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‘Do you believe me, Hannah? Do you trust me?’
Saying she did amounted to an admission that she loved him. Was she ready to make it?
The realisation that she was came hand in hand with the even stronger realisation that if she didn’t move fast she was going to throw up all over his shiny shoes.
She threw him an agonised look, then dashed to the bathroom with her hand pressed to her lips, and slammed the door in his face.
When she finished being violently sick, Hannah got weakly to her feet and washed her face. A look in the mirror told her she looked like death warmed up. She went back into the bedroom.
She squared her shoulders and opened the door. It was time she manned up and came clean. She would tell him that, not only did she trust his word, she trusted him with her life and that of their unborn baby.
She curved a protective hand over her flat belly and whispered, ‘Here goes.’
It was empty.
The anticlimax was intense, but it only lasted a moment. She looked back on their conversation before she had made her dash for the bathroom, and she saw the situation from his perspective. He had asked her if she trusted him and she had bolted.
She put herself in his shoes—what was he thinking?
The answer was not long coming. He thought she didn’t trust him. The knowledge buzzed in her head and she knew it wouldn’t go away until she told him how she felt.
He had to know she wasn’t that person. Fuelled by an urgency that infected every cell of her body, that defied logic, she ignored the heels she had kicked off and shoved her feet into a pair of trainers.
The bodyguard standing outside the door moved to one side as she exploded through the door.
‘Where is he?’
The steely face betrayed a concern as he looked down at her.
‘Shall I get someone for you—?’
‘No, just tell me where he went!’ she screeched, fighting the impulse to beat her hands on his chest.
After a pause that seemed to Hannah to go on for ever, he nodded to the door that led to the stone spiral steps that in turn led to the side entrance to their apartment.
Hannah’s grateful smile shone, causing the big man to blush but she didn’t notice. Slinging a ‘Thank you!’ over her shoulder, she flew down the stairs at record-breaking speed, slowing only when she remembered the baby.
Outside her burst of optimism vanished as she scanned the surrounding area lit by spotlights. Her anxious gaze failed to pick up any sign of movement amongst the rows of fragrant lemon trees that grew in the manicured expanse of green, a green maintained by high-tech underground irrigation.
She was about to concede defeat when she saw a figure who had been previously concealed by a hollow in the undulating ground outlined on the horizon.
‘Kamel!’
Maybe he didn’t hear her, or maybe he chose to ignore her. Her jaw firmed; she’d make him listen, she told herself grimly, or die in the attempt!
In her head she could hear him calling her a drama queen. Tears welled in her eyes and she tried to call his name but nothing came out of her mouth. Swallowing tears and the frustration that lay like a weight in her chest, she willed herself on.
He had vanished from view before she had made it halfway across the grass, but when she reached the top of the rise she had a lucky break: she saw his tall figure enter the massive garage block.
With cruel timing as she came around the building a sports car emerged through the open doors, kicking up a cloud of dust that made her cough as it vanished.
Well, that was it.
Feeling utterly deflated, she stopped to catch her breath, pressing her hand to a stitch in her side. She experienced a moment’s panic before telling herself not to be stupid. Pregnant women played sport, rode horses, did things a lot more physically demanding than jog a few hundred yards. Her only problem was she was unfit.
Actually it wasn’t her only problem. Why had she hesitated? If she had told him how she felt he wouldn’t have needed to be told she trusted him. He’d have known. But, no, she’d been busy covering her back, protecting herself from the man who, whether he had intended to or not, had shown her what love was about.
It had been weeks since she’d admitted it to herself and she’d been too scared to let him see she loved him. She was disgusted by her own cowardice. Maybe it was only sex for him, but she had to know. She needed to know. She needed to tell him she was alive and Amira was dead. She had to be brave for their baby.
Hands braced on her thighs, she leant forward to get her breath. It was time to be honest. If she didn’t it would be her own insecurity that stretched the gulf that had opened up between them tonight.
