Chapter Nine #2
Instead, he was prising open her heart. His voice was quiet and low and there was a tone that demanded her attention.
‘We spoke about things that I never have with another.’
She refused to be flattered. ‘Well, you shouldn’t have been speaking those things with me.’
He spoke over her. ‘The day of the ball was the anniversary of Khalid’s death, and the only person I wanted to see was you.
’ He watched the column of her pale throat as she swallowed down a smart return.
‘I woke up that morning and…’ There was a slight pause.
‘I ached for you; I was hard for you.’ She put her hands over her ears.
‘Please stop.’
He did not. ‘I could not stand the thought of you alone and dealing with that creep so I made the decision to go to the ball. I had a ceremony I had to go to, and a luncheon to attend, but for the first time that day was made bearable, knowing that by night I would see you.’ His admission was unrelenting, ‘And last night, even with all that is going on, when my helicopter approached, I felt better knowing you were here.’ It made her breathless and a little giddy. ‘I believe you missed me too.’
There were tears in her eyes and she felt as if her nose might run, and she did not know how to lie anymore, or to deny what was plainly true. ‘You know that I did!’ she shouted. Then she rather lamely added, ‘But not anymore.’
‘You really are a terrible liar.’ He gave her a small sympathetic smile for her effort. ‘We could have more of that,’ Rafiq said. ‘Still see each other and be together, but the rules are complicated here.’
‘Oh, I doubt it.’ Liliana looked back at him. ‘In fact, I’m quite sure they all boil down to the same thing—do right.’ She took a breath, made herself ask, ‘If neither of you want this marriage, then why not simply refuse?’
He didn’t answer.
How could he tell her that if this agreement officially ended, as well as the perceived insult, Yara might well have to marry someone else?
She saw his eyes shutter.
‘It’s not just your parents who want this,’ Liliana said more gently than she felt, but she could see he struggled. ‘Is it?’
Silence was his answer.
‘Is it?’
He opened his eyes then and met her own, and it was like meeting each other again, knowing each other again…
The rules she’d sworn she’d live by were becoming blurry now. It hadn’t just been the villagers that had judged her mother harshly; Liliana knew she had too. Yet now she sat opposite a man who, if he so much as crooked his finger, she would find hard to resist. And if she was having a baby…
Oh, she understood her mother so much better now.
And it terrified her.
‘The night of the ball I was going to tell you about Yara, and how if I marry, then it must be to her.’
If.
A tiny word that lacerated.
‘I had something I wanted to ask you.’
To be his mistress, she was quite sure. And she didn’t want to hear it, because then she had to say no. Liliana wanted to lie to herself for just a little while more. Wanted to wish that they might somehow work. ‘I don’t want to talk about it right now.’
‘Very well.’
Perhaps he too was avoiding things, because instead of attempting to continue the impossible conversation he seemed relieved to leave it for now.
‘Do you want me to show you around?’
‘Fatima already did that.’
‘Good, then would you like to see my crazy pink horse?’
And suddenly she smiled and it was as if for a second they were back to that first night and the magic, for she nodded. ‘I would like that very much.’
‘Get changed,’ he suggested, ‘There will be some casual robes, or maybe some jodhpurs.’
‘Rafiq,’ Liliana cut in. ‘I am not borrowing another woman’s clothes.’
‘You’re being ridiculous.’
‘Clothes are my thing, Rafiq. They make me, me.’
‘Fair enough. Do you want to try something of mine?’
She looked up at six foot three of sheikh and shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine.’
The jewelled slippers were not suitable for outside, and she attempted to tie on some flat leather sandals, but the straps kept unravelling.
‘Not like that…’ Rafiq said with an edge and went to pull a rope to summon Fatima.
‘Please don’t,’ Liliana snapped. ‘I am capable of tying up my own shoes.’
‘Ah, just as you were capable of standing on the tube…’ Somehow it brought them both back to the day they had met. For a moment, he was the kind man who had stood to offer her a seat.
And she was Liliana, accepting she had perhaps been a bit brusque.
‘Allow me,’ he said and, rather than summoning the maid, he knelt. ‘You put your feet in…’ He guided the sole of her foot, and then crisscrossed the straps and then pulled them tighter around the ankles. ‘They need to go up your calf, to your knee.’
His fingers were light, and Liliana stood holding her breath, feeling the hatta, his scarf, dust her calf. But more, she recalled the time he had slid down her knickers, and how she had leaned on his shoulders.
