Diamond in the Desert

by Susan Stephens

  It was a nice feeling to be made so welcome. Thanking the women with smiles, she drank their potions and accepted some of their tiny cakes, but she couldn’t lie here all day like some out-of-work concubine. She was badly in need of a sugar rush to kick her into gear. And those little cakes were delicious. She was contentedly munching when she suddenly remembered Jazz. Sharif’s sister must be out of her mind with worry—

  Thank goodness she had a signal. She quickly stabbed in: safe @camp. sorry if i frightnd u! lost a day sleeping! talk soon J

  A message came back before she had chance to put the phone away: relieved ur safe. Look fwd 2 mtg u b4 long! J

  Britt smiled as she put the phone down again. She looked forward to that meeting too. And now the women were miming that she should come with them. She hesitated until they pointed towards the spa again, but the thought of bathing in clean, warm water was irresistible.

  She was a little concerned when the women started giggling as they drew her out of the bed and across the rugs towards the bathing pool, especially when they started giggling and then sighing in turn. Were they preparing her for the sheikh? Was she to be served up on a magic carpet with a honey bun in her mouth?

  Not if she could help it.

  She asked with gestures: ‘Did your sheikh bring me here?’ She tried to draw a picture with her hands of a man who was very tall and robed, which was about all she could remember of her rescuer—that and his black horse. She must have kept slipping into unconsciousness when he brought her back here. ‘The Black Sheikh?’ she suggested, gazing around the golden tent, hoping to find something black to pounce on. ‘His Majesty, Sheikh Sharif al Kareshi…?’

  The women looked at her blankly, and then she had an idea. She sighed theatrically as they had done.

  Exclaiming with delight, they smiled back, nudging each other as they exchanged giggles and glances.

  She left a pause to allow for more sighs while her heart thundered a blistering tattoo. So it was very likely that Emir or Sharif, or whatever he was calling himself these days, had rescued her. Her brain still wasn’t functioning properly, but it seemed preferable to be in the tent of someone she knew, even if that someone was the Black Sheikh.

  She allowed the women to lead her into the bathing pool. She didn’t want to offend them and what was the harm of refreshing herself so she could start the new day and explore the camp? The women were keen to pamper her outer self with unguents, and her inner self with fresh juice. One of them played a stringed instrument softly in the background, while the scent rising from the warm spring water was divine. Relaxing back in the clear, warm water, she indulged in a little dream in which she was a young woman lost in the desert who had been rescued by a handsome sheikh—

  She was a young woman lost in the desert who had been rescued by a handsome sheikh!

  And however she felt about him, the first thing she had to do was thank Sharif for saving her life. She had to forget all about who had done what to whom, or how angry she had been about his people’s interference in the business, and start with that. She could always tell him what she thought about his high-handed ways afterwards. Sharif had risked his life to save her. Compared to that, her pride counted for nothing.

  The women interrupted her thoughts, bringing her towels, which they held out like a screen so she could climb from the pool with her modesty intact. They quickly wrapped her, head to foot, and she noticed now that the sleeping area had already been straightened, and enough food to feed an army had been laid out.

  Was she expecting visitors?

  One visitor?

  Her heart thundered at the thought.

  As they led her towards the bed of cushions she caught sight of the lavender sky, tinged with the lambent gold of a dying sun. The women insisted she must lie down on a sheet while they massaged her skin with soothing emollients to ease the discomfort of all the cuts and bruises she had sustained during her ordeal. The scent of the cream was amazing and she couldn’t ever remember being indulged to this extent. Being prepared for the sheikh indeed…

  She was a little concerned when, instead of her own clothes, the women showed her an exquisite gown in flowing silk. ‘Where are my clothes?’ she mimed.

  One of the women mimed back that Britt’s clothes were still wet after having been washed.

  Ah… ‘Thank you.’

  She bit her lip, wondering how the rest of this night would play out, but then decided she would just have to throw herself into the spirit of generosity being lavished on her by these wonderful people. And the gown was beautiful, though it had clearly been designed for someone far more glamorous than she was. In ice blue silk, it was as fine as gossamer, and was intricately decorated with silver thread. It was the sort of robe she could easily imagine a sheikh’s mistress wearing. But as there were no alternatives on offer…

  One of the women brought in a full-length mirror so Britt could see the finished effect. The transformation was complete when they draped a matching veil over her hair and drew the wisp of chiffon across her face, securing it with a jewelled clip. She stood for a moment staring at her reflection in amazement. At least she fitted in with the surroundings now, and for perhaps the first time ever she felt different about herself and didn’t long for jeans or suits. She had never worn anything so exotic, or believed she had the potential to project an air of mystery. I could be the Sheikh’s diamond, she thought with amusement.

  She tensed as something changed in the tent…a rustle of cloth…a hint of spice…

  She turned to find the women backing away from her.

  And then she saw the man. Silhouetted with his back against the light, he was tall and powerful and dressed in black robes. A black headdress covered half his face, but she would have known him anywhere, and her body yearned for her lover before her mind had chance to make a reasoned choice.

  ‘So it was you…’ Even as she spoke she realised how foolish that must sound.

