by Abby Green
In the city it was easier to think of this as a business transaction—he was preparing this country to be strong so that it would flourish and thrive under new leadership. But now he would have to look into the eyes of those people, and it was as if he knew on some primal level that he was about to come face to face with himself in a way he’d never had to before.
And all under the cool green gaze of the woman looking at him now.
He opened the passenger door of the vehicle beside him. ‘You’ll travel with me.’
After a second when he thought she might argue Salim realised that, much as she provoked him, he found the prospect of her not being in close proximity to him was also unacceptable.
Eventually she moved towards the SUV and got in.
There was a flurry of activity as various bodyguards and staff finished packing away luggage and supplies in other vehicles.
Then Rafa approached Salim and bowed slightly, saying, ‘Everything is ready, sire.’
Salim wanted to tell him not to bow, and not to call him sire, but he just nodded and got into the car himself, behind the steering wheel.
It was time to meet his destiny whether he liked it or not.
* * *
Charlotte could feel the tension rolling off Salim in waves and it surprised her. She’d assumed he would approach visiting the tribes with the same louche disregard with which he seemed to approach everything else. But he looked serious.
The city limits had been left far behind and there were at least three vehicles ahead of them and another three behind, carrying Rafa and Assa as well as other staff.
Nothing but endless sand stretched out all around them. Dunes rose and fell under the blinding sun and the horizon shimmered in the heat. Charlotte sent up silent thanks that they were protected by air-conditioning in the sturdy vehicle that navigated this shifting terrain easily.
Salim clearly didn’t want to be making this trip. Charlotte took in his profile, which was effortlessly regal in spite of his reluctance to govern. He was wearing traditional robes, but hadn’t made much more of an effort to clean up his appearance.
His hair was still wild and unruly, and Charlotte’s fingers itched to see if it felt as silky and luxurious as it looked. She felt a crazy regret that she hadn’t explored more when she’d had the chance. She clenched her hands into fists and ignored those itchy fingers.
But then her eye fell on his very stubbled jaw, and that made her think of how it had felt when he’d kissed her. The burn he’d left along her jaw...a physical brand. It made her wonder how it would feel on other parts of her body...
In a desperate bid to divert her mind, she asked, ‘Why are you so reluctant to assume your role as king?’
His hand tightened on the wheel and the tension spiked. She thought he wasn’t going to answer her when he was silent for so long, but then he said, ‘I’ve already told you—I have numerous business concerns, thousands of employees. It’s a role I never asked for or welcomed.’
‘But...’ Charlotte ignored the voice telling her to be quiet. ‘No one asks to rule. They’re born to rule.’
Salim’s jaw tightened, but he kept his eyes on the road. ‘That may be the case, but there’s a better choice than me for Tabat.’
She assimilated what he’d just said and knew she should stay quiet but couldn’t. She turned in her seat to face him. ‘I don’t think there is, actually. I think you know it’s your destiny, and yet there’s some other reason why you’re so reluctant to take what’s yours.’
Charlotte should have been alerted by the fact that the tension in the confined space suddenly changed and became more charged. Salim looked at her and let his eyes drift down over her body and immediately her blood sizzled.
‘Believe me,’ he drawled, ‘I’m not reluctant to take what’s mine at all.’
What’s mine. He wasn’t talking about Tabat. The thought that he considered her his was enough to render her speechless. No doubt exactly what he’d intended with this clever deflection.
Charlotte turned to face the front, locking her muscles tight against the betraying rush of arousal.
She refused to look at him for fear of what she’d see on his face. She’d learnt her lesson. She didn’t care what this man’s motivations were—she just wanted to get through the week unscathed.
* * *
Several hours later Salim was seated on a low chair in the tent of the local sheikh—the leader of the Rab’sah tribe. Charlotte had been right—the hospitality was so generous it was almost embarrassing. Even in spite of the cool reception Salim had received, which had been his due considering he hadn’t come to visit them before now.
Their hospitality was even more overwhelming when he considered that they didn’t have much. At all. There was a time when these nomadic tribes had had many riches—when they’d come into the city and bartered and sold precious gems and fat animals. But the world had marched on and left people like this behind, and it struck Salim somewhere very deeply now to see the aristocratic features and inherent pride of the tribe reduced to a mere shadow of its former self.
Charlotte wasn’t in the tent, out of respect for the customs of the tribe that forbade women from attending formal meetings, and Salim welcomed the momentary space even as he hungered to lay his gaze on her.
He was still reeling from her far too perceptive observation earlier. No one had ever questioned his motives about anything before. No one had ever looked at him like that, as if trying to figure him out. Coming far too close to the bone.
So he told himself he was glad she wasn’t here, and that ancient custom dictated women must be apart from the men, because he didn’t care to be under her far too incisive green-eyed scrutiny as he listened to this sheikh and found himself feeling a sense of kinship that he’d never experienced before.
