Dreaming Of... France. Кейт Хьюит
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a snake or two, but they tend to be shy.’
She jerked her hand back before she realised he was teasing her. ‘You’re actually joking,’ she said. ‘Again.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Must be a good day.’
‘A very good day,’ she agreed. She straightened, smiling. ‘You did find my toc-toc joke funny, back in the day.’
‘S-cargot.’
A thrill ran through her, that he’d remembered. ‘It was pretty dreadful, I know.’
‘No, no, it was good.’ He smiled—that made four now, and this was a proper one—his hands in his pockets as he tilted his face up to the sun. ‘Very good. I don’t like to eat them, though.’
‘Eat them?’ Noelle repeated rather dazedly, for the sight of Ammar’s smile had plunged her into a sudden spinning void of lust. He was an unbearably attractive man, even with the buzz-cut and the scar. She would never grow tired of looking at him, of gazing at the hard angles of his cheek and jaw, the sexy, sculpted pout of his lips, the lean, powerful lines of his chest and shoulders. And, more than that, she would never tire of the way his eyes lightened to bronze when he smiled, and how that single, simple curving of his lips made her feel as if she’d scaled Everest, as if she were on top of the world.
Ammar turned and caught her looking at him and Noelle knew every emotion was reflected in her eyes, visible on her face. ‘Snails,’ he clarified huskily, and Noelle scrambled to make sense of what he was saying, which was exceedingly difficult when all she could think about was how wonderful he looked and how much she wanted to touch him.
‘Snails,’ she repeated, still dazed, still filled with desire. Ammar reached for her hand. His own face was inscrutable as always, yet his eyes blazed intent. Or was she just hoping they did, and that he felt the same tidal wave of lust that was crashing over her? He’d felt it last night, she knew he had, and this morning, too—he’d wanted her. She had to believe that. She just didn’t know why he’d stopped.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you the ruins.’
She let him take her hand and lead her to the ruins a little way from the water. At first the remnants of the medieval city looked like no more than boulders scattered in the sand but, as Ammar led her through, pointed out the foundations of a house, the still straight line of a road, she saw the order of it, a civilization lost for centuries.
‘What happened?’ she asked, turning in a circle as she stood in what Ammar had said was most likely a shop. He braced one hip against a weathered piece of wall, his eyes narrowed against the sun’s glare.
‘No one knows for certain, but archaeologists believe a sandstorm covered the entire town about six hundred years ago. Destroyed everything in a single day.’
‘Wow.’ Noelle swallowed and studied the remnants of that day. I know what that feels like. She didn’t say it, didn’t even want to think it. For once she didn’t want the pain of the past to interfere with the present. The sun was shining, Ammar was smiling and the day stretched before them, promising, maybe even perfect. ‘Show me the rest,’ she said, and he reached for her hand again.
They wandered through the rest of the ruins hand in hand, stopping to pace out a house or examine a doorstep or window well. It was amazingly relaxed, natural even, in a way that made Noelle’s heart sing. She wanted this day to go on for ever.
Eventually Ammar led her back towards the oasis, to a sheltered spot where a couple of palm trees shaded them from the relentless sun. She watched as he spread out a blanket, desire spiralling inside her once again as she gazed at his lean brown arms, powerfully corded with muscle, the T-shirt he wore clinging to his washboard stomach. She sucked in a breath as he glanced up at her, his amber eyes seeming to burn into her. He must know how he affected her, she thought. He must. She only hoped she affected him the same way.
‘Come here,’ he commanded huskily and, with a thrill of both nervousness and hope, Noelle went to him. He took her by the hand and tugged her down to the blanket, his knee nudging hers, his body so very close.
‘Shall we eat?’ he said, and his voice sounded hoarse. He feels it, Noelle thought, he must feel it.
‘OK.’ Her voice was a scratchy whisper. She struggled to eat, even though each morsel he gave her was delicious. Her hand shook as she finally accepted a fig from him, soft and ripe. Touch me, she wanted to cry. Touch me. Show me you love me. She bit into the fig, its lush sweetness filling her mouth, yet she was only conscious of Ammar watching her, his gaze so heavy and intent.
Her whole body felt hot, liquid, the centre of her starting to melt. She felt a bit of juice from the fig dribble down her chin and Ammar reached forward and swiped at it with his thumb. Her lips parted, her eyes closed, her body instinctively giving every signal it could to show him how much she desired him.
With a groan of surrender—or was it despair?—Ammar cupped her face with both of his hands and drew her to him. The feel of his lips on hers was like a drink of water in the desert, as life-giving as the oasis itself. She needed him.
She brought her hands up to his shoulders, pulled him closer, pressing herself against him as her head fell back in helpless assent. She didn’t speak, terrified to break the moment, the spell of desire that had surely been cast over both of them, for Ammar was kissing her hungrily, his tongue delving into the softness of her mouth, his hands finding the fullness of her breasts.
He stretched out beside her, sliding his hand under her shirt, his touch warm and sure. It felt so unbelievably, unbearably good, and Noelle could not keep herself from pressing his hand against her tummy, holding it there, because she was still so afraid he would stop.
He lifted her shirt higher and bent his head to her breasts, nudging the lace of her bra aside. Noelle heard a sound come from her own mouth, a moan of intense longing she’d never heard herself make before. ‘Oh, Ammar,’ she whispered. She swallowed down the words she wanted to say. I love you. ‘I want you so much.’
She felt him still, tense. Oh, no, please, she thought, please don’t pull away from me again. What was wrong with her?
The moment seemed suspended, endless. His lips still brushed her breast, his hands on her skin. Neither of them moved or spoke. Noelle didn’t even breathe.
Please …
Then, deliberately, as if it were a decision he had to make, Ammar lifted his head and kissed her on the mouth, deeply, a promise. Relief and need poured through her, an overwhelming rush of emotion. She reached for him instinctively, her hand skimming along his chest and torso, pulling her to him, but suddenly Ammar tensed and rolled away and Noelle let out a cry of frustration and, far worse, hurt.
‘Why do you do that?’ She sat up, stared at him, still lying on the ground, his body rigid, his arm flung over his face just as before. ‘I know you want me. Physically, at least—’
‘It’s not you.’ He spoke flatly, his face still covered. ‘It’s never been about you.’
‘Really? Because it feels like it’s about me. I’m the one you push away, the person you reject—’ She heard how sharp her voice sounded, but that was better than letting him see how devastated she felt. She struggled to sit up, pulling her shirt down to cover herself.
Ammar didn’t say anything. He was staring up at the sky as if he were cloud-gazing on a perfect summer’s day, as if nothing were remotely wrong.
Fury rose up inside her, clawed its way out. ‘Don’t do that. Don’t blank me out. I hate it when you do that.’ Her voice shook and in a sudden burst of frustration she reached over and hit him hard on the shoulder.
He caught her hand in one quick movement, held it, firmly yet with leashed strength, in his. ‘Don’t hit me,’ he said in a cold, flat voice she barely recognised. ‘Don’t ever hit me.’