  His Majesty, Sheikh Sharif al Kareshi, the man known to the world as the Black Sheikh, and known to her before today as Emir, loosened his headdress. Every thought of thanking him for saving her life, or condemning him for walking out on her without explaining why, faded into insignificance as their stares met and held.

  ‘Thank you for saving my life,’ she managed on a throat that felt as tight as a drum.

  She was mad with herself. The very last thing she had intended when she first set out on this adventure was to be in awe of Sharif. She had come to rail at him, to demand answers, but now she was lost for words and all that seemed to matter was that they were together again. ‘You risked your life for me—’

  ‘I’m glad to see you up and well,’ he said, ignoring this. Removing his headdress fully, he cast the yards of heavy black silk aside.

  ‘I am very well, thanks to you.’

  Dark eyes surveyed her keenly. ‘Do you have everything you need?’

  As Sharif continued to hold her stare her throat seemed to close again. She felt horribly exposed in the flowing, flimsy gown and smoothed her hands self-consciously down the front of it.

  ‘Relax, Britt. We’re the same people we were in Skavanga.’

  Were they? Just hearing his voice in these surroundings seemed so surreal.

  ‘You’ve had a terrible ordeal,’ he pointed out. ‘Why don’t you make the most of this break?’

  ‘Your Majesty, I—’

  ‘Please—’ he stopped her with the hint of a smile ‘—call me Sharif.’ He paused, and then added, ‘Of course, if you prefer, you can call me Emir.’

  The laughter in his eyes was quickly shuttered when she drew herself up. ‘There are many things I’d like to call you, but Emir isn’t one of them,’ she assured him. ‘This might not be the time to air grievances—after all, you did save my life—’

  ‘But you’re getting heated,’ he guessed.

  ‘I am curious to know why you found it necessary to deceive me.’

  ‘I conduct my business discreetl
y.’

  ‘Discretion’s one thing—deception’s another.’

  ‘I never deceived you, Britt.’

  ‘You didn’t explain fully, did you? I still don’t know why you left in such a hurry.’

  ‘Things moved faster than I expected, and I wasn’t in a position to explain them to you.’

  ‘The Black Sheikh is held back? By whom?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘Isn’t that taking loyalty too far?’

  ‘Loyalty can never be taken too far,’ Sharif assured her. ‘Just be satisfied that your sisters were not involved and that everything I’ve done has been for the sake of the company—’

  ‘And your deal.’

  ‘Obviously, the consortium is a consideration.’

  ‘I bet,’ she muttered. ‘I’m glad you find this amusing,’ she added, seeing his eyes glinting.

  ‘I don’t find it in the least amusing. When a company defaults on a payment risking the livelihoods of families who have worked for Skavanga Mining for generations, I did what I could to put things right as fast as I could, and while you were still in the air flying to Kareshi to see me.’

  She knew this was true and blushed furiously beneath her veil. She was used to being on top of things—at work and with her sisters. She was also used to being told all the facts, and yet Sharif was holding something back for the sake of loyalty, he had implied—but loyalty to whom?

  It hardly mattered. He wasn’t going to tell her, Britt realised with frustration. ‘Okay, I’m sorry. Maybe I did overreact, but it still doesn’t explain why you couldn’t have said something before you left the cabin.’

  ‘I’m not in the habit of explaining myself to anyone.’

  ‘You don’t say,’ she murmured.

  ‘It’s just how I am, Britt.’

  ‘Accountable to no one,’ she guessed.

  The Black Sheikh dipped his head.

  ‘Well, whatever you’ve done, or haven’t done, thank you—’ She was on the point of thanking him again for saving her life, when Sharif held up his hands.

  ‘Enough, Britt. You don’t have to say it again.’ Glancing towards the curtained sleeping area, he added, ‘And you should take a rest.’

  Her mind had been safely distracted from the sumptuous sleeping area up to now, and she stepped back, unconsciously putting some distance between herself and Sharif. She needed time to get her thoughts in order. Better do something mundane, she decided, drawing back the curtains. Task completed, she turned to face Sharif, who made her the traditional Kareshi greeting, touching his chest, his mouth and finally his brow.

  ‘It means peace,’ he said dryly. ‘And you really don’t have to stand in my presence, Britt.’

  ‘Maybe I prefer to—’

  ‘And maybe, as I suggested, you should take a rest.’

  Now was not the time to argue, so she compromised, sitting primly on the very edge of one of the deep, silk-satin cushion. ‘I apologise for putting you to so much trouble,’ she said, gesturing around. ‘I had no idea a storm was coming, or that it would close in so quickly. I did do my research—’

  ‘But you couldn’t wait to come and see me a moment longer?’ he suggested dryly.

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’ It was like that, Britt admitted silently.

  She watched warily as Sharif prowled around the sleeping area, his prayer beads clicking at his waist in a constant reminder that she was well out of her comfort zone here. She stiffened when he came to sit with her—on the opposite side of the cushions, true, but close enough to set her heart racing. And while she was dressed in this flimsy gown, a style that was so alien to her in every way, she couldn’t help feeling vulnerable.

  ‘The women gave me this gown to wear while they were washing my clothes,’ she felt bound to explain.

