Heir to a Desert Legacy - By Maisey Yates Page 0,49
was the void. That deep, empty place inside of me that would have held another man’s fear and pain. I was able to embrace the emptiness and endure it. It saved me.”
And now it was killing him. She could feel it. Could feel the weight of all the dark matter inside of him. She wondered how he went on breathing.
He’d done what she’d tried to do. She’d escaped into books. Into science and logic, but she’d never cut herself off altogether. She’d limited relationships, stayed away from men and sex. But she’d never lost the desire for a connection. For love.
Looking at Sayid she was grateful for that. But then...she’d never been tortured.
“Sayid...I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t,” he said. “I don’t require pity.”
“But I’m sorry,” she said, knowing it was wrong, knowing it wasn’t what she was supposed to say. But she was. So much. The image of him in so much pain gutted her. Destroyed her.
She felt all the things he couldn’t feel for himself and it immobilized her. No wonder he shut it off. No wonder the void was better.
“Don’t be,” he said.
“Then what do you want?” she asked. “What do you need?”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “I don’t know.”
“How can you not know?”
He opened his eyes again. “It’s never mattered.”
But it had at some point. She knew it had.
“But surely you...I mean surely you’ve had some things you’ve...wanted. Lovers, and such.”
“I’ve had lovers,” he said. “How much I wanted them specifically is up for debate.” A lie. If not a lie, incomplete information. She wasn’t sure how she knew, only that she did. “You on the other hand...” He reached out and took a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. “I can see a man getting lost in you.”
“A man?”
“Yes.”
“But not you?” He met her eyes. It was like staring into the blackness of space. “Oh, that’s right.”
He extended his hands, his thumb shockingly gentle on her cheek. “Tell me more about your life. How is it you and Tamara had such different upbringings? She spoke happily of her childhood.”
“Tamara’s mother left our father. Tamara was nearly ten years older than I am. Her mother wouldn’t stand for the abuse. And mine would. Tamara never saw it because the first time he raised a hand to her mother, her mother walked away. And mine let him do it. Over and over again. She let him beat her unconscious because she couldn’t bear the thought of being without him. He held her captive. Utterly captive by promising pleasure that matched the pain.”
“That’s why you get angry when I touch you.”
And in that moment, Sayid was angry for her. For all she had seen. It wasn’t necessary for her. She’d been an innocent, a child. She hadn’t been born to it the same way he had been. She hadn’t deserved it.
“I’m angry at myself,” she whispered, the brokenness in her voice twisting his heart. “Because I could be her, Sayid, couldn’t I? I could let a man have control over my body. That’s why...you’re right, in some ways. It is safer if you don’t feel. I’ve always felt emotion but I’ve never...”
“You’ve never what?” he asked, his voice rough.
“I’ve always tried to make sure that my mind was stronger than my body,” she said. “That I wasn’t controlled by...passion.”
Something hot and dark ignited in his stomach, a need to taste her passion. A need to help her set it free. A need to be at the mercy of it. The desire was so strong he felt weak with it. To simply take for a moment. To have no choice, for once, but to feel, rather than have to hold himself at a distance.
He looked at the silk scarf that was draped over her hair and lust kicked through his gut.
He extended his hand and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up. “Then perhaps you need to control the passion.”
CHAPTER TEN
CHLOE LOOKED UP AT SAYID, her pulse pounding. “What exactly do you mean?”
“That’s up to you,” he said, his tone rough. “But I want you to understand that you have power, too.”
There was something strange in his voice, something tight. Something nervous. It made her nervous.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I am going to give you something” He gripped the end of the silk scarf that covered her hair and slid it off, running his fingertips over the smooth fabric.
“What?” she asked, her voice a choked whisper.
He wound the silk around his