The Chatsfield: Series 2

He stood, stooped beneath the roof of the tent, a strange kind of desolation in his dark eyes. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I am going out to check the SUV. And to get a look at the roads. I will return.”

He pushed open the flap on the tent and went out into the downpour, leaving her sitting there, shell-shocked and alone.

And then she realized, this was the end of the story. Or rather the end as it had happened so far. Ultimately, it would end with the wedding, the wedding to Christine. A wedding that was taking place as part of Zayn’s quest for atonement. The story of the nation, the story of the monarchy and the story of Zayn. He had told her to try and make her understand why he felt he’d fallen short, why he must go on to do his duty for his people.

And she ached for him, for the pain he had been through when he lost his sister. But she could not blame him. She could not blame him because she had spent her life refusing to accept what she had been given. Refusing to allow the decisions of other people to shape who she was. Jasmine had made a decision, one that might have been different with the benefit of age, but a decision all the same.

When Sophie had been that age she had already decided she would not drink or do drugs. She had already decided that she had too many things ahead of her to allow herself to be distracted. She barely had friends, she’d never dated. Maybe her decisions hadn’t been healthier, but she’d been safe. And in many ways, she’d been in control of her fate, rather than someone who’d followed a guy blindly.

She had never seen the point of sitting back and blaming her father, her mother, for her situation in life. Not when she could transcend it.

Jasmine, as tragic as her death was, could have done the same. And may well have if her poor decision had not been the first and last poor decision she’d ever made. Life was unfair that way. There were those who made mistake after mistake and came out just fine, and there were those who put one foot wrong and paid a dear cost.

But Jasmine’s hand had not been forced. Not by Zayn, not by anyone.

She burst into a sitting position, and scurried out the door of the tent, shrieking when a fat drop of water landed on her head and rolled down her face. The rain was cold, torrential, creating tributaries that flowed down the side of the embankment, down to the road below. A road that now appeared to be a river.

She looked toward the SUV, but didn’t see Zayn anywhere. Then she looked the other way, and saw nothing but scrub brush and dark clouds. “Zayn!” she called, looking all around, hoping to catch sight of him. But she couldn’t. She didn’t see him anywhere. “Zayn!” She called his name again.

Her voice was swallowed up by the wind, swallowed up by the falling rain.

She pressed forward, moving away from the tent, away from the vehicle. Because she had a feeling he had gone toward the wilderness. Because it just seemed like something he would do. She knew it, as deeply as she knew anything about herself.

In many ways, he seemed to perpetually be wandering the wilderness alone. Standing separate from everyone else, from everything else. From the law, from modern mores, from anything that might interfere with the protection of his country and his family.

A strange realization, followed closely by the realization that she had been doing the same.

Yes, Isabelle was her friend, yes, she had other casual acquaintances. She went into an office every day and worked with people surrounding her. But she was alone. She did not allow people to touch her. Because she was in the wilderness, fighting to survive.

Because she was afraid of revealing weakness, afraid of depending on anyone. Afraid of nearly everything. And so she insulated herself, kept herself separate, so that no one would ever know.

How very strange that the two of them, wandering alone in separate parts of the world, had managed to find each other.

If only she could find him now, in this literal wilderness.

Then she saw him, down on one knee, rain pouring over his back, seeping through his tunic, his head bent low.

“Zayn?” She approached him cautiously, her heart thundering in her temples.

He lifted his head, then straightened slowly. He turned to face her, water drops sliding down his face, a haunted look at his eyes. She blinked back tears, not sure if they had already fallen or not. There was water on her face, but it was very hard to say where it had come from.

They simply looked at each other, an expanse of dirt between them, the rain pouring down on them.

“I wanted to tell you—I needed to tell you—it’s not your fault.”

He shook his head. “You are hardly going to undo sixteen years of guilt with a simple phrase. But you must know I appreciate the effort, Sophie.”

“The effort isn’t enough. I need you to understand it.”

“This has nothing to do with your story. I don’t see why you would care what I think.”

She blinked against the rain. “I care because I don’t think you should carry this burden. I don’t feel like you should blame yourself like this. You can’t live your life for other people.”

“Are you any different? Answer me, Sophie, are you any different?”

“I live for myself, Zayn. How can you ask if I’m different?”

“Do you? I don’t think you do. You are here because of your friend Isabelle, even if you won’t tell me the reasoning. You are questioning me to benefit her. You are afraid to show that you are vulnerable because of what other people might think. You went to university so you can show your father that you were worthy. Yes, Sophie, you do live for other people.”

“How dare you use what I shared with you against me?”

“Is it a bad thing, Sophie? Is it a bad thing to live for others? I have lived for myself, and I’ve never seen anything fruitful come of it. It brought nothing but death and destruction. I will not apologize for living for a higher calling. I am not insulting you by pointing out that you do the same. But I will not allow you to stand there and accuse me of something that you yourself do.”

