‘Oh, Hashim,’ she said, in a choked kind of voice.
‘Let us lie once more in that old bed,’ he whispered, and she nodded.
He carried her up the rickety staircase towards the room they had shared, bending his head so as not to knock it on one of the dark beams, and put her down as carefully as if she had been a cherished and delicate piece of filagree.
Their undressing was slow and silent, and as she sank back into feather pillows his dark body moved over hers. She thought about how many couples had lain in this bed, like this. How many children had been conceived—maybe even born here? Ghostly generations of long-ago lovers joined them—wordlessly entering the indefinable space between past and present. For at what point did the present become the past?
Their climax would bring an end to it all, and the sex would become just a memory. As would the rest. She trembled as Hashim thrust into her with a hunger and a poignancy which made hot salt tears slide from beneath her eyelids.
‘Ah, Sienna. Don’t cry,’ he said afterwards, wiping the tracks away with his finger.
They lay there for a while without sleeping, and then Sienna stirred. Be the first to make a move, she told herself. Don’t put yourself in the position of being the deserted one.
‘I’d better go and pack up the kitchen.’
He tightened his hold on her waist. ‘I can have one of the guards come over and do it.’
But she shook her head and prised his fingers away as if she was removing a clam from the side of a rock. ‘No, Hashim—that will defeat the object of our ordinary weekend. I’ll go and chuck all the leftover food away—you can wash the dishes.’
He was torn between outrage and humour. ‘Yes, Sienna,’ he murmured, but his heart was heavy.
They were quiet in the car on the drive back, even though the driver was firmly locked away behind soundproof glass. It had begun to rain, and through the tinted windows she could see droplets battering against the glass, as if the heavens themselves were sobbing.
It was only when they were approaching South Kensington that he laid one dark hand on hers.
‘You will come back to the hotel with me?’
‘No.’
He asked for no explanation; but then he had known what her answer would be. ‘Sienna?’
She turned her head back to face him and her green eyes were sombre, but there was a soft dignity about her which took his breath away. He thought about how often in the past he had been able to persuade her to do something against her will just by the sheer power of the sexual chemistry which existed between them, but he recognised now that nothing he could do would change her mind. Not this time.
Something had changed. In her. In him. In them both. For not only would she refuse to succumb to him, he would no longer make an attempt to have her bend to his will. Somewhere along the way they had become equals, and for Hashim it was a bittersweet awakening. An awareness that it had come at the wrong time—but could it have ever been the right time?
Not with Sienna, no.
He bent down to the Qudamah-crested dispatch box which accompanied him everywhere and pulled out a slim leather box. He held it out towards her but she shook her head, the thick dark hair flying like a storm.
‘No, Hashim!’ She would not be paid off—have him bid her farewell with the expensive baubles she had previously refused to accept. ‘Whatever it is, I don’t want it. I don’
t want your diamonds or your emeralds, thank you very much! I told you a long time ago that I could not and would not be bought, and I meant it!’
He laughed softly. ‘I know you did, my fiery Sienna,’ he murmured. ‘And I think that your expectations of costly gems are a little wide of the mark.’ He put the box in her hand and closed her fingers around it, his black eyes washing over her. ‘Please. Open it.’
Something in his manner made her obey him, her fingers trembling as she flicked open the catch to see a necklace lying against indigo velvet. But it was no ordinary necklace. The chain was as fine as a sliver of light and in the centre of it lay a tiny golden bird.
‘H-Hashim?’ she questioned shakily.
‘Here.’ He lifted it from the box and placed it into the centre of her palm, where the fine chain lay coiled like an elegant snake, the small charm gleaming like the sun.
‘What is it?’
‘It is an eagle—a golden eagle. She flies on the flag of Qudamah and is the symbol of my country—for she represents freedom and power. This is the only time you will ever see her chained.’
Like him. The thought flew unbidden into her mind. Freedom and power and never to be chained. She studied it intently, focusing fiercely on the workmanship because at least that kept the tears at bay. ‘It’s…beautiful.’
‘Shall I put it on for you?’