* * *
At dawn the following morning Charlotte was standing at the edge of the camp, watching as the sun rose in the east, slowly saturating the horizon with pink light. There was a low hum of activity behind her as the camp woke up, but there was an all-encompassing silence that surrounded her, deep and infinitely peaceful. Her instinct that she’d find the desert fascinating had been right.
‘Bored yet?’
She started at the deep voice beside her and looked round to see Salim—tall and broad. He filled her vision in spite of the vast desert, and she realised that he truly fitted into this world even if he didn’t want to. He was hewn from its very unforgiving landscape, from a long line of warriors.
She looked back out to the horizon, afraid he might see something of her fanciful thoughts on her face. ‘I don’t see how anyone could ever be bored here.’
‘How did you sleep?’
In truth, she hadn’t slept well. It might have been because she’d been sharing quarters with women and children, but they hadn’t been the reason she’d lain awake. She’d been wondering about Salim, and about the fact that he was far more enigmatic than she’d ever anticipated.
She looked back at him and forced a bright smile. ‘Like a log—and you?’
He smiled too, showing his teeth. ‘Like a log.’
The hell he had. He’d spent hours alternating between ignoring his guilty conscience and battling images of this woman with her shirt undone and one pale plump breast filling his palm. That soft lush mouth under his.
The rising sun was bathing her in a warm glow. She was dressed traditionally again. Her hair peeped out from under the veil she wore. Her face was bare of make-up. He could see freckles. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen such fresh-faced beauty.
The way she got to him made him ask caustically, ‘You’re not missing your home comforts too much?’
It rankled with him now that he knew she’d had to share a tent with some of the higher born women and children and yet it didn’t seem to have fazed her in the slightest.
Those green eyes sparked and Salim felt an answering fire burn deep in his core. More than lust. Distur
bing.
She folded her arms and faced him. ‘Still trying to get rid of me?’
No way.
The strength of that assertion surprised him. He clamped his mouth shut in case it slipped out.
When he didn’t respond, she said, ‘Look, I told you—I’ve travelled. It’s a privilege to spend time with people like these.’ She sounded exasperated.
He’d seen her yesterday, sitting cross-legged with a group of women, smiling and conversing with them as best she could, given the differences in dialect. She’d looked utterly comfortable and graceful in spite of her dusty clothes and very basic surroundings. And they’d looked at her with awe.
She turned now and Salim’s chest tightened. She’d looked so serene and peaceful standing there, watching the sunrise. He’d intruded because he’d been envious of that peace and absorption. And because he’d wanted her attention on him.
He put a hand on her arm and she stopped, looking at him warily. He cursed himself for not just letting her go.
‘Did you want something?’
He let her arm go. ‘Just to say we’ll be leaving shortly.’
She nodded after a moment. ‘I’ll be ready.’
Salim turned back to face the desert and had an uncomfortable skin-prickling sense of foreboding that this trip was not going to pan out as he’d planned it.
At all.
* * *
By day three Charlotte was surprised at how easily she’d settled into the rhythm of moving from place to place. And at how little she missed civilisation. As they had moved deeper and deeper into the desert she’d found herself unwinding, helpless not to do so in the face of a much more primeval rhythm.
The evening was closing in over the oasis that was the current base for the Jadar tribe—one of the oldest in the region. It was where the name Jandor had come from, when this tribe’s ancestors had sacked and invaded the city.
She walked through the camp back to her tent after meeting with the tribe’s leaders. This tribe was different from most and run on more egalitarian lines. Women were just as much a part of important discussions as men and they didn’t wear veils, so Charlotte had left hers off and relished the breeze through her hair now.
During the meetings Charlotte had been surprised at how deferential Salim had been, and how attentive. She’d expected to find herself cringing as he made his reluctance to be there known, but he’d been effortlessly respectful while also displaying an innate sense of authority that had nothing to do with arrogance.
She’d just returned to her small tent, and was unpacking her bag, appreciating the thought of her own private space for the first time in three nights, when a noise made her look round.
Assa was at the opening of the tent and she said, ‘King Al-Noury would like you to join him for dinner in his tent.’
Even though he wasn’t yet crowned, his people already called him king.
Charlotte’s belly flipped. She’d managed to more or less avoid him since the other morning, keeping their conversation to a minimum as they travelled from place to place. But her awareness of him was increasing exponentially. Along with her confusion that he wasn’t behaving as she might have expected.
What could Charlotte say? She’d been summoned by the king. ‘Of course. I’ll just change quickly.’
The fine desert sand seemed to get everywhere, so Charlotte availed herself of the small bathroom attached to the tent and refreshed herself and changed into a clean set of trousers and a tunic. When she re-emerged Assa was waiting to show her to Salim’s tent.
Darkness had fallen over the camp and there were familiar sounds of rattling plates and utensils, fractious children crying and soothing voices.
Charlotte absorbed the nomadic atmosphere of the camp. Mouth-watering smells of cooking reminded her she hadn’t eaten in a few hours. She stopped and smiled when some small children ran around her as they played a game of catch before disappearing behind one of the tents.
