But in the doorway he could only pause, unable to go any further. Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to wake her.
How many nights had this happened? How many times had he stood here like this and watched her sleep? With her jet-black hair splayed out over the pillows, her eyes closed, the long, feathering lashes creating a soft, dark arc across the fine cheekbones? She looked so young—so peaceful—so innocent. Was this what her child would look like? A child that would be half hers and half his—truly his this time? He had thought he wanted that child before, but now the hunger for it caught in his heart and took root.
A sigh escaped those full, rose-tinted lips, and as he watched she moved slightly, shifting against the pillows. She tossed her head slightly, murmuring something in her sleep, and he saw once again those red marks on her cheeks and throat, and lower down where the silken robe she was wearing gaped over her breasts.
Those marks looked even worse against the softness of her skin, making him wince at the sight of them. He had thought that he had made sure he would never mark her again like that. He’d shaved off the dark growth of beard that he’d worn like a defence since the day he had learned the truth of Sharmila’s betrayal, wishing he could wash the past down the drain with the hairs. But it seemed that the stubble that grew again during the day only made matters worse. There was no getting away from what happened, no removing all he’d hidden from her.
He longed to get back into that bed again, to gather her up into his arms and lose himself in her, but that was not the answer. He doubted that there was an answer. So he turned slowly and silently and walked away, heading for the office where there were always documents and affairs of state that demanded his attention. In the past he had always been able to lose himself in the details of government, blotting out everything else. But it seemed there was no blocking out Aziza. She had well and truly got under his skin and he couldn’t push away thoughts of her. She was there in his mind all day, every day.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SOMEHOW AFTER LONG hours lying awake, waiting for Nabil to come back to bed, Aziza managed to go back to sleep and when she woke again the morning had dawned clear and bright. But the space beside her in the bed where Nabil had lain was empty and so cold that it was obvious he had never returned to her at any point after she had seen him on the balcony. He shared her bed only when he wanted, when he was looking for sex, and after that he moved away, leaving her alone.
That thought left her feeling disturbingly vulnerable. It was as if he was some long ago conqueror who visited his concubine only at night.
She shouldn’t let it get to her; after all, she knew that was what this marriage was about, why she was here. She had thought that she could cope with it. But when she thought that she and Nabil had taken some steps forward, towards each other, the restlessness was like an itch in her brain that told her she would struggle to do so. She wanted more. Needed more. It was a need that had taken a long time to grow, slowly coming to the surface so that she could really look at it.
If she had a child, hers and Nabil’s, then as its mother she would hold it first in her heart. But would the love she had for her child be enough? Where could she turn to for the real strength of adult love? The difference between what she had felt for Nabil as a child and the way she felt now told her that was vital for her happiness in the future.
Restless and unsettled, she flung herself out of the bed and snatched up a towel, heading for the swimming pool to work off some of the edgy energy that made her skin prickle. It was only when she reached the pool, with its inviting water lapping at the edges of the blue and green tiles, that she realised that she hadn’t brought any sort of a swimming costume with her.
‘Oh, what does it matter?’ she muttered aloud.
She needed exercise, needed something to stop the crazy whirling of her thoughts, the uncomfortable edgy feeling that tormented her.
She didn’t need a costume; there was no one here to see her.
Not even the husband who only visited her for sex, and left her alone all the rest of the night.
The thought drove her into a high, soaring dive, plunging into the pool and striking out for the far end in a fast, furious crawl. The coolness of the water soothed her burning skin, and the speed of the exercise burned away some of the edginess that plagued her. It was only when her muscles began to tire that she slowed and headed for the side of the pool once again. Only to pull up sharply when she became aware of the tall, powerful figure sitting on the tiled edge. Long, tanned legs hung down into the water, black hairs plastered against his skin as she emerged, hanging on to the side.