Chameleon

by Ashe Barker

  He smiled and bowed his head slightly. “I know what it means. It suits you. I’m delighted to meet you, Fleur Mansouri. I’m Ethan Savage. Now, the key, please.”

  “I will give you your key back, Mr. Savage. And I will help you change the wheel and get your car back onto the road. Then, if it is indeed drivable as you say, I will drive you back to your hotel.”

  “You? You can drive?”

  He couldn’t have looked more astonished if Agwmar had taken to the air and she’d offered to convey him back to the Totally Five Star on a flying donkey.

  Fleur managed not to smile, though she found his reaction this time both amusing and mildly annoying. Her appearance today was traditional, dressed appropriately for a long ride in the hot sun rather than for making the acquaintance of stranded foreign motorists. Even so, his assumptions regarding her abilities were beyond arrogant.

  She kept her tone deliberately level. “Yes, Mr. Savage, I can. And I will drive you. Now, shall we proceed? The tire?”

  He did not move initially. He stood, regarding her, obviously considering her proposal. He could still have his own way—she knew that—and he must realize it too. But it was equally obvious that he preferred not to manhandle her if it could be avoided. After all, she mused, she had not asked him very, very nicely.

  Not yet.

  Her solution would give them both what they wanted. He really should accept it.

  It would seem he arrived at the same conclusion, because he nodded curtly. “It’s Ethan. Very well, Fleur. We have a deal.” He extended his hand to her again and this time, she took it. They shook briefly before he stepped past her and once more crouched in front of the car. “So, jacking point. Can you see it anywhere?”

  Chapter Two

  Ethan watched Fleur, his amazement growing by the minute. The small Berber woman did indeed know where to find the jacking point on a car and she proceeded to attach the jack to it. He stepped in, though, when she lifted her foot to start pumping the car off the ground.

  “No, let me do that. Could you find the spare wheel, please?”

  The girl—Fleur—nodded and scurried around to the boot. Her brief absence allowed Ethan, and his rampant cock, some respite. Christ, she was lovely. His first thought as he had opened his eyes after the bang on his head was that he must have died and was meeting his first angel. Then his beautiful guardian spirit had shined that fucking torch in his eyes. Christ, what was that about? She did seem to have some medical knowledge, because the collar she’d improvised was effective, if unnecessary. She’d insisted on checking his pulse and repeating her trick with the torch a couple of times since, and for now, seemed satisfied that he was not about to expire. However, that could change if he didn’t get out of this heat sometime soon.

  Ethan raised the vehicle up slightly then went around to the battered wheel while it still rested on the ground. He knelt beside it and loosened each of the four wheel nuts then went back to pumping the jack.

  “Tell me when the wheel’s clear of the ground, Fleur.”

  “Yes, sir.” She stationed herself beside the car to watch.

  Sir. He liked the sound of that from her, though he knew she meant it merely as an appropriate term of respect for a stranger. There was sir, and there was Sir.

  But alas, not with her. Ethan knew better than to mess around with local women. There was no surer way to screw up a promising international career than to outrage local sensibilities. He’d worked in enough Muslim countries over the years that he knew the score. He had no intention of compromising himself or of upsetting pretty little Fleur. Not that the girl seemed especially daunted by him, even at his sternest.

  He shook his head, giving himself a mental telling off. He must stop thinking of her as girl. That would never do.

  “It is clear now. Shall I remove the nuts?”

  Ethan loved the sound of her accented English. He noticed that she never used contractions. It was sweet. And vaguely exotic. He couldn’t fault her English, though, nor her French, from what little he’d heard of it. She was clearly well educated.

  “Sir? Ethan? Your nuts?”

  Shit! He groaned as the nuts in his jeans tightened. “What? Oh, yes. I already loosened them.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “It’s Ethan.” He was trying to rein in his natural dominance, but some habits die hard and he detected a distinct growl in his tone. She could not have missed it.

