Dreaming Of... France: The Husband She Never Knew / The Parisian Playboy / Reunited...in Paris!

Ammar led her out of the house to the soft-topped Jeep he’d driven round to the front of the property. Noelle slowed, gazing around at the sweep of desert, endless in every direction.

‘So who sold you this piece of real estate?’ she asked, and Ammar let out a rather rusty laugh.

‘He told me there were ocean views from the top floor.’

Now she laughed, just a little bubble of sound that still made Ammar’s heart sing. And reminded him that he still had a heart. ‘I guess you were disappointed.’

‘There is a small oasis about forty kilometres from here,’ he told her as he started up the Jeep and headed away from the villa. There were no real roads, just old Bedouin tracks in the sand. It would be a bumpy ride.

‘Seriously, though,’ Noelle said. ‘Why the desert? Why not a private island in the Med like your father?’

Ammar felt his hands tense around the steering wheel. ‘I’ve been like my father in too many ways,’ he said after a moment, his tone, he knew, cold and steely. He felt Noelle stiffen. She didn’t want to hear about that. God knew, he didn’t want to talk about it. Yet it remained between them, a heavy, palpable thing. At some point words would have to be said. Secrets confessed, shame admitted. ‘In any case,’ he added lightly, ‘I’ve never liked Alhaja Island. I chose to live in the desert because it’s the exact opposite. Space, freedom.’

‘A sea of sand,’ Noelle observed. ‘You can still feel trapped.’

He glanced across at her and saw she was looking out at the sand, endless undulating waves of beige, punctuated only by occasional boulders, their edges sharp and unforgiving against the soft sweep of sand. ‘Do you feel trapped?’ he asked quietly.

She didn’t answer for a long moment. Ammar’s hands gripped the wheel so hard his joints ached. ‘Let’s talk about something else,’ she finally said, still staring out at the sand, which Ammar knew was no answer at all.

Do you feel trapped?

How could she answer that? Yes, she did feel trapped, but not by the desert that stretched all around them. She felt trapped by memories, imprisoned by ignorance. She felt as if both she and Ammar were defined by their past hurts, and she didn’t even know what his were. She struggled against her own fear of rejection, but it was hard. Too hard. How did you fight against that? How did you stop feeling trapped by what you felt, who you were?

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, knowing she needed to break out of the desperate circle of her thoughts. ‘What is there to see in the Sahara?’

‘I thought we could drive to that oasis I told you about. There are some interesting ruins there, the remains of a medieval trading post that were buried in a sandstorm hundreds of years ago. They were excavated by archaeologists a while back, but no one visits them much any more.’

‘Well, it is quite a trip,’ Noelle said lightly. ‘How far away are we from the nearest city?’

‘Marrakech is closest, about two hundred kilometres.’

‘I suppose you value your privacy.’

‘I do. I don’t come here very often, though. I’m usually travelling for work.’

‘And now you’re the one in charge,’ Noelle said, still trying to keep her tone light, although she knew they were venturing into deeper and dangerous waters. ‘What will you do with Tannous Enterprises?’

‘Legitimise it,’ Ammar said flatly, and Noelle felt her heart squeeze at the admission, and the steely determination of his tone.

‘What does that really mean?’

Ammar just shook his head. Noelle glanced at him, saw how his eyes were narrowed, although whether from the glare of the sun or some dark emotion she couldn’t say.

‘All right, let’s talk about something else,’ she said. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’

‘What?’ Startled, he glanced at her.

‘Your favourite colour. Mine’s green, although when I was little it was bubblegum-pink, pretty predictable, I know. I always wanted a dress in that colour, a Cinderella kind of dress.’ She smiled as she turned to face him, keeping everything deliberately light. ‘So what’s yours?’

Ammar tilted his head, clearly giving the question some serious thought. It reminded Noelle, poignantly, of how he used to be when they’d dated, so intent and yet so gentle. When I was with you, I was the man I wanted to be. ‘I don’t,’ Ammar finally said, ‘have a favourite colour.’

‘You must.’

‘I must?’ He glanced at her again, bemused. ‘Why must I?’

‘Everyone has a favourite colour.’

‘I don’t.’