“She made a choice, Zayn.” Sophie continued as though he hadn’t spoken. Because she didn’t want to process what he had said.

Because he cast her in a different role than the one she had placed herself in. It didn’t make her sound like a hard worker, like an independent person who had made her own choices. It made her sound like someone who was beholden to the expectations of others. Who had only succeeded because she was afraid of what others might think.

Yes, she knew she worried about what others might think, but it was only because she needed them to think highly of her in order to achieve what she needed to. She was using their approval, she was not dependent on it. And that was an entirely different thing.

“And I made choices that delivered her choice to her. We affect the choices others make, Sophie. Your life is a classic example of that. Your father’s actions affected your choices.”

“I make my decisions. I have controlled my life. Nothing controls me.”

Suddenly he closed the distance between them, wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her up hard against his chest. She could feel his heart beating hard against her breast, could feel the sharp rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in deep. “Nothing controls you? How about this, habibti. Does this control you? Or are you immune to me?”

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. In spite of the cold, in spite of the wet, she felt like she was overheating. Felt as though she might melt into a puddle, and flow down the mountainside along with the rest of the rain.

“Who controls you now?” he asked, his voice rough and soft, sending a shiver through her body.

She looked into his eyes, and she was suddenly hit with a swell of longing that overtook her completely. That nearly made her knees buckle, that made her feel as though if she didn’t close this minute distance between them she would die.

She had been in this position once before. With a man’s lips hovering near inches from hers, and she had felt nothing. Nothing but vague curiosity. A curiosity that had been satisfied, to a degree that she had never felt the need to experience it again.

And yet, for all the similarities between these two situations, she knew that the end result would be completely different. She knew she was on the verge of something that would be unlike anything she ever experienced before. And she knew she should turn away from it.

Because there was no hope here, no future.

But they were out in the wilderness together. Two travelers who had been alone for so long, finally meeting in one place. And it would never go beyond here. Would never go back to real life, would never be something that had a future. But there was now.

And she didn’t have to pretend now, didn’t have to act as though she had everything together. Because she had given that up when they’d come up the mountain. Had set it all aside and embraced the freedom in being honest about who she was, and what she knew. Because she had lowered her shield, and made herself vulnerable.

It was already done, so there was no point in pretending now.

Not when he had shared with her his greatest failing. Not when he had stripped himself bare for her.

“Right now? I feel as though you control me.” They were some of the hardest words she had ever spoken. One of the most difficult admissions she had ever made. “I feel like you’ve taken my body and made it yours. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I want.”

He gripped her chin, tilting her face up so that her eyes met his again. “Liar. You know what you want.”

“Does it matter what I want? Does it matter when nothing can come of it?”

“I have been lost in the past for a while now. And I have done nothing but plan for the future. Perhaps for this moment you and I can enjoy the present.”

His words echoed in her soul, reverberated through her. Because they were true for her, as well. The past had informed what she wanted for her future, and she had spent very little time actually in the present. She had always been looking ahead, using the things behind her to keep her moving.

But in her life, there had been no now. There had been no moments where she had simply existed.

But in this moment she wanted it. More than anything, she simply wanted now.

“It won’t fix anything,” she said, her voice small.

“A great many things are unfixable. Are they not?” He shifted position, cupping her face with his hands, sliding his thumbs over her cheekbones, wiping the rain from her face.

“I suppose so. Although, it could be argued that we are just making more problems.” She didn’t know why she was playing devil’s advocate in this, because all she wanted him to do was lean in, touch his lips to hers. And it didn’t matter that it was crazy. It didn’t matter that this could never become anything. Didn’t matter that he had forcibly dragged her to his country. Didn’t matter that she had simply been using him to try and help Isabelle. None of it mattered. Because if those things mattered, it meant the rest of the world existed, and she was certain, in this moment, that it did not.

“A great many things could be argued. For one, that I should not touch you for your sake. For another...” He let his sentence trail off, and she allowed it. Because she didn’t want to know what he’d been about say. She had an idea, but she didn’t want the reminder.

“I’m a lot stronger than I look.”

And that was all she said before he dipped his head, pressing his mouth against hers. Their lips were slick with rainwater, and he angled his head, sliding his tongue across her upper lip and her lower lip, sipping the water from her skin. She shook, the decadent contact washing through her like a raging river devastating everything in its path. Reshaping the landscape, uprooting the anchors that had always held her fast.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then the center, moving to the other corner before going back again. “Kiss me,” he said, his lips moving against hers.

She realized then that she was frozen, simply letting herself be washed away on this tide of pleasure, on this wave of need. And while it was a wonderful feeling, she was not the kind of woman to allow herself to drift out to sea.