  She seemed disinclined to comment, thank God. Fleur nodded and set to removing the wheel nuts. She shoved each one in her pocket, probably to keep the car key company, he mused. Ethan heaved the wheel off and carried it around to drop it into the boot before slotting the replacement onto the four screws. He held out his hand and Fleur dropped each of the nuts back into his palm, as he needed them.

  “So, what about your donkey? If you insist on driving me back into Marrakesh, you can’t just leave him here and I don’t see him fitting in the back seat somehow.”

  “No, sir—Ethan.”

  He noticed that she added his name in response to his raised eyebrow and he couldn’t help wondering how strong her urge to obey actually was. His cock twitched maddeningly.

  “As soon as I locate a phone signal, I shall phone my cousin, who will come to collect him.”

  “What about you? How will you get home?” Ethan knew he could arrange a taxi for her, or even call on the hotel’s private transport. But he was interested to know how she intended to tackle that problem.

  “I will be fine, sir. Please do not concern yourself about me.”

  Ah, but I will. It was the least he could do. And the most.

  * * * *

  “Where did you learn to drive?” Ethan asked as they made their way sedately along the still empty road, heading back in the direction of Marrakesh.

  He’d had his doubts—he couldn’t deny that—but his enigmatic little Berber chauffeuse with the sexy French name handled the car skillfully. She’d taken her rolled-up carpet from the pannier on her donkey’s back and dropped it into the boot along with the damaged wheel and his field equipment. She’d tethered the donkey to the olive tree, where he could take advantage of the shade, then she’d slithered into the driver’s seat and started the engine. It had coughed a bit but then it always had. Ethan had had to wrench a stray piece of the bumper back to stop it scraping against the wheel. With that done, they’d seemed good to go. Kicking up a lot of dust, Fleur had carefully maneuvered the car back onto the road, then they’d set off.

  She was cautious—he understood that. Another blowout would be disastrous, and it was just possible that he’d damaged the vehicle in the collision with the olive tree back there. Fleur had observed that the steering felt rather stiff to her, though, of course, she had not driven the car previously, so could not be certain.

  Ethan was considerably less inclined to doubt her opinion than he had been even a few minutes ago. She was a bundle of surprises.

  “Edinburgh,” she uttered the one word, then returned her attention to the road ahead.

  “What?” Ethan stared across at her from his unaccustomed position in the passenger seat. “What about Edinburgh?”

  “That is where I learned to drive.”

  “What the fuck were you doing in Edinburgh?” Yes, full of surprises. But he didn’t doubt her word.

  Fleur glanced at him briefly. “I’ve asked you not to swear at me, sir.” She faced front again. “I went to university in Edinburgh.”

  “And I’ve asked you to call me Ethan.” Though Sir would be acceptable in some circumstances. “I’m sorry. University?” He managed not to let his growing astonishment become too obvious—he hoped. “Is that where you learned such excellent English too?”

  “Thank you but no. I learned English at school, though I expect my vocabulary improved whilst I was studying in the UK.”

  “I see.” He didn’t, really. He was totally at a loss. In what world did Berber peasant women on donkeys have degrees from Russell G
roup universities? And speak God knows how many languages fluently? And drum up the courage to stand up to an angry Dom and manage to get their own way? Mostly. Perhaps she was right about that head injury. He fell silent, studying her profile, pondering.

  She was lovely, without doubt. He’d seen that, he reflected, even before she removed her headdress at the crash site. Just her eyes, lined with that sexy kohl so popular with Eastern women, were alluring and evocative. Her eyes put him in mind of sensual nights filled with long, soft sighs, gentle and not so gentle caresses. Her eyes were dark, almost black. Would they darken further as she came?

  Not that he was likely to find out. More’s the pity. If she had a degree, she must be in her early to mid-twenties at least, and in this part of the world, that was well past marriageable age. She probably had a husband who dealt with all that stuff for her. A husband who had the right to watch her pupils dilate as she orgasmed.

  “Are you married, Fleur?” Christ, why did I just ask that? What business is it of mine?

  “No, sir. Ethan, I mean. Not anymore.”

  “Oh, what happened?” Too many questions. But he couldn’t help himself. She fascinated him.

