Halfway through the succinct write-up, he froze, the very axis of his world tilting in front of his very eyes.
Nikhat might never be able to have children.
Suddenly, every word out of her mouth, every action of hers, made sense. She had left him not because she had loved her dream of being a doctor, her freedom more than she had loved him.
His chest felt tight, a hollow ringing in his ears.
What would he have done if she had told him the truth? He would have never thought any less of her, he would have…
His limbs felt restless, his skin too tight to contain the emotions within him.
She had never told him the entire truth. She had sacrificed her own happiness and his so that he could do his duty. She was every bit the magnificent woman he thought she was.
And with the realization brought threadbare hope and excruciating anguish. Anguish that she had never trusted him enough with her secret, trusted him enough with the truth.
After everything he had just told her yesterday, after the maelstrom of guilt and pain he had felt just recounting that horrible day to Ayaan again, he should have felt nothing. Being numb would have been a blessing in more ways than one.
But of course not. Apparently, he still hadn’t killed everything inside him that felt, and hurt and was wounded. He wanted to reach inside him and pluck it out with his bare hands, he wanted to stop feeling so much.
And so he went to see her, the woman who, it seemed, would always have something to teach him, who would always guide him.
* * *
Nikhat shivered even though the water that gushed out of the gleaming silver-and-gold faucets was piping hot, and the steam from it curled her hair around her face. The subtle scent from the rose oil that she had poured into the water teased her nostrils, coating her skin with it.
If anyone had asked her what she had done today, she had no answer for them. She had wandered through the palace, wherever she was allowed, until an old guard had stopped her and inquired if she was okay.
Flushing, she had looked around herself, claimed that she was lost and walked back to her own suite.
The grandiose decor of her quarters, the view of the sky glimmering with stars, the sweeping arches and walkways in the courtyard below her balcony, nothing could hold her attention. Feeling as if the walls would close in on her, she had finally fled for some air.
And here she was now, waiting for the minimal staff to retire for the night, waiting for the minute when she could go to him. Maybe if she saw him, if she touched him, this chill she felt inside might abate.
Here in the palace there was still a fragile thread of sanity intact inside her, a small shred of propriety.
She scooped up a handful of water and threw it on her face, to stifle the hysterical little laugh that threatened to escape her.
It was so pathetic—this tiny little nod to decorum, this bone-deep clinging to tradition when her entire world was crumbling under the weight of her very own confusion.
Pulling her wet hair back with one hand, she reached for a towel, when he suddenly appeared at the entrance to the bathroom.
His jet-black hair gleamed with wetness, his unshaved chin adding to the dangerous glint in his dark eyes. His collarbone stuck out from the opening of his white cotton shirt.
The sheer decadence of the marble-and-gold decor, the glitter of the mirror that caught the tiny little lights from the chandelier in the dome-shaped ceiling, the extravagantly soft cotton in her fingers—everything she had marveled over on her first night here in the palace—vanished in his presence.
Nothing could match the stark power of the man looking at her as though he owned her. Nothing could add or take away from the raw sensuality that was a very part of his nature.
He didn’t say a word, his gaze traveling over her nakedness thoroughly, the fire in it burning higher and hotter. And she didn’t shy from it, though her fingers tightened over the towel.
“Get out of the tub.”
His words, spoken in low, raw tones did what the savage gleam in his eyes hadn’t. It sent a prickle of apprehension across her skin, drawing goose bumps. Something felt wrong, something more than the fact that she had pushed him into reliving his worst nightmare because she had wanted to be sure she had made the right decision.
“I’m sorry about last night, Azeez. I never meant to push you—”
He leveled another look at her, and more words wouldn’t come. A chill that had nothing to do with her nudity clamped her spine. Shivering, she took the chance to dry her skin.
The sound of the water whooshing out of the tub was gone, leaving them in heavy, sweltering silence. She dragged the towel against herself over one arm, then the other. His looming presence called to her like nothing she had ever known, and she looked up.
Molten fire blazed in his eyes. The fire of the desire between them, she understood. But this thing that was swelling and arcing between them, it was tempered with something else, something that she didn’t understand.