The Husband She Never Knew(12)
Author: Kate Hewitt

Please …

Then, deliberately, as if it were a decision he had to make, Ammar lifted his head and kissed her on the mouth, deeply, a promise. Relief and need poured through her, an overwhelming rush of emotion. She reached for him instinctively, her hand skimming along his chest and torso, pulling her to him, but suddenly Ammar tensed and rolled away and Noelle let out a cry of frustration and, far worse, hurt.

‘Why do you do that?’ She sat up, stared at him, still lying on the ground, his body rigid, his arm flung over his face just as before. ‘I know you want me. Physically, at least—’

‘It’s not you.’ He spoke flatly, his face still covered. ‘It’s never been about you.’

‘Really? Because it feels like it’s about me. I’m the one you push away, the person you reject—’ She heard how sharp her voice sounded, but that was better than letting him see how devastated she felt. She struggled to sit up, pulling her shirt down to cover herself.

Ammar didn’t say anything. He was staring up at the sky as if he were cloud-gazing on a perfect summer’s day, as if nothing were remotely wrong.

Fury rose up inside her, clawed its way out. ‘Don’t do that. Don’t blank me out. I hate it when you do that.’ Her voice shook and in a sudden burst of frustration she reached over and hit him hard on the shoulder.

He caught her hand in one quick movement, held it, firmly yet with leashed strength, in his. ‘Don’t hit me,’ he said in a cold, flat voice she barely recognised. ‘Don’t ever hit me.’

Noelle stared at him, her hand still caught in his, his face so blank and remote, everything about him distant and strange, and with a choked cry she yanked her hand away and struggled up from the blanket. Ammar still said nothing, didn’t react at all, and blindly she turned and strode away from him, through the long grass.

CHAPTER SEVEN

DAMN. He’d handled that completely wrong. He’d acted on instinct, which was just about the worst thing he could have done. When it came to Noelle, Ammar knew, he needed to act against his instincts. And in moments like the one they’d just shared, that felt near impossible.

He heard the whisper of the grass fringing the water and knew she was walking around the oasis. He hoped she had the sense not to stray into the desert. He should follow her, say something. But what? He had no words. Nothing inside him. Yet he knew he couldn’t stay blank for ever, even if part of him longed to.

It would be easier, he thought, and simpler, just to let her go. Set her free, just as he’d done before. If he were stronger, he would do it. But he wasn’t, and he needed her too much. Even if she didn’t think he did.

And as for what Noelle felt … The very fact that she’d stayed, that she’d wanted to stay, meant something. She might not love or trust him yet—and God only knew why she should—but something in her called out to him, from the first moment they’d met. They had brought out the best in each other, even if they were seeing the worst now.

When I was with you, I was the man I wanted to be.

He’d spoken from the heart when he’d told her that, meant it utterly. Those few months in London were the happiest of his life. He’d been twenty-seven years old and most of his life had been a barren, loveless landscape, like living on the moon. Cold and lifeless … until Noelle. Until she’d woken him up, gave him glimpses of the kind of life he’d never dreamed he could have. And he’d lived in that dream for two months, not thinking of the future or reality at all until his wedding day, when his father had woken him up with the cold, hard truth.

She’s just a woman, Ammar. You will show your wife her place. And if you don’t, I will.

He’d been furious, powerless and completely trapped. The only thing he’d felt he could do was walk away from her.

And it was easier for you, wasn’t it, keeping your secrets? She never had to know the truth of who you are. What you’ve done, what you’re capable of.

Ammar closed his eyes, the recriminations pouring through him, a scalding river of regret. The past tormented him even as he ached to forget it, to forge a future where he was different. Where he was with Noelle.

When I was with you, I was the man I wanted to be.

He needed to be that man now.

Slowly, his body aching, he rose from the blanket. He walked around the oasis, the sun beating down so the tranquil surface shimmered like a metal plate. The air was still and drowsy with the heat of mid-afternoon; nothing moved. Halfway round he saw her, sitting on a flat rock that jutted out towards the water. She sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, her chin resting on top, her hair tumbling about her shoulders and hiding her face. She looked, he thought, as lovely as ever, and completely miserable.

