Desert Jewels & Rising Stars

by Sharon Kendrick

  “Only a man with no heart would make such an offer,” she said quietly. “And I pity you, Karim, for being such a man.”

  She brushed past him, half expecting him to come after her and stop her. But he didn’t, and after a few minutes she found a servant and demanded to be taken to Ethan’s room.

  The servant said that was not possible. Rachel assured him it damned well was, and finally Karim strode toward them, barked out a command, and the servant bowed, then led her to the room where the baby was, as Karim had said, fast asleep.

  She stood over his crib, wept silently, whispered to him of how she loved him, how she knew he would grow up to be big and smart and strong, promised him that she would fight to get him back.

  And then, before she could collapse with grief, she swung away from the child who held her heart in his tiny hands and ran through the palace, down what were surely a thousand steps, and out the front door into the rain.

  A car was waiting.

  The driver took her to the palace airport. Somehow she held herself together until she was on the plane and in a seat.

  “Please fasten your seat belt,” the still-polite flight attendant said. “We’ll be taking off immediately.”

  Rachel nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  The jet’s engines started up.

  “We have direct clearance to New York, Ms. Donnelly,” a tinny voice said from a speaker.

  The attendant made her way up the aisle and vanished into the cockpit.

  The jet began rolling along the taxiway.

  I am not going to cry, Rachel thought, as she stared blindly out the window at the rain, I am not …

  Sobs burst from her throat.

  She leaned her forehead against the glass, let her tears spill down it.

  The sky was weeping and so was she.

  The plane moved faster and faster. Another few yards and it would reach the runway; the engines would race as it built up speed.

  Then it would leap into the sky and all of this would be over.

  Suddenly the pitch of the engines changed from a thunderous roar to a whine.

  The plane began to slow.

  A car, red and low and moving very, very fast, was racing along the rain-soaked taxiway toward them.

  The jet rolled to a stop, engines idling. The co-pilot hurried into the cabin from the cockpit.

  “What’s happening?” Rachel said. Her voice rose. “I said, what’s—?”

  But she could see what was happening for herself. The co-pilot began opening the cabin door.

  And as he did, the door of the red sports car flew open.

  Karim jumped out.

  Karim? Here? Rachel was baffled. Why?

  The plane’s door swung open. The staircase dropped into place.

  Rachel fumbled with her seat belt.

  She wasn’t going to face Karim sitting down. She’d do it toe to toe, and if she had to fight him to leave this awful place—

  Karim raced up the stairs, his face tight with anger.

  “Damn you, Rachel,” he said, and before she could say or do anything he hauled her into his arms and kissed her.

  She twisted her head away. She didn’t want his kisses, the feel of his arms, the strong, wonderful feel of his body against hers …

  And then she sobbed his name, clasped his face and gave herself to him.

  “I hate you,” she whispered. “Do you understand me, Karim? I hate you, I hate you, I—”

  “Don’t leave me. I beg you, habibi, don’t ever leave me.”

  “I can’t stay. Not like this. I’m not going to be your mistress, and that’s what I’d end up being because I can’t keep away from you. I can’t, I can’t—”

  “I love you.”

  “You want me. There’s a difference.”

  “Damned right, I want you. I want you because I love you.

  And you love me. Say the words, sweetheart. Tell me that you love me, too.”

  Rachel shook her head. He had broken her heart. All she had left was her pride.

  “I don’t,” she said. “I don’t love—”

  Karim silenced her with another kiss.

  “No more lies,” he said fiercely. “Not between us.” He clasped her face, lifted it to his. “I’ve been a fool, Rachel. Of course you lied about Ethan. I gave you no choice. I had come to take him from you, and you loved him too much to let that happen.” He paused. “Rachel. We belong together. You. Me. Our child. Our Ethan.”

  “Don’t,” Rachel pleaded, “don’t say things you don’t mean!”

