His Forbidden Diamond

by Susan Stephens

  Jazz stood up too. ‘I know you will.’ She was clearly moved by their concern. ‘Will you all excuse me for a moment?’

  ‘Of course.’ The chorus of Skavangas was unanimous.

  Tyr stood aside to let Jazz go, but he didn’t give his sisters a chance to reinforce the message the three of them were so urgently firing at him. He was going to do something about this, and was on it before Jazz had closed the door.

  He closed it for her—with them both on the same side.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Jazz gasped, staring up at him in alarm as he shut the door behind them.

  He came straight to the point. ‘Have you thought this through?’

  Jazz stared down at his hands on her arm, and for a very dangerous moment passions ran as high between them as they had way back when. Anything might have happened in those few, potent seconds, but then Jazz drew in a shaky breath and the torment in her eyes made him let her go. As his hands dropped to his side, she whispered, ‘Leila’s right. I know you don’t understand this, but I have to at least consider the emir’s offer, because of all the benefits it could bring to Kareshi.’

  ‘Nonsense! I told you before, this isn’t right for you, and you know it, Jazz. I can see it on your face.’

  ‘I knew I should have come veiled,’ she murmured dryly, the old Jazz peeping through. Somehow that flash of spirit made it all the harder to come to terms with this.

  ‘Don’t joke, Jazz. This is your life we’re talking about.’

  ‘Exactly, Tyr.’ Her chin tipped up. Steel entered her voice. ‘This is my life. Now, will you please let me go?’

  She stared past him to the bathroom and he stood aside. Grinding his jaw, he watched her go, wondering how he was going to live with himself if he did as Jazz asked—stood back and did nothing.

  * * *

  Jazz left them soon after that, kissing and hugging his sisters goodbye, but barely acknowledging Tyr. She had somewhere to be quite urgently, he gathered. The rest of the afternoon was spent in stormy silence. He turned up the volume on the match, while his sisters talked in undertones at the table. He had no more interest in their conversation. He knew what they were talking about. He knew how he felt about it. And he was damned if was going to share those feelings with anyone.

  He didn’t move until his mobile phone rang and then he took the call in the other room.

  ‘Sharif? There’s nothing wrong, is there?’ The line was bad. He was instantly concerned.

  ‘Yes and no. I need you out in Kareshi, Tyr.’

  His thought processes raced. Kareshi? Jazz. Yes. Yes had to be his answer to Sharif’s request.

  ‘Sorry to rush you back there, Tyr—no, there’s nothing wrong,’ Sharif confirmed to his relief. ‘Had to leave unexpectedly. No problem. Just some business to attend to.’

  ‘I understand.’ He relaxed. Sharif was obviously travelling where a good line wasn’t always a given.

  ‘The Wadi villagers have called for help in getting their Internet connection established, and they need someone to show them how to use it. I wouldn’t ask you to go back right away, but I can’t send anyone they don’t know. They’ve been so isolated up to now and they trust you.’

  He frowned as he remembered his promise to return to Wadi village as soon as he had made his peace with his sisters. ‘I won’t let them down.’

  ‘Soon?’ Sharif asked cryptically.

  ‘Tomorrow soon enough for you?’

  ‘Tomorrow is perfect.’

  Britt’s face was rigid when he returned to the sitting room. ‘Leave it, Tyr.’

  ‘Leave what?’ His thoughts were racing with plans for his return to Kareshi, and the chance to see Jazz again, on her home ground, where they could continue this discussion. When Jazz had talked about freedom, she had envisaged the type of freedom everyone in this room took for granted. He couldn’t just sit here. He had to do something.

  ‘Leave this business with Jazz alone,’ Britt insisted when he stonewalled her with a look. ‘And don’t tell me you’re not thinking about her. I know that look. You seem to think Jazz was forced into making this decision.’

  ‘A decision she hasn’t seen through yet,’ he pointed out, ‘so there’s still time for her to change her mind, and if I see her in Kareshi I will certainly say something.’

  ‘Are you suggesting Sharif would force Jazz into doing something she doesn’t want to?’ Britt demanded.

  As passions between them grew heated, Leila stepped in. ‘No, of course Tyr isn’t saying that, Britt.’ And gradually, like a pan of boiling milk taken off the heat, everyone calmed down again.

  Until Eva chipped in with, ‘You should tell him, Britt.’

  He spun round. ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘I know you just spoke to Sharif,’ Britt began, haltingly for her, he thought. ‘Sharif told me he was going to ring you—’

  ‘And?’ he flashed.

  ‘Calm down, Tyr. Give me chance to explain.’ Britt’s face was white with tension. Nothing about this situation was easy for her. ‘Jazz won’t be in Kareshi when you get back,’ she explained, ‘and you’ll probably have left the country before she arrives. And, before you ask, she isn’t in Skavanga, either.’

  ‘She was here earlier,’ he protested.

  ‘And now she’s gone,’ Britt confirmed.

  ‘Gone? Gone where?’

  ‘Jazz has left Skavanga with Sharif.’

