‘I don’t know where my clothes are,’ Lucy blurted, and Khaled arched an eyebrow.
‘You won’t need any tonight, I should think, but they’re in the wardrobe if it makes you feel better.’ He gestured to a large, teak wardrobe in the corner of the room.
‘It does,’ she admitted. She moved gingerly to sit on the edge of the bed, a good three feet from where Khaled lay.
‘Why are you so nervous?’ Khaled asked softly. ‘I have to admit, I have been looking forward to this for a very long time. Four years, to be precise.’
Lucy managed a smile. ‘I don’t know why,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long time.’
‘Too long.’
He reached out to grasp her hand and turn it over, then drew her slowly towards him so he could press a kiss in her palm. ‘I’ve wanted this, Lucy. I’ve dreamed of it.’
This. Just what was ‘this’? Lucy wondered numbly. Sex? It obviously wasn’t love.
Khaled deepened the kiss on her palm. The feel of his lips on the sensitive skin sent shivers all the way through her, and she cupped his chin, enjoying the feel of his stubble against her hand, the warmth of his cheek on her fingers. Warm desire replaced cold fear.
‘Kiss me, Lucy.’ Although he spoke it as a command, Lucy heard the plea underneath and she leaned forward to brush his lips with her own.
She couldn’t stop there, didn’t want to. Her hand dropped from his face to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer even as his arms went around her and he brought her half onto his lap, her robe opening at the front so her breasts were pressed against his bare chest.
She’d forgotten how good it was, how right it felt to have his skin against hers, his lips on hers, his hands on her body, roaming free.
Yet perhaps she hadn’t forgotten anything, Lucy thought hazily as Khaled rolled over so she was lying on the bed and he was poised on top of her. Perhaps this was new.
They weren’t just learning each other’s bodies once more, remembering how it had been.
They were discovering something new.
For they were different people, with different histories, new experiences—pain and joy, suffering and love. So much had happened, so much had changed them, in four years.
Khaled opened her robe and gazed at her naked body as Lucy’s toes curled in self-consciousness. Smiling, he traced a silvery stretch-mark with one fingertip. ‘Were you in very much pain for Sam’s birth?’ he asked softly.
Surprised, Lucy replied, ‘For a bit. Then I had an epidural.’
‘Good.’ He bent his head to brush his lips against her belly, and Lucy stifled a moan of longing at the exquisite sensation of being touched so intimately. ‘I don’t like to think of you in pain.’
Lucy couldn’t form a response; the sensations were too deep, too powerful. This felt far more intimate than any time they’d been together before. They were learning each other, finding new landmarks on the maps of their bodies.
And Lucy wanted a turn. She rolled over and let her hands drift down Khaled’s taut chest and belly, fumbling with his belt buckle for a moment before she slipped his trousers down his legs. He kicked them off with an impatient groan, and then his boxers followed, along with Lucy’s robe, and they were both gloriously naked.
Lucy let her hand trail along Khaled’s thigh, and then lower, and lower still, to a new landmark—the twisted scar tissue of his damaged knee.
Khaled’s breath hitched and he reached to still her hand. ‘Don’t…’ he pleaded raggedly, but Lucy wouldn’t stop.
She reached down to brush a kiss against the scar tissue and the swollen joint of his knee. She wanted to memorise this new landmark that had become so much a part of who he was. It had shaped and scarred him, and it was more than just these marks on his knee. There were deeper scars on his soul, invisible ones of pain and bitterness, and Lucy wondered if she could help to heal him. If he would let her. ‘Let me,’ she said softly, half command, half plea, and Khaled gave a little shake of his head.
‘Not this.’
‘I married all of you,’ she told him in a breath of a whisper, and she meant it. ‘All of you.’ Lucy saw Khaled’s eyes brighten with what could only be tears, and she felt her heart twist as she realised afresh what he’d experienced, how much he’d endured. They’d both suffered, and she wanted it to stop. She wanted a clean beginning, a healing one.
She bent her head and let her lips touch his knee again before trailing kisses upwards until, with a stifled moan, Khaled hauled her against him, their bodies now pressed length to length, and kissed her deeply.
Lucy returned the kiss, letting the tenderness flare into passion, letting her mind and body blur into sensation as pleasure blissfully took over and they were one once more.
Later, as the moon sifted silver patterns on the floor, she lay on the bed, Khaled’s arm draped around her, sleepy and sated. She looked over at him; he’d fallen asleep, his lashes brushing his cheeks, thick, dark and impossibly long.
She smiled, for he looked so peaceful and yet so vulnerable. There was no hardness, no grimness in his eyes, in the taut muscle of his jaw. He was relaxed and rested. She wanted him to stay that way; she wished he could. Wished she could help him.
Could she? She couldn’t restore his knee or his rugby career, but perhaps she could heal something much more important: his heart.
What business do you have with his heart? He doesn’t love you. He might not even stay…
The inner voice of her secret fear was like an icy whisper that echoed around the room and in Lucy’s heart.
Fear was so insidious. A few moments ago, lying in Khaled’s arms, wrapped in the hazy afterglow of desire and love, she’d thought she’d banished it for ever. Yet now it crept back in with a sly, self-satisfied smile and crouched like a hungry cat in a corner of her heart.
How long was Khaled hers, if he really was hers at all? This was a sensible, convenient marriage; there was no love binding them together. Just lust…and Sam.
How long until he found another excuse to leave, just as her father had, just as all men seemed to?
Lucy closed her eyes. She wouldn’t think of it; she wouldn’t give the fear a foothold. And she wouldn’t delude herself with silly daydreams of healing and love. Khaled wanted a marriage of convenience, and that was what they’d have. She’d guard her heart and keep herself from loving Khaled, from allowing him to hurt her.
She’d take what she was given and be happy, content with that, for God knew it was more than most people had.
She wouldn’t live her life in fear. She would be strong.
She curled her body round Khaled’s, drawing his warmth, wanting his comfort. There might not be love there, but neither was there fear. She clung to that truth as sleep slowly claimed her.
Lucy awoke to bright sunlight, and with Khaled gone from the bed. Her heart lurched with alarm and she bolted upright, searching the room as if she might find him crouching in a corner.
He wasn’t there. She could tell, she could feel the emptiness. She drew her knees up against her chest, wrapping the sheet around her. She shouldn’t feel this bereft; it was stupid and senseless.
Yet she couldn’t keep it from swamping her soul anyway.
The door opened, and Khaled came in with a tray of coffee and rolls. He smiled. ‘I didn’t want a servant to disturb us.’
The relief that washed through her was just as alarming as the fear had been. Lucy smiled back. ‘I’m starving.’