The pressure in his chest tightened still further. “I do not either.”
She didn’t look away from him, staring into him, studying him as if he was a book written in a language she didn’t understand, but desperately wanted to read.
“You’re going to tell me we can’t do that again, aren’t you?” The words were soft, stark. “That we can’t be lovers again.”
He didn’t want to tell her here, now, with people around them. He wanted to do it privately and explain his reasons. Not the whole truth, but as close as he could get.
But of course she saw through him. She saw through everything.
“Later, Habibti. When we have time to discuss this.”
The flush had died out of her cheeks, leaving her looking oddly pale despite the heat. She blinked and suddenly the flushed, passionate, vulnerable lover he’d left in his bed this morning was gone. The cool, poised CEO back in her place.
“Of course,” Lily said coolly, turning away. “Later then, your Highness.”
Chapter Nine
Lily smiled at the woman who held out a plate of a delicious looking pastries spread with nuts and honey, taking one of them and nodding her thanks. Then, she waited until the woman was gone and put it down on her plate, uneaten.
Another celebration had gotten underway, this time to celebrate the oil contract, the tent full of music and laughter and the loud hum of a hundred people all talking at once.
She should be feeling triumphant, her goal achieved, the oil rights secured for Harkness despite the odds. The board would be pleased, her position consolidated, and no doubt a nice fat bonus would be waiting in her bank account once the contract had been announced.
But all of that didn’t seem to matter. In fact, if anything, it felt rather empty.
Her gaze kept returning to the man who sat down the other end of the banquet table, talking to his people in the soft Arabic she’d started to love hearing. They were laughing at something he’d said and he smiled, a warm, charismatic presence that the whole table seemed to respond to.
A lump rose in her throat, a strange longing she didn’t understand curling tightly in her chest. She looked away, unable to bear the sight of him all of a sudden.
“You are well?” The elder beside her gave her a concerned look, clearly noting the plate of uneaten food in front of her. “You have not eaten.”
She didn’t want to be rude or show disrespect, but the thought of eating anything made her feel vaguely sick for some reason. She gave the old man a tight smile, pressing a hand to her stomach. “No, not well. I’m sorry.”
The elder gave her a sympathetic look. “Ah, yes, a weak stomach. I understand. Many westerners have it.”
A prickling on the back of her neck. She knew Isma’il was looking at her and she wanted to meet his blue gaze, look at him. But she didn’t. Because she already knew what she’d see in his face—regret. Sympathy. Concern. And she didn’t want any of those. Not from him.
What do you want, then?
The heat of the tent, the press of people, and the noise felt too much abruptly.
She made her excuses to the elder, blaming her weak western stomach, then rose and went out into the night, making her way to the quiet and peace of her tent.
No one followed her this time. No tall, broad presence in the night. And she couldn’t tell herself that it didn’t hurt. That she didn’t want it.
In her tent, she undressed slowly, and stepped into the little solar shower that had been provided for her. Such luxury to have water in the middle of the desert. As the cool spray slid over her skin, she shivered and closed her eyes.
Of course, she knew what she wanted. She wanted Isma’il.
Lily let out a ragged breath. Want was such a pitiful word. Such a weak word. What she felt wasn’t just want. It went deeper that. It burned in her blood. Blazed in her heart. And she hadn’t realized how strongly, until she’d seen that look of regret in his eyes. The look of a man who was going to tell her gently but firmly that they could not be lovers again.
That the night they’d shared was all she’d ever have.
Lily shivered, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. How odd to feel cold in the desert. How odd to feel this way about a man she’d only known a matter of days. Because that’s all it had been. Days. How had that happened?
Perhaps, it was to do with the newness of it all. Perhaps all virgins felt that way about their first lovers. Perhaps, given time, it would pass.
Reaching up she shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around her. Then, she went back into the main room of the tent, only to be brought up short.
Isma’il stood in the middle of it.