Page 77 of Kismet

“Why are you here, my lord?” Her stilted formality made him wince. She knew exactly how to hit him when it came to using the title he’d been born to. He’d never expected it to be easy convincing her of his sincerity, but she wasn’t going to make it any less difficult for him either.

“I needed to see you.”

“I can’t imagine why,” she said sharply as she turned away from him. “There’s nothing more for either of us to say to each other.”

The collar of his shirt tightened around his neck like a noose. Resisting the urge to tug at his clothing, he studied her in silence for a long moment. Framed in the light of the window, her soft curves were even more pronounced, and he ached to simply hold her again. Ached for her to love him as much as he did her.

“Whatever you might think, things aren’t finished between us,” he said quietly.

“We were finished with each other the day you sent me away.”

Her anger had dissolved into cold antipathy, and his heart contracted in his chest with a spasm of pain that was quickly becoming far too familiar where she was concerned. Christ Jesus, did she blame him for allowing her to fall in Nassar’s hands? He’d made a mistake sending her away, and he was in hell because of it.

“For the love of God, Allegra, do you have any idea what it cost me to do what I did that day? All I wanted was to keep you safe.”

He could hear the desperation in his voice. The fear that she wouldn’t forgive him, the need for her to believe what he said. But did she hear it? Would she allow herself to hear it? She sent him a cold stare. If she’d heard his desperation, she ignored it.

“Please spare me your regrets, my lord. We have nothing left to say to each other. If you’ll excuse me, I need to change for a social engagement. I’ll have Jamal show you out.

She headed toward the door, but he reached it before she did. Quickly closing the exit, he stood with his back against the wood carved panels, effectively blocking her departure.

“Forget your damn social appointment. I’m trying to tell you I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your apologies, my lord. Now get out of my way,” she snapped as she ordered him to step aside with a sharp wave of her hand. “We’re no longer in the desert, and this is my house not yours.”

The lace on her wrist fell back at her arm’s movement to reveal dark red pigment. The sight tugged a sharp breath out of him. Christ Jesus, she was wearing a henna tattoo. He quickly grabbed her hand and pushed her sleeve up as far as it would go. Staring down at the bird of paradise marking, he restrained her easily despite her efforts to pull free of his hold. The markings were recent, and they carefully layered an older design. A spark of hope streaked through his veins as his eyes met hers.

Although her expression was closed and unreadable, her eyes were stormy with anger. This was the Allegra he loved, fiery, passionate, and alive. With a gentle tug, he pulled her into his arms. Immediately, the heat of her sank into him, warming him as if he’d come home. God how he’d missed her. Missed just holding her. His nose caught the tantalizing scent of jasmine wafting up off her skin, and his mouth watered for a taste of her. He rubbed over the fire markings on the back of her hand with his thumb, and his heart leapt at the tremor that rippled through her.

“These are the markings of the jahīm anasi,” he said softly. “My markings.”

Trying once more to free herself from his grip, she glared up at him with her mouth in a tight, recalcitrant line.

“They mean nothing.”

“No? Then why not let them fade away to nothing? Tell me, Allegra. Why did you have someone redraw the tattoo?”

“Let me go,” she gasped as she arched away from him, her hands pushing against him.

“Tell me why you kept the markings of the jahīm anasi.”

“Because I wanted a constant reminder of what it means to love someone and be destroyed by them,” she cried out hoarsely.

The declaration made him sag as if from a physical blow. Her anger was a tangible force between them, but it was the pain in her green eyes that crippled him like nothing else could. Her gaze revealed not only the suffering he’d caused her, but a darker anguish burned there as well. Something he knew he’d not caused, but was ultimately responsible for.

Dazed, the reality of what he’d done slowly sank into his consciousness. He’d crushed the only thing on earth that he wanted—her love. Unable to move, he simply stood there staring at her. When he’d arrived, he’d expected her to be angry and resist him, but he’d never really doubted she wouldn’t take him back. Now, for the first time, he realized he’d been wrong. If he didn’t find a way to convince her of his sincerity, he would lose her forever.

As his hold on her relaxed, Allegra jerked free of his arms to put several feet between them. The tension in the room was a tangible force, and she trembled beneath his dark gaze. It was difficult to believe he was here, in her salon, apologizing to her.

Dressed in the height of English fashion, he was almost a stranger she didn’t recognize. His dark hair was swept back off his forehead, while the tight cut of his jacket emphasized a new leanness about his frame. Had he not been eating? She immediately jeered herself for even thinking the question. Why should she care about him? Anger burned hot and deep inside her. He’d nearly destroyed her in Morocco and now he thought to waltz into her home and resume where they’d left off. She was no longer in the business of pleasing a man, least of all this one. It was bad enough she’d revealed her reasons for keeping the tattoo, but if he even thought she still loved him . . .

“I want you to leave.” She flinched as she heard the anguish layered beneath her cold, angry demand.

“Not until you listen to what I have to say.”

“Why? Because the great Sheikh Shaheen of the Amazigh says so?” She glared at him. “Go to hell.”

“I’ve been there since I let you leave with Shaftsbury, and I’m ready to come home,” he rasped. Ignoring his declaration, she shook her head.