by Abby Green
Salim was a little speechless. He’d thought his parents were cold automatons, but evidently they hadn’t been the only ones. ‘Does your aversion to Christmas have anything to do with all that?’
Her eyes widened and her mouth opened before she’d recovered. ‘How did you know?’
He shrugged, not liking how easily he’d intuited that. ‘A guess. It’s a time of year that evokes strong reactions, and you were pretty adamant that you didn’t mind missing it.’
She glanced down at her napkin, folding it over and over. Salim wanted to put his hand over hers, but curled it into a fist to stop himself.
She stopped fidgeting and looked at him. ‘They divorced just before Christmas. Days before.’
Some of the candles had gone out, making the light in the tent dimmer. The delicate lines of her face when she looked at him were in sharp relief. Her eyes were huge.
‘Go on,’ he said, aware of the irony. He never usually encouraged women to reveal anything more than the most superficial parts of their lives to him. But this woman intrigued him.
‘Since then I’ve invariably spent Christmas on my own. Whenever the head of my boarding school knew I was due to spend the holiday alone, because my mother was working or abroad, they’d ask a family to take me in... I went once or twice, but no matter how welcome they made me feel it only made me more conscious of not being a part of a family.’
‘What about your father?’
She shrugged. ‘I only saw him a handful of times after I chose my mother to be my prime carer in the divorce.’
She smiled then, but it was tight, almost derisory.
‘The really sad thing, though, is that as much as I hate Christmas, I love it too. The Christmas before the divorce was perfect. Just the three of us in a cottage in Devon. It snowed that year, and my father dressed up as Santa Claus, and my mother showed him to me, tiptoeing away from the house as if he’d just left his gifts. It was magical...’
Charlotte’s gaze focused on Salim again and she felt the blood drain from her face as she realised just how much she’d revealed. His expression was inscrutable in the flickering golden light of the candles. As if he cared about her sad tale! What was wrong with her? She never spoke of her past—not if she could help it—and certainly not with someone who made her feel so many conflicting emotions and desires.
She stood up abruptly, dropping her napkin. ‘I should go to bed—it’s been a long day. Thank you for dinner.’
She wanted to get out of that decadent and confined space now. And away from those blue eyes. She was burning up from the inside out and it wasn’t just from embarrassment. It was from sitting in such close proximity to Salim’s lazily coiled sexual magnetism.
Salim stood up too, putting down his own napkin. He was watching her warily, which made her feel even more exposed as she stepped away from the table.
She’d turned and was almost at the entrance to the tent when her hand was caught in a much bigger one and her heart leapt into her throat. She hadn’t even heard him move, the sound muffled by the sumptuous carpets. She turned around and tried to pull her hand free, but he held it too firmly.
She could feel her pulse fluttering against his finger. ‘What is it?’
Why did she sound so breathless?
Salim looked very tall and dark in the dim golden light. More like a warrior than ever.
‘Don’t go back to your tent, Charlotte, stay here tonight.’
Charlotte didn’t even register what Salim had said for a minute. Without thinking, she responded automatically, ‘But why? That’s where I’m...’
And then she stuttered to a stop as comprehension started to sink in and the heat in his eyes made his meaning very explicit. Everything about his suggestion screamed danger to Charlotte, even as she could feel the betraying evidence of the effect he’d had on her all evening.
His finger moved back and forth on her wrist, over her pulse point. Hypnotising her. All her muscles pulled taut, and at the same time seemed to soften.
And then she thought of spilling her guts with little or no encouragement. She remembered the burn of embarrassment and it burned even more now at the thought that he might have manipulated her into opening up so he could take advantage of her emotional vulnerability.
A little voice mocked her that he wouldn’t have to resort to such crude tactics, but she ignored it.
She pulled her hand free. ‘You think that I’ll just fall into your bed because you ask?’
A muscle ticked in his jaw. ‘You know what there is between us—it’s off the charts.’
The kiss.
She stiffened. ‘We agreed that was a mistake...inappropriate. That it wouldn’t happen again.’
He shook his head. ‘No, you said it wouldn’t happen again. But you’re lying to yourself if you think you can resist this... We have amazing chemistry. We’re both adults. We’re never going to see each other again once the coronation is over. There’s no reason why this can’t happen.’
Yes, there is! A hysterical voice resounded inside Charlotte. And it was because of what he’d just said: ‘We’re never going to see each other again’.
Of course they wouldn’t. A woman like Charlotte would never feature in this man’s life and that shouldn’t matter to her. But already it did. And it shouldn’t. It couldn’t.
A million and one emotions landed in Charlotte’s belly, the strongest of which was an intense feeling of vulnerability. He had no idea how innocent she was. Evidently he thought that telling her he wanted her was enough to have her swooning at his feet in gratitude...
Feeling very defensive, but not wanting him to see how he’d got to her, she said as coolly as she could, ‘I’m afraid I don’t agree with your assessment of the situation. Goodnight, Salim.’
She cringed inwardly. She sounded like an accountant.
Salim looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. And then he just said, ‘Very well. Goodnight, Charlotte.’
