Dreaming Of... France. Кейт Хьюит
Читать онлайн книгу.
‘I took lessons for a few months when I was about eight. My parents made me.’ She lifted her shoulders in a shrug, the gesture an apology. ‘I didn’t like it and so I didn’t practise and eventually they let me stop.’ She was uncomfortably and even painfully aware of the differences in their situations, in their very selves: Ammar had had to sneak into a music room to learn an instrument he loved, while she’d been given it freely and scorned it.
‘You could learn now,’ he said and, to her surprise, he took her hands and placed them on the piano keys, his own hands large and warm over hers. She stared at their twined hands, his skin callused and brown, her fingers slender and soft, the colour of cream. They were so different, she thought, in so many ways.
Carefully, Ammar pressed her hands down on certain keys. ‘C, C, A, A, G,’ he recited quietly, pressing each of her fingers down in turn.
Mesmerised by the simple touch of his hands on hers, Noelle could not recognise the tune for a moment. She felt as if a fist had plunged into the centre of her chest and grabbed hold of her heart. Squeezed. She was breathless with both longing and loss, and even a faint, frail joy.
‘F, F, E, E,’ Ammar continued, and she finally turned to him with a small smile.
‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’
‘You know it.’ He smiled back at her faintly, his lips barely curving but, even so, Noelle felt her already squeezed heart give a painful little lurch. He looked so beautiful and so sad, and she felt so much in that moment she couldn’t speak. He reached up and gently touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers. She closed her eyes. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said, his voice so low that, even seated next to him, she had to strain to hear it. ‘So very lovely. I’ve always thought that.’
She drew in a shuddering breath. ‘I think I’ve always known you did.’
‘Have you?’ He sounded more sad than surprised.
‘Yes.’ She knew she was speaking the truth. She still didn’t understand why Ammar had rejected her during their brief marriage, but she knew he’d felt something for her, both then and now. He cared. He’d always cared.
Gently she placed her hand over his, pressing it against her cheek. She opened her eyes. ‘Ammar—’ Her throat was so tight it hurt to get the words out. ‘Won’t you tell me why … why you turned away from me? You said you didn’t come to me on our wedding night because you meant to let me go, but …’ She trailed off, not wanting to put it into words. Still Ammar said nothing. She drew in another breath. ‘I still don’t understand. I still feel like you’re hiding something from me, like … like you don’t want me.’
Still no words. He’d gone completely still, his face utterly expressionless. Noelle searched his face, longing for just one clue to what he was feeling. What he was hiding. ‘Ammar?’ she prompted, and now her voice wobbled.
He looked away, dropping his hand from her cheek. Sitting next to him, she could feel the tension steal through his body, the hand that had touched her so tenderly now clenched into a fist. ‘I want you to know,’ he said in a low voice, so low she felt it reverberate right through her chest, ‘that I have always wanted you. Desired you. I still do.’ He paused, his whole body angled away from her now, even though they were only inches apart. ‘Desperately.’
Desperately. The knowledge might have thrilled her once, but now she felt only a weary—and wary—confusion. ‘Why then have you never …?’ She broke off as in one abrupt movement Ammar rose from the piano bench and crossed the room, his back to her.
Away from the lamp that provided the only light in the room, he was swathed in shadow. In the half-darkness Noelle could still see the sinuous muscles of his back, the faded bruises from the crash.
‘Can’t that be enough?’ he asked, his voice raw. ‘Can’t you be satisfied with that?’
He sounded so tired, so tormented that Noelle almost wanted to agree. But what kind of future could they possibly have with so many secrets between them? ‘No,’ she said quietly, ‘I can’t.’
Ammar let out a shuddering breath. ‘What I told you was true. I didn’t come to you on our wedding night because I knew I had to let you go. But you’re right. There was more to it than that.’
Noelle held her breath, waiting, always waiting. ‘Ammar—’
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t want you ever to feel like I was rejecting you.’
‘But you were,’ Noelle protested, and he shook his head, the movement abrupt and almost violent.
‘No. Never. Never that.’ He turned around and the agony written on his face was almost too painful to see. A lump rose in her throat and she felt fear beat its relentless tattoo through her veins. What terrible thing was he going to tell her? Could she bear it? Would it change everything?
‘It’s late,’ he said, and she saw his expression close once more, agony turned into adamance. She would get no more answers tonight. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I … I want to spend time with you, just being with you, before I …’ He shook his head, closed his eyes briefly. ‘Please.’
‘All right,’ she whispered. She knew it was futile to press him now. His eyes were dark, his face hard, his body rigid. And maybe she had heard enough, for tonight at least.
‘Come,’ he said, and reached for her hand. Surprised, Noelle let him thread his fingers through hers and lead her from the room. All around them the house was dark and still, the only sound the tread of their bare feet upon the tiles. Ammar led her up the stairs, down a corridor and past her own bedroom. Her heart lurched. Her breath hitched.
What—?
Outside a closed door, he turned to her, touched her cheek. ‘Sleep with me,’ he said, ‘in my bed.’
Such a simple request, Noelle thought, and yet she knew it cost him. His eyes were dark and intent, his body still rigid with tension. She smiled, although she felt it wobble.
‘Yes,’ she said, and followed him into his bedroom.
AMMAR led Noelle into the darkness of his own bedroom, to the king-sized bed with its rumpled duvet. He hesitated, wanting so much to be with her and yet …
He’d never spent an entire night with a woman before. Even now, just the thought made him tense, panic. He hated the duality of his own desires, the longing to draw her close even as memories reared up and demanded he keep his distance.
‘Ammar?’ She placed one slender hand on his shoulder, her touch cool and soft. With effort he turned to her and smiled. At least he hoped he did. His mouth curved, at least. The moonlight, he saw, streamed over her, turning her skin luminescent. Her chestnut hair tumbled down her back in artless waves and her eyes were wide and trusting. Even now, when he’d demanded and denied and become angry, she trusted him. She followed him and waited with a patience that felt unbearably gentle. He was humbled, but he was also afraid.
He never let women close. They never spent the night, they never touched his heart. Only Noelle had succeeded, and in fear—both for her and, yes, for himself—he’d walked away all those years ago. Could he stay now? Could he finally put the ghosts of his past, the mistakes and sins and endless regrets, to rest? She reached up and cupped his palm with her cheek.
‘I don’t have to stay.’
Ammar felt his throat tighten so it hurt to speak. ‘I want you to.’ He knew he sounded grudging. Why, even now, did it have to be so difficult?
Noelle reached past him and pulled the duvet back. ‘Well,’ she said, smiling a little, ‘it’s freezing in here so I think I’ll get under the covers.’