‘What’s the matter?’ Groggily, she sat up and looked around. ‘Are we nearly home?’
It was her choice of word which helped make his mind up. Because for them there was no ‘home’ and there never would be. She had her place and he had his—and maybe it was time to start drawing a clear line between the two.
‘I’m going to get the car to drop me off,’ he said softly. ‘And then the driver will t
ake you on to your apartment.’
Isobel snuggled up to him. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll come home with you.’
There it was again—that seemingly innocuous word which now seemed weighted down with all kinds of heavy meaning.
‘Not tonight, Izzy. I have to take a conference call very early tomorrow, and it’s pointless the two of us being woken up.’ Lightly he brushed his lips over hers before drawing away—before the sweet taste of her could tempt him into changing his mind—glad that the limousine was now drawing up outside his apartment. ‘And, thanks to you, I got very little sleep last night.’
Feeling stupidly rejected, Isobel nodded. In a way, his explanation made things worse. It made her feel as if she was wanting something from him and he was withholding it.
Or was she simply tired and imagining things? Maybe it would be better all round if she did go home alone. She could have an undisturbed night’s sleep, and tomorrow morning she would wake up bright and cheerful.
And everything would be the same as it had been before.
‘Yes, we could probably both do with a good night’s sleep,’ she said, keeping her voice resolutely cheerful. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
But as Tariq got out of the car she saw the sudden shuttering of his face, and she couldn’t shift the sinking certainty that something between them had changed.
And changed for the worst.
CHAPTER TEN
SO IT was true.
Horribly, horribly true.
Isobel’s fears that Tariq was cooling towards her were not some warped figment of her imagination, after all. She was getting the cool treatment. Definitely. She recognised it much too well to be mistaken.
She hadn’t spent a night with him in almost a week even though he’d been in the same country—the same city, even. Every night there was another reason why he couldn’t see her. He was eating out with a group of American bankers. Or meeting up with a friend who’d just flown in from Khayarzah. And even though his reasons sounded perfectly legitimate, Isobel couldn’t shift the certainty that he was avoiding her.
These days, even when he came into the office, he seemed distracted. There was barely a good morning kiss. No smouldering look to send her pulse rate soaring and have her anticipating what might happen later. It was as if the Isobel she had been—the woman he desired and lusted after—was disappearing. She felt as if the old, invisible Isobel had returned to take her place. As if a switch had been flicked in Tariq’s mind and it would never be the same again.
She tried telling herself it was because he was busy—but deep down she suspected a different reason for his distance. After all, she’d seen it happen countless times before, with other women. One minute they were flavour of the month, and the next they were like unwanted leftovers, lying congealed on the side of the plate.
The question was, what was she going to do about it? Was she going to sit back and let him push her away—gradually chipping at her already precarious self-esteem—until she was left with nothing? Or was she going to be proactive enough to reach out and take control of her life? Should she just face up to him and ask whether they were to consign their affair to memory?
Until she realised that Tariq’s apparent lack of interest was the least of her worries. And that there were some things which were of far more pressing concern …
She told herself that the nausea she was experiencing was a residual from the brief burst of sickness she’d had, caused by some rogue fish she’d eaten. That the slight aching in her breasts was due to her hormones, nothing else. She was on the pill, wasn’t she? And the pill was blissfully safe. Everyone knew that.
But the feeling of nausea began to worsen, and so did the aching in her breasts. And then Tariq said something which made her think that perhaps she wasn’t imagining it …
It happened that weekend, when she was staying over at his apartment. It seemed ages since they’d spent two whole days together, and she loved being there when they didn’t have work the next day. It was the closest she ever felt to him—as if she was a real girlfriend, rather than a secretary who had just got lucky.
It was early on the Sunday morning that he made his observation. Half-asleep, he had begun to kiss her, his hands to caress her breasts, and she had given a little sigh and nestled back against the soft bank of pillows.
‘Izzy?’ he murmured. ‘Have you put on a little weight, do you think?’
She stiffened beneath the practised caress of his fingers. ‘Why?’ she blurted out. ‘Do you think I’m getting fat?’
‘There’s no need to be so defensive.’ He blew softly onto the hollow of her breastbone. ‘You’re slender enough to carry a few extra pounds. Men like curves—I’ve told you that before.’
But his words only increased her sense of anxiety, and she was almost relieved when the phone in his study began ringing and he swore a little before going off to answer it. It was the one phone he never ignored—the private line between him and his brother’s palace in Khayarzah.