He reached past her to pull back the heavy drapes covering the entrance and the cool night-time desert breeze skated over her skin. She hated the treacherous part of her that wasn’t exactly heartened to see this gentlemanly side of him. Where was the stereotypical playboy who wouldn’t take no for an answer because she’d bruised his pride?
She quickly turned and fled, before she could give herself away. Before he could see how conflicted she was. No other person had ever pushed her buttons so effectively, and when she got back to her own tent she paced up and down, sensations and emotions boiling over too much to relax.
She should be feeling triumphant—she’d just turned down one of the sexiest and most arrogant men in the world. She’d stood up to him. But she hated to admit now that it felt like a hollow victory.
Eventually she did sit down on the bed and noticed vaguely that someone—Assa?—had come in and lit some lamps and turned the bed down. A far less lavish version of Salim’s...where, if she’d said yes, they might be entwined right now...
She stood up again and busied herself undressing and getting ready for bed, ignoring the ache that spread through her whole body from her core.
She busied herself to avoid thinking about the real reason she’d turned Salim down: because she was still a virgin.
It was something she was subconsciously aware of but had managed to successfully ignore for a long time. She’d been so focused on her career—
She stopped, catching her reflection in the mirror over the sink where she was about to wash herself.
Her cheeks were flushed bright red and her neat shoulder-length bob was a lot less sleek than usual. She was pathetic. The reason she was a virgin had nothing to do with her career and everything to do with the fact that she was too afraid to let anyone close enough to hurt her as much as her parents had.
But when she thought about Salim’s arrogant proposal just now—yes, arrogant—the last thing she’d been afraid of was getting hurt. It had been the fear of incineration if he kis
sed her again. The fear of exposure. And the fear of his look of incredulity if he found out how innocent she was. She doubted a man like that had ever slept with a virgin in his life.
He’d summed her up from the start as uptight. He would laugh in her face if he knew how right he was.
She’d already told Salim far too much this evening. She wasn’t going to bare herself—literally—even more. He wasn’t worth risking her precious independence for. He wasn’t, she told herself fiercely as she did her best to ignore the ache, which only seemed to grow more acute.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘IT LOOKS LIKE we’ll have to stay here for a couple of days.’
‘Oh, no—why?’ Charlotte looked at Assa and felt panicky.
They’d been due to return to Tabat City the following morning, and frankly she couldn’t wait to get back. The vast desert now felt as oppressive as a small confined space after enduring Salim’s civil yet cool demeanour since they’d arrived at their last stop, the oasis camp of the Wahir tribe, earlier that day.
That morning, when Rafa had asked if Salim minded if he joined him in the car to discuss matters of state on the journey from Jadar, Charlotte had jumped at the opportunity to escape and had taken Rafa’s place in his own transport.
The intense look Salim had sent her still made her shiver. She didn’t want to know what he might have said to her if they’d been alone. She’d vowed not to be alone with him ever again.
Since they’d arrived, Salim had been in intense discussion with the Wahir tribe’s leaders. Charlotte had been allowed to sit in on the meetings, concentrating hard to follow the very stylised Arabic they used. Once again she’d been surprised to note that Salim was respectful and attentive.
Assa said, ‘I don’t mind staying another night if we have to—it’s as beautiful here as everyone said it was.’
Charlotte was pulled out of her spiralling thoughts. Assa was right: this camp was the most picturesque they’d been to yet. A beautiful green oasis with palm trees and a huge pool of clear green water.
‘Why do we have to stay?’
The young girl looked at her, her dark eyes huge. ‘They say a sandstorm will hit tonight, and if it does it’ll take at least another day to unearth all the vehicles to travel back to Tabat.’
‘Can’t they avoid that happening?’ Charlotte asked weakly, knowing she was being ridiculous. A meteorological event was hardly negotiable.
‘We’re on high ground, Miss McQuillan, but there’s no escaping the power of a storm.’
Assa took an armful of Charlotte’s dirty laundry—in spite of her protests that she could wash her own things—and turned at the opening of the tent.
‘You’ll come to the wedding later, won’t you? It would be considered very rude not to as an honoured guest.’
‘Of course,’ Charlotte answered.
All the king’s entourage had been invited to attend the wedding of the oldest daughter of the tribe’s leader and Charlotte was intrigued, having never witnessed a Bedouin wedding before. There was an air of great excitement in the camp, and Charlotte had noticed that there were a lot more people there than there had been earlier.
Charlotte had every intention of making sure she stayed well out of Salim’s way, and if a sandstorm hit overnight she’d be one of the first helping to unearth the vehicles in the morning.
* * *
Salim was acutely conscious of the ritual he was witnessing in a way that he might not have anticipated before embarking on this trip. Taking place in front of him was a centuries-old custom designed to bind families and neighbouring tribes together in a way that would unify them and promote peace in a place where wars had once been rife and deadly.
He was surprised at the strength of an echo inside him that recognised and accepted this on some deep level, in spite of doing his damnedest to deny that he was part of this history and culture.
