“Or find a rich husband to support you. The estate is luxurious. You would hate to leave it. But if I give you enough money, you’ll be able to support yourself in similar luxury for a time.”
She rose and leaned on the desk, her eyes narrowed as she stared into his.
“I’m not leaving. The lease gives me a right to stay. Deal with it.”
She turned and left, ignoring her shaky knees, her pounding heart. She didn’t want his money. She wanted to stay exactly where she was. Remain until those looking for her gave up. Until she could build her own future the way she wanted. Until she could prove her art was worth something and that people would pay to own pieces.
Khalid listened to the sound of her hurried footsteps, then the closing of the front door. She refused to leave. He glanced at the lease again. As far as he could tell, it was iron tight. But he’d have the company attorneys review. There had to be a way. He did not want to sit on the house for another four years and he suspected no one would buy the place with a tenant in residence. What had his grandmother been thinking?
He leaned back in his chair and looked at the chair his unwanted tenant had used. Ella Ponti, widow. She looked like she was in her midtwenties. How had her husband died? She was far too young to be a widow, living alone. Yet the sadness that had shone in her eyes until the fire of anger replaced it, showed him she truly mourned her loss. And he felt a twinge of regret to be bringing a change to her life.
Yet he couldn’t reconcile her being in the cottage. Had his grandmother been taken in? Was Ella nothing more than a gold digger looking for an easy way in life? Latch on to an old woman and talk her into practically giving her the cottage.
He was on the fence about selling. He remembered his grandmother in every room. All the visits they’d shared over the years. Glancing around the study, he hated to let it go. But he would never live in such a big house. Which left selling the estate as the best option.
He should have visited his grandmother more often. He missed her. They’d had dinners together in Alkaahdar when he was in town. Sometimes he escorted her to receptions or parties. But long weekends at the estate doing nothing were in the past. And in retrospect she’d asked after him and what was going on in his life more than he’d asked after hers. Regrets were hard to live with.
Though if she’d seen Ella’s reactions, maybe she would have stopped chiding him that he made too much of the scar. Ella’s initial reaction had been an echo of his one-time fiancée’s own look of horror. He knew it disgusted women. That was one reason he spent most of his time on the oil fields or in the desert. He saw the scar himself every morning when he shaved. He knew what it looked like.
Shaking himself out of the momentary reverie, he picked up the phone to call the headquarters of Bashiri Oil. The sooner he found a way to get rid of his unwanted tenant, the better.
Ella stormed home. She did not want to be bought out. Why had Khalid al Harum come to the estate at this time? He’d never visited in all the months she’d live here, why now? She had her life just as she wanted it and he was going to mess it up.
And how dare he offer her money to move? She was not going anywhere. She needed this tranquil setting. She’d gradually gotten over the fierce intensity of her grief. She owed it to Alia al Harum. The older woman had such faith in her talent and her ability to be able to command top money for her creations. She had strongly encouraged Ella to prove it to herself. And she would for the memory of the woman who had helped her so much.
And no restless grandson was going to drive her away.
She shrugged off the dress and tossed it on the bed. So much for dressing up for him. He only wanted her gone. She pulled on her jeans and oversize shirt. Tying her hair back as she walked, she went to the studio. The glass bowl she’d created yesterday still had hours of graduated cooling to complete before she could take it from the oven. She was impatient to know if it would be as beautiful as she imagined. And flawless with no cracks from irregular cooling, or mixing different types and textures of glass that cooled at different rates. Fingers crossed. Patience was definitely needed for glasswork.
In the meantime, she picked up her sketchbook and went to sit by the window. She could do an entire series in the same technique if the bowl came out perfect. She stared at the blank page. She was not seeing other glass artwork, but the face of Khalid al Harum. What a contrast—gorgeous man, hideous scar. His grandmother had never mentioned that. She’d talked of her grandchildren’s lives, her worry they’d never find happiness and other memories of their childhood.
When had the fire happened? He could have been killed. She didn’t know him, nor did she care to now that he’d tried to bribe her to leave. But still, how tragic to have been burned so severely. She looked at the couple of small scars on her arms and fingers from long-ago childhood scrapes. Fire was dangerous and damaging to delicate human skin. Every burn, no matter how small, hurt like crazy. She shivered trying to imagine a huge expanse of her body burned.
Had it happened recently? It didn’t have that red look that came with recent healing. But with all the money the al Harums had, surely he could have had plastic surgery to mitigate the worst of the damage.
Impatient with her thoughts, she rose and paced the studio. She needed to be focused on the next idea, the next piece of art. She had to build a collection that would be worthy of an exhibit and then of exorbitant prices. Had Madame al Harum spoken to the gallery owners as she had said she would do when the time was right? Probably not. Why speak of something that was years away from happening.
“Great. It’s bad enough he’ll try to get me off the property. I truly have no place to go and no chance of getting a showing if I don’t have someone to vouch for me,” she said aloud. She could scream.
But it would do no good.
