Free Sandstorm by Anne Mather Page B

reckless abandon.
    Rachid said nothing, however. He merely transferred his ministrations to her other leg, and presently both injuries had been similarly treated. Then he got to his feet again, recapping the tube and returning it to its place in the bathroom.
    She heard the taps running as he washed his hands, and the everyday sound dispelled the feelings of inertia which had gripped her. Hastily she came upright on the sofa, gathering her splayed legs, and wrapping the gown about her once more. She hardly liked to think what Rachid must have thought of her abandoned pose, and her cheeks burned as he came back into the room.
    'Er—thank you,' she murmured awkwardly, realising some response was in order, but he merely quirked an eyebrow.
    'They feel better now?' he enquired, his eyes probing the tightly draped folds, and she nodded quickly, hoping he would not ask to see. 'Good.'
    He dropped down on to the sofa beside her once more, and as he did so, she saw how fatigued he looked. His illness, whatever it was, must be more serious than she had thought, and the prolonged exertion had exhausted him.
    'Are you feeling sick?' she asked, as he expelled his breath on a sigh, and slumped against the cushions. 'You look—awful! Ought you to be in bed?'
    Rachid shook his head wearily. 'I am all right,' he assured her firmly. 'Just a mild indisposition, as I said. Now, shall we continue our conversation? You were saying something about—being civilised.'
    Abby shook her head. 'Rachid, I think you should be in bed. We can talk some other time.' She glanced at him anxiously. 'I can easily wait for Karim, and‑'
    'No!' His denial was harsh and determined. 'We will talk now. I want to know what you intend to do. If you refuse to return to Abarein, will you be staying in London?' Abby bent her head. 'Probably.' She moved her shoulders
    awkwardly. 'Does it matter? Once we're divorced‑'
    'And if I refuse,' he overrode her grimly. 'If I refuse to give you a divorce, what then?'
    'You couldn't do that, Rachid,' she said quietly, avoiding his eyes. 'In England it's possible to get a divorce without the consent of both parties‑'
    'In Abarein you would still be my wife.'
    'That would be foolish, Rachid!' She looked at him now, finding refuge in impatience. 'You know perfectly well your father will welcome this solution. He'll waste no time in finding you another wife‑'
    'I do not want another wife,' retorted Rachid roughly. 'I want you!'
    'No‑' Abby recoiled from the passion in his eyes. 'Rachid, you're not being reasonable‑'
    'I do not feel reasonable!' he grated thickly, his hands clenching on his knees.
    His face was very pale now, and there were beads of perspiration standing on his forehead, that gave his skin an unhealthy sheen. Abby guessed that the strain of their altercation was draining his strength, but although compassion urged her to reassure him, the small grip she still had on common sense argued the illogicality of giving in to him, just because he was not well.
    'Is there something I can do?' she offered, feeling obliged to say something. 'Is there anything I can get you?'
    'You know what I want,' he said savagely, levering himself up from the cushions, but even as he spoke his gaze seemed to falter. One second he was looking at her with smouldering animosity, and the next a curiously glazed expression had taken its place. 'You know what I want,' he repeated, in an odd monotone, and then his eyes closed completely, and his body sagged.
    Abby was shocked. Just for a moment —a fleeting moment—she wondered if he might be fooling her, but one touch of his icy flesh assured her that this was not so. He had lost consciousness, and she hadn't the faintest idea what to do.•
    Getting to her feet, she looked round desperately for the bell. Karim couldn't be far away, she thought with relief, and then turned back to the couch, when Rachid started to speak again.
    'What are you doing?' he protested, his voice returning to