  “My husband died. A year ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It was—difficult. He was not an easy man. And much older than I. Older even than you, Ethan.” She smiled at him, a hint of mischief in her expression.

  Ethan felt that she did not appear unduly distressed at the passing of her husband, but he wasn’t letting that slur about his age pass.

  “I’m thirty-four.”

  “Ah, then you have seen life, I think. You seem older. More stern perhaps.”

  You’re right there, sweetheart.

  “I have my moments. How old was your husband?”

  “Youssef was fifty-one when he died.”

  “And how old are you?”

  “I am thirty years old.”

  He’d thought she looked younger. “Quite an age gap, then.”

  “Yes. But Youssef was a good friend of my father. I knew him all my life.”

  “But?” Ethan really should let this drop and he knew that. He couldn’t, though. He had to know.”

  “But it was a long time ago and it is over. Now, I am a free woman who spends her time rescuing stranded tourists.”

  Okay, have it your way, sweetheart. “I’m not a tourist.”

  Now he had the vague satisfaction of seeing her expression alter in surprise.

  “Oh, so why were you out in the desert taking photographs and looking at your map?”

  “It wasn’t a map, it was a chart. I was working. I do geological surveys.”

  “I see. Why would you need to conduct a survey in the desert?”

  Ethan couldn’t tell her that. Client confidentiality prevented him from broadcasting James Conroy’s plans for his hotel development. He shrugged and remained silent. Fleur did not press him.

  As they neared the outskirts of the city, Fleur pulled up and reached for her phone, now concealed somewhere within the intriguing folds of her cloak. She dialed a number then chattered to someone in rapid Arabic, the conversation brief. She finished her call and made to shove the phone back inside her clothing. A low hum signaled the arrival of a text, so she paused to read that before slipping the phone back into her pocket.

  Flashing Ethan a brief smile, she explained, “Agwmar. My donkey. He needs a lift home. I have asked my cousin to collect him. Now, we need to get back to the Totally Five Star.”

  “Ah, right.” Ethan nodded, and she did not elaborate further. It pleased him that she cared for her animal when so many in this part of the world did not. Ethan liked animals and hated cruelty in any form. And he was starting to find that he liked Fleur a lot more than he’d imagined he might, though perhaps liked was not the right word. She enticed and tempted him. She made him consider doing things to her best left unexplored. He’d done his best not to grope her when he’d wrestled with her over his key, but couldn’t help noticing how slim and light she seemed under that voluminous costume of hers. Almost boyish in physique but totally feminine even so. Christ, he wanted her.

  There, he’d admitted it. Much good would it do him. Widowed or not, she wasn’t for him. She would never agree to the things he wanted to do with her. To her. It was almost certainly illegal here in any case and the last thing he needed was a confrontation with the Moroccan authorities. No, he’d thank her politely, call her a taxi from the hotel and rule a line under it there.

  Fleur turned the car into the narrow entrance to the Totally Five Star underground car park as though she knew the way. “Do you have a designated parking spot, Ethan?” She glanced at him expectantly.

  He told her the number and she steered the car into the correct bay. She shut off the engine and extracted the keys. She handed them to him. “Yours, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Ethan opened his door and got out. Fleur did likewise and they regarded each other across the roof of the car.

  “I need to get my carpet from your boot.”

  “Of course.” Ethan opened it for her and passed her the roll of hand-woven matting. He peeled back a corner to examine the intricate design. “This is beautiful. Did you make it?”

  “I helped. But it is my grandmother’s, really. It has been sold. I still need to deliver it. I could not leave it at the roadside. She would have never forgiven me.”

  “I see.” Ethan smiled warmly at her, though he felt slightly saddened to be parting from his enigmatic companion. “If you would come with me into the reception lounge, I’ll arrange a taxi for you.”

  Fleur offered him a mischievous smile. “Are you in the habit of inviting women you do not know to accompany you into your hotel? Or only those whom you ask very nicely?”

