The Sheikh's Stolen Bride(17)

She was in the bedroom of his house. Marook’s. Her mind trying to ignore the fact that her body was being used for the gratification of a man who had become dangerously obsessed with her.

“I can’t do this,” she said again, and it was a rich truth. She stood, her body jerked from the bed as though pulled by string. She searched for something to put on and found a robe on the back of the door. She slid into it, belting it tightly around her slender waist.

Ashad, wet and toned, stayed on the bed, but he’d pushed up so that his elbows were propping him higher. And his eyes were studying her.

“You must be very angry,” she said, darting her glance away, focusing on one of the portal windows that showed the glistening ocean beyond. It reminded her of the fact she’d been swimming earlier. She groaned and shook her head. This whole day had been unpredictable and strange.

“Angry?” He frowned, genuinely confused by her assertion. “I am not angry, azeezi.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said stiffly. “Can you make this boat move again?”

He nodded. “Of course I can. But I won’t. Not until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

Charlotte froze. Holding her hostage was hardly the thing to calm her. “I swear, Ashad, if you don’t turn this boat around I’ll … I’ll scream.”

He stood up now, crossing to her. His touch was gentle; so gentle, and it did something to push her memories deep down inside of her. “We’ll go back,” he promised, soothing. His own flash of emotion had been subdued; he could see that her need was greater. She was pale, shaking. Something had happened. “I just want to understand,” he said slowly, stroking her hair.

She nodded, using the gesture to pull away from him. “I know,” she squeezed her eyes shut. “But I can’t … explain it.”

“Try,” he said quietly.

She met his gaze; dark and inquisitive, and her heart turned over.

She did love him. There was no running from the fact. She swallowed and shook her head. That feeling didn’t belong. She couldn’t break her engagement to Syed, even for his cousin. The embarrassment it would cause her parents would be just like before, when they’d had to come to terms with the fact that their daughter was no longer innocent and untouched. They had tried to pretend their emotions were outrage and grief for her, rather than disappointment, but she’d understood their feelings: they so perfectly matched her own.

“Take me home, Ashad.” She blinked, and stepped away from him, her chin jutted at a defiant angle.

He swore softly under his breath and strode towards the door, jerking it inwards. “Wait here,” he tossed over his shoulder, before disappearing.

She nodded, even though he’d left. Her clothes were folded neatly beside the bed, from where she’d changed into the bathers. She redressed in her bra and underpants and the pants she’d worn, before remembering that her tunic was above deck.

She rolled her eyes at the unluckiness of that situation.

A moment later, Ashad knocked on the door before pushing it inwards. He held the garment in his hands. Charlotte’s heart kicked at the realisation that it was just what she’d needed.

He was just what she’d needed.

And in another universe, an alternate reality where her past hadn’t been muddied by Marook and her future wasn’t owned by Syed, she would fight for him. No, she wouldn’t need to fight for Ashad in that reality; she would simply run into his arms and stay there. Because it was where she was meant to be.

She felt the boat purr to life and she closed her eyes. Tears stung the eyelids but she wouldn’t let them fall.

“I’m sorry,” she said stiffly, with a formality that was at odds with their intimacy.

“Don’t.” His voice was so full of gentleness and kindness that she opened her eyes.

She shivered at the way he stared at her. “You look at me as though you understand everything about me.”

His smile was a twist of his lips. Lips that had driven her crazy a moment earlier. “I don’t, believe me.” He walked towards her with a slow, calm pace. “But I want to.” He handed the tunic over to her. She took it, not realising until then that her hands were shaking. She gripped the fabric more tightly, hoping to still the tell-tale tremble.

She bit down on her lip but stopped when his eyes dropped lower, to take in the action. She stopped because she wanted him to kiss her. She was aching – unfulfilled, torn between needing him to make love to her and erase Marook from her memories, and knowing that only her husband should have that place in her mind. Or would she then have Ashad to be erased too?

She expelled a sigh, a soft sound of complaint. “I wanted to make love to you,” she said honestly.

“I know that.”

