Lost to the Desert Warrior

The question swirled around in her head until eventually she fell asleep. When she woke it was light, his side of the bed was still cold, and she had her answer.

He hadn’t come.

She was still alone in the bed and she had no idea if Raz had even returned.

Seriously concerned, she swallowed her pride and sought out Nadia once more.

‘I do not know where he is, Your Highness.’ Her voice was frosty and hovered on the edge of rude. ‘He never reveals his plans. And now he’s brought you here the risk to him personally will be even greater.’

With no hard evidence with which to refute that challenge, Layla bowed out of the conversation. Guilt gnawed at her, driven by anxiety that Nadia could be right. Had she increased his problems? Had she made things worse, not better?

Or did his unexplained absence have nothing to do with Hassan?

What if it were driven by something even more personal?

Something to do with the night they’d spent together.

Was he thinking of his wife?

Layla spent a second day alone, with only her imagination for company, and was beginning another night the same way when she heard the sound of horses and knew it was him.

The rush of relief was quickly followed by other, more complex feelings.

All day she’d wanted to see him, but now he was here she wished she were on her own again. She had no idea what to say or what to do. She was hardly in a position to play the role of concerned wife, but still she was concerned.

Embarrassed, uncomfortable, and burning hot at the thought of the night before them, Layla sat rigid, wishing that there was a rulebook she could follow, an instruction manual—anything that might give her clues about how she was supposed to behave.

She heard his voice, deep and instantly recognizable, as he responded to people around him, but still he didn’t appear in the tent. It seemed he had time for everyone except her. Or maybe he was once again waiting for darkness. Maybe he just couldn’t face looking at her.

As that explanation occurred to her embarrassment turned to humiliation.

Everyone would know the Sheikh had stayed away from his new bride.

That indisputable fact was a stark reminder that physical intimacy didn’t mean emotional intimacy.

Curled up in a ball under the covers, Layla felt more alone than she ever had in her life.

At least back in the Citadel she’d had Yasmin. Her life had been wretched, but familiar. She’d known the rules, known what was expected of her and been able to rationalise every one of her thoughts and feelings.

Here, she was totally isolated, living with a man who apparently loathed her so deeply he couldn’t bear to set eyes on her, tormented by emotions and feelings that were totally unfamiliar.

She heard a splash from nearby and assumed he’d gone for a swim in the oasis.

The fact that he hadn’t even greeted her first upset her more than she could rationalise. She shouldn’t care, should she? She wasn’t allowed to care.

Layla hesitated for a moment, but then slid quietly out of the bed and peeped through the slit in the tent. It was dark, but without the pollution of the city there was sufficient light for her to make out powerful shoulders as he swam.

She stared at those bare, powerful shoulders, fascinated and shocked in equal amounts. If anyone had told her days ago she’d be hiding in a tent in the hope of getting a glimpse of a naked man she would have laughed at them. But this wasn’t any naked man, of course. This was Raz. And because he’d blown out the candles she had yet to see his body.

And she couldn’t really see it now—just the occasional tantalising hint of male muscle and power as he swam with smooth, steady movements.

He reached the far side of the pool and turned. Layla shot back into bed, terrified of being caught.

By the time he walked into the tent she was safely under the covers with her eyes closed.

She heard his soft tread, then silence, and she knew he was looking at her although surely the lack of light would restrict his vision.

Feeling as if someone had set fire to her, Layla kept her eyes closed and tried to breathe evenly. She stayed completely still. Even when the mattress moved under his weight she didn’t move.

She lay rigid, churned up inside by his reappearance, shocked that he’d stayed away for two days and then not even greeted her on his return, and shocked that such an action on his part could hurt so badly.

‘A tip for the future. No one is that tense when they sleep.’

His voice was deep and soft and she turned, giving up the pretence. What was the point?

She saw that he had lit a single candle. Not much, but enough to send a golden shadow of light across the bed. Enough for her to see his face.