  His mind reeled. Just when he thought he might get the chance to talk some sense into Jazz, she had left Skavanga for some destination unknown.

  Unless—

  ‘Tell me she hasn’t gone to Qadar.’ His muscles tensed as he waited for one of his sisters to answer.

  ‘No,’ Britt reassured him. ‘And before you get angry, I think this might be my fault. Sharif and I talked about getting Jazz out of Kareshi so she can get a fresh perspective on life, so instead of leaving Skavanga for Kareshi as Jazz had planned, Sharif has laid on a treat for her. He’s not happy with Jazz falling meekly into line with the traditionalists in Kareshi, either. He doesn’t see Jazz as a docile princess. He never has.’

  ‘Jazz—docile?’ He grimaced at the thought. ‘So where’s he taken her?’

  ‘To the fashion shows in Milan.’

  ‘To the fashion shows?’ He laughed out loud. No wonder Britt couldn’t look at him. ‘To the fashion shows?’ he repeated. ‘Does Sharif know anything about his sister?’

  Ignoring Britt’s protests, he made an angry gesture. ‘Since when has Jazz been a front-row fashionista? Jazz is happiest out in the desert, riding free.’

  ‘Tyr.’ Leila followed him to the door. ‘Don’t do anything hasty. It won’t help Jazz. Sharif was looking for something to take Jazz’s mind off the emir and his proposal. It will at least give her a chance to think things through calmly before she agrees to something she might regret for the rest of her life.’

  ‘But I haven’t had a chance to say goodbye to her.’

  ‘You sound so lost,’ Leila observed, touching his arm.

  And angry, he thought, ashamed he’d sounded off as he stared down at his heavily pregnant sister. ‘I’m acting like a bear with a sore head. I just can’t get my head around Jazz’s crazy life choices. You know I’m never angry with you, Leila.’

  ‘I know that.’ Leila smiled in sympathy, then exclaimed, ‘Where are you going?’ as he moved past her towards the door.

  ‘I’m not sure yet,’ he said honestly. ‘But I promise to keep in touch this time, okay?’

  He had not expected Leila to stand in his way. Drawing her into a reassuring hug, he kissed the top of her head. He hated leaving his sisters like this, but they had husbands to take care of them and Jazz had no one.

  No one apart from an army of heavily armed bodyguards sent by Sharif
to watch her every move, he guessed. Once again, Jazz would be shielded from reality, and from life itself, so what chance did she stand of making an informed choice about her future?

  CHAPTER SIX

  SHE’D HAD THIS crazy idea that if she stayed out of the way until the links with Qadar were safely established and the final arrangements for her wedding to the emir were in place, it would be too late for her to do anything about it. The decision would be taken out of her hands. All good for Kareshi. Borders secured for all time through her marriage to the emir.

  But when you put three Skavanga sisters into the mix, with Britt’s business brain calling foul on the suggested arrangement between a very wealthy Kareshi and a less well-off Qadar, and Eva ranting that no one in their right minds could possibly want to spend the rest of their lives with a man they hadn’t even been to bed with, backed up by a chorus of concern from Leila, you were left, not with a melodious chorus of agreement and support for her decision, but with a rowdy chorus of dissent.

  And then there was Tyr.

  And Sharif.

  And the fact that, far from being happy on her tiny gilt chair squashed in between all the heavy hitters and fashion press in the front row of every show in town, Jazz was thoroughly fed up. If she had to watch another unlined, asymmetric rag passing itself off as a work of art, she might have to resort to wearing a hemp sack for her wedding.

  Her wedding.

  It was definitely time to go back to Kareshi before she lost her nerve to go ahead with what she still stubbornly believed was the best thing she could do for her country. Wedding negotiations between Kareshi and Qadar must be close to complete by now, surely? And even that sounded wrong. How could two countries get married?

  She was planning to marry a country?

  Heaving a sigh so loud it made Jazz’s neighbours on the gilt chairs turn to look at her with surprise, she confronted the marriage plans she’d thought made such sense and realised they were full of holes. How could she help her country if she was stuck away in Qadar? She needed to get away from the flashing lights and loud music to the quiet of the desert, where she could rethink her plans for the future. Bringing out her phone, she was just about to start making travel plans when a message from Eva flashed up.

  Tyr is working at Wadi village.

  And?

  And good morning to you, Princess Prim.

  Eva? What do you want me to say???

  Is sexual frustration hindering your ability to think straight? If so, please call this helpline now—

  EVA!

  Just thought you’d like to know. Fashion shows treating you well?

  Zzzzzzzzzzz

  Why are you still there?

  My thoughts exactly.

  Jazz paused a moment before asking the question drumming at her mind.

  What’s Tyr doing in Kareshi?

  Not looking for a patsy to perform the dance of the seven veils for him in his harem like the Evil Emu of Qadar, that’s for sure.

  EVA!!

  What good are you to Kareshi if you’re trussed up in feather handcuffs?

  Not sure the emir would go for that.

  Are you prepared to take that chance?

  There was a long pause while Jazz digested this and squirmed uncomfortably on her chair.