She would swim against the current.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself more firmly against him, parting her lips and allowing him deeper access into her mouth, his tongue sliding against hers. It was like the darkest, smoothest chocolate dessert. Imbued with the kind of richness that made you feel as though you couldn’t possibly take another bite, while at the same time making you feel as though you could go on tasting it forever.

That was what kissing Zayn was like. Like too much and not enough, all at once. Like something she needed more of, while needing badly to break away, and take gulps of air.

But she continued to indulge, because he was holding her tight. Because he was so firm and sure. A pillar for her to cling to in the storm.

He was stability, and desire. Strength and heat. And she wanted nothing more than to cling to him until it all subsided. Though now, she could not tell if the greater storm waged above them, or inside of them. Between them.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight and kissed him with all of the ferocity in her body. Because she wanted to, and because she wanted him to know that he was okay. That he was not a terrible man, but a man who was worthy of this moment. Of being the only man she had ever wanted to kiss in this way. She didn’t know if her admiration was worth anything, but she would give it to him, if it would only take away that terrible haunted look in his eyes.

When they parted, they were both breathing heavily, both soaked through with rain. “We should get back to the tent,” he said.

She didn’t want to go back to the tent, because she feared it would break the spell they were under right now, right here. Back in the tent, sanity may return, and she didn’t want it to come back. She didn’t want reality to intrude at all. She would rather stand in the rain and nearly drown in it than go back where it was dry and warm and lose this connection they had found out here.

He must have sensed her hesitancy, because he traced her upper lip with his thumb, his eyes never leaving hers. “I will not pretend this didn’t happen.”

She nodded and he moved away from her, walking back in the direction of the tent. She stood for a moment and watched him, before going after him.

She followed him inside, suddenly very aware of the fact that her clothes were sticking to her skin. That she was cold. That she was shivering. She had not anticipated being cold out in the middle of the Surhaadi desert.

Of course, she hadn’t anticipated being caught in a downpour, either.

Her teeth chattered, and Zayn looked at her. The concern in his eyes made her warmer. And she wondered when the last time was that she’d been looked at that way. If she ever had been. When last someone had wanted to take care of her. When last she had wanted to let someone.

“You will freeze in that.”

She lifted her shoulder. “I suppose I might. It is very cold.”

“You could take it off.” His voice was rough, and it brushed against her nerves, sending a shower of sparks through her.

She nodded wordlessly, catching the hem of her top and tugging it over her head before she could think twice. For some reason, it did not seem embarrassing. For some reason, it seemed as natural as breathing.

She pushed the linen pants down her legs, and stepped out of them. She was only wearing her underwear now, Zayn’s eyes sharp, intense, as he looked her over.

Her hands shook as she reached around behind her and unclasped her bra, discarding it along with the rest of her clothes.

Zayn bent and picked up a blanket, holding it out to her. “Get warm.”

It was a command, and one she felt compelled to obey, even though she thought it was strange he wanted her to cover up now that she had uncovered.

She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, closing it in the front. And then she looked at Zayn, her mouth drying. He had pulled his shirt off, leaving him standing half-naked in front of her, his broad chest and slim waist on display. Every muscle was clearly defined, brushed lightly with the perfect amount of dark body hair. She’d been around half-naked men at pool parties, of course, but for some reason she had never been quite so conscious of all the skin on display. Perhaps because she had not been standing less than a foot away from them completely naked. Perhaps because she had not kissed them.

And perhaps because they hadn’t looked at her as though she was dessert and they were starving.

She started trembling again, and this time it wasn’t because of the cold.

He turned away from her, and pushed his pants down to the floor, her eyes widening when she saw his backside, the fabric of his dark underwear clinging tightly to his skin. Some mature, sensual part of her recognized that he was a work of art. While a much more prurient side of her nature only registered that he was hot and she wanted to touch him.

Of course, if she did touch him, she would have no idea what to do with him.

Really, she had only just got her first proper kiss a few moments ago. She didn’t think she was ready for more. She didn’t think she could possibly pull off more.

He turned back to her and she tried to redirect her gaze. “I think we would both be warmer if we laid down.”

“Sure.” She nodded dumbly, not entirely sure if she’d spoken, or if she had just stared at him like a dazed marmoset, all wide eyes and soaking wet hair.

He went over to the nest of blankets that was in the corner of the tent, and rearranged the pillows. She swallowed hard and went to where he was, sitting down alongside him, her blanket still wrapped firmly around her.

“You know, the quickest way to get warm is to be skin to skin,” he said, his tone grave.

She opened up the front of her blanket and adjusted herself, throwing one side over him and drawing herself beneath the same one he was under. Heart pounding she folded herself into his embrace. She rested her cheek on his chest, felt his heart raging against his skin. The hair over his skin was rough, the flesh beneath smooth and hot. She raised her hand and pressed her palm flat against him, reveling in the feel of him. In the differences between their bodies.

