The Sheikh's Collection. Оливия Гейтс
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reached up and flattened her fist, smoothing her fingers out before resting his hand on top of hers. ‘What were you thinking about?’ he asked again.
She sighed. ‘Just...some memories.’
‘The same memories that give you nightmares?’
‘No. Different ones.’
‘Not good ones, though.’
‘No.’ She let out a little sigh. ‘Not particularly.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said after a moment, and somehow that felt like exactly the right thing to say.
‘So am I. But I don’t want to think about bad memories tonight, Khalil. I want to be happy. Just for tonight.’
He squeezed her hand lightly. ‘I won’t stop you.’
‘I know, but...’ She wanted more than his acquiescence; she wanted his participation. ‘Can we—can we pretend?’ she asked, her voice quavering slightly with nervousness. ‘Can we pretend, just for tonight, that we’re...that we’re in love?’ She felt his body tense underneath her hand and she hurried to explain. ‘I know we’re not. I don’t want us to be, not for real. I don’t want to love someone like that.’ Khalil remained ominously silent, so she continued stiltedly, ‘I just want to feel like I do for one night. To forget everything else and just enjoy feelings I can’t afford to have in real life.’ She sounded ridiculous, Elena realised. What was she really asking? For him to pretend to love her?
How absurd. How pathetic.
And Khalil still hadn’t said anything.
‘Maybe it’s a stupid idea,’ Elena muttered. Inwardly she cringed at the whole ridiculous proposition she’d put before him. ‘I didn’t mean... You don’t have to worry that I’ll suddenly...’ Her throat tightened and she was about to force herself to go on, to reassure him that she wouldn’t fall in love with him or start expecting emotions and commitments from him simply because they’d had sex, but then Khalil spoke first.
‘For one night,’ he said slowly. ‘I think I can manage that...my darling.’
Surprise gave way to mirth and even joy, and she let out a bubble of laughter, shaking her head. ‘Now, that rolled off the tongue quite nicely,’ she teased.
‘Did it not, dearest?’ He raised his eyebrows, turning to her with an enquiring smile. ‘What shall I call you, then, essence of sweetness?’
She turned her head towards the pillow to muffle her laughter. ‘Essence of sweetness? Where do you come up with that stuff?’
‘It comes naturally, my dewy petal,’ he purred. ‘Can’t you tell?’
Tears of laughter started in her eyes. Her stomach ached. And she felt the biggest, sloppiest grin spreading over her face. ‘Sorry, but I can’t tell.’
Khalil rose on his arms above her, a wicked smile curving his mouth and glinting in his eyes. ‘What a dilemma,’ he answered softly. ‘Since I don’t seem able to tell you how I love you, then perhaps I should show you.’
And then Elena’s laughter stopped abruptly as he did precisely that—showing her with his mouth, his hands and body. And he showed her very well indeed.
KHALIL AWAKENED TO sunlight streaming into their tent and Elena’s hair spread over his chest. He’d slept the whole night with his arms around her, his body entwined with hers, and it had felt good.
Unbearably good.
What on earth had possessed him to participate in her little game? Pretend to be in love? And, never mind the danger involved in that all too enjoyable charade, what about the fact that he’d slept with her at all? That he’d taken her virginity? No matter what she’d assured him about understanding the emotional risks, he knew it was dangerous. Dangerous for her, and even dangerous for him, because already he wanted her again—and not just in bed.
In his life.
And there was no place for Queen Elena of Thallia in his life.
The next few days and weeks were crucial to his campaign to retake the throne that was rightfully his. He couldn’t waste a moment’s energy or thought on anything but his goal, a goal he’d nourished and cherished since he’d been seven years old and had been dropped into the desert like a dog no one wanted. Treated like one too, kicked and beaten and abused.
And, in any case, he didn’t do love. He didn’t know how. Trusting another person with anything, much less his heart—dried-up, useless organ that it was—was next to impossible for him. He wanted to trust people, men like Assad who had sworn their loyalty to him, but he still always felt that prickle of wary suspicion between his shoulder blades. He was still, always, waiting for the sudden slap, the knife in the back. The betrayal.
When you lived your life like that, love had no place in it. Relationships had no place, save for expediency.
And as for Elena? He glanced down at her, her face softened in sleep, her dark, lush lashes feathering her cheeks. Her lips were slightly pursed, one hand flung up by her head. Despite his mental list of reasons to walk away right now, desire stirred insistently. He knew just how he could wake her up...
Swearing under his breath, Khalil extracted himself from Elena’s embrace and rolled from the bed. He heard her stir behind him, but he was already yanking on his clothes, his back determinedly to her.
A serving maid entered, blushing, with a pitcher of hot water and inwardly Khalil swore again. The news of their night together would spread throughout the whole tribe. They would know he had consummated a union that he intended to reject shortly.
And his plan to explain later why he’d been travelling alone with Elena would no longer work. He’d acted dishonourably and the tribe would know it. When they found out he and Elena weren’t married, they would feel both betrayed and angry, and how could he blame them?
It was a fiasco, and all because he’d wanted her so damn much. How could he have been so weak?
‘Khalil...?’
He turned to see her sitting up in bed, her dark hair tumbling wildly about her shoulders, her hooded grey eyes sleepy but with a wariness already stealing into them.
‘We need to get moving,’ he said brusquely. ‘Assad is coming with a vehicle this morning. He’ll take us to a new camp and then we’ll move onto Siyad. You’ll be back in Thallia this time tomorrow, I hope.’
She looked away, hiding her face, but he still felt the hurt he knew he’d caused her. Damn it, he’d warned her about this. He couldn’t blame Elena, though. He could only blame himself. He’d known she was a virgin, inexperienced and innocent. She was bound to read more into their night together, even if she’d said she wouldn’t.
Hell, he’d read more into it. Felt more than he was comfortable with.
And now he had no idea what to do, how to make things right: with Elena; with the tribe; with this country of his that teetered on the brink of civil war, made worse by his own foolish choices.
What an unholy mess.
* * *
After Khalil had left the tent Elena rose slowly from the bed and reached for the Bedouin-style dress he’d stripped from her body the night before.
Had it only been the night before? It felt like a lifetime ago. Felt like a different life, one where she’d known pleasure, joy and love.
It was only pretend, you idiot.
Sighing, she slipped on the chemise, only to see her Western clothes lying neatly folded by the pitcher of water. She took off the chemise and washed quickly, scrubbing the scent of Khalil from her body, before putting on the clothes she’d come here