Defiant in the Desert(82)

                But the feeling of nausea began to worsen, and so did the aching in her breasts. And then Tariq said something which made her think that perhaps she wasn’t imagining it...

                It happened that weekend, when she was staying over at his apartment. It seemed ages since they’d spent two whole days together, and she loved being there when they didn’t have work the next day. It was the closest she ever felt to him—as if she was a real girlfriend, rather than a secretary who had just got lucky.

                It was early on the Sunday morning that he made his observation. Half-asleep, he had begun to kiss her, his hands to caress her breasts, and she had given a little sigh and nestled back against the soft bank of pillows.

                ‘Izzy?’ he murmured. ‘Have you put on a little weight, do you think?’

                She stiffened beneath the practised caress of his fingers. ‘Why?’ she blurted out. ‘Do you think I’m getting fat?’

                ‘There’s no need to be so defensive.’ He blew softly onto the hollow of her breastbone. ‘You’re slender enough to carry a few extra pounds. Men like curves—I’ve told you that before.’

                But his words only increased her sense of anxiety, and she was almost relieved when the phone in his study began ringing and he swore a little before going off to answer it. It was the one phone he never ignored—the private line between him and his brother’s palace in Khayarzah.

                Isobel could hear him speaking in a lowered voice, so she took the opportunity to head for the bathroom down the corridor—the one he never used. Her heart was racing as she closed the door, and the terrible taste of fear was in her mouth. And she knew that she could no longer put off the moment of truth.

                She flinched as she saw the image which was reflected back at her in the full-length mirror. Her face was paper-pale and her eyes looked huge and haunted, but it was her body which disturbed her. Like most women, she was not usually given to staring at her naked self, but even she could see that her breasts looked swollen and the nipples were much darker than usual.

                Was she pregnant? Was she?

                For a moment she lowered her head, to gaze at the pristine white surface of the washbasin. She remembered how unequivocal Tariq had been about not wanting children—and clearly it hadn’t been an idle declaration. Hadn’t she witnessed for herself how cold he could be when he was around them? Why, he’d barely touched Omar or Azzam the other day—he’d seemed completely unmoved by their presence when everyone else had been cooing around them.

                She wanted to sink to her knees and pray for some kind of miracle. But she couldn’t afford to have hysterics or to act rashly. She needed time to think, and she needed to stay calm.

                Quickly, she showered and put on jeans and a shirt, feeling the slight tug as she fastened the buttons across her chest.

                The silence in the apartment told her that Tariq had finished his conversation, and in bare feet she padded along the corridor to find him standing in his study. He was staring out of the window, his powerful body silhouetted against the dramatic view.

                When he turned round, he didn’t comment on the fact that she had showered and dressed. A couple of weeks ago he would have growled his displeasure and started removing her clothes immediately, but not now—and a wave of regret washed over her for something between them which seemed to be lost.

                ‘Is anything wrong?’ she questioned.

                He stared at her, his eyes focussing on her pale skin and anxious eyes, and a heavy sense of sadness enveloped him. What had happened to his smart and wise-cracking Izzy? He felt the heavy beat of guilt, aware of the enormity of what he had done. In typical Tariq fashion he had seen and he had conquered. Selfishly, he had listened to the voracious demands of his body and taken her as his lover, refusing to acknowledge the thoughtlessness of such an action.

                She had been too inexperienced to resist the powerful lure of lust when it had swept over them so unexpectedly. He should have known better and he should have resisted. But he had not. He had done what he always did—he had taken and taken, knowing that he had nothing to give back.

                And now he was left with the growing suspicion that he was going to lose the best assistant he’d ever had. For how could they carry on like this, when much of her natural spontaneity seemed to have been eroded by the affair?

                He could tell that something had changed. It was as if she was walking on eggshells. He noticed that she kept biting back her words—which usually meant that a woman was falling in love with him, that she was weighing up everything she said for fear of how he would interpret it. And all these negative feelings would snowball—he knew that, too. How could he possibly face her in the office if her reproachful looks were to continue and the gap between them widened daily?

                ‘Tariq?’

                Her soft voice broke into his troubled thoughts. ‘What?’

                ‘I wondered if anything was wrong.’

                ‘Wrong?’

                She looked at him questioningly, telling herself that it was her business to know what was going on in his life. But deep down she wanted to clear that scary look of distraction from his face. To have him talk to her. Properly.

                ‘The phone call you’ve just had from Khayarzah?’ she elaborated. ‘I hope everything’s okay with your brother?’

                With an effort, he focussed on the conversation he’d just finished. ‘Zahid wants my help with a relative of ours.’

                ‘Oh?’

                ‘A distant cousin of mine, from my mother’s side,’ he explained. ‘Her name is Leila, and she’s in trouble.’