Wrong. He was wrong, wrong, wrong and considering he had an English mother and education he should know that Western women don’t just wait for a man. They don’t just sit around and drink tea and wait for life to come, wait for life to happen.
A flutter of pink-gold caught her eyes. The breeze was blowing through the open French doors, lifting the delicate pink-gold sheer curtains hanging inside and Tally watched the petal-pink and gold sheers swirl, the gold starbursts in the sheer curtains catching, reflecting the fading sunlight. It was beautiful, the bursts of gold and pink, beautiful in a way that filled her heart with pain.
She felt so much her chest ached. It actually ached and Tally put a hand to her mouth to hold back the sadness swamping her.
Oh, she didn’t like feeling this way. Didn’t like feeling left, forgotten.
Fighting tears she spun on her heel, and her silky robes flared out. Tally could feel the delicate fabric brush her bare calves but the wispy caress of fabric maddened her, just as the tender aching in her chest infuriated her. She didn’t want to feel. Not if feeling hurt. Not if feeling made her feel worse.
This is why she’d left home. This is why she’d become an adventurer, explorer. Far better to risk life and limb than sit captive, passive, then sit with hurt and heartbreak.
Tally reached the wall and turned sharply to retrace her steps. Come on, Tal, she said to herself, trying to be reasonable not emotional. He won’t be gone a week. He’ll be back soon. He will.
But it didn’t help. And it wasn’t that she couldn’t go two days, or even five days, without his blasted company—God knows it’d be a relief not to have to endure his sarcasm and mocking smiles—but he should have told her. He should have communicated with her. He should have told her himself.
If he’d cared, he would have.
If he cared…
Tally stopped pacing, arms going slack, heart squeezing. Maybe that was what was driving her mad. She wanted him to care. She wanted him to care and he didn’t.
Oh God. It was true. He’d never said he’d cared. He’d said he wanted her. He’d said he’d possess her and claim her. He’d said many things about ownership but never once about love.
Her lower lip trembled and she bit into it ruthlessly. What did you expect, Tally girl? It’s one thing to care about your neighbors, and have feelings of goodwill for those around you, and those less fortunate than you, but to fall for a Berber sheikh? For a man that would rather kidnap women than meet them on an online dating service?
Numbly Tally sat down on the carved chest in front of the window and stared blindly out at a horizon she didn’t see. What she saw was herself. What she saw was heartache.
What she saw was loneliness and pain. Men like Tair didn’t want to be close to other people, least of all women. Men like Tair didn’t share feelings and communicate emotions, or needs or dreams. No, they made decisions. They took action. But they didn’t let anyone get close. Didn’t become vulnerable.
Tally knew about men like Tair because Paolo, her Brazilian lover and friend, had been the same.
And look where that got him. Dead. Falling off Everest in one of his daring adventures.
Exhaling hard, Tally blew out a stream of air, and with a shaking hand pushed a long strand of hair back from her eyes. She’d fallen so hard for him, too.
She’d fallen just the way Paolo had and just like Paolo she had no safety line, no rope or anchor. She was just going down.
Her fingers curled, her stomach knotting the same way. What had she done? What had she been thinking? How could she have let down her guard, allowed him into her heart? Hadn’t she been hurt before? Hadn’t Paolo’s death taught her anything?
Good grief, if she was going to fall in love again, why couldn’t she fall for a nice, sensitive man who’d treat her like a princess, someone who’d puther first?
Maybe because she wasn’t comfortable with touchy-feely men. Maybe because men who kept her at arm’s length made her work for their love, made her feel as if she had to earn their love. Like her father.
After all, isn’t that why she’d stayed home as long as she did? Wanting to prove to her dad that she was loyal? Loving? Good?
That she—of all the kids—respected him most. Loved him best.
Tally bit her tongue, gave her head a faint shake. Couldn’t be. Couldn’t be. That wasn’t the case, wasn’t the scenario at all. She stayed home, gave up her UCLA scholarship because she was needed, not because she had to be Daddy’s girl.
Goddamn it, she wasn’t Daddy’s girl.