  “I mean every word,” Karim said. “Your sister brought Ethan into this world, but you—you, habibi—have been his true mother.” He smiled. “As I will be his father.” He paused and brushed his lips gently over Rachel’s. “I love you,” he said softly. “Marry me and be my wife.”

  “But you believed Suki …”

  “I was in agony. I had given you my heart …” His voice cracked. “The heart you say I do not have.”

  “Karim. Please don’t. I said it to—to hurt you …”

  “I have a heart, habibi. But I learned early to guard it well. It is what happens when people see you only as a prince or a sheikh. They lie. They tell you what they think you want to hear. Even those I loved …” Karim cleared his throat. “Each time my mother came back from wherever she’d gone she promised she would not leave me again, but she always did. And Rami … we were different from each other, even as boys, but we loved each other. Then he turned into someone I didn’t know and I—I let him go.”

  “We can’t hold on to those who don’t want us,” Rachel said softly. “My mother. My sister—”

  “Yes. I understand that now. But we—you and I—we want each other. We have each other.” Karim smiled. “And we have Ethan. We can be a family, habibi, and we can be happy.”

  Rachel felt her heart swell with happiness. She stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to Karim’s lips.

  “I hated myself for lying to you, Karim. But I was so afraid I’d lose Ethan, lose you …”

  “You’ll never lose either of us, habibi. Not me, and not our son.”

  “Our son,” Rachel said, and smiled.

  Karim kissed her damp cheeks.

  “This has been a long journey for me,” he said quietly. “When it began, I thought I was learning about Rami. Now I know I was also learning about myself, and about what is important in this world.”

  “And what is?” Rachel asked softly, though by now she knew the answer.

  “Love,” Karim said. “Only love matters.” He looked deep into her eyes. “Rachel. Will you marry me and be my love, forever?”

  Rachel laughed.

  “Yes,” she said, “yes, yes, yes—”

  Karim gathered her in his arms and kissed her, and as he did the rain stopped and the cabin of the plane filled with the brilliant golden light of the sun.

  * * *

  Heart of the Desert

  Carol Marinelli

  CAROL MARINELLI finds writing a bio rather like writing her New Year’s resolutions. Oh, she’d love to say that since she wrote the last one, she now goes to the gym regularly and doesn’t stop for coffee and cake and a gossip afterwards, that she’s incredibly organised and writes for a few productive hours a day after tidying her immaculate house and taking a brisk walk with the dog.

  The reality is, Carol spends an inordinate amount of time daydreaming about dark, brooding men and exotic places (research), which doesn’t leave too much time for the gym, housework or anything that comes in between. And her most productive writing hours happen to be in the middle of the night, which leaves her in a constant state of bewildered exhaustion.

  Originally from England, Carol now lives in Melbourne, Australia. She adores going back to the UK for a visit—actually, she adores going anywhere for a visit—and constantly (expensively) strives to overcome her fear of flying. She has three gorgeous children who are growing up so fast (too fast—they’ve just wo
rked out that she lies about her age!) and keep her busy with a never-ending round of homework, sports and friends coming over.

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘LET’s try somewhere else.’

  Georgie had known that there was no chance of getting into the exclusive London club.

  She hadn’t even wanted to try.

  If the truth be known, Georgie would far rather be home in bed, but it was Abby’s birthday. The rest of their friends had drifted off and Abby didn’t want her special day to end just yet. She seemed quite content to stand in the impossible queue, watching the rich and famous stroll in as the doorman kept them behind a thick red rope.

  ‘Let’s stay. It’s fun just watching,’ Abby said as a limousine pulled up and a young socialite stepped out. ‘Oh, look at her dress! I’m going to take a photo.’

  The paparazzi’s cameras lit up the street as the young woman waited and a middle-aged actor joined her, both posing for the cameras. Georgie shivered in her strappy dress and high-heeled sandals, though she chatted away to her friend, determined not to be a party pooper, because Abby had been so looking forward to this night.

