Dreaming Of... France. Кейт Хьюит
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to her room.
Ammar swam with sure, even strokes, the movement propelling him forward, taking over his thoughts. Exercise was, he had long ago discovered, a great way to work off anger and blank his mind out at the same time. Just what he’d needed when his father had made one of his repellent requests. Call in a loan. Demand a bribe. Lie, cheat, steal. Over the years he’d stopped thinking about what he was doing, refused to remember the conscience that had pricked him as a still-naïve boy.
But, Papa—
The only answer had been his father’s fist.
Ammar increased his speed. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest. He didn’t want to think. Couldn’t remember. Not his father, not all the things he’d done, and most certainly not the look on Noelle’s face when he’d told her about his past. His weakness.
He finished another lap and hauled himself onto the side of the pool, his heart beating so hard it hurt. His lungs ached and water ran down his face and chest in rivulets. He drew in a shuddering breath and was resolutely turning back to the pool when he heard her.
‘There you are.’
He turned, surprise streaking through him like lightning at the sight of her. Noelle stood in front of him, dressed only in a forest-green string bikini. He’d bought the bikini so it shouldn’t surprise him to see her wearing it. He’d wanted to see her wearing it, had imagined peeling it slowly from her body. Now he saw it fitted at least, unlike the other clothes. It fitted very well.
She smiled and sat on the edge of the pool, sliding her long, shapely legs into the water. She had the most gorgeous skin, Ammar thought, like golden cream. The top two triangles of the bikini left very little to the imagination and he found his gaze was riveted by the sight of her really rather perfect breasts barely covered by those scraps of cloth. Bikinis, he thought, were indecent. Indecently beautiful.
‘The water’s warm,’ she said, trailing her fingers through it. She had to lean over to do it, giving him an even better glimpse of her breasts. Ammar felt himself harden. He wanted her now, had always wanted her, imagined pulling her into the pool and taking her right there. Didn’t they both need the release?
And yet he knew what would happen if he did just that. The memories would take him over, shrieking inside his head, and his mind would go blank—the only way he knew of dealing with it—and he’d push her away. And now she knew why. She knew his most pathetic, shaming secret and he hated it. Why the hell was she here?
‘I was just getting out,’ he said, knowing he sounded surly.
‘Don’t go just when I got here,’ she protested with a playful smile, but he just shook his head.
‘I have work to do.’
‘At night?’
‘I have many responsibilities, Noelle.’ He sounded like a schoolteacher.
‘Am I one of them?’ She arched her eyebrows, her legs stretched out, and with one toe she gave him a little splash. She was flirting, he realised in disbelief, or trying to. It reminded him of how she used to be, light and smiling and playful, and how he’d been with her. Trying to unbend. Learning to love.
‘I’m busy,’ he snapped, and he saw her smile falter. She glanced downwards, biting her lip, and he felt like the biggest jerk in the world. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said grudgingly.
She glanced back up at him, her playful smile resolutely restored. ‘So you’ll stay?’
And, unbelievably, he found himself nodding. ‘All right. Fine.’ He’d stay, but he’d still sound like an ass.
Reluctantly Ammar watched her. She’d leaned over the pool again, gazing into the water, and if she leaned out much more she was going to pop right out of that bikini.
‘You’re too thin,’ he said abruptly, and Noelle glanced at him in surprise.
‘You’re being unusually charming tonight, Ammar.’
‘You are,’ he insisted. He knew he was saying all the wrong things but the right ones terrified him too much. And he was pretty sure he didn’t want to hear what she might have to say. ‘Why have you lost so much weight?’
Noelle shrugged. ‘I work in the fashion industry. You’ve got to be thin.’
‘I liked you better before. You were softer then.’
Her eyes flashed sudden fire. ‘Funny, but I could say the same thing about you.’
He let out a surprised, rusty laugh. She smiled and for a moment he felt lighter. For a moment he could let himself just be, enjoying the sight of a beautiful woman in a bikini. A woman he loved.
Terror clutched at him again and she shook her head. ‘Stop thinking so much, Ammar.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I can see it in your eyes. You start to look like a trapped rabbit—’
‘Are you,’ he growled, ‘comparing me to a rabbit?’
‘Yes.’ Her smile deepened, her eyes gleaming. ‘At least your eyes.’ Her gaze wandered slowly, deliberately over his bare chest and then lower. ‘Not the rest of you.’
His body responded to her obviously appreciative gaze. She slid off the side of the pool and waded towards him. When she was just a handspan away—so close he could inhale the sweet fragrance that he knew didn’t come from any soap or perfume but was just her—she lifted her hand and trailed one fingertip down the length of his chest, leaving goose bumps in its wake.
Ammar froze. Now he felt trapped, as trapped as a damned rabbit, caught between desire and that old instinctive fear. She was so close and he wanted her closer, even as he craved that distance and safety.
‘I want to help you,’ she said, and she might as well have poured ice cubes down his back. Into his heart.
‘I don’t want your help,’ he snapped, and she fell silent.
‘Help was the wrong word,’ she said quietly. ‘I want to love you, Ammar.’
She gazed up at him, expectant, hopeful, her eyes wide and clear, reflecting every emotion. Ammar said nothing. She bit her lip, taking its lush fullness between her teeth in a way that felt like a kick to the heart. He wanted to tell her he loved her, knew she needed to hear it, yet the words lodged in his chest, burning a hole in his heart.
I love you. Why couldn’t he say it? Three silly little words. Except there was nothing silly about them because he meant them utterly, with every fibre of his being. I love you. The last time he’d said those words, the woman on the receiving end had laughed in his face. Told him, the naked, naïve fourteen-year-old boy that he’d been, that she was only here on his father’s orders. He’d been devastated, of course he had, but he should have got over it. Should have moved on like any normal man would.
When he’d fallen in love with Noelle, when he’d drawn her to him and felt the explosion of fear in his chest, he knew he hadn’t. He’d thought it would be different when they married. He’d still so desperately wanted to believe he could have it all. Have her. Then his dreams had all come crashing down when his father had confronted him on what he’d hoped would be the happiest night of his life.
You will show your wife her place. And if you don’t, I will. Why do you persist in these naïve schoolboy dreams?
He’d known then just how weak he was. Too weak to admit the truth to Noelle. Too weak to let her know of his fear, his shame, the kind of life he’d lived. Too weak to risk it—or to stand up to his father.
‘Ammar.’ Noelle placed her hands on either side of his face and reached up on tiptoe to brush her lips against his own. He didn’t respond, felt everything inside him shut down, every response a big blank. What kind of man was he?
Hopeless.