The Chatsfield: Series 2. Кейт Хьюит
Читать онлайн книгу.
looked up at the ceiling, tears sliding down toward her temple, disappearing down into her hairline.
Unfortunately, though she knew she’d had no right to touch him, it didn’t change the fact that she was afraid she might have fallen in love with him.
She had no idea how that had happened. It had something to do with the fact that he had managed to get beneath her protection, that he was the first person to ever reach beneath all the layers she had built up around herself. He had touched her heart. And once that had happened she never had a chance.
She loved this man who wanted nothing more than to serve those around him. Who had taken a tragedy and allowed it to turn and twist inside of him until it had wrapped itself around him like tree roots until they had taken control over him, worked their way in so deep they couldn’t be extracted. Until they had changed who he was, controlled him in every way.
She had worked all of her life for recognition, for validation. While he gave everything in the service of his family, in the service of his country. How could she not be changed by knowing him? How could she not love him?
And yet, she would have to figure out a way not to love him. Because she would be leaving here soon and when she did she would need to leave these feelings behind, too.
No matter how difficult it was.
* * *
Sophie successfully avoided Zayn for the next few days. She busied herself writing up an article detailing what she had learned so far about Surhaadi and its culture. She couldn’t bring herself to write about his personal tragedy. Couldn’t bring herself to write about Zayn at all. Because she had a feeling that every word would bleed with her love for him, and that it would be obvious to anyone who saw it. And while she was exposing herself a bit more lately than she had ever done before, that was a step too far.
Part of her had hoped that Zayn would end the silence between them. That part of her was foolish, and she acknowledged that, but it didn’t stop her from wishing he might.
She stood up from her computer and rubbed her fingertips over her forehead, trying to smooth out the lines she was certain were etched there permanently now. No matter how many days, no matter how much distance, between her, Zayn and that tent in the desert, her skin still burned with his touch. Her chest aching with the memory of what it had been like to be joined with him in that way. With what it had been like to feel so close to someone.
She hadn’t realized how much of her life she’d spent alone until that moment. Until that moment of perfect togetherness.
If there is only myself, then I choose you.
His words played over and over in her mind, echoed in her heart. Made her hope where there should be none.
Before she realized what she was doing, she had walked over to the door of her bedroom and wandered out into the corridor. As usual, her end of the palace was empty, and only the sound of her footsteps kept her company as she moved down the long hall.
She continued to walk until she reached the entryway, where there were a few staff members still milling around. It was late, and it seemed as though nearly everyone had retired for the evening.
As usual, no one looked at her. She wondered what they really thought of her. Who they really thought she might be. If they had assumed from the beginning that she was Zayn’s lover, if they cared either way.
She wasn’t entirely certain of what she was doing, only that she needed to find him. Only that she needed to end this separation. They hadn’t even seen each other for meals, so skilled was his avoidance. He was always consumed with something very important, something that always took precedence over sitting down with her again.
Because he was avoiding her, too. Which she actually found encouraging.
This love thing was a strange business.
Her stomach tightened as she got closer to Zayn’s quarters. Anticipation, nerves, excitement, all vied for top position as she continued to walk through the palace.
When she came to the doors, she paused. Should she knock? Probably. But would he answer? Was he even in his rooms? If not, it was probably locked. That meant she could at least try the handle.
She did, and much to her surprise it gave. Heart thundering in her throat, she pushed the door open.
The lighting in his study was dim, and her eye was drawn to the brightest thing in the room—the fire, which blazed in the hearth. She was so distracted by that, she missed the dark outline of Zayn sitting in one of the chairs until he moved.
It was a subtle motion, his hand lifting his glass from the side table.
“Oh, I didn’t expect to find you here.” She stood near the door, not sure if she should stay, or run. Although, since he had seen her already, running seemed a little bit of an overreaction. It wasn’t as though he was going to throw her in a dungeon.
“If you didn’t expect to find me here, what did you expect to find?” He took a sip of whatever drink he had in his glass, and set it back down on the table.
“Well, I hoped to find you, I just didn’t expect to be successful.”
“I see.” He took another drink. “And why were you looking for me?”
“Because we hadn’t seen each other. Because...because I thought we might do another interview.” She didn’t know that’s what she thought until she spoke the words out loud. But the moment she did, she knew it was true.
“I think I’ve told you all I can.” He looked up at her, his eyes dark, glittering hollows in the firelight.
“I haven’t.” Her heart was pounding hard, her throat dry.
“Are you suggesting that I interview you?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”
He was silent for a long time, looking at her, his expression unreadable, shrouded in darkness. Then he finally spoke. “Have a seat.”
She obeyed, moving deeper into the room and settling in the armchair across from him. She clasped her hands in her lap, and waited.
“So I’m meant to ask you anything?” he asked, his eyes fixed on hers, unreadable.
“It’s your interview.” The blood in her veins seemed to have slowed, breathing becoming difficult.
“I have nowhere to sell the story.”
“So, then I suppose it’s up to you to decide what is most interesting.”
“Then I’ll start with what interests me most.” She braced herself. “Why were you a virgin?”
Her stomach tightened, she might have known that this was the question he would ask. Well, she might have known that had she taken the time to think through where this might be going. The idea had come to her on the spur of the moment and she hadn’t really thought it through to the end game.
“See, now I have to think about myself. And it’s much easier not to. At least, it’s much easier to just keep doing what you’ve always done and never ask yourself why. But now you’re asking me why, and I guess that means I have to know. The easy answer is that I never wanted to be like my mother. That I never wanted to be enslaved to the kind of passion she seemed to be held captive to. But now? Now I think there was something else.”
“And what was that something else?”
“You have to get naked to have sex.”
He looked her over, his expression inscrutable, but his eyes filled with heat. “You have nothing to be concerned about on that score.”
“I’m not just talking about physically. Making love with someone makes you vulnerable. Even without having done it, I knew it. That’s what I had seen in my mother that scared me so much. Vulnerability. And when you get stripped down to the point of revealing your vulnerabilities,