His Queen by Desert Decree(22)

Azrael strode over to the edge of the pool to lift the rusty lantern and returned to her. ‘There is no need,’ he told her, planting a guiding hand to her spine to lead her to the very back of the cave where a large rock concealed a narrow fissure in the craggy wall. ‘The facilities are primitive but adequate,’ he informed her.

And even by the dull light of the lantern she could see that the facilities were rudimentary but she was so grateful to see them, she smiled in relief, realising that the amenity of crude indoor plumbing had to date back to Azrael’s stay with his mother in the cave. Necessity taken care of and her hands tingling with the chill of a wash in cold water, she returned to the main cave and wandered back to the fire, striving not to be self-conscious. After all, they had got a little carried away but really nothing very much had happened. Ultimately good sense had stopped them in their tracks.

Azrael was staring steadily into the fire, striving for calm and cool while his essentially volatile nature warred with conflicting urges below the surface. He had never wanted anything as much as he had wanted to sate himself on her fiery passion. Denied that outlet and, indeed, any prospect of relief, he seethed inside himself like a cauldron bubbling on a fire. He ached with arousal and frustration and regret.

Molly dropped down opposite and ruefully studied his brooding dark features. ‘You’re like a wet weekend, Azrael. Lighten up. We got a little silly but nothing happened.’

His beautifully moulded mouth compressed. ‘We will not discuss it.’

Molly collided with brilliant dark golden eyes and a flock of butterflies took off in her stomach again and she almost groaned. That wretched attraction wouldn’t go away, wouldn’t quit making itself heard and felt, but just then she didn’t want that awareness of him. Yet she could remember times when she had actually longed to feel the powerful pull of sex that she had heard other women describe. So, now she knew that, after all, she was normal and in possession of all the usual hormones and drives, she told herself impatiently. Just her luck that only a desert king had the power to affect her that way and that it had been a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

‘I could talk out loud and you could choose not to listen,’ she suggested facetiously.

Black lashes lifted to reveal impatient, dark-as-night eyes shorn of shimmering gold. ‘We will behave like adults.’

‘Unfortunately I only want to push you fully dressed into the pool when you talk like that,’ Molly admitted truthfully, scrambling upright again to go and investigate the storm. Push him in the pool and slap him, her brain added in exasperation. Did Azrael monitor and squash every human response? Did he always have to be in control? Was that why he was angry? Had he come too close to losing control with her?

The drumming, hissing roar of the continuing storm took Molly aback. There was no sign that the storm was abating while the force of the wind almost sent her off her feet as well as coating her with fresh dust. Shaking herself irritably, she returned to the fire.

‘Will it make you feel better if I tell you that I will not go to the police when I get back to London?’ Molly asked drily.

Azrael slung her a narrowed questioning glance. ‘What changed your mind? I thought you wanted justice.’

‘I do but sometimes you have to take a rain check on what you want and opt for a proportionate response instead. Tahir did something crazy but I did something crazy too when I was a teenager. I didn’t break the law but it did make me aware that I was not as mature as I thought I was at the time,’ Molly told him flatly.

Curiosity infiltrated Azrael. ‘What did you do?’

‘I was only fourteen but I was convinced that I could become a professional musician and I ran away from home. I planned to go to London and lose myself before embracing fame,’ she confided with a rueful grimace at the naivety of that dream, built entirely on the back of the small fact that she was a good pianist.

‘Why?’ he asked simply.

Molly swallowed hard, reluctant to share more. ‘My stepmother was hurting me and it was getting worse.’

Azrael was frowning. ‘How was she hurting you?’ he demanded.

‘She’d pinch me and pull my hair and slap my face and although I told my father, he wouldn’t do anything about it. She said that I was cheeky but I wasn’t. I had long since learned to keep quiet around her and try not to annoy her but it didn’t change anything,’ she confided ruefully. ‘In the end, I went to live with my grandfather and I never saw my dad again. He didn’t stay in touch.’

Azrael was listening, watching her with dark liquid deep-set eyes that glittered in the firelight. ‘That is sad. Although my father died when I was only a boy I was very close to him.’