Relief fizzed in his blood. The doctor had been right. She was just tired. Tariq would see to it her stay in the French capital was memorable. His mind raced with possibilities.
‘That’s an excellent idea. Not next week, though. I’ll still be tied up in negotiations. But in another week or two I can manage it.’
Satisfaction filled him. Everything was going to be okay. His mouth hitched in an approving smile.
‘No. I’ll go next week.’ There was no answering smile. If anything, her expression was sombre.
‘I’m sorry, Samira. That’s not possible. You know how important this treaty is. I’m doing the best I can to speed things up but I’m needed here.’
She shrugged. ‘Layla and I can go without you.’
For the first time in his life Tariq experienced the sensation that the floor had dropped away beneath him. He almost stumbled where he stood.
‘You can’t be serious!’
‘Of course I’m serious.’ She tilted her head, as if curious at his reaction.
What did she see on his face? Outrage? Anger? Fear? For fear was what billowed up in waves from the pit of his stomach. Fear as strong as he’d felt when he’d thought he might lose her in childbirth.
He was losing Samira. She’d drifted away from him and he had no idea how to grab her back.
His palms itched with the need to haul her close, imprison her against him and not release her. But that wouldn’t work. She was with him now physically, but mentally, emotionally, she was in some other place. Some place he couldn’t reach.
Never had the emotional minefield of the female psyche been so unfathomable.
What did she want from him?
How could he get back what they’d lost?
The metallic tang of alarm filled his mouth. Samira in Paris without him? In the city where Nicolas Roussel lived since his contract had finished?
Tariq tried to banish jealousy, telling himself Samira had more class than to betray him.
Yet the idea of Samira and Layla alone, apart from him and the twins, filled him with cold, draining dread.
He shook his head, biting down a terse refusal. It was on the tip of his tongue to forbid her but he knew, whatever his rights as Samira’s husband, that wasn’t the way to win her over. Brute force wouldn’t work, no matter how tempting.
He’d never felt at such a loss.
‘It makes more sense to wait.’ He dredged up a shadow of a smile that threatened to crack the taut flesh of his face. ‘In two weeks I’ll have this wrapped up, I promise.’ He’d do whatever it took to conclude the treaty in record time. ‘Then we can all go together.’
But she was already shaking her head. ‘There’s no need. I know you’re tied up here.’
Something flickered in her expression and Tariq’s eyes narrowed. Had she deliberately proposed the visit at a time she knew he couldn’t get away?
‘Besides, I’ve already promised—’
‘Promised whom?’ Nothing could disguise the raw edge of anger in his words. Who was she meeting? If it was...
‘That French cabinet minister.’ Samira stared up at him with rounded eyes. ‘She contacted me months ago about a designing a dress for her wedding.’
‘You don’t do wedding dresses.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s not a conventional bridal dress. It’s her second marriage and she wants something different. I promised when she was here and I’m running out of time.’
Tariq wanted to bellow that he didn’t give a damn about what sort of dress a foreign politician wanted. He didn’t give a damn about anything but having Samira look at him the way she used to. To feel the sunshine of her smile as she laughed with him and the boys or lay in his arms, sated and content.
Samira disengaged the now drowsy Layla, revealing one lush breast, its raspberry nipple glistening, and a jolt of need jabbed direct to Tariq’s belly. His hunger for her was so predictable, so strong, he’d given up trying to fight it. But it was nothing compared with his need for that intangible connection between them that had disappeared like rainwater on desert sand.
Swiftly Samira covered herself and lifted Layla to her shoulder.
The sight of them together, mother and child, smashed open something hard and tight in his chest. He could almost feel the blood cascade from the unseen wound as he faced the possibility Samira had given up on their marriage.
‘Don’t worry, Tariq. We’ll be fine in Paris.’ Samira’s smile was perfunctory. ‘Layla’s nanny will take care of her while I’m busy.’