The Dreaming Of... Collection. Оливия Гейтс
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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.’
He watched in a sort of dazed incredulity as she got in the bed and scooted to one side, pulling the duvet up to her chin. She looked so right there, he thought, in his bed. That was the most incredible thing of all.
‘There’s plenty of room,’ she told him, her expression almost mischievous over the edge of the duvet. He loved that even now she could tease. How much was it costing her?
Ammar got in the bed, feeling wooden and awkward as he stretched out next to her. He desperately wanted this to be normal, but he didn’t know how to act. What to feel. Surely not this blind panic that fell over him like a fog, memories shrieking inside him.
Sleep. They were meant to sleep. Ammar closed his eyes. Belatedly, he realised he should touch her, he wanted to touch her, so he laid one hand on her shoulder. He felt that shoulder shake and he tensed.
‘What?’
‘Ammar, you’re acting like … like you’re at the dentist or something.’ He realised she was actually laughing, just a little, although underneath he sensed her confusion and hurt. He froze, unsure again how to feel. Anger felt more familiar, yet he struggled against it. He didn’t want to feel it, to ruin the moment, awkward as it already was.
Then she rolled over to face him and placed her palms, so warm and soft, on his bare chest. ‘Come here,’ she whispered and, strangely, miraculously, it felt like the simplest and most natural thing in the world to pull her towards him.
‘You come here,’ he said, and she snuggled into him, the warmth and closeness of her short-circuiting his senses.
‘I can do that,’ she whispered, and he felt the silk of her hair brush against his chest, his cheek and tickle his nose. He pulled her closer.
He could do this. He could really do this. She fitted against him, he thought, she felt right. Yet, even as that thought formed, other darker ones chased it. Memories.
Never trust a woman, Ammar. Never let one close. Never show weakness.
He heard the angry echo of his father’s voice, the cruel laughter of the woman he’d thought, naively, he’d loved. Felt the crack of his father’s palm against his cheek, the rush of humiliation and shame dousing all desire.
Noelle brushed his cheek with her fingers, the touch as gentle as a whisper, and in surprise he opened his eyes, drawn from the agony of the past. ‘Don’t,’ she said softly. ‘Whatever it is, don’t.’ He gazed down at her, blinking in the darkness. He could barely make out her face, but he knew she looked completely serious.
‘Don’t what?’
‘Don’t let it control you,’ Noelle said quietly. ‘Don’t let it win.’
Ammar drew her closer to him. ‘I’m trying,’ he said and yet, even then, with her in his arms, he wondered if it would be enough.
He must have slept, although it seemed to take an age. He heard Noelle’s breathing finally deepen and slow in sleep and he remained holding her, in a sort of exquisite tension, enjoying the feel of her even as part of him longed for escape. Distance. Safety. And then, amazingly, sunlight streamed across the bed and it was morning, and he was slowly, languorously moving towards wakefulness, conscious only of the warm, round form fitted so closely to him, the flare of desire he felt in his groin as he moved his hand across her pliant softness, the silky fullness of a breast filling his hand.
Desire flared deeper and he rolled on top of her, his hands seeking her most private places as his lips moved over skin. He heard a moan and didn’t know whether it came from him or her; it didn’t matter. His hands slid over sleep-warmed skin, and her arms twined around him as he nudged apart her thighs with his knee.
‘Ammar …’
Consciousness crashed over him and he froze, even as Noelle said his name again, reminding him who she was. Who he was. He would not make love to her like this, a hurried, desperate fumble, even if he wanted it so badly his body shook. Even if it would be easier to keep his mind blank, always blank, and just lose himself in her as quickly as he could.
No. She deserved more than that.