  The doorman walked down the line, as he did occasionally, and Georgie rather hoped he was going to tell them to all just give up and go home. Yet there was more purpose in his step this time and Georgie suddenly realised he was walking directly towards them… Her hands moved to smooth her blonde hair in a nervous gesture as he approached, worried they had done something wrong, that perhaps photos weren’t allowed.

  ‘Come through, ladies.’ He pulled open the rope and both women glanced at each other, unsure what was happening. ‘I’m so sorry, we didn’t realise you were in the queue.’

  As she opened her mouth to speak, to ask just who he thought that they were, Georgie felt the nudge of Abby’s fingers in her ribs. ‘Just walk.’

  The whole queue had turned and was now watching them, trying to guess who they were. A camera flashed and when one did, the rest followed, the photographers assuming that they must be somebodies as the heavy glass doors were opened and they entered the exclusive club.

  ‘This is the best birthday ever!’ Abby was beside herself with excitement but Georgie loathed the spotlight and the scrutiny it placed on her, though it wasn’t only that that had her heart hammering in her chest as they were led through a dark room to a very prominent table. There was a tightening in her throat and a strange sinking feeling in her stomach as she fathomed that this might not be a mistake on the doorman’s part.

  Mistakes like this just did not happen.

  And there was only one person in the world she could think of who might be at this place. One person she knew who had the power to open impossible doors. The one person she had tried for months not to think of. One man she would do her utmost to avoid.

  ‘Again—our apologies, Miss Anderson.’ Her thoughts were confirmed as the waiter used what he thought was her name and a bottle of champagne appeared. Georgie sat down, her cheeks on fire, scared to look up, to look over to the man approaching, because she knew that when she did it would be to him. ‘Ibrahim has asked that we take care of you.’

  So now there was no avoiding him. She willed a bland reaction, told her heart to slow down, her body to calm—hoped against hope that she could deliver a cool greeting. Georgie lifted her eyes, and even as she managed a small smile, even if she did appear in control, inside every cell jolted, with nerves and unexpected relief.

  Relief because, despite denial, despite insisting to herself otherwise, still she wanted him so.

  ‘Georgie.’ The sound of his voice after all this time, the hint of an accent despite his well-schooled intonation, made her stomach flip and fold as she stood to greet him—and for a moment she was back there, back in Zaraq, back in his arms. ‘It has been a long time.’ He was clearly just leaving. On his arm a woman as blonde as herself flashed a possessive warning with her eyes, which Georgie heeded.

  ‘It has been a while.’ Her voice was a touch higher than the one she would have chosen had she had any say in it. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Well,’ Ibrahim said, and he looked it. Despite all she had read about him, despite the excesses of his lifestyle. He was taller than she remembered, or was he just a touch thinner? His features a little more savage. His raven hair was longer than she remembered, but even at two a.m. it fell in perfect shape. His black eyes roamed in assessment, just as they had that day, and then he waited for her gaze to meet his and somehow he won the unvoiced race because, just as had happened on that first day, she could not stop looking.

  His mouth had not changed. Had she had only one feature to identify him by, if the police somehow formed an identity parade of lips, she could, without hesitation, have walked up and chosen her culprit. For, in contrast to his sculpted features, his mouth was soft, with full lips that a long time ago had spread into a slow, lazy smile, revealing perfectly even teeth, but tonight there would be no smile. It was a mouth that evoked a strange response. As Georgie stood there, forced to maintain this awkward conversation as she met his gaze, it was his mouth that held her mind. As he spoke on, it was his mouth she wanted to watch, and after all this time, in a crowded club with a woman on his arm, it was those lips she wanted to kiss.

  ‘How are you?’ he asked politely. ‘How is your new business? Are you getting a lot of clients?’ And it told her he remembered, not just that night but the details she had so readily shared back then. She recalled all the excitement in her voice as she’d told him about her Reiki and healing oils venture, and how interested he had been, and she was glad of the darkness because maybe, just maybe, there were tears in her eyes.

