by Gail Dayton
"Yeah, I forgot. You were out of it when all that came down. Rashid used your gun to drop one of the guys. Didn't kill him, just shot him through the leg, neat as you please. Held the other guy till the cops got there right after. We weren't but a couple of minutes behind the cops. Followed the ambulance to the hospital."
"Mmm." Ellen turned toward the bathroom, then stopped, needing to know. "So did they say how they found him?"
Frank looked down, cleared his throat, and she knew. He said it anyway. "They, uh, they followed you."
She nodded and escaped into the bathroom before Frank could see the tears filling her eyes and spilling over to run down her cheeks. She was the one who had brought bombs and destruction down on Rudi. And when the terrorists attacked, he'd been forced to defend himself and her, as well. She had failed, totally, completely, utterly. No wonder he was going back to Qarif. Who could want such a failure?
Ellen stood in the shower long after the last of the soap and shampoo vanished down the drain, trying to wash away the pain inside. It didn't work. The hurt lay too deep. Hot water couldn't touch it. Nothing could.
She journeyed back to New York, the ache numbing her to everything else. Somehow she would get through this. She'd survived heartache before, but before had been different. This time her own failure had cost her the man she loved. The fault was in herself, not in Rudi. He was everything she'd hoped and believed him to be—kind, generous, delightfully unpredictable. Knowing that she'd finally found her Prince Charming, her Prince Rudi, and had nearly cost him his life caused more pain than she thought she could bear.
Until the package with the cowboy boots was delivered to her office. She clutched them to her chest, as if they were stuffed toys, and cried until her eyes ached.
Rudi stared out at the ocean rolling into the sands beyond the palace walls. The moon rode high to his left, veiled by wisps of cloud, silvering the waves below. He thought of Ellen, and he missed her.
He had tried to join in the family conversation at meals, but his thoughts would wander off on their own paths. He attempted to take an interest in the business matters laid before him by Ibrahim or one of his other brothers, but these things had always bored him, and bored him more now. The only thing Rudi had found to capture his attention was the hunt for the terrorist faction that had sent its emissaries to blow up his car.
He sat in on interviews with the two men he had apprehended. He eagerly read every report and chafed to take part in the action. More than once, Rudi asked to be allowed to return to his military unit that was participating in the search, only to be denied. He felt useless, half a man. And so he sat on the balcony and brooded on his loss.
"Why do you sit alone in the dark, little brother?" Ibrahim's voice came from the doorway.
Rudi shrugged. Ibrahim had no interest in the truth.
"You did not eat at dinner tonight. Without food, you will begin to rattle like dry bones and frighten the women away." Ibrahim crossed the gap between them and leaned against the supporting pillar. Rudi could feel him watching and did not care.
"You worry your mother, Rashid," Ibrahim said. "And you disappoint our father."
"I have ordered my life to please them. What more can I do?" Rudi didn't bother to look at his brother.
"You can be happy."
Now he looked, his eyes a slitted glare. "No, I cannot. To make my mother and father happy, I have given up work that I love in order to do things I hate. I have given up my freedom to live like a caged bird, and I have given up the woman I love to live in solitude. How can you ask me to be happy? I am not a nightingale, brother. I am the falcon of our father's name. I will live in this cage you have built for me. But I refuse to like it."
Rudi turned and stalked away, through the house, past the gardens to the guarded beach, feeling Ibrahim watching him still. He needed the vastness of the ocean to ease the bars around him.
Autumn had fallen in New York, crisp and cool. The leaves in Central Park turned red, gold, orange, brown, just right for the video to be shot there today. Ellen gathered up her plans for security around the shoot, stuffed them in her soft-sided bag and pulled on her gray wool jacket with the fake lamb collar, ready to go supervise.
At that moment her intercom squawked "Incoming!" as the door to her office flew open. She jumped, whirling first toward her desk, then to the door.
Ibrahim ibn Saqr filled the doorway, his eyes blazing with anger. The beard was new, but the rest she remembered too well. Ellen glared right back at him. They were through. Everyone was back in Qarif, or was supposed to be. He had no right to be here.
