to separate it in your mind. Sex and emotion. Sex and love.’ Still he didn’t answer. ‘I tried to do that, you know,’ she said softly. ‘After … after our annulment. I wanted to feel desired, and so I went searching for it in a bunch of empty relationships. Flings.’
Jealousy flared through him, burning white-hot. He hadn’t expected her to have stayed a virgin for ten years, but it still hurt. He certainly hadn’t been celibate, although the women he’d been with had never meant anything to him at all. He made sure they didn’t, always kept it a mutually pleasurable and meaningless transaction. Mind firmly disengaged. Only Noelle had opened up the emotion and yearning inside him, and also the memories. The fear.
‘All of it made me feel worse than before,’ Noelle said quietly. ‘Emptier than ever.’
He nodded tersely. He knew how that went. Both of them had been searching for the one thing they could only find in each other. And still didn’t have. Frustration burst through him at the thought.
‘I knew I wanted something more, but I was afraid to try for it.’ She took a breath. ‘The only man who has ever made me want to try is you.’ She tilted her face up towards him, her expression so unbearably open and searching. He knew she was waiting. Waiting for those three words.
I love you.
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He saw disappointment flicker in her eyes and he took a step back. ‘I should do some work.’ A completely lame excuse, but he couldn’t think of anything better.
Noelle didn’t challenge him. She just nodded slowly, and Ammar wondered if that flicker of disappointment was already turning to defeat. Swallowing, he took another step away and then hauled himself out of the pool.
Noelle remained alone in the water, Ammar’s silence echoing through her. She’d thought he was going to tell her he loved her, but of course it wasn’t so easy or quick. Had she actually thought that she could solve everything in the space of an afternoon? She still was ridiculously naïve.
She let out a long, slow breath, unsure what to do now. She had a feeling Ammar needed some space and maybe she did, too. Glancing around at the tranquil pool, she decided she might as well swim.
Fifty laps later, she was exhausted and freezing; the sun had set and the desert night air was sharp with cold. At least she’d blanked her thoughts out for a little while. Not thinking had been its own relief, just like she supposed it was with Ammar. She hauled herself out of the pool, surprised to see a thick terry cloth robe lying on one of the deckchairs. She hadn’t brought it, so someone else must have while she was swimming. Had Ammar? Or one of his staff who slipped through the house like ghosts, tidying and cleaning the only signs they’d been there at all?
She slipped it on, grateful for its warmth, and headed back towards the French windows that led into the music room. She came to a surprised halt as she rounded a bend in the path; a small table, flickering with candlelight and set for two, had been brought out into the private little garden. Ammar stood there, dressed in a white button-down shirt and dark grey trousers, looking incredible and so very sexy as he opened a bottle of wine.
‘What—’
‘I thought you might be hungry.’ He looked tense, but still he gave a small smile as he poured two glasses.
‘I am,’ Noelle admitted. She was touched, and thrilled really, that Ammar had thought to provide such a romantic setting for their meal. She’d been bracing herself for another tense confrontation, and it meant so much that he’d chosen this instead. ‘It looks wonderful,’ she said. ‘I just need to get dressed.’
‘I’ll be waiting.’
She practically flew upstairs, stripping off the robe and bikini and searching through the racks of clothes Ammar had bought for something suitable to wear. She pulled on a white cotton blouse and pale green linen skirt; like the other clothes, they were too big but she didn’t have much choice and she wanted to hurry. She was afraid if she took too long downstairs would disappear like a mirage; Ammar would blow out the candles and retreat back into his cold, autocratic self. Grabbing a brush, she decided she’d tackle the wet tangle of her hair later.
As she stepped through the French windows she saw, with a dizzying wave of relief, that it was all the same. The wine, the candlelight, Ammar. The candlelight flickered over his face, the lean planes of his jaw and cheek, the scar lost in shadow. He’d left the top two buttons of his shirt open, and Noelle’s gaze was helplessly drawn to the brown column of his throat, the sculpted lines of his chest so warm looking in the candlelight. She swallowed dryly, every thought flying from her head. How, she wondered dazedly, could you want someone so much?
Ammar turned and, although he remained still, she saw something flash in his eyes, turning them to gold. She held her breath, felt tension and desire snap through the air, and then he gestured to her hand. ‘Let me,’ he said, and belatedly Noelle realised she was still holding her hairbrush and her hair was in wet rats’ tails about her face. Lovely. She must look a sight, breathless and unbrushed. She had no make-up on and her feet were bare.
‘I hurried,’ she muttered, and Ammar took the brush from her hand.
‘I’m glad.’
He tugged on her hand and she let him lead her to one of the chairs. She closed her eyes as he worked the brush through her hair, his touch so tender and gentle it would have brought tears to her eyes if she wasn’t already pulsing with desire.
‘I’ve always loved your hair,’ he said, his voice an ache. ‘A thousand shades.’ She felt his fingers on her neck, massaging the tense muscles, and she let out a breathy sigh of pleasure.
‘Do you remember,’ she asked, her eyes closed, the touch of his fingers so mesmerising that she had to fish for each word, forming them slowly, ‘when you brushed my hair before?’
Ammar didn’t answer for a moment, just kept brushing her hair with long, sensuous strokes, his touch deft and sure and gentle, each stroke of the hairbrush seeming to blaze down Noelle’s back, igniting her with need, even as a wonderful languor flowed through her veins. ‘I remember,’ he finally said in a voice that throbbed with the memory of it.
Neither of them spoke, the moment seeming to spin on and on between them. She could hear each breath he drew, felt the heat of his body so close to hers. It felt incredibly intimate, even though she couldn’t see him. It felt as if each stroke of the brush released the memories and fear they both had, the pain and hurt and shame, a tender act of both healing and hope.