Kate Hewitt - The Chatsfield - Series 2

And then, rather than distancing himself the moment he realized his mistake, he had pulled her into his arms, granting them an extension. Granting himself an extension.

Were his spot in hell not already well assured, and likely well appointed in preparation for his arrival, a space would certainly be reserved now.

Where was his sense of duty now? Where was the honor in taking advantage of an innocent woman and using her to sate his own lust? There was none. Because while Sophie might have believed she knew what she wanted, she had no real way of knowing. A virgin had no way of knowing the ways sex might affect her emotionally. And he had suspected as much, especially given what she had told him about the kiss. Her one and only kiss, with one man. He had known what that meant, but he had chosen to ignore it. And when he had decided to ask her about it, at the worst moment possible, after turning back was impossible, he had known what her immediate deflection had meant. Still he had ignored it. Because of what he had wanted.

It was his greatest fear realized. That he had not changed at all. That he was still the same selfish, spoiled boy he had always been. The years of adhering to a code of honor could be undone by lust that was just strong enough.

A moment that his selfishness could not transcend.

He sat up, pushing his hands through his hair, looking down at the woman sleeping next to him. She moaned, and rolled over onto her side, drawing her knees up to her chest. She looked so young, so vulnerable. And he felt even more like an ass than he had only a few seconds ago.

He stood, as straight as he could in the tent, and found his pants, which were crumpled on the floor. They were wet, still, and he probably deserved that. He pulled them on quickly, and went outside.

The sun was up now, the sky clear. The roads below looked like they had dried. They had no excuse to linger here. And indeed, they should not. He would only do more damage out here away from reality. He had managed to trick himself, but he would do it no more.

He looked back at the tent and cursed. He would still have to go in there and face her, would still have to see her all rumpled, naked, and deal with all of the heady memories from last night. How wonderful it had felt to be inside of her, to be skin to skin with her.

He went to the SUV and opened the back, pulling out their bags and slamming the tailgate shut. He hefted both bags over his shoulder, and went back to the tent. When he opened the flap, Sophie was stirring, the blankets pulled up over her breasts, her shoulders bare.

She blinked sleepily and scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. She was everything fresh and sweet, perfect. Everything he had no right to touch. No right to ruin.

“Good morning.” He dropped both bags on the floor of the tent. “The weather is nice, so we should have no difficulty getting back into the city.”

She blinked more rapidly, trying to focus on him, squinting at the light that was filtering through the opening of the tent. “Oh.” She shifted, holding tightly to the blankets. “It is morning.” She looked like she was thinking deeply about something, and it disturbed him. Made something ache in his chest.

“I can wait outside while you get dressed if you like.”

She nodded wordlessly and he turned away from her, taking the bag that contained his clothes with him, walking back outside. He took in a deep breath of air. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped breathing when he’d seen her. But now his lungs burned. He dressed quickly, out in the open, discarding the damp pants and trading them for a dry pair, and a T-shirt.

He waited a few moments, then went back to the tent, throwing the flap aside. She was dressed in a loose-fitting top and a pair of linen pants, sitting in the nest of blankets they had used as a bed the night before. She was looking at him, the expression on her face expectant, but of what he had no idea. He didn’t know what she wanted from him, because the reality of what was possible in the fantasy that had been last night created a gulf between them that was so wide it could not be crossed.

There was no way to bring any of it back with them. There was no way to keep pieces of it, keep it hidden. Keep it going.

It was a clean break here, and there was no other option.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

She shook her head, looking away from him.

“Then we will leave soon.” She didn’t rise from where she was nestled in the blankets. “And you will have to be out of the tent, so that I can dismantle it.”

“Is it cold outside?” she asked, not looking at him still.

“It is not cold.”

She sniffed, drawing her knees up to her chest. “I don’t like being cold.”

“Well, you will not be cold.”

She looked up at him, and stood slowly. “I had better not be.” Then she walked past him, her head held high, her chin pointed upward. She looked like a little sheikha , all haughty and defensive. And it made him want to kiss her lips until she was no longer pursing them. Until she was soft, until she was pliant and ready for him again. But he had no right to do that. None at all. It should not have happened last night, and it could not happen again.

* * *

Sophie held herself together as she waited outside the tent while Zayn took it down. She held herself together on the drive back to the palace. She held herself together until she was safely in the privacy of her own room. And then she wept. Great gasping sobs that seemed to come endlessly. And when she was done, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers up, curling into a ball. She felt miserable. She felt changed.

Last night everything had made sense. It felt so amazing. But when they had come down the mountain she had failed to collect her armor. It was lost somewhere out there in the middle of the desert, and she did not know if she would ever be able to retrieve it.

But it was over now, that much was clear. Zayn had made that clear when he’d gone cold on her this morning. And it was for the best. Because it could not go on. Because they could not go on.

He was marrying another woman.

The thought sent a stab of pain straight through her chest. She should never have touched him. She didn’t have the right.

She looked up at the ceiling, tears sliding down toward her temple, disappearing down into her hairline.

Unfortunately, though she knew she’d had no right to touch him, it didn’t change the fact that she was afraid she might have fallen in love with him.

She had no idea how that had happened. It had something to do with the fact that he had managed to get beneath her protection, that he was the first person to ever reach beneath all the layers she had built up around herself. He had touched her heart. And once that had happened she never had a chance.

She loved this man who wanted nothing more than to serve those around him. Who had taken a tragedy and allowed it to turn and twist inside of him until it had wrapped itself around him like tree roots until they had taken control over him, worked their way in so deep they couldn’t be extracted. Until they had changed who he was, controlled him in every way.

She had worked all of her life for recognition, for validation. While he gave everything in the service of his family, in the service of his country. How could she not be changed by knowing him? How could she not love him?

And yet, she would have to figure out a way not to love him. Because she would be leaving here soon and when she did she would need to leave these feelings behind, too.

No matter how difficult it was.

* * *

Sophie successfully avoided Zayn for the next few days. She busied herself writing up an article detailing what she had learned so far about Surhaadi and its culture. She couldn’t bring herself to write about his personal tragedy. Couldn’t bring herself to write about Zayn at all. Because she had a feeling that every word would bleed with her love for him, and that it would be obvious to anyone who saw it. And while she was exposing herself a bit more lately than she had ever done before, that was a step too far.