She let out a laugh, half-exasperation, half-amusement. ‘You decorated your dining room in red. You wouldn’t have chosen that colour if you didn’t like it—’

‘I didn’t choose it. I had someone decorate it for me.’

Of course. She couldn’t quite see Ammar looking at paint samples. And yet he’d chosen her clothes. ‘You told me you liked bright colours—’

‘On you.’

‘So perhaps a bright colour is your favourite,’ Noelle suggested helpfully. ‘Orange? Baby-blue? Or pink, like me?’

His lips twitched. ‘None of the above.’

She sat back in her seat, arms folded. ‘All right, I’ll choose a colour for you.’

He arched his eyebrows, a tiny smile hovering now about his mouth. She loved his smiles, even the small ones. Each felt like a victory, a blessing. ‘And what colour will you choose?’

Noelle considered. ‘Yellow,’ she finally said. It was the colour of sunshine and mornings and freshness. The colour of hope. And she needed some hope.

‘Yellow,’ Ammar repeated and she nodded.

‘Yes. Yellow.’

‘Well, there’s plenty of yellow in the desert,’ he said after a moment. ‘So perhaps it is my favourite colour after all.’

‘Maybe that’s why you chose to live here,’ Noelle said, a teasing lilt entering her voice. ‘Even without the ocean view.’

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. ‘Even without.’ Then he shook his head slowly, a frown drawing his brows together. ‘But the realtor promised ocean views.’

She let out a sudden burst of laughter. ‘For a second there, I almost believed you.’

‘I know I don’t joke very often.’

‘I like it,’ Noelle said quietly. ‘I like when you smile, and especially when you laugh.’

His glance flicked to her, his smile softening his features, every trace of harshness gone. ‘You always brought that out in me.’

‘I did?’

‘From the moment I met you. You made me laugh, even when I had nothing to laugh about.’

Noelle’s heart seemed to turn right over. Silently she reached for his hand and Ammar laced his fingers through hers. Neither of them spoke, but they didn’t need to. The silence was a golden thread drawing and binding them together.

Eventually Noelle leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes. Sitting there with the sun on her face and the breeze blowing over her, she felt an easing inside, an unfurling and blossoming of a long-dormant seed, a seed of happiness. Of hope.

‘We’re here.’

She must have dozed, for Ammar nudged her gently and she realised she was leaning against his shoulder. She felt the heat of him, inhaled the tangy, spicy scent of his aftershave and scrambled to a seated position.

‘Sorry. I was lulled to sleep by the Jeep, I suppose.’

‘More like jolted to sleep,’ Ammar said with a little smile. Three smiles today, Noelle thought, and counting. ‘Let’s take a look around.’

The oasis was still and lovely, a placid little sea of blue fringed by palms, flung down in the desert by an almighty hand. Noelle bent down to trail her fingers through the warm water.

‘There aren’t any creatures in here, are there?’ she asked a bit belatedly.

‘Just a snake or two, but they tend to be shy.’

She jerked her hand back before she realised he was teasing her. ‘You’re actually joking,’ she said. ‘Again.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Must be a good day.’

‘A very good day,’ she agreed. She straightened, smiling. ‘You did find my toc-toc joke funny, back in the day.’

‘S-cargot.’

A thrill ran through her, that he’d remembered. ‘It was pretty dreadful, I know.’

‘No, no, it was good.’ He smiled—that made four now, and this was a proper one—his hands in his pockets as he tilted his face up to the sun. ‘Very good. I don’t like to eat them, though.’

‘Eat them?’ Noelle repeated rather dazedly, for the sight of Ammar’s smile had plunged her into a sudden spinning void of lust. He was an unbearably attractive man, even with the buzz-cut and the scar. She would never grow tired of looking at him, of gazing at the hard angles of his cheek and jaw, the sexy, sculpted pout of his lips, the lean, powerful lines of his chest and shoulders. And, more than that, she would never tire of the way his eyes lightened to bronze when he smiled, and how that single, simple curving of his lips made her feel as if she’d scaled Everest, as if she were on top of the world.

Ammar turned and caught her looking at him and Noelle knew every emotion was reflected in her eyes, visible on her face. ‘Snails,’ he clarified huskily, and Noelle scrambled to make sense of what he was saying, which was exceedingly difficult when all she could think about was how wonderful he looked and how much she wanted to touch him.