He stopped a few feet away, but she didn’t move, didn’t even look at him. He had no idea what to say. Life had not prepared him for moments like this.

‘I’m sorry,’ he finally said. It seemed as good a place to start as any. He was sorry.

She glanced at him, her expression guarded. ‘What are you sorry for?’

Was this a trick question? Ammar hesitated. He was sorry for so many things. Sorry for walking away from her all those years ago, without even explaining why. Sorry he’d had to walk away, that he’d felt trapped and hopeless. And sorry—desperately, painfully sorry—that his past still tormented them both now, that he was afraid he would never be free of it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘for hurting you.’

Her face hardened, and so did her voice. ‘How did you hurt me, Ammar?’

He felt the first familiar flicker of anger. What was this—a test? Clearly there was a right answer and he had no idea what it was. ‘Why don’t you tell me how I hurt you,’ he asked evenly.

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Turning the question back to me? How very neat.’

He felt himself grit his teeth and forced his jaw to relax. ‘I don’t want to fight.’

She let out a shuddering sigh and shook her head, her hair tumbling about her shoulders once more. The sunlight caught gleaming strands of gold and amber amid the deep chestnut brown. ‘I don’t want to fight, either,’ she said quietly. ‘But I can’t …’ She trailed off, biting her lip, and Ammar felt everything in him freeze.

‘Can’t what?’

She just shook her head and looked away, and Ammar thought, I’m losing her. I’m not sure I ever really had her, but what I might have had I’m losing now.

He felt as if he couldn’t breathe, as if he were suffocating in his own silence. He didn’t know what to say. What words she needed to hear.

The truth.

The answer was so simple, so blindingly obvious, and so awful. He didn’t want to tell her the truth. He couldn’t stand being so vulnerable, so utterly exposed, and having her look at him in hatred or pity or even revulsion—

She let out a soft, sorrowful sigh and rose from the rock. ‘Let’s go back,’ she said without looking at him and Ammar clenched his fists.

‘Wait.’

She stopped, looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes dark and wide. Waiting, just as he’d asked. Ammar took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, summoned what strength he could. ‘I can’t,’ he said, and she stared.

‘Can’t what?’

The same question he’d asked her, and she hadn’t answered. Neither could he. He felt as if his soul were being scraped raw, his skin peeled away. He hated this. ‘I want you, you know that, physically, but … when we … something happens …’ He stopped, a vein beating in his temple, a familiar fury longing to cloak him with its protection. No. Anger was a cover-up for fear. He had to see this through.

Her eyes widened, her mouth parting softly. ‘What …’ She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘What are you saying?’

Where to begin? He stared at her, the softness of her hair and the fullness of her lips, the perfect creamy innocence of her, and he had no idea what to say. How to start. ‘My life has been very different from yours,’ he said flatly, and her gaze flew to his, clearly startled.

‘Tell me,’ she said quietly, and he let out a shuddering breath. No excuses now, even if talking about this was the worst form of torture. It brought every memory and fear to the fore, made him feel afresh the raw humiliation and helpless anger he’d felt before, as a boy. He sure as hell didn’t want to feel that with Noelle.

‘Ammar,’ she said, and his name sounded, strangely, like an affirmation, an encouragement. He could do this. With her, he could do this.

‘I told you about my father. How he had … very definite ideas about what a son, a man, should be.’ She nodded, alert and listening. ‘Everything was a lesson with him, a way to learn.’ He saw her frown, just faintly, and knew she didn’t really understand. How could she? He knew he could give her details, examples—horrible, painful examples—but he didn’t want to tell her about how his father had broken every belief about love he’d ever had, broken him. He didn’t want to gain her pity along with her understanding. He couldn’t bear that. No, he’d just cut to the relevant part. The part about Leila.