“It’s not who I am. I cannot do casual sex.”

“Casual sex? Oh, azeezi, that’s not what this is.”

“I’m marrying your cousin,” she said with urgency. “What else can it be?”

How could she be so insistent? How could she intend to go through with the wedding? Anger was a brush stroke in him. It fired him, burned him, and yet he looked, to all the world, completely impassive. He compressed his lips and turned away from her.

“Get dressed, Charlotte. I will come to you when we dock.”

Shock filled her. She watched him move towards the door and the words she wanted to call after him were locked in her mouth. Don’t go. Wait. Let me explain. I’m sorry. I want you. I need you.

But she was silent;

And Ashad left.





CHAPTER EIGHT



Charlotte slammed the ball hard.

It sailed over the net and punched the grass at the other end of the court, landing with enough force to displace a wave of sand.

She grunted and reached for another ball, relishing the sensation of heat and fire that spread over her skin. The sun was at its zenith and she didn’t care.

She tossed the ball over her head, bringing her racket onto it with precision and power. The ball followed the trajectory laid out by its mate, flying the distance and thudding to the ground.

Her fingers curved around the felted sphere of yet another ball. She squeezed it and bounced it a few times, before wiping her eyes and forehead with the cream sweat band she wore on her wrists.

Her eyes blinked afterwards, refocussing on her goal. And then careened off the court, into the shadows that lined it. It was surrounded by thick, ancient palm trees. The fronds gave shade to the periphery, and there were white bench seats spread haphazardly around the court, allowing spectators to watch.

And something dark had moved in the field of her vision.

She bounced the ball again, out of habit, her eyes continuing to scan the circumference until she saw the source of movement. Her mother, and Ashad.

Her heart began to pound, and not because she’d spent the better part of the last hour slamming balls from one end of the court to the other.

No, her heart was slamming against her ribs because of him.

She hadn’t seen him since the day before.

The boat.

The kiss.

The almost-sex.

Her cheeks flushed and she wished she had thought to wear her sunglasses.

With a small flash of annoyance, she saw her mother beckoning her off the court. Charlotte replaced the ball in the basket and walked deliberately slowly towards them. As she got closer, she banged her palm against the strings of the racket.

She hadn’t been sure she wanted to see Ashad again at all, let alone in the presence of her mother.

“Hello,” she said with cool dignity, before smiling at Eloise.

“Darling,” Eloise grimaced, her eyes skimming her daughter from head to toe. Charlotte was wearing designer sports gear, skin tight pants that were a black and grey snakeskin pattern with a black shirt. She had no make up on and her hair was pulling into a plait that fell over one shoulder. “I hadn’t realised you’d be …”

“Playing?” Charlotte couldn’t resist teasing. “Despite the fact you knew I was on the tennis courts?”

Eloise compressed her lips with muted disapproval.

Ashad’s eyes sparked between the two women. “Exercise is an excellent way of releasing pressure,” he murmured, and Charlotte shot him a warning look.

“Yes, and I’d like to get back to it. Was there something in particular you needed, mother?” She asked, blanking Ashad with enormous difficulty.

Charlotte glared at her daughter and then shook her head.

“Forgive the princess,” Eloise offered an apology to Ashad. “She is so impatient for the wedding she forgets her manners sometimes.”

Charlotte resisted the urge to point out that her mother’s assertion made no sense whatsoever. There was no correlation between one event and the other. Nor had she forgotten to use her manners; she’d elected not to use them.

Her smile was tart.

“You are playing tennis alone?” Ashad asked, and just his voice sent a frisson of awareness along her spine.

“No. I have John McEnroe hiding down the other end,” she responded.

“Charlotte!” Eloise gasped.

“It’s fine,” Ashad promised. “Well, so long as John McEnroe doesn’t mind, I’ll volley with you a while.”

“I was just about to stop,” Charlotte lied.

“No, you weren’t.” Eloise’s expression was a warning that Charlotte knew she ought to heed. “You will be delighted to entertain His Royal Highness, I’m sure.”