Destiny. The hated word slid into his mind, but for once it didn’t induce the same level of rejection as it normally did. The truth was that he came from these people. His ancestors had said these same words, more or less.
For the first time Salim felt a sense of belonging he’d never experienced before creep over him. As if ancient and invisible bindings were slowly but inexorably wrapping around him like tentacles and tying him to the life he was so determined to reject. As if he was a nomad who was returning home.
It was an unsettling thought, but not even that was unsettling enough to distract him from the woman who sat at his right-hand side, who had turned him down him so summarily the previous evening.
His body had started humming as soon as she’d sat down beside him, enveloping him with a delicate and tantalising scent that made him think of cool green moss and much earthier things, like tangling naked on a soft surface.
Thankfully his voluminous robe hid the near-constant state of arousal he had little control over, which irritated him greatly. Salim usually had no problem mastering his physical impulses, no matter how attractive the woman. But of course no other woman had proved so elusive.
Charlotte had studiously avoided his eye since she’d arrived, just as she’d been studiously avoiding him all day. He’d observed her earlier, talking earnestly with both the women and the men of the tribe in Arabic. The ease she felt with them and their acceptance of her made him all at once proud and yet perversely annoyed that his diplomatic expert was being so...diplomatic.
The couple in front of them were seated face to face on cushions, about to say their vows. Salim gave in to an urge too great for him to resist and looked at Charlotte. He noticed with another spurt of irritation that she was quite oblivious to him.
After the confidences she’d shared last night—that they’d shared—he should be the one pushing her away. And yet at every moment when she’d avoided his eye today, or evaded him, it had only fired up a primal urge to hunt her down.
Her green eyes were suspiciously shiny now, and he followed her gaze back to the young couple to see that the woman’s hands were together in the prayer position and the man was placing the wedding ring over each of her fingers until he got to the ring finger.
The young man looked at the woman and said in Arabic as he slid the ring down her finger, ‘I marry you, I marry you, I marry you,’ as was this particular tribe’s custom in marriage. Then she repeated his words and actions.
Now they were married. It was that simple.
They could be separated as easily, by saying the words I divorce you three times in front of the tribe leader, but from the way the young man was looking at his bride, and she back at him, this was a love match.
Salim’s characteristic cynicism was curiously elusive.
Everyone stood up and started to cheer, and the happy young couple were shepherded out to their nuptial tent with great catcalling and fanfare.
Salim stood and put a hand out to help Charlotte stand. She looked up and he saw a definite glistening in those huge eyes before she dipped her head and smoothly rose, ignoring his hand.
His irritation at her dogged rejection was made sharper by the way the scene he’d just witnessed had sneaked under his well-worn guard.
Charlotte was turning to go and, incensed that she might evade him so easily, Salim caught her hand so she had to stop and look at him.
The lingering brightness in her eyes impacted on him in a way he didn’t welcome. To cover it up, he drawled mockingly, ‘Why, I do believe you’re a romantic.’
‘You’re a romantic.’
Charlotte stiffened under his hand. A panicky feeling made her chest tight. The last thing she was was a romantic. She’d told Salim that she’d learnt her lessons young. That she had no illusions. And yet he didn’t believe her because he could see how witnessing that achingly simple and yet profound ceremony just now—seeing the pretty girl with her elaborate wedding headdress and the dark kohl around her eyes—had affected Charlotte before she’d even absorbed the fullness of that revelation herself.
Avoid
ing him all day felt like an utterly futile exercise now. He was in her mind and under her skin.
Just then Rafa appeared at Salim’s other side and, taking advantage of his momentary distraction, Charlotte pulled her hand free and fled out of the tent behind the crowd without saying a word.
She was barely aware of the fact that the wind had started whipping up since the ceremony had started, or that there was a sense of urgency as people ran from tent to tent, shouting things to each other. She made her way instinctively to the natural pool and stood at the edge, breathing hard and trying to control her rising panic.
She wasn’t a romantic. She wasn’t.
So why had that ceremony affected her so profoundly? She knew the answer—fatally. It was rooted in that place where she still yearned for an idyllic Christmas and a happy family...
The choppy water mirrored her choppy emotions. She was still captivated, in spite of herself, by the thought that you could just look at someone and say those three words three times and it was done.
Charlotte hated it that Salim had been a witness to her moment of vulnerable revelation. Thinking of the way he’d drawled ‘You’re a romantic’ scored at her insides again.
She went cold all over as something else struck her—something far more threatening and disturbing. The thought of Salim telling himself that the reason she’d refused to sleep with him was because she wanted more.
Anger rose, whipping up inside her the way the wind was now whipping at her hair and her clothes. She turned around, galvanised by the thought of wiping that mocking look off Salim’s face, and made her way back through the camp, which was now eerily empty.
Salim’s tent stood tall and imposing, apart from the camp, and she made straight for it, grabbing the heavy material covering the doorway and pulling it back to step into the space.
Immediately she was aware of the wind being muffled and a sense of stillness. Once again the tent was decadently furnished—like something from a lavish movie set. Candles threw out a golden glow, imbuing the space with warmth and luxury.
