Free Sandstorm by Anne Mather

fear of their isolation. Her husband was still a most disturbingly attractive man, and she was woman enough to respond to his vulnerability. His pallor now was not contrived, and although she despised his treatment of her in the past, she could not help the feelings of sympathy he aroused inside her. But they were feelings which had to be controlled, she acknowledged, half afraid they might arouse a physical response that would be wholly self-destructive.
    When she made no move to sit down beside the tray Karim had provided, Rachid gained her permission to seek respite on the couch she had occupied earlier.
    'You must forgive me,' he said, running a weary hand over his temples. 'I feel so stupidly weak, and I am not very good company.'
    Abby pressed her lips together, walking back to the couch with reluctant concern. 'You should have phoned,' she said, with an offhand gesture, seating herself on the very edge of the cushions, half turned towards him. 'But don't let it worry you, this is hardly a social occasion, is it?'
    Rachid rested his head back against the satin upholstery, viewing her thoughtfully. 'It is in your favour, is it not?' he remarked, his dark eyes heavy-lidded and intense. 'Everything is in your favour, and I have no more weapons with which to fight you.'
    Abby took charge of the coffee pot, pouring two cups, and when he shook his head, taking hers into her hands. 'Don't be dramatic, Rachid,' she exclaimed, nervously tasting the scalding liquid. 'It's not a battle we're conducting, or at least it shouldn't be. Why can't we behave calmly and civilly, like adults, not children? Treat one another with courtesy and respect‑'
    'Because I do not feel very courteous or respectful!' he retorted harshly, his hand suddenly reaching out and imprisoning her wrist. 'I feel angry, and aggrieved, and not a little insane at the thought of your breaking up our marriage‑' his fingers tightened, '—and maybe sharing the intimacies we have shared with someone‑'
    His words broke off at Abby's sudden cry. The unexpectedness of his action had caught her unawares, but it was her own instinctive withdrawal which had caused what happened next. Her jerky attempt to escape him sent the fragile cup tumbling into her lap, spilling its contents over her velvet pants. The hot liquid was quickly absorbed and her thighs stung painfully as the fiery cloth clung to them.
    'In the name of Allah!'
    As Abby struggled to her feet, Rachid rose also, thrusting her plucking hands aside and reaching purposefully for the buttons that fastened at her waist. With little care for the expensive cut of the pants, he tore the fastening apart and ignoring her frantic attempts to prevent him, he determinedly pushed the offending garment down to her knees.
    It was a tremendous relief to feel the air against her burning thighs, but humiliation overcame all other emotions. Even the pain of her scalded flesh was not sufficient compensation for standing there in her underwear, with Rachid's dark eyes running impatiently over her. With a sob of frustration she turned aside, groping for the trousers in total ignominy.
    'Do not cover them again,' grated Rachid roughly, grasping her arm and turning her back to face him. His eyes lowered to the revealing welts of scarlet flesh, and he uttered an oath. 'Come—they need to be treated,' he added, indicating the door into his bedroom. 'Karim keeps some medication in the bathroom. I will attend to them myself.'
    'No!' Abby pulled her arm away from his grasp, trying desperately to cover herself. 'I—I'll go. I can't stay like this. We—we'll have to arrange another meeting.'
    'Do not be a fool!' he snapped, squatting down before her and touching the throbbing flesh with cool, probing fingers. 'I have some cream which will take all the heat out of this. Have the goodness to let me make amends for my carelessness.'
    Abby's mouth was dry from her unwilling response to his touch. It was so long since she had felt his