‘Tariq?’
Samira’s hand went to her throat as a familiar form filled the doorway. Her chest squeezed around a heart that thumped an arrhythmic beat.
She blinked, unable to believe her eyes. But there was no mistaking that broad-shouldered frame, or that proud visage. Elation filled her. Until she remembered this couldn’t be the reunion she craved.
Yet, despite the stern voice telling her to be calm, she couldn’t repress the sheer joy of seeing Tariq again.
His face was taut and unrevealing but his eyes glittered like gemstones and his thick hair stood up as if he’d run his fingers through it.
She frowned. ‘What’s wrong? Is it the boys?’ She was halfway across the room in an instant.
‘The boys are with Sofia, settling down for a story. I promised you’d see them before they slept.’
Samira lurched to a halt, relief slamming into her, stopping her headlong progress.
‘They’re here?’ Automatically she looked past him. ‘You’ve brought the boys?’
He nodded, his expression terse.
‘What about the treaty? You shouldn’t be here.’ Tariq was a vital part of the negotiations that everyone hoped would bring stability to their region.
‘Tariq? What’s happened?’ The talks had been going well. Surely they hadn’t fallen in a heap after all the hard work he’d put into them?
‘Nothing’s happened.’ He stepped away from the door, snicking it shut behind him. His presence filled the room, making her ridiculously light-headed.
‘But you had back-to-back meetings all week.’ Confusion filled her, made worse by the unfamiliar look on Tariq’s face. He looked sombre, grim even, but with an edge of something else, something stark that made her skin prickle. Now he was closer, she saw the bleak look in his eyes.
‘Nothing’s happened to Asim or Jacqui, has it?’
Instantly he shook his head, closing the gap between them with his long stride. ‘They’re fine. They send their love.’ His hands engulfed hers and to her amazement Samira felt the tiniest hint of a tremor in them.
‘Tariq, you’re frightening me.’
‘Frightening you?’ He shook his head, the action so minute she wondered if she’d really seen it. ‘I didn’t mean to.’ He drew a slow breath and his massive chest rose. ‘There’s been no accident, no tragedy. Everything’s fine.’
Except it wasn’t. Everything in Samira warned that things were far from right when Tariq, the strongest, most self-assured man she knew, looked as if he’d been knocked off-centre. It wasn’t just the rumpled hair and raw emotion in his eyes. It was his quickened breathing, the grooves of pain around his mouth, the tension in his broad neck and over-tight grip.
‘I think I’d like to sit.’ She didn’t really want to. She wanted him to pull her into his arms and never let her go. But she couldn’t admit to that.
‘Come.’ He drew her over to a wide sofa with a magnificent view over Parisian rooftops to the glittering Eiffel Tower.
Samira didn’t spare the view a glance, too intent on the feel of her husband’s hard, powerful hands holding hers as if they were fragile flowers. How long since he’d touched her?
She knew the answer instantly. In the hospital, when he’d kissed her. It seemed a lifetime ago. A lifetime since she’d known hope.
Now she read unease in the lowering angle of his brows and the way his gaze didn’t settle but kept moving, flicking across her features and back again. It scared her.
‘You’ve met with your client?’ he asked before she could question him.
‘This morning. It went well.’ For the first time in her life Samira felt no upsurge of creative energy at the prospect of designing something beautiful. Not even a thrill at extending her talents with the challenge of designing a wedding dress. For years her work had been a refuge and a solace. Today, though, it had been hard to summon the enthusiasm she needed to satisfy her client.
‘Good.’ His nod was abrupt. ‘That’s good.’
He fell into silence and Samira watched him swallow, the movement jerky, as if something blocked his throat. Suddenly realisation hit.
‘It’s you, isn’t it? Something’s happened to you.’ Her fingers curled hard around his, trying to draw strength from his familiar heat. ‘What is it, Tariq?’ Her mind flew from one awful prognosis to another. Was he suffering some dire illness? Her heart plunged. She tasted the rust tang of blood as she bit down hard on her lip.