‘Snails,’ she repeated, still dazed, still filled with desire. Ammar reached for her hand. His own face was inscrutable as always, yet his eyes blazed intent. Or was she just hoping they did, and that he felt the same tidal wave of lust that was crashing over her? He’d felt it last night, she knew he had, and this morning, too—he’d wanted her. She had to believe that. She just didn’t know why he’d stopped.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you the ruins.’

She let him take her hand and lead her to the ruins a little way from the water. At first the remnants of the medieval city looked like no more than boulders scattered in the sand but, as Ammar led her through, pointed out the foundations of a house, the still straight line of a road, she saw the order of it, a civilization lost for centuries.

‘What happened?’ she asked, turning in a circle as she stood in what Ammar had said was most likely a shop. He braced one hip against a weathered piece of wall, his eyes narrowed against the sun’s glare.

‘No one knows for certain, but archaeologists believe a sandstorm covered the entire town about six hundred years ago. Destroyed everything in a single day.’

‘Wow.’ Noelle swallowed and studied the remnants of that day. I know what that feels like. She didn’t say it, didn’t even want to think it. For once she didn’t want the pain of the past to interfere with the present. The sun was shining, Ammar was smiling and the day stretched before them, promising, maybe even perfect. ‘Show me the rest,’ she said, and he reached for her hand again.

They wandered through the rest of the ruins hand in hand, stopping to pace out a house or examine a doorstep or window well. It was amazingly relaxed, natural even, in a way that made Noelle’s heart sing. She wanted this day to go on for ever.

Eventually Ammar led her back towards the oasis, to a sheltered spot where a couple of palm trees shaded them from the relentless sun. She watched as he spread out a blanket, desire spiralling inside her once again as she gazed at his lean brown arms, powerfully corded with muscle, the T-shirt he wore clinging to his washboard stomach. She sucked in a breath as he glanced up at her, his amber eyes seeming to burn into her. He must know how he affected her, she thought. He must. She only hoped she affected him the same way.

‘Come here,’ he commanded huskily and, with a thrill of both nervousness and hope, Noelle went to him. He took her by the hand and tugged her down to the blanket, his knee nudging hers, his body so very close.

‘Shall we eat?’ he said, and his voice sounded hoarse. He feels it, Noelle thought, he must feel it.

‘OK.’ Her voice was a scratchy whisper. She struggled to eat, even though each morsel he gave her was delicious. Her hand shook as she finally accepted a fig from him, soft and ripe. Touch me, she wanted to cry. Touch me. Show me you love me. She bit into the fig, its lush sweetness filling her mouth, yet she was only conscious of Ammar watching her, his gaze so heavy and intent.

Her whole body felt hot, liquid, the centre of her starting to melt. She felt a bit of juice from the fig dribble down her chin and Ammar reached forward and swiped at it with his thumb. Her lips parted, her eyes closed, her body instinctively giving every signal it could to show him how much she desired him.

With a groan of surrender—or was it despair?—Ammar cupped her face with both of his hands and drew her to him. The feel of his lips on hers was like a drink of water in the desert, as life-giving as the oasis itself. She needed him.

She brought her hands up to his shoulders, pulled him closer, pressing herself against him as her head fell back in helpless assent. She didn’t speak, terrified to break the moment, the spell of desire that had surely been cast over both of them, for Ammar was kissing her hungrily, his tongue delving into the softness of her mouth, his hands finding the fullness of her breasts.

He stretched out beside her, sliding his hand under her shirt, his touch warm and sure. It felt so unbelievably, unbearably good, and Noelle could not keep herself from pressing his hand against her tummy, holding it there, because she was still so afraid he would stop.

He lifted her shirt higher and bent his head to her breasts, nudging the lace of her bra aside. Noelle heard a sound come from her own mouth, a moan of intense longing she’d never heard herself make before. ‘Oh, Ammar,’ she whispered. She swallowed down the words she wanted to say. I love you. ‘I want you so much.’

She felt him still, tense. Oh, no, please, she thought, please don’t pull away from me again. What was wrong with her?

The moment seemed suspended, endless. His lips still brushed her breast, his hands on her skin. Neither of them moved or spoke. Noelle didn’t even breathe.