“Deal with it,” she said to herself. She’d take the advice she’d given him and make sure she made every moment count. He might try to evict her, but until she was carried kicking and screaming from the studio, she’d work on her collection.
The day proved interminable. Every time she’d start thinking about Khalid al Harum, she’d force her mind to focus on designing pieces using the swirling of blues and reds. It would work for a few moments, then gradually something would drift in that had her thinking about him again.
She didn’t like it one bit.
After dinner, she debated taking a walk on the beach. That usually cleared her mind. But after the last two nights, the last thing she wanted was to run into him again.
She sat on her terrace for a while, trying to relax. The more she tried to ignore his image, the more it seemed to dance in front of her. She was not going to be intimidated by him. Jumping to her feet, she headed down the path to the beach. She’d been walking along the shore for months. Just because he showed up was no reason to change her routine.
When she stepped on the sand, she looked both ways. No sign of anyone. Slowly she walked to the water, then turned south. If he did come out, chances he would head north as she had the last two nights. She’d be safe from his company.
It didn’t take long for the walk to begin to soothe. She let go of cares and worries and tried to make herself one with the night.
“I took a guess,” a voice came from her right.
Khalid rose from the sand and walked the few yards to where she was. “I thought you might go a different way tonight and I was right.” The smug satisfaction in his tone made her want to hit him.
“Then I’ll turn and go north,” she said, stopping and facing him. She’d tried an earlier time and a different direction. Had he come out to the beach a while ago to wait for her? She ignored the fluttery feeling in her stomach. So he came out. It probably was only to harangue her again about leaving.
“I am not stopping you from going in either direction,” he said. He stood next to her, almost too close. She stepped back as a wavelet washed over her feet. The cool water broke the spell.
“You are of course
welcomed to walk wherever you wish,” she said. She began to walk again along the edge of the water.
Khalid walked beside her.
The silence stretched out moment by moment. Ella had lost all sense of serenity. Her nerves were on full alert. She was extremely conscious of the man beside her. Her skin almost tingled. She could see him from the corner of her eye—tall, silhouetted against the dark sky. She didn’t need this sense of awareness. This feeling of wanting to know more. The desire to defend herself to him and make him change his mind and want her to stay in the guesthouse until the lease expired.
She kept silent with effort, wondering if she could outlast him. It grew harder and harder to keep silent as they went along.
“I called an attorney,” he said at last.
She didn’t reply, waiting for the bad news. Was there an escape clause?
“You’ll be happy to know the lease is airtight. You have the right to stay as long as you wish. The interesting part is, you have the right to terminate before the end but my grandmother—and now me—didn’t have the same right.”
She’d forgotten. Madame al Harum had insisted Ella might wish to leave before five years and didn’t want her to feel compelled to remain. At the time Ella had not been able to imagine ever leaving. She still didn’t want to think about it. Would four more years be enough time?
“So if you wished to leave, I’d still make it lucrative for you.”
“I don’t live here for the money,” she said.
“Why do you live here? You’re not from here. No family. No husband. What holds you to the guesthouse, to Alkaahdar?”
“A safe place to live,” she said. “A beautiful setting in a beautiful country. I also have friends here. Quishari is my home.”
“Safe? Is there danger elsewhere?” he countered, focusing in on that comment.
She stopped to look at him. She wanted to get this through to him once and for all. “Look, I came here at a very hard time in my life—just after my husband died. Your grandmother did more for me than anyone, including making sure I had a place to live, to work, sheltered from problems and a chance to grieve. I will forever be in her debt. One I can now never repay. It hit me hard when she died. I grieve for her, as well. Now I’m coming to a place of peace and don’t wish to have my life disrupted because you want to get rid of a home she loved and left to you in hopes you’d use it. Do not involve me in your life. I have no interest in taking a gazillion dollars to leave. I have no interest in disrupting my life to suit yours. I want to be left alone to continue as I have been doing these last months. Is that clear enough for you?”
“Life changes. Nothing is as it was last year. My grandmother is dead. Yes, she left me the estate in hopes I would settle there. You saw me this morning. You know why I’ll never marry. Why should I hold on to a house for sentimental reasons, visiting it once or twice a year when some other family could enjoy living in it daily? Do you think it is easy for me to sell? I have so many memories of my family visiting. I know I’ll face pressure from others in the family to hold on to it. But it’s more of a crime to let it sit vacant year after year. What good does that do?”
“Why will you never marry? Did the fire damage other parts of you?” she asked, startled by his comment.
“What?”
She’d surprised him with that question.
Oh, this was just great. Why had she opened her mouth? Now she had to clarify herself. “I mean, can you not father children or something?”
He burst out laughing.
Ella frowned. It had not been a funny question.
“So you’re all right in that department, I guess,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “So what’s the problem?”
He leaned over, his face close enough to hers she felt the warmth of his breath. She could barely see his eyes in the dark. “As I said, you saw me this morning. What woman would get close enough for me to use those other parts?” he asked very softly.