  ‘Very nice,’ he said.

  Very nice was an understatement. The gown was gloriously feminine and designed to seduce—which she could have done without right now. Her sisters would laugh if they could see her. Britt Skavanga backed into a corner, and now lost for words.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘I AM GLAD you have been given everything you need,’ Sharif said, glancing round the sumptuous pavilion.

  ‘Everything except my clothes.’ Britt was becoming increasingly aware that the gown the women had dressed her in was almost sheer. ‘I believe my own clothes will soon be here.’ She had no idea when they were arriving, or even if they would ever arrive. She only knew that her body burned beneath Sharif’s stare as his lazy gaze roved over the diaphanous gown—she had never longed for a business suit more.

  Sharif’s lips tugged a little at one corner as if he knew this.

  Turning away, she ground her teeth with frustration at the position she found herself in. Of course she was grateful to Sharif for saving her, but being housed in the harem at the sheikh’s pleasure was hardly her recreation of choice—

  She had to calm down and accept that a lot had happened in the past twenty-four hours and she was emotionally overwrought. The temptation to do exactly as Sharif suggested—relax and recline, as he was doing—was overwhelming, but with his familiar, intoxicating scent washing over her—amber, patchouli and sandalwood, combined with riding leather and clean, warm man—she couldn’t be answerable for her own actions if she did that. Business was her safest option. ‘If I’d seen a photograph of you before you came to Skavanga, I wouldn’t have mixed you up with Emir and maybe we could have avoided this mess, and then you wouldn’t have been forced to risk your life riding through the storm to find me.’

  ‘I don’t make a habit of issuing photographs with business letters. And as it happens, I did see a photograph of you, but it wasn’t a true representation.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  ‘I mean the photograph showed one woman when you are clearly someone very different.’

  ‘In what way?’

  Sharif smiled faintly. ‘You’re far more complex than your photograph suggests.’

  She pulled a face beneath the veil, remembering the posed shot. She had been wearing a stiff suit and an even stiffer expression. She hated having her photograph taken, but had been forced to endure that one for the sake of the company journal.

  ‘Well, I haven’t seen a single photograph of you in the press,’ she countered.

  ‘Really?’ Sharif pretended concern. ‘I must remedy that situation immediately.’

  ‘And now you’re mocking me,’ she protested.

  He shrugged. ‘I thought we agreed to call a truce. But if there’s nothing more you need—’

  ‘Nothing. Thank you,’ she said stiffly as he turned to go. Her body, of course, had other ideas. If she could just keep her attention fixed on something apart from Sharif’s massive shoulders beneath his flowing black robe, or those strong tanned hands that had given her so much pleasure—

  ‘I’ll leave you to rest,’ he said, getting up.

  ‘Thank you.’

  And now she was disappointed?

  He was leaving while her body was on fire for him.

  Yes. And she should be glad, Britt told herself firmly. A heavy pulse might be throbbing between her legs, but this man was not Emir—and Emir had been dangerous enough—this man was a regal and unknowable stranger, who could pluck her heart from her chest and trample it underfoot while she was still in an erotic daze. She stood too and, lifting her chin, she directed a firm stare into his eyes. Even that was a mistake. Lust ripped through her, along with the desire to mean something to this man. For a few heady seconds she could think of nothing but being held by him, kissed by him, and then, thankfully, she pulled herself round.

  ‘This is wonderful accommodation and I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me. Your people are so very kind. They let me sleep, they tended to my wounds, they—’

  ‘They bathed you?’ Sharif supplied.

  The way his mouth kicked up at one corner sent such a vivid flash of se
nsation ripping through her she almost forgot what she was going to say. ‘I…I had a bath,’ she admitted in a shaking voice that was not Britt Skavanga at all.

  ‘They spoiled you with soothing emollients, and that’s so bad?’

  ‘They did,’ she agreed, wishing he would look anywhere but into her eyes with that dark, mocking stare. And every time she nodded her head, tiny jewels tinkled in a most alluring way—she could do without that too!

  ‘The women have dressed you for their sheikh,’ Sharif observed.

  And now she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Her chest was heaving with pent-up passion thanks to her desire deep down to be angry—to have a go. He can’t talk to you like that! She wasn’t a canapé to whet his appetite—a canapé carefully prepared and presented to the sheikh for him to sample, then either swallow or discard.

  ‘They have prepared you well,’ Sharif said, showing not the slightest flicker of remorse for this outrageous statement. ‘Would you rather they had brought you something ugly to wear?’ he demanded when her body language gave away her indignation. ‘Moral outrage doesn’t suit you, Britt,’ he went on in the same mocking drawl. ‘It’s far too late for that. But I must say the gown suits you. That shade of blue is very good with your eyes…’

  So why wasn’t he looking into her eyes?

  Straightening up, she wished her jeans and top were dry so she could bring an end to this nonsense.

  And yet…

  And yet she was secretly glad that Sharif’s gaze was so appreciative. Why else would she stand so straight? Why were her lips parted, and why was she licking them with the tip of her tongue? And why, for all that was logical, was she thrusting her breasts out when her nipples were so painfully erect?