Strangely, because she’d never thought of herself as being remotely maternal—especially after her experiences at the hands of her self-absorbed mother and absent father—she was taken completely unawares by a pang of yearning, and when she saw Assa waiting for her outside a much larger tent, with golden light spilling out into the camp, she realised far too belatedly that she was not ready to face Salim’s all too blistering blue gaze.
But, as if hearing her thoughts, Salim appeared in the entrance of the tent, easily filling the space. ‘Please, come in.’
And she had to keep moving forward, pushing that alien emotion down.
When she walked into his tent her jaw dropped and she forgot everything for a moment. It was like something out of an Arabian fantasy. Luxurious floor-coverings, sumptuous soft furnishings in bright jewel colours. A dining area that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Parisian restaurant and a bed that Charlotte couldn’t take her eyes off. It dominated the space and was covered in silk and satin, with muslin drapes around it, fluttering in the light breeze.
She’d never have guessed from the rest of the far more humble camp that this could exist.
‘It’s a bit much, isn’t it?’
Charlotte managed to tear her gaze from the bed to look at Salim, who was wincing slightly. Feeling something light bubble up inside her she asked innocently, ‘Not to your specifications, then?’
He looked at her and his mouth tipped up wryly. ‘No.’
He gestured for her to take a seat at the dining table, and she said as she watched him take a seat opposite her, ‘Let me guess—you’re into stark minimalism and masculine colours? Abstract art?’
He flicked out a linen napkin. ‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’
A moment shimmered between them, light and fragile, and then he said, ‘You looked as if you’d just seen a ghost when you walked in—I hope that wasn’t a reaction to my invitation.’
Charlotte avoided his eye for a moment, placing her own napkin on her lap. When she looked up again he was watching her with a narrowed gaze. She heard noises coming from the back of the tent, the sounds and smells of dinner. It helped to lessen the feeling of being in a lavish cocoon with this man.
She shrugged minutely. ‘I just noticed something...walking through the camp. A real sense of community that you don’t find in many places any more.’
Salim said, ‘You do seem at home here. And I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you this, but you’re a natural diplomat. I’ve watched how you put everyone at ease and can converse equally with a sheikh or the girl washing the dishes.’
Ridiculously, Charlotte blushed at Salim’s praise—even though she knew without false modesty that she was good at her job. ‘Thank you. This part of the world has always been fascinating to me.’
They were interrupted by staff appearing with a tray of delicious-smelling food. When they were alone again Salim held up a bottle of red wine and said, ‘May I?’
Charlotte felt as if she needed the sustenance so she nodded. He filled her glass and she took a sip.
There was a big bowl of food to be shared—Salim explained that it was chicken mixed with couscous, spices, herbs and bread.
Charlotte filled her plate.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, both savouring the food, but then Salim sat back and said, ‘So that sense of community...did you grow up in a small town?’
Charlotte’s insides tensed automatically. She cursed her inability to lie and hoped he’d lose interest when she said, as perfunctorily as she could, ‘No, I grew up in London. I was an only child and my parents divorced when I was young. I spent a lot of time in boarding schools and with nannies.’
‘So you knew the opposite of community, then?’ he observed, with a perspicacity that was as unwelcome as it was insightful.
Charlotte put down her fork and took another sip of wine, relishing the slight headiness it brought, which made her feel reckless enough to respond mockingly, ‘I was a poor little rich girl. My parents were million
aires, which afforded them the luxury of having their child taken care of. But their lifestyles have never appealed to me. I wanted to make my own way. I don’t depend on them for anything.’
She couldn’t help the pride showing in her voice when she said that.
His gaze narrowed on her and she fought against squirming in her chair. Why did he have to look at her like that? As if he could see right through her?
‘We have something in common. I never relished the cushion of my family’s fortune. I also wanted to make my own way. I worked my way through college and everything I own now is mine and mine alone.’
She asked, ‘Is that why you’re reluctant to let it all go and become king?’
Salim was shocked he’d said so much, and that he’d felt the need to let her know that he appreciated her independence because he shared it. The sense of kinship was unsettling.
He shrugged, hiding how accurately her words had hit him. ‘Perhaps it’s part of it. Along with the responsibility I feel.’
He stopped there, before he let the real reasons slip out. He hadn’t prepared for this as his brother had so assiduously. He’d allowed a rift to grow between them, so how could he unite a country? And how could he protect the people of Tabat when he hadn’t been able to save his own sister?
Before she could ask any more far too pertinent questions, Salim asked, ‘What about you? What drove you to become a diplomat and turn your back on the life of being an heiress?’
She avoided his eye for so long that he thought she wasn’t going to answer, but then she looked at him and it was like a punch to his gut. There was something so...unguarded about her expression.
‘It was my parents,’ she said quietly. ‘Their divorce was ugly. They used me as a pawn to score points off each other, but once my mother had custody she pretty much abandoned me. I realised at a young age that unconditional love and family happiness are an illusion. So I decided to distance myself as much as possible—become independent so they could never use me as a pawn again.’