  OK, I give in. *big sigh* Tyr’s setting up an Internet connection at Wadi village, so if you hurry...

  What’s that got to do with me?

  He needs fizzers and gum to keep him sane. You can take them with you.

  But I’m not going to Wadi village.

  Yes, you are.

  There was a very long pause and then Jazz tapped in a message.

  Miss you, Eva.

  Miss you too, brown eyes. See you in Kareshi?

  Never say never to a billowing Bedouin tent J xx

  She could be part of Eva’s world, and part of the new world Sharif was working so hard to build in Kareshi, or she could become Princess Prim—embittered old spinster, twisting around in her own web of gloom, Jazz concluded as she put her phone back in her bag. The alternative was marriage to a man she didn’t know. And if the emir did decide to shut her away in his harem, Eva was right: What use would she be to Kareshi then?

  The least Eva had done was make her think. Excusing herself politely before the lights went up on the second half of the show, Jazz picked up the hem of her flowing silk robe to brave the hazard of big bags and small feet as she made her escape from fashion fantasy island to the reality she had been avoiding for far too long.

  * * *

  Jazz knew she had made the right decision in coming back to Kareshi the moment the royal helicopter lifted her high above the rolling plain of verdant green immediately surrounding Sharif’s principal palace smack bang in the middle of the desert. ‘A garden in the desert’ was how the world’s press described this area, and that was all thanks to her brother’s vision.

  Sharif was her idol. Her brother was Kareshi’s idol, and one day she hoped to equal his achievements.

  And she wouldn’t do that in Qadar.

  But she still had that niggling sense of guilt, because she had always chosen duty over self-indulgence every time, and coming back here to Kareshi seemed like the biggest self-indulgence of all when there was nowhere else on earth she would rather be. But if, by staying in Kareshi as the unmarried sister of the sheikh, she became a burden to Sharif, she would never forgive herself. So, wouldn’t it be easier to go along with the emir’s plan?

  Easy was not an option for Jazz Kareshi, or for her brother, Jazz reminded herself. When Sharif took the throne there had been endless conflict until he proved himself a worthy leader. Their dream was for all the people of Kareshi to live together in harmony, and now Jazz wondered if perhaps she had taken her personal crusade a step too far. Sharif had never asked her to appease the traditionalists by marrying the ultra-conservative Emir of Qadar. When had that idea seemed the only sensible solution? Now she was back in Kareshi, the answer seemed clear. She had to stay here, to work here; this was where she belonged.

  As she rested back in her seat to consider this change of plan, the royal helicopter soared high over Wadi village, where Eva had said Tyr was staying.

  Tyr.

  Tyr had a special affinity with the desert that had brought them together when they were young. Staring down through the always disturbingly see-through Perspex floor beneath her feet, she wondered what he was doing and if he was alone. Tyr shouldn’t be alone. The shadows behind his eyes called for friendship and support to remove them. She had to thank Eva for rattling her out of going down the wrong path and bringing her back here. There were people who needed her far more than the Emir of Qadar. People like Tyr, whose soul was wounded, and who had returned to find peace in the vastness of the desert and real purpose in his work. She would like to help him, but would he let her?

  Shifting position, Jazz knew she had to stop dreaming about Tyr Skavanga and what he meant to her. They had both moved on, and Tyr had made it clear at the party that he didn’t want or need her company. She couldn’t save the world—not even her own small part of it, let alone get to the bottom of those shadows behind Tyr’s eyes.

  But that wouldn’t stop her trying, and it wouldn’t stop her dreaming, either. And dreams had to be big, or what was the point in having them? If Tyr Skavanga was working at Wadi village, she was bound to see him. She often rode out that way.

  As the helicopter came in to land, she accepted that it might be necessary to trim her dreams to fit reality. Even if he were interested, Tyr would want more from a woman than a shrinking virgin, and Jazz dreaded the reality of sex. Somehow marriage to a man she didn’t know had held far less fear than any physical association with someone she did know, perhaps because marriage to the emir had always had an air of unreal
ity about it.

  While Tyr Skavanga in all his randy, delicious state was all too real.

  That evening with Tyr at the party had sent her primal senses rocketing off the scale, because even she could sense that Tyr was a highly sexed hunter in the prime of his life, while she was a virgin who knew nothing about sex, except in theory. And what she’d heard was hardly enticing—except when Eva got started, but then Eva had always liked to shock, so it was never possible to be sure if what Eva said was absolutely true.

  ‘You can take your safety belt off now, Princess Jasmina.’

  The pilot’s voice sounded shrill and metallic in her headphones as he switched off the engine, and she bit back a smile at the thought of how lucky she was that he couldn’t read her thoughts. She’d keep her safety belt well and truly fastened until the day she got married, thank you very much.

  * * *

  Tyr was coated in sand from head to foot after trekking for hours over rugged terrain. There had been a shift in the pattern of the sand dunes since the last storm, meaning the four-wheel drive couldn’t take him any closer to the village. He’d radioed to make sure the vehicle could be collected before the next storm closed in, and then he set out on foot. It was a relief to know Jazz was half a world away with this bad storm closing in.