Never Seduce a Sheikh(53)

He turned round sharply, anger blazing bright in his eyes. “Did you not hear a word I said to you?”

“Oh yes, you wanted more. You wanted me. I heard that. But I also heard that there’s nothing I can say to change your mind. That you won’t even listen when I tell you that you’re not the man you seem to think you are.” She took a harsh breath. “And you know what? That makes me feel worthless to you. That my opinions and my feelings mean nothing.”

“That is not true!”

“Then, why won’t you listen to me? Why won’t you believe me when I tell you that you have nothing to be afraid of?”

A savage anger crossed his features and he took a couple of steps towards the bed. “Why should I believe you? How could you possibly know what it feels like to have blood on your hands? You with your father who loved you. Who cosseted you. Who protected you from the world. You didn’t fight, Lily. You just stood there and took it. So what you would know about violence? About blood? Nothing.” He spat the word at her, radiating fury like the desert sun radiates heat. “You know nothing.”

The accusation speared through her like a crossbow bolt straight to the heart. She felt herself shaking with her own growing rage. How dare he? How dare he say that, use her most vulnerable secret against her.

Lily sprang up from the bed and stood right in front of him, the urge to take a swing at him so strong, she had to clench her hands into fists. “No, I didn’t fight.” She stared right into the depths of his furious gaze. “But at least I didn’t run away into the desert like a coward!”

For a second, she thought he would touch her. Grab her. And her whole soul rose to meet him, wanting it like she’d wanted nothing else in her life.

But then the expression on his face wiped clean, shutting down like an iron door slamming in her face. Withdrawing from her so completely she may as well not have existed.

He said nothing, turning from her to pick up the shoes still on the floor with a slow, precisely controlled movement.

Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. This denial was worse than anything she could have imagined.

“I love you,” she said into the silence, three desperate words that would of course mean nothing to him, but she couldn’t let him leave without saying them. Without saying something. An apology. A plea. “I love you, Isma’il.”

The expression on his face didn’t change. “I am sorry, Lily. But I will never love you.”

Her throat felt so tight she could barely swallow. “You’re no better than Dan are you?” she said raggedly. “I thought you were different. But you’re not. You don’t care who you hurt. Just like he didn’t.”

He straightened up, his turquoise gaze like chips of bright glass and just as cold. “Now, at last, you understand.”

She had nothing to say to that. Nothing else to give.

When he turned on his heel and left, she stared at the closed tent flap, fighting back the tears.

Everything in her wanted to go after him. Take his hand. Beg him to stay. But she wouldn’t.

She’d laid herself out for him, made herself as vulnerable as she could be to him. And he’d walked away.

She would never, ever, do it again.

* * *

Outside, the morning was already hot, the desert sun heating up the air, the ground, the sand.

But Isma’il felt none of it. It was as if he walked within a sphere of ice. Nothing touched him. He’d cut away every single emotion, every single sensation, his control over himself more complete than it had ever been.

I love you . . .

That only made him more sure he had made the right decision in breaking this off between them. It had been a good decision. A necessary one. He was doing it for her. To keep her safe. To keep himself safe. It was a pity she could not understand that.

In his tent he sat down at his desk, because he had work to do. Much work. But he couldn’t concentrate on any of it, because no matter how hard he tried, little slivers of pain kept creeping under his control. Memories of the anguish in Lily’s eyes. The anger. The shock.

Yes, he was just like her coach in the end. Which is what he’d been trying to tell her all along. Finally, she’d understood. Maybe that would help her get over him. Move on. As would he.

A knife slid into his back, cold and sharp, under his ribs. Aiming straight for his heart. More pain. Oh, God, why did that thought hurt so much? She deserved better than him, a man with blood on his hands and the taint of violence in his soul. He didn’t want to hurt her, but all the words in the world would not make any difference to the feeling of taint inside him. To the slick feeling on his fingers.