  Ethan couldn’t help the answering grin spreading across his features. She was quite delightful—sassy, beautiful, intelligent, witty, and clearly not at all what she had originally seemed. Maybe…

  “You haven’t asked me nicely. Perhaps you should. You wouldn’t regret it.”

  She regarded him for a moment, appeared to be considering his offer. “I think not, sir.”

  He’d expected as much, but Ethan’s cock still hardened in his jeans. If she called him sir just once more…

  “In that case, I’ll just see to it that you have transport to—wherever you need to be.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Savage, but that will not be required. I am already where I need to be. Shall we go up?” She didn’t wait for him to respond, simply turned and headed straight for the internal lift, as though she knew exactly where it was.

  Ethan caught up with her as the lift doors opened. They stepped inside. He had questions, but refrained from firing them at her. He was fast coming to the conclusion that nothing about this ‘Berber peasant’ he’d met out there in the desert was as it had originally seemed.

  “Salaam a laykum, Doctor.” The smart-suited hotel employee bowed slightly as they entered the courtyard that served as the main reception area for the Totally Five Star hotel.

  Ethan opened his mouth to explain that his was an academic title only. He usually went by simple Mr. Savage. But Fleur beat him to it.

  “Valaykum salaam.” She returned the universal Muslim greeting with a polite smile, obviously conscious of her companion’s astonished gaze on her back as she made her way across the courtyard to take hold of the phone discreetly secreted in an alcove. “Mr. Savage has met with an unfortunate accident. His injuries appear to be superficial but I will need to examine him to be sure. I received a text to say I was needed here. What suite number, please?”

  The receptionist answered her, then glanced at Ethan, noting the swelling and bruise on his forehead for the first time. “Mr. Savage, are you in pain? Would you like to sit? Do you require an ambulance?”

  Ethan waved away the other man’s concerns. “I’m fine. I’ll just have my room key, please”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Despite Ethan’s
request, the man still looked to Fleur for confirmation that this was indeed the course he should take.

  It was clear to Ethan who would have the final say, at least as far as the hotel staff were concerned. Fleur shrugged and nodded. The man slipped into the small office leading off the courtyard and returned moments later with Ethan’s key card. He handed it to him. Ethan took it absently, his attention on the rapid-fire French Fleur now spoke into the desk phone. She replaced the receiver and turned to him, the very epitome of cool medical efficiency.

  “I need to attend to another guest who also requires medical attention, but I just spoke to them and have established that your need is the more urgent. I would like to rule out the possibility of more serious injury. Please, come with me.”

  Ethan narrowed his eyes and made no move to follow her as she set off across the vast expanse of marble flooring. She turned after a few paces.

  “Mr. Savage, please…”

  “I don’t know about you, Fleur, but I’m going to my suite.”

  “You need a proper examination. In my office.”

  Ethan bowed politely. “I hope to see you later then, Doctor Mansouri, but not in your office. You know where to find me.” He turned and strode off in the opposite direction.

  Shit! The hotel doctor. She must be, but how? And what the fuck was a bloody doctor doing out in the desert on a donkey? Ethan’s head ached like a bitch, and not just owing to the impact with his windscreen, though that certainly hadn’t helped. Half an hour in the scorching sun changing the wheel and sparring with his little Berber pretend peasant had added to his discomfort, and now he just wanted to lie down somewhere cool and dark. He needed to sleep. And think.

  He let himself into his riad-style suite and dropped the key card into the slot inside the door to activate the electrical circuitry. The air con whirred comfortingly to life. Ethan paused to relish the sudden cool draft from above his head, tilting his chin up to let the chill wash over him. He needed a shower, fresh clothes—a beer perhaps. But first, he just wanted to turn over the morning’s events in his head. He strolled across the lobby and out of the double patio doors facing him to find himself in the private, secluded courtyard. The sound of running water attracted him and he perched one hip on the edge of the raised pool in the center as he reached out to let the fountain trickle across his fingers. This reminded him of just how thirsty he was, so he went back inside to grab a bottle of cold water from one of the several drinks fridges arranged throughout the rooms allocated to him.