‘The other foot,’ Rafiq said, taking it and guiding it in, trying and failing not to notice just how soft the soles of her feet were, like a kitten who had never been outside.
She jerked a little as he tied the strap behind her knee.
‘I’m going to have a crisscross tan,’ she said as he stood.
‘No,’ he said, and reached for a pale robe that he told her belonged to Fatima. ‘You wouldn’t last five minutes out there.’
Then he wrapped her head in a scarf and arranged it around her neck and she stared ahead, trying not to look up, trying not to breathe.
Trying so hard not to want him still.
The horses were so beautiful and she leaned on the fence of the corral watching two silver ones being put through their paces.
They weren’t just incredible colours; he told her about their stamina, necessary for the distances and the arid terrain.
They walked around his yard, and she was clearly used to horses, for she let them nuzzle and stroked them gently.
‘Do you ride?’ he asked.
‘I used to when I was little, when my father still paid for some things…’ She shrugged. ‘I haven’t ridden in a long time.’
‘We could go for a small ride if you like,’ he offered.
Though tempted, she shook her head. ‘Not in this skirt.’
‘Take it off,’ Rafiq said, then his voice went gruff. ‘Or pull it up.’
‘No, thank you.’
In truth she would love to ride, to fling off her skirt that was biting in, but horses were big, and fast, and she wasn’t sure if she should be riding if she was…
She refused to let herself even think about a baby while he was near.
She turned. ‘Where’s the pink one you promised? I still don’t believe you.’
‘Still you tease.’ Rafiq smiled. ‘My groom is just bringing him out.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Nushiravan, though I call him Nushi. It means “eternal soul”, but it also speaks of his majesty, and his streak of rebellion.’
And out he stamped and for a moment all trouble was forgotten. Oh, he was utterly stunning, and yes, there was a pink hue to him.
‘He’s very contrary,’ Liliana said, watching him stamp but also whicker in delight at the sight of his master, and then make his bold way over…
‘Like you.’
She could only laugh, because she did not compare to this magnificent, masculine beast.
Yet to Rafiq she did. He thought her beyond beautiful, and delicate yet strong, and he thought her talented and clever, for he was still dwelling on what she’d said about ‘do right’ and he thought her lively and lovely and so many things.
But she could never be loved.
At least not by him.
And it wasn’t just because of the arrangement with Yara, or that his people would never accept Liliana as his bride.
Rafiq knew he was incapable of the depth she would demand as a lover or wife. He did not want his heart to be turned.
But that did not stop him from wanting her.
His mistress she would be.
They spent time with the horses, and he told her about his hopes for the yard, and how he lived between worlds. Not just London and here, but there was the palace and the demands of his position both here and internationally.
They walked away from the yard and the tent, across the sands, but not without direction, for he took her to a rocky overhang, and they sat in its shadow to avoid the midday glare.
‘I’m taking these off.’ She undid the sandals. ‘I think I’m getting a blister.’ She massaged her foot for a moment, then took a drink from the flask they were sharing. The water was so cool and refreshing and then he took from his robes a cloth and handed it to her…
She unwrapped it and there were slices of the treat she’d been enjoying this morning.
‘How did you know?’ She smiled and then it wavered.
He just knew.
She ate the Turkish delight and then lay back and wondered how, when really her world was in chaos, she could know this moment of deep peace.
‘Did you used to run here?’ she asked, looking over to where he sat, close enough to touch. ‘Or was it too hot?’
‘I loved training out here.’ He looked out, a smile softening his stern mouth. ‘The sand made my muscles work harder and the heat gave me an edge.’ He gave a silent laugh. ‘By the time I got to the track I felt as if I could fly.’
‘What about now?’
‘I’m not interested.’
She didn’t quite believe him, had heard the slightly wistful tone when he’d spoken about training out here.
‘Anyway, I’m too old.’
She laughed and moved her foot to give him a little tap, then stopped herself.
He saw it though.
Tried to ignore how it made him feel and got back to talking about running. ‘Sprinters peak mid to late twenties…’ He could ignore the proximity of her leg no longer.
‘You could still run though,’ she said, ‘just for the…’ His hand was on her lower calf, just lightly, and she could pull her foot away, but did not, though her calf was almost knotted with tension resisting herself. ‘Just for the pleasure.’
‘Yes.’
He moved, picked up both of her feet and placed them in his lap.
‘I hate having my feet touched,’ she warned because it was true. ‘I have to grit my teeth for pedicures and such.’
‘Shh,’ he told her and got to gentle work.