Please …

Then, deliberately, as if it were a decision he had to make, Ammar lifted his head and kissed her on the mouth, deeply, a promise. Relief and need poured through her, an overwhelming rush of emotion. She reached for him instinctively, her hand skimming along his chest and torso, pulling her to him, but suddenly Ammar tensed and rolled away and Noelle let out a cry of frustration and, far worse, hurt.

‘Why do you do that?’ She sat up, stared at him, still lying on the ground, his body rigid, his arm flung over his face just as before. ‘I know you want me. Physically, at least—’

‘It’s not you.’ He spoke flatly, his face still covered. ‘It’s never been about you.’

‘Really? Because it feels like it’s about me. I’m the one you push away, the person you reject—’ She heard how sharp her voice sounded, but that was better than letting him see how devastated she felt. She struggled to sit up, pulling her shirt down to cover herself.

Ammar didn’t say anything. He was staring up at the sky as if he were cloud-gazing on a perfect summer’s day, as if nothing were remotely wrong.

Fury rose up inside her, clawed its way out. ‘Don’t do that. Don’t blank me out. I hate it when you do that.’ Her voice shook and in a sudden burst of frustration she reached over and hit him hard on the shoulder.

He caught her hand in one quick movement, held it, firmly yet with leashed strength, in his. ‘Don’t hit me,’ he said in a cold, flat voice she barely recognised. ‘Don’t ever hit me.’

Noelle stared at him, her hand still caught in his, his face so blank and remote, everything about him distant and strange, and with a choked cry she yanked her hand away and struggled up from the blanket. Ammar still said nothing, didn’t react at all, and blindly she turned and strode away from him, through the long grass.

CHAPTER SEVEN

DAMN. He’d handled that completely wrong. He’d acted on instinct, which was just about the worst thing he could have done. When it came to Noelle, Ammar knew, he needed to act against his instincts. And in moments like the one they’d just shared, that felt near impossible.

He heard the whisper of the grass fringing the water and knew she was walking around the oasis. He hoped she had the sense not to stray into the desert. He should follow her, say something. But what? He had no words. Nothing inside him. Yet he knew he couldn’t stay blank for ever, even if part of him longed to.

It would be easier, he thought, and simpler, just to let her go. Set her free, just as he’d done before. If he were stronger, he would do it. But he wasn’t, and he needed her too much. Even if she didn’t think he did.

And as for what Noelle felt … The very fact that she’d stayed, that she’d wanted to stay, meant something. She might not love or trust him yet—and God only knew why she should—but something in her called out to him, from the first moment they’d met. They had brought out the best in each other, even if they were seeing the worst now.

When I was with you, I was the man I wanted to be.

He’d spoken from the heart when he’d told her that, meant it utterly. Those few months in London were the happiest of his life. He’d been twenty-seven years old and most of his life had been a barren, loveless landscape, like living on the moon. Cold and lifeless … until Noelle. Until she’d woken him up, gave him glimpses of the kind of life he’d never dreamed he could have. And he’d lived in that dream for two months, not thinking of the future or reality at all until his wedding day, when his father had woken him up with the cold, hard truth.

She’s just a woman, Ammar. You will show your wife her place. And if you don’t, I will.

He’d been furious, powerless and completely trapped. The only thing he’d felt he could do was walk away from her.

And it was easier for you, wasn’t it, keeping your secrets? She never had to know the truth of who you are. What you’ve done, what you’re capable of.

Ammar closed his eyes, the recriminations pouring through him, a scalding river of regret. The past tormented him even as he ached to forget it, to forge a future where he was different. Where he was with Noelle.

When I was with you, I was the man I wanted to be.

He needed to be that man now.

Slowly, his body aching, he rose from the blanket. He walked around the oasis, the sun beating down so the tranquil surface shimmered like a metal plate. The air was still and drowsy with the heat of mid-afternoon; nothing moved. Halfway round he saw her, sitting on a flat rock that jutted out towards the water. She sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, her chin resting on top, her hair tumbling about her shoulders and hiding her face. She looked, he thought, as lovely as ever, and completely miserable.

He stopped a few feet away, but she didn’t move, didn’t even look at him. He had no idea what to say. Life had not prepared him for moments like this.

