The Sheikh's Collection. Оливия Гейтс

thought as she shifted where she sat. She had no idea what he felt about what she’d said.

      ‘Have you been hurt, Elena?’ he finally asked, and in the darkness his voice seemed like a separate entity, as soft as velvet, caressing the syllables of her name.

      ‘Hasn’t everyone, at one time or another?’

      ‘That’s not really an answer.’

      ‘Have you been hurt, Khalil?’

      ‘That’s not an answer either, but yes, I have.’ He spoke evenly, but she still felt the ocean of pain underneath. ‘My father hurt me when he chose to disown and banish me.’

      ‘Oh, Khalil.’ She bit her lip, remorse rushing through her. ‘I’m sorry. That was a thoughtless question for me to ask.’

      ‘Not at all. But I want you to answer my question. What were you talking about when you said friendship wasn’t worth the risk?’

      ‘I had a friend once,’ Elena said slowly. ‘And he let me down rather badly. He—betrayed me.’ She shook her head. ‘That sounds melodramatic, but that’s what happened.’

      ‘He,’ Khalil said neutrally, and with a dart of surprise she wondered if he was actually jealous.

      ‘Yes, he. But it wasn’t romantic, not remotely.’ She sighed. ‘It was stupid, really. I was stupid to trust him.’

      ‘So this man is why you don’t trust people?’

      ‘I’ve learned my lesson. But I trust you, Khalil.’

      She heard his breath come out in a rush. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t.’

      ‘Why do you say that?’

      ‘Do I need to remind you why you’re here in the first place, Elena? I kidnapped you.’

      She heard genuine remorse in his voice and she reached out and touched his hand, her fingers skimming across his skin. ‘I know you did, Khalil, but I also understand why you did it.’

      ‘You’re justifying my actions to me?’ he asked with a wry laugh, and Elena managed a laugh back.

      ‘I don’t know what I’m doing,’ she answered honestly. ‘And I don’t know what I’d do if you let me go right now. I don’t know how I’d feel.’

      She held her breath, waiting for his reply, needing him to say something—but what?

      ‘I don’t know how I’d feel either,’ Khalil answered in a low voice, and that was enough. That was more than enough.

      Whatever was happening between them, Khalil recognised it as well. Just as he’d said before, things were changing.

      Things had changed.

      ‘The temperature is dropping,’ Khalil said after a moment. ‘Here.’ He handed her a blanket and Elena wrapped it around herself. The wind howled; the night air was cold and crisp as she huddled against the rock, trying to make herself comfortable.

      After a moment she heard Khalil sigh. ‘Elena. Come here.’

      ‘Come—where?’

      ‘Here.’ He patted his lap. ‘You’re obviously cold and I know of only one way to warm you right now.’

      Her cheeks heated as she thought of other ways he could warm her. Ways she’d never even experienced before. ‘But...’

      ‘You’ve been on my lap before,’ he reminded her.

      Yes, and she’d enjoyed it far too much. Elena hesitated, torn between the fierce desire to be close to Khalil again and the ever-present need to keep herself safe. What could happen between them, after all? In two days she would return to Thallia, and without a husband. If she had any sense, she’d keep her distance from Khalil.

      It seemed she didn’t have any sense. She scooted across the rock, hesitating in front of him, not quite sure actually how to get on his lap.

      Khalil had no such hesitation. Without ceremony or any awkwardness at all he slid his arms around her waist and hauled her onto him. Once there, she found it amazingly easy to curl into him just as she’d done before, her legs lying across his, her cheek pressed against his chest.

      ‘Now that’s better,’ Khalil said, and his voice was a comforting rumble she could feel reverberate right through her. He stroked her hair, his fingers smoothing over the dark strands.

      ‘Sleep,’ he said, his voice a caress, and obediently she closed her eyes even though she knew she would be less likely to sleep warm and safe on Khalil’s lap than when she’d been huddling by herself in the cold.

      She was too aware of everything: the solid strength of his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing. The warmth of him, his arms snuggled safely around her, and even the scent of him, a woodsy aftershave mingled with the smell of horse and leather.

      He continued to stroke her hair, pulling her gently into his chest so she snuggled in even more deeply, her lips barely brushing the warm, bare skin of his throat. Never had anything felt so familiar. So right.

      She slept.

      And woke in the clutches of a nightmare.

      She hadn’t had one of her old nightmares in a long time, mainly because she never slept deeply enough to have any dreams at all. Now lulled to sleep in the warmth and safety of Khalil’s arms, it came for her.

      Smoke. Screams. Blood. Bombs. In her dreams it was always the same: a chaos of terror, bodies strewn over the floor, shattered glass cutting into her palms. And the worst part of all: the heavy weight of her father on her back, his body shielding hers from the explosion, the last words he ever spoke whispered into her ear along with his last breath.

      ‘For Thallia.’

      ‘Elena. Elena.’

      She came to consciousness with Khalil’s hands on her shoulders, shaking her gently, and tears on her face. She drew a shuddering breath and felt panic clutch at her even though she was awake, for the darkness and the howling wind reminded her of that terrible night.

      ‘It was just a dream, Elena.’ She felt Khalil’s hands slide up to cup her face, his forehead pressing into hers as if he could imbue her with his warmth, his certainty. ‘Whatever it was, it was just a dream.’

      She closed her eyes, willing her heart rate to slow, the terrible images that flashed through her mind in brutal replay to fade. ‘I know,’ she whispered after a long moment. ‘I know.’

      The touch of his palm cradling her cheek felt achingly, painfully sweet. ‘What do you dream of, Elena?’ he whispered and her throat went tight, too tight to speak. He ran his thumb lightly over her lips. ‘What haunts you so?’

      ‘Memories,’ she managed, her voice choked, suffocated. She reached up to wipe the remnants of tears from her face. ‘Memories of when my parents died.’

      Khalil’s hands stilled on her face. ‘You were there?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Why didn’t I know that?’

      ‘It was kept out of the press, out of respect for my family. That’s what I wanted. It was hard enough, dealing with what had happened, without everyone gawking at me.’

      ‘Yes.’ Khalil slid his arms around her and pulled her closer to him. ‘I can imagine it was. Do you want to talk about it?’

      Amazingly, she did. Normally she never talked about her parents’ deaths to anyone. She didn’t even like remembering it. But, safe in Khalil’s arms, she felt the need to tell him her story. Share her pain.

      ‘You know they died in the bombing,’ Elena began slowly. ‘And as far as I know, my mother died instantly. But my father—my father and I were alive after the bomb went off.’

      Khalil didn’t say anything,