The Dreaming Of... Collection. Оливия Гейтс
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a couple of hours.’
She shook her head slowly, banishing that echo, that remnant of longing. ‘Ammar … why are you taking me there? What do you want from me?’
His mouth tightened and his gaze flicked away. ‘We’ll talk about that later. Right now you should freshen up. There’s food in the main cabin.’
‘Don’t tell me what to do.’
He returned his gaze to her, level and considering. ‘As you wish. I was only seeing to your comfort.’
‘My comfort? If you’d been concerned with that, you wouldn’t have kidnapped me in the first place!’
He expelled a low breath. ‘I told you, it was necessary.’
‘You had me drugged.’
‘It was the safest way to transport you. I didn’t want you to harm yourself.’
‘How very thoughtful of you.’
‘I try,’ Ammar said with a ghost of a smile, and it took Noelle a stunned second to realise he was actually making a joke. Toc-toc.
‘Try harder,’ she answered back, meaning to snap, but it came out like some absurd attempt at witty banter. It was getting harder to hold onto her brittle edge, the safety of sarcasm. She could still remember how he’d looked in that unguarded moment, how she’d felt, even as fury raced through her.
Ammar gazed at her with the remnant of that smile, his eyes dark and sorrowful. ‘I will,’ he said softly, and Noelle felt something twist inside her, start to break. No, she could not start responding to this man. Remembering.
The only thing to remember was the hard fact that he’d hurt her terribly in the past and kidnapped her today. What kind of people did he know, to arrange a kidnapping in broad daylight? What kind of man was he?
Before their marriage she’d thought he was gentle, tender, loving, if a little restrained. They’d dated for three months, a time so achingly sweet Noelle’s eyes stung to remember it. She’d wanted to give him everything, her life, her soul and, more importantly, she’d thought he wanted it. Sometimes she’d caught him gazing at her in a kind of wonder, as if he couldn’t believe she was really his.
Then they’d said their wedding vows and in a matter of hours he’d changed completely, turned into a brusque and distant stranger she didn’t know or understand. A man who, it seemed, was perfectly capable of abducting his former wife and keeping her captive in his desert villa. The real Ammar.
It was the real Ammar she needed to remember now. Drawing herself up, she said firmly, as if talking to an unruly child, ‘Well, now you’ve got me here you can say whatever it is you’ve wanted to say, and then you need to arrange my immediate return to Paris. I can get a flight from Marrakech.’
Something flashed in Ammar’s amber eyes, although Noelle could not discern what it was. She’d once loved the colour of his eyes, the warm peat-brown of whisky. She’d seen emotion reflected there, emotion he had never spoken of or given into in any way and yet she’d believed. She’d known.
‘No.’
Noelle’s fingernails snagged on the coverlet as she clenched her fists. ‘No?’
‘I cannot arrange your return to Paris. Yet.’
‘When, then?’ He shrugged, which was no answer at all. ‘Ammar, what do you want from me?’ Another flicker in his eyes—could it be regret? ‘This is a crime, you know,’ she said in a low voice, hardly able to believe she was saying the words, and that they were true. ‘You could be arrested for this.’
He glanced away. ‘I’ve done too many things already I could be arrested for. One more won’t matter.’
Shock iced straight through her, froze in her bones. She did not want to know what he was talking about, was overwhelmed by the terrible strangeness of a man she’d once thought she knew. Loved. ‘My God,’ she choked, ‘who are you?’
Ammar turned back to her and she saw a fierce blaze of determination now turning his eyes to gold as he met her own bewildered gaze. ‘I’m your husband.’
She stilled, the cover sliding from under her nerveless fingers. ‘You haven’t,’ she said after a long charged moment, ‘been my husband for ten years.’ And he’d never truly been her husband, never in the way that mattered most.
‘I know that.’ He looked away again, everything about him—his voice, his expression—seeming to harden. ‘We’ll talk of this later. We’re about to arrive, and I’m sure you’d like a moment to compose yourself.’ He rose from the chair. ‘There are clothes in the wardrobe. I’ll meet you out in the main cabin when you are ready.’ He spoke coolly, issuing these instructions with every expectation of being obeyed. It reminded Noelle of the man he’d been after their marriage, and she hated it. Hated remembering how different Ammar had seemed, how different she’d been with him, confused, needy and so unhappy, her dreams turning to dust, hopes to ash.
‘I’ll stay here.’ It was a small act of independence, but in her current situation it was all she could manage.
Ammar shrugged, then nodded his assent. ‘Very well.’ And then he was gone.
Ammar paced the main cabin of the plane, feeling as trapped as Noelle surely was. Nothing was going the way he had hoped. He’d handled everything wrong, he saw now, from the moment he’d accosted her in the hotel, to the clumsy abduction of her from the street, to the conversation he’d just had. He was a man who had millions at his disposal, thousands of employees to do his bidding and even more people who regarded him with both awe and fear, yet one slip of a woman defeated him. All the words he wanted to say, all the things he felt, tangled up inside him so he couldn’t get any of it out. He didn’t even know the words. He missed her, he wanted her, he needed her, but how he did tell her that without issuing a command?
Never show weakness. Never beg or even ask.
The rules his father had drilled into him were impossible to break or ignore. He’d learned them the hard way, by his father’s fist, starting on his eighth birthday when Balkri Tannous had taken him from the playroom and his brother’s side and, in the sanctified solitude of his study, hit him hard across the face without warning.
It had begun then and there, his education, the forming of his very self. How did he shed it? How did he change?
‘Mr Tannous?’ Abdul, one of his staff, appeared in the doorway. ‘We land in ten minutes.’
‘Very good.’ He glanced back at the door to the bedroom and, after a second’s hesitation he rapped on it sharply. ‘We’re about to land, Noelle. It would be safer for you to sit in here, in a proper seat.’
The door was wrenched open and Noelle stood there, still wearing her crumpled grey dress. She’d washed her face and brushed her hair, but he still saw dark shadows under her eyes, the anger flaring in their hazel depths.
She didn’t speak as she moved past him and sat down, buckling the lap belt. Ammar sat across from her. He tried to think of something to say, some words to bridge the gulf between them, but nothing came. Kidnapping her had been just about the worst way to go about this. Yet how to make amends?
‘I’m sorry,’ he said abruptly, and she turned to face him, surprise flaring in her eyes.
‘Sorry for what?’
‘For … abducting you.’
‘And do you think I should accept your apology?’ She let out a short, unfriendly laugh and rolled her eyes. ‘No problem, Ammar. Mistakes happen.’ She shook her head, seeming disgusted, and fury flared through him.
‘You wouldn’t listen.’
‘And you wonder why.’
He shouldn’t have started this conversation. It