Sensible? Raz could have agreed with him, but he knew it wasn’t her logic or her ordered thought-processes that teased and tormented his brain.
It was something far more intimate and a thousand times more dangerous.
* * *
Layla awoke slowly, aware of the sounds of animals, the laughter of children, the hum of voices. None of them belonged to Raz.
The side of the bed where he would have slept was cold, the pillow smooth and untouched.
Her body ached from her night with him, making it impossible to blot it out or forget.
He’d come to her in darkness and then he’d walked away.
Had he known how his touch had made her feel?
Of course he had. His expertise had never been in question. From the first touch to the last, he’d known exactly what he was doing to her.
Layla rolled onto her back and stared up at the roof of the tent.
But as for the rest of it—as for how she felt inside and in her head...
How could he understand that when she didn’t understand it herself?
She’d thought she knew herself very well but it turned out she didn’t know herself at all, because she hadn’t known she was capable of feeling like that.
Sheltered by the silk sheets, she slid her hand over her breasts, still tender from the touch of his mouth and the roughness of his jaw. He’d touched her there and then he’d—
‘Your Highness?’ Nadia stood in the entrance to the tent, her expression frozen as she saw the clothes piled on the floor. ‘I have instructions to help you dress and fetch you anything you need.’
What did she need?
Layla had no idea. She felt like a jigsaw someone had dropped. She had no idea how to fit the pieces back together because she no longer recognised the picture. And she had no idea how to make peace with Nadia. It didn’t feel good to watch the other woman’s pain and know she was somehow the cause.
It was the first time they’d seen each other since the incident in the pool, but Layla decided that Raz had already said whatever needed to be said so didn’t raise the topic.
‘There is nothing I need, thank you.’ She watched as Nadia moved around the tent, placing food on the rug and laying out fresh clothes. She wanted to ask where Raz was, but didn’t want to reveal how much she minded his absence— especially not to this girl, who clearly resented Layla’s presence and wished she were anywhere but there.
Layla wondered again if she were in love with Raz herself. Was that the reason for the rigid expression and the fact she didn’t meet her eyes? Or was it because of who Layla was?
In the end concern for him overruled pride.
‘Have you seen His Highness?’
Nadia paused in the entrance of the tent. ‘The rumour is that he has gone to find Hassan and talk to him. If he is killed it will be your fault.’
The girl blurted out the words and then left the tent, leaving Layla alone with nothing but her conscience to keep her company.
The news that he’d gone to find Hassan disturbed her—not because she underestimated Raz’s strength, but because she knew just how duplicitous Hassan could be. He was neither honest nor honourable, and she knew better than most that he was at his most dangerous when he was cornered.
Should she have voiced her suspicions to Raz?
Weighed down by her worry, the hours dragged past. Without access to the library Layla had nothing to distract her from her thoughts, no hope of reaching a state of relaxation. She would have loved to talk to someone but no one came near her. Even Nadia stayed away, and Layla realised that when she’d suggested this marriage she’d given no consideration to how others would feel about it.
Did they all think she’d put Raz at risk?
What if Nadia was right and by coming to him she’d created trouble?
What if Hassan found them here?
It felt like the longest day of her life, and she spent most of it alone, sitting by the oasis, aware of the unfamiliar soreness and aching in her body.
Several times she heard children laughing and the sound reminded her so much of her sister that a lump wedged itself in her throat. Where was she? Had Salem found her? Was she in trouble? Dead?
If Hassan had found her before Salem then the chances were she was already in America.
As darkness fell the noise of chatter faded, leaving only the sounds of the desert at night.
Layla lay still on the bed, staring at the single candle that had been lit for her, so tense she could hear her own breathing in the silence of the tent.
Would he come?
Would it be like the night before?