‘There was a maid in my father’s house,’ he began, ‘on Alhaja. She was very pretty, but more than that, she … she seemed kind. When …’ his throat closed up and he swallowed hard ‘… when things had been particularly difficult for me, she always offered a kind word. Listened to me, not that I ever said much. I suppose I saw her as a friend at first, but more than that.’ Even now he remembered how he’d talked to her, clumsily, honestly, baring his heart in a way he hadn’t since … even if he’d wanted to. Even if Noelle had made him want to. ‘I suppose,’ he said, his voice so low he wasn’t even sure if Noelle could hear him, ‘I began to think I loved her.’

Noelle said nothing. She looked pale, her eyes wide, her lips pressed together. ‘What happened?’ she finally asked, and Ammar realised he had stopped speaking.

‘She seduced me. I was fourteen years old; I’d never even touched a woman that way. And my father … my father had paid her to do it all—the kindness, the smiles and, of course, the seduction. And then—’ He stopped, hating that he had to tell this part of the sordid tale. ‘When we … when we were going to … she rejected me. Told me she was only pretending to be interested in me because my father had paid her to teach me a lesson.’

Noelle drew back. ‘A lesson?’

‘Everything was a lesson with him,’ Ammar said flatly. ‘A means to an end, a way to mould me into the shape he deemed fit.’

‘And what lesson,’ she asked after a moment, her voice shaking, ‘was that maid?’

‘Never trust a woman, or become close to her. Never show weakness.’ He recited the mantras in a monotone; he could almost hear his father’s harsh voice repeating the words.

‘That’s terrible,’ Noelle said quietly. Ammar said nothing. He agreed with her, but what difference did it make? What difference did telling her make, if he couldn’t change after all? ‘And so,’ she continued slowly, ‘that’s what this is about? You don’t trust me?’

‘I haven’t trusted anyone,’ Ammar said. ‘I haven’t let anyone close, except for you.’ And every time he tried to be close with her, as physically close as he so desperately wanted to be, his mind froze and the memories took over. So he went blank, just as he’d done as a boy, a child, because that was what he did. That was how he survived. It was simple, really. Basic psychology. Yet understanding what he did—and why—didn’t make it any easier to stop. No matter how much he wanted to.

Noelle was silent for a long moment, her head bowed, her hair covering her face. He wished he could see her expression, her eyes. ‘Do I remind you of that maid?’ she asked finally, and he heard the hurt in her voice. ‘Do I look like her or something?’

Ammar sighed, the sound one of both resignation and impatience. ‘Not at all. I’ve never …’ He hesitated, his hands instinctively curling into fists. Noelle looked up, waiting. ‘I’ve never felt about anyone what I feel for you.’

‘Even that maid?’

‘Even her.’

She was silent for a long moment. ‘And on our wedding night?’ she finally asked. ‘And in the hotel two months later? Were you … did you feel this way then?’

Ammar let out a shuddering breath. ‘Yes—’

‘So you didn’t just mean to let me go?’ She sounded sad, but he heard the accusation.

‘It was complicated,’ he said tightly.

‘Oh, Ammar—’

‘No more questions,’ he snapped, and she blinked, looked down. Damn. He wasn’t handling this right but, God help him, how was he supposed to handle it? He felt as if he had just shed every defence, every protection, and it was horrible, all the old scabbed wounds were being ripped open, raw and bleeding. He had to fight the urge to either attack or retreat, not just stand here and take it. Listen to her questions and even answer them. ‘We’ve talked about this enough.’

‘Have we?’

Impatience bit at him. ‘Noelle, I’ve told you more about my past, about myself, than I have to another living soul. And every word is like a drop of blood.’ He forced himself to speak calmly. ‘Could we just take a break from this conversation? For a little while?’ She said nothing and he let out a long, slow breath. ‘Please.’

She gazed at him, her eyes dark and wide. ‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘Of course we can.’ And relief so deep poured through him that he felt as if his body shook from it. He drew a shuddering breath, managed a smile. ‘We should head back home. I’d rather drive in the daylight.’