‘I’m sorry,’ he finally said. It seemed as good a place to start as any. He was sorry.

She glanced at him, her expression guarded. ‘What are you sorry for?’

Was this a trick question? Ammar hesitated. He was sorry for so many things. Sorry for walking away from her all those years ago, without even explaining why. Sorry he’d had to walk away, that he’d felt trapped and hopeless. And sorry—desperately, painfully sorry—that his past still tormented them both now, that he was afraid he would never be free of it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘for hurting you.’

Her face hardened, and so did her voice. ‘How did you hurt me, Ammar?’

He felt the first familiar flicker of anger. What was this—a test? Clearly there was a right answer and he had no idea what it was. ‘Why don’t you tell me how I hurt you,’ he asked evenly.

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Turning the question back to me? How very neat.’

He felt himself grit his teeth and forced his jaw to relax. ‘I don’t want to fight.’

She let out a shuddering sigh and shook her head, her hair tumbling about her shoulders once more. The sunlight caught gleaming strands of gold and amber amid the deep chestnut brown. ‘I don’t want to fight, either,’ she said quietly. ‘But I can’t …’ She trailed off, biting her lip, and Ammar felt everything in him freeze.

‘Can’t what?’

She just shook her head and looked away, and Ammar thought, I’m losing her. I’m not sure I ever really had her, but what I might have had I’m losing now.

He felt as if he couldn’t breathe, as if he were suffocating in his own silence. He didn’t know what to say. What words she needed to hear.

The truth.

The answer was so simple, so blindingly obvious, and so awful. He didn’t want to tell her the truth. He couldn’t stand being so vulnerable, so utterly exposed, and having her look at him in hatred or pity or even revulsion—

She let out a soft, sorrowful sigh and rose from the rock. ‘Let’s go back,’ she said without looking at him and Ammar clenched his fists.

‘Wait.’

She stopped, looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes dark and wide. Waiting, just as he’d asked. Ammar took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, summoned what strength he could. ‘I can’t,’ he said, and she stared.

‘Can’t what?’

The same question he’d asked her, and she hadn’t answered. Neither could he. He felt as if his soul were being scraped raw, his skin peeled away. He hated this. ‘I want you, you know that, physically, but … when we … something happens …’ He stopped, a vein beating in his temple, a familiar fury longing to cloak him with its protection. No. Anger was a cover-up for fear. He had to see this through.

Her eyes widened, her mouth parting softly. ‘What …’ She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘What are you saying?’

Where to begin? He stared at her, the softness of her hair and the fullness of her lips, the perfect creamy innocence of her, and he had no idea what to say. How to start. ‘My life has been very different from yours,’ he said flatly, and her gaze flew to his, clearly startled.

‘Tell me,’ she said quietly, and he let out a shuddering breath. No excuses now, even if talking about this was the worst form of torture. It brought every memory and fear to the fore, made him feel afresh the raw humiliation and helpless anger he’d felt before, as a boy. He sure as hell didn’t want to feel that with Noelle.

‘Ammar,’ she said, and his name sounded, strangely, like an affirmation, an encouragement. He could do this. With her, he could do this.

‘I told you about my father. How he had … very definite ideas about what a son, a man, should be.’ She nodded, alert and listening. ‘Everything was a lesson with him, a way to learn.’ He saw her frown, just faintly, and knew she didn’t really understand. How could she? He knew he could give her details, examples—horrible, painful examples—but he didn’t want to tell her about how his father had broken every belief about love he’d ever had, broken him. He didn’t want to gain her pity along with her understanding. He couldn’t bear that. No, he’d just cut to the relevant part. The part about Leila.

‘There was a maid in my father’s house,’ he began, ‘on Alhaja. She was very pretty, but more than that, she … she seemed kind. When …’ his throat closed up and he swallowed hard ‘… when things had been particularly difficult for me, she always offered a kind word. Listened to me, not that I ever said much. I suppose I saw her as a friend at first, but more than that.’ Even now he remembered how he’d talked to her, clumsily, honestly, baring his heart in a way he hadn’t since … even if he’d wanted to. Even if Noelle had made him want to. ‘I suppose,’ he said, his voice so low he wasn’t even sure if Noelle could hear him, ‘I began to think I loved her.’