She stared into his eyes, as dark as her own, hard to see in the dim light of the stars. “Are you stupid or do you think I am? You’re gorgeous except for a slight disfiguration on one side. You sound articulate. I expect you are well educated and have pots of money. Why wouldn’t someone fall for you? Your grandmother thought you should be married. Surely she’d have known if there was a major impediment.”
“I do not wish to be married for my money. I have a temper that could scare anyone and, I assure you, looks count a lot when people are looking for mates. And my grandmother saw only her own happy marriage that she wished replicated for her grandsons.”
“So again I say what’s the problem?”
“Maybe you are stupid. This scar,” he said, reaching for her hand and trailing her fingers down his cheek, pressing against the puckered skin.
He let her hand go and she left it against the side of his face. The skin was warm, though distorted. Lightly, she brushed her thumb against it, drifted to his lips which had escaped the flame. Her heart pounded, but she was mesmerized. His warmth seemed to touch her heart. She felt heartbreak for his reasoning. He was consigning himself to a long, lonely life. She knew what that was like. Since Alexander’s death, hadn’t she resigned herself to the same?
But the circumstances were different. She had loved and lost. Khalid needed to feel someone’s love, to know he was special. And to keep the dream his grandmother had so wanted for him.
Khalid was shocked. Her touch was soft, gentle, sweet. Her thumb traced a trail of fire and ice against his skin. No one had touched him since the doctors had removed the last of the bandages. When he released her, he expected her to snatch her hand away. It was still there. The touch was both unexpected and erotic. He could feel himself respond as he hadn’t in years.
“Enough.” He knocked her hand away and took a step back. “Tell me what it would take to get you to leave the guesthouse.”
“Four years,” she replied, and turned to resume her walk.
He watched as she walked away along the sea’s edge. She was serious. At least at this moment. She didn’t want money. She wanted time.
Why was she here? Was there anything in his grandmother’s things that explained why she’d befriended Ella Ponti and made that one-sided deal with her? He hadn’t gone through all her papers, but that would be his next step first thing in the morning.
He remained standing, watching. She didn’t care if he walked beside her or not. If this was her regular routine, she’d been coming for nightly walks for a year. She didn’t need his company.
Why had he come out tonight? He usually kept to himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sought out a woman’s company. Probably because it would have been an exercise in futility. Ella had seen him in broad daylight. Tonight it had been like the last two: wrapped in darkness he could almost forget the burn scar. She had treated him the same all three nights.
Except for her touch tonight.
Shaking his head, he almost smiled. She shocked him in more ways than one. Was the reaction just that of a man too long without a woman? It had to be. She had done nothing to encourage him. In fact, he couldn’t remember another woman standing up to him as she had, both tonight and earlier this morning. Deal with it, she’d said, dismissing his demand she leave as if it were of no account.
Which legally it proved to be. Maybe he’d stop pushing and learn a bit more about his unwanted tenant before pursuing other avenues. She intrigued him. Why was she really here? Maybe it was time to find out more about Ella Ponti, young widow living so far from her native land.
CHAPTER THREE
MAYBE she had finally gotten through to him, she thought as she walked alone. He had not followed her. Good. Well, maybe there was a touch of disappointment, but not enough to wish he was with her.
She clenched her hand into a fist. His skin had been warm, she’d felt the strong line of his jaw, the chiseled outline of his lips. Not that she wanted to think about his lips—that led to thoughts of kisses and she had no
intention of ever kissing anyone else. It almost felt like a betrayal of her love for Alexander. It wasn’t. Her mind knew that, it would take her heart a bit longer to figure that out. She still mourned her lost love.
“Alexander,” she whispered. It took a second for her to recall his dear face. She panicked. She couldn’t forget him. She loved him still. He’d been the heart beating in her. But his image wavered and faded to be replaced by the face of Khalid al Harum.
“No!” she said firmly. She would dismiss the man from her thoughts and concentrate on something else, anything else.
Wildly, she looked around. Out to sea she spotted a ship, gliding along soundlessly in the distance. Was it a cruise ship? Were couples and families enjoying the calm waters of the Gulf? Would they be stopping in one of the countries lining the coast? Maybe buy pearls from the shops or enjoy the traditional Arab cuisine. Maybe couples would be dancing. For a moment she regretted she’d never dance again. She was young to have loved and lost. But that was the way life was sometimes.
She had her art.
Stopping at last, she gazed at the ship for a long moment, then glanced back up the beach. Khalid al Harum stood where she’d left him. Was he brooding? Or just awaiting her return. She studied his silhouette and then began walking toward him. She had to return home. It was late and she’d had enough turmoil to last awhile.
When she drew even she stopped. “Now what?”
“Now we wait four years,” he replied.
That surprised her. Was he really going to stop pressuring her? Somehow she had not thought he’d give up that easily. Yet, maybe he was pragmatic. The lease was valid. She had the law on her side—even against a sheikh. Dare she let her guard down and believe him?
“Since we’ll be neighbors for the time, might as well make the best of things,” he said.
That had her on instant alert. He didn’t strike her as someone who settled for making the best of any situation unless it suited his needs and demands.
Desert Jewels & Rising Stars Page 172
