She forced herself to meet the mocking black light of his eyes. ‘There was room for two, Rashid,’ she said quietly. ‘You didn’t have to sleep over there and be uncomfortable all night.’
‘On the contrary,’ he responded coolly. ‘It was not in the least bit uncomfortable.’ He hadn’t achieved much sleep, all the same—but he suspected that it was more than he would have gained if he had subjected himself to the torture of lying beside her sleeping body without touching her.
‘Oh. Well, I’m glad you had a good night’s sleep,’ she said, rather woodenly.
He allowed the faint drift of a smile to glimmer at the corners of his mouth. ‘That wasn’t what I said at all,’ he offered obliquely. ‘But you certainly did, didn’t you?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. I was very tired.’
Or just eager to lose herself in the safety net of sleep? His mouth tightened. ‘Now get dressed, Jenna, and we will leave as soon as you are ready.’
She waited until he had left the room and then distractedly showered and put on silk trousers and a slim-fitting matching tunic, which were more suited to travelling along the bumpy roads to the lodge than one of the more formal and elaborate outfits which comprised her trousseau.
When she went downstairs to where he was breakfasting a sudden dark gleam of approval softened the hard eyes and he motioned for her to come and sit beside him.
He poured her coffee and handed her a dish of fruit, and his hand suddenly reached out to trace the skin beneath her eyes.
‘All those dark shadows gone,’ he observed quietly.
‘Yes.’ The shadows beneath her eyes were only being replaced by the shadows in her heart. But the tender gesture disarmed her, and Jenna found herself smiling in response before tucking into the exotic fruits with something approaching her normal appetite.
He refilled her coffee cup and she found herself relaxing. Yet his consideration and his restraint both charmed and alarmed her. This Rashid was more like the Rashid of old, she thought—and that was dangerous. For he was not the same man at all. The Rashid she had loved had been the ideal fantasy man of her dreams. The perfect man and the perfect lover—forsaking all others and loyal only to her.
But the true man had been as much of an illusion as her own hard-fought-for independence. And if a man like Rashid had known many pleasures of the flesh—then how long before he was tempted into tasting them again?
Especially a man who had not even spent his wedding night in the same bed as his wife…
She pushed her cup away and looked up to find him watching her.
‘Shall we leave immediately?’ he questioned softly.
Jenna nodded. ‘As you wish.’
Outside stood a gleaming four-wheel drive, and Jenna’s mouth curved into an instinctive smile. ‘No ancient Quador chariot, this,’ she observed.
‘You don’t approve?’ he murmured.
‘Of course I approve! I know only too well how treacherous the unmade roads can be! It’s just that in America these vehicles are used on suburban school-runs—I’m sure that many of my friends over there would be surprised to learn that it is also the honeymoon car of the Sheikh and his wife!’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘You mean that they wouldn’t think it romantic enough?’ he mused.
‘Possibly.’
His eyes glinted. ‘But comfort can be very romantic, Jenna—as you shall discover for yourself when you let me escort you in air-conditioned splendour!’
He was right, it was romantic. Beguilingly and misleadingly so.
Closeted together on the back seat, speeding through the sweetly familiar countryside, it felt almost like old times. They passed places where he had taken her riding as a child, and the past somehow became inextricably bound up in the confusing state of the present.
The child in her had dreamed of a moment such as this, and yet the woman she had become seemed less certain of anything than the child had been.
He watched the play of emotions which chased over her face as they drove deeper and deeper into Quador, forcing himself not to take her into his arms and kiss away all the barriers between them. She would come to him or not at all, he reminded himself grimly.
‘Will you miss America?’ he asked suddenly.
She turned to face him. His dark handsome face sent a spear of longing through her, surprised by an unfamiliar look of disquiet there.
She shrugged her shoulders a little. ‘I thought I would,’ she admitted. ‘But this is home—and home occupies a part of your heart that no other place ever can.’