This moment should have been surreal, and yet it wasn’t. It was too sharp, too all-consuming. She was wholly in this moment with him, completely aware of who he was, who she was and what they were doing.

She lowered her head, resting it in the curve of his neck. He tightened his hold on her, one hand rested between her shoulder blades, the other on her lower back.

His breathing was ragged, fanning over her temple.

“I want...” She didn’t know quite what to say, because she didn’t know quite what she wanted. She only knew that her heart was raging out of control, that she felt shaky, that she felt needy. And she knew he had the answer. “I want—”

He cut off her words with a kiss, a gentle one, a soft one. This wasn’t a claiming, but a tasting. A question.

She slid her hands up his chest, and locked them around his neck, deepening the kiss. She could feel his arousal, hardening beneath her hip. She shifted, bringing his hardness between her thighs.

He moved, bracing his weight on his arms, settling between her legs. His dark eyes bored into hers, his focus unwavering.

“Sophie—” his voice was rough “—do you know what you’re asking for?”

Pressure built in her chest, built in her body, squeezing her throat tight. All she could do was nod. And she hoped she was being honest.

This seemed like the right time. It seemed like the right place.

He seemed like the wrong man. Engaged to another woman, the ruler of a country worlds apart from her own. A man who controlled the fate of the nation, a man who held the fate of millions in the palm of his hand.

He seemed like the wrong man, but at the same time he seemed like the only man. Because no one else had come close to this, no one else had made her feel this way.

Attraction, lust, it always seemed like something terrifying to her. Something to be avoided. It had seemed like great bouts of weeping, depression and a stalled-out life that was enslaved by one person who held all the control, all in the name of something that was supposed to be love.

But this wasn’t like that at all. This had been so easy. So easy to kiss him. So easy to take her clothes off for him. So easy to lay down with him, and let him take her into his arms. It was right in a way she had never imagined something like this could be.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, before lifting his head and looking into her eyes, sweeping her hair out of her face. Yes, when she looked at his face it made it all feel very easy.

She had to wonder at who she was right now, at who this woman, lying in a desert tent in the arms of a man who should feel like a stranger, was. Because a week ago this wouldn’t have been possible. A week ago she would never have been able to imagine this.

She didn’t know what she was doing, and it was okay. For the first time it was okay. Because she had stripped off her clothes in the tent, but she had stripped off her armor down at the bottom of the mountain. And now she could feel everything. Every touch, every whisper against her skin, unprotected, vulnerable, exposed. But it wasn’t scary.

It was right. It was everything.

“Sophie,” he said her name again, “I need you to say you want this. I need to know.”

“Of course I do, Zayn.” She put her hand on his cheek, kept her eyes on his. “How could I not? I think this was always going to happen. From the very first.”

Whether it made sense or not, there had been something compelling about him from the instant they’d laid eyes on each other. Something different. Whether it made sense or not, knowing him had begun changing her from that very first moment.

“Nothing is inevitable. Isn’t it all about choices? Weren’t you just saying that?”

Something shifted inside of her, an avalanche of feelings pouring through her. “Yes, it is about choices. I had a choice when we met. If I had told you I was leaving, you would have let me go. I’m confident in that now. You didn’t force me, even if you did manipulate the situation. I chose to come with you. I’m choosing to be here now. I’m choosing this.”

“I shouldn’t,” he said.

Her heart squeezed tight. “I know.” Because she did know, she knew that this didn’t make sense. But she also knew she needed it. Needed him. “Doesn’t it feel like we’re the only ones in the world?”

“Out here it’s easy to believe,” he said.

“Yes, a little bit too easy. But you have to know that I feel different right now. What you said about why I make choices... It was true. Everything I do has been in reaction to other people. But if other people didn’t exist, if there was nothing but this, if there weren’t kingdoms, and cities. If there weren’t mansions and hovels, if there weren’t haves and have-nots. If there was only this, I would want to be here with you. And I know that when we leave, all of that other stuff will come back. But right now, right now it’s not here.”

He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back, his expression pained. Then he lowered his head, opening his eyes slowly, black fire blazing from them. “If there are no kingdoms, then there are no kings. And if there are no kings, there is no duty that must be kept. And if there is no duty, if there is only myself, then I choose you.”

She swallowed hard, an ache building in her chest, her throat burning. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, choose me.”

He groaned and cupped her cheeks, kissing her deeply, his tongue sliding against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, opened herself to him. He tangled his fingers through her hair, let one hand slide down the curve of her neck, down her back, before he shifted position and cupped her rear, tugging her up against him. He kept on kissing her, the world beyond the desert a distant memory, and the desert itself slowly falling away, sand through an hourglass. It was a countdown timer that couldn’t be denied. But she was also weightless, falling, all while being held in Zayn’s arms.