  ‘It’s going very well, thank you.’ Georgie said.

  ‘And have you seen your niece recently?’ How wooden and formal he sounded. How she wanted the real Ibrahim to come back, to take her by the hand and drag her out of there, to take her to his car, to his bed, to an alley, to anywhere where it could be just them. Instead he awaited her answer and Georgie shook her head. ‘I haven’t been back since …’ And she stopped because she had to, because her world was divided into two—before and after.

  Since a kiss that had changed her for ever.

  Since harsh words had been exchanged.

  ‘I—I haven’t b-been back since the wedding.’ Georgie stammered.

  ‘I was there last month—Azizah is doing well.’

  She knew he had been back, despite swearing she wouldn’t try to find out. She delved just a little when she spoke with her sister, searched out his name in ways she wasn’t proud of. His words were almost lost in the noise of the club, and the only way to continue the conversation would be to move her head just a fraction closer, but that, for her own reasons, Georgie could not do. As his date gave a pointed yawn and the hand on his arm tightened, Georgie thanked him for his help in getting them into the club and for the champagne, and in return Ibrahim wished her goodnight.

  There was a hesitation, just the briefest hesitation, because the polite thing to do would be to kiss her on the cheek, to say farewell in the usual way—but as both heads moved a fraction for the familiar ritual, by mutual consent they halted, because even in this setting, even with the clash of perfumes and colognes in the air, the space between them had warmed with a scent that was a subtle combination of them, a sultry, intoxicating scent that was so potent, so thick, so heavy it should come with a government warning.

  Georgie gave a wry smile.

  It came with a royal warning!

  ‘Goodnight,’ she said, and as he headed out, she watched the people part, watched heads turn to this beautiful man and then back to her, curious eyes watching, because even that short contact with him, in this superficial setting, rendered her someone. Especially, when all of a sudden he changed his mind, when he left his date and strode back towards her. It was almost the same as it had once been, this charge, this pull, that propelled him to her, and she wanted to give in and run, to cross the club and just run to him, but instead she
stood there, shivering inside as he came back to her, rare tears in her eyes as he bent his head and offered words she’d neither expected nor sought.

  ‘I apologise.’

  And she couldn’t say anything, because she’d have wept or, worse, she’d have turned to him, to the mouth that she’d craved for so long now.

  ‘Not for all of it, but for some if the things I said. You’re not …’ His voice was husky. He did not have to repeat it, the word had been ringing in her ears for months now. ‘I apologise.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Somehow she found her voice. ‘I’m sorry too.’

  She was.

  Every day.

  Every hour.

  She was sorry.

  And then he turned away and she could not stand to watch him leave a second time so she took her seat instead.

  ‘Who,’ Abby demanded as Georgie sat down, ‘was that?’

  Georgie didn’t answer. Instead she took a sip of her champagne, except it didn’t quench her thirst, so she took another and then looked over to the man who never usually looked back. But in the early hours of this morning he did—and so potent was his effect, so renewed was her longing that had he even crooked his finger, had he so much as beckoned with his head, she would have gone to him.

  It was a relief when the door closed on him but it took a moment for normality to return—to be back in the world without him.

  ‘Georgie?’ Abby was growing impatient.

  ‘You know my sister Felicity, who lives in Zaraq?’ Georgie watched Abby’s mouth gape. ‘That’s her husband’s brother.’

  ‘He’s a prince?’

  Georgie attempted nonchalant. ‘Well, as Karim is, I guess he must be.’

  ‘You never said he was so …’ Abby’s voice trailed off, but Georgie knew what she meant. Even though Georgie’s sister had married into royalty, even though Felicity had gone to Zaraq as a nurse and married a prince, Georgie had played it down to her friends—as if Zaraq was some dot, as if royals were ten a penny there. She had not told them the details of this stunning land, the endless desert she had flown over, the markets and deep traditions in the countryside, contrasting with the glittering, luxurious city, with seven-star resorts and designer boutiques.