"Sorry," she said, trying to keep the snap out of her voice. "I'm due on-site. You'll have to take your business to Mr. Campanello. If you'll excuse me?"
She walked toward the door expecting, or maybe just hoping, that Ibrahim would back out of the way. He didn't.
His expression softened, the scowl leaving his face, and when Ellen came within reach he caught her chin, tipping it up. She jerked away from his touch. He merely did it again, without comment. This time Ellen endured his scrutiny, too tired to keep fighting. She was too tired for much of anything lately.
"You look terrible," Ibrahim said, without releasing her.
"Thanks. Just what I wanted to hear." She tried to summon up her anger and found a spark. "Now, are you going to let go of me, or am I going to have to break your arm?"
The scowl came back as Ibrahim snatched his hand away. "You are beautiful, but you have the temperament of a viper. I do not understand why Rashid is so obsessed with you."
Loss pierced her, almost made her stagger. With an effort, she hid the pain by replacing it with anger. "Obviously you're wrong. He's not obsessed. He's in Qarif."
"And you are here. He does not eat. He does not sleep. He wanders the palace like a ghost, staring at the sea. He takes no interest in his work, or else—"
"More of that finance junk? Can't you people get it through your heads? Rudi hates that stuff. He wants to build things, to create something concrete and tangible."
Ibrahim glowered, probably because she had dared to interrupt his high-and-mightiness. "His name is Rashid. Why do you call him this ridiculous Rudi?"
"Because he asked me to." Ellen accepted the stare-down challenge Ibrahim sent her. Moments later, Ibrahim was the one to look away.
"This month," he said, "our father asked him to supervise the drilling of a water well in one of the border villages. Rashid worked so hard, ten and twelve hours every day, that he nearly collapsed when the well was done."
She could feel Ibrahim watching her closely, and she hoped her worry didn't show. Why couldn't these people take care of Rudi?
"The family is concerned for Rashid's health," Ibrahim went on after a moment. "He is haggard, thin, with dark circles beneath his eyes." He paused a moment. "Rashid looks much the same as you."
Ellen shrugged, wishing she'd put on her dark glasses before leaving the building, before leaving the office. She knew how she looked, but couldn't bring herself to do much about it.
"This gives me hope that you hold the same feelings in your heart that Rashid holds for you," Ibrahim said.
She couldn't hold back the bitter laugh. "What feelings? Disgust? Contempt? I don't feel that for him at all."
"Nor does he feel so toward you."
"Oh, please. You don't have to lie. I led the terrorists to him. He had to defend himself when they attacked."
"Because you were injured while saving him from the bomb."
"Another piece of prime stupidity. I know how to fall. I failed, plain and simple. Why else would Rudi have left like he did, if he didn't trust me? If he didn't see clearly what I am?"
Ibrahim stared at her. "Perhaps he thought to protect you. The remainder of the terrorist faction is still at large."
"See? He thinks I can't even take care of myself." Ellen clutched her bag tighter and tried to push past Rudi's brother. "I'm going to be late. They'll be waiting for me."
&nb
sp; "Someone else can see to your duties." Ibrahim plucked the soft-sided case from her hands and handed it to Vic Campanello, hovering anxiously in the hallway behind him. "I will pay for your time. I require your assistance now."
He stepped forward, forcing Ellen to back away or get a faceful of power tie, and shut her office door. "Do you care for my brother?"
Ellen shrugged, unwilling to share the secrets of her heart with anyone, much less this overbearing, pompous son of the desert.
Ibrahim sighed, running a hand over his neatly trimmed beard. "You and Rashid deserve each other, for you are both equally stubborn. I was almost eighteen years old when Rashid was born, and have been as much father to him as brother, taking over many of our father's duties because of the business of governing that burdens him. But I neglected to listen to our father's wisdom when he told me to let Rashid fly with his own wings. He is so very different from his mother's other sons…"
He shook his head, then looked up at Ellen. "I also failed to listen to your wisdom, and now I must repair the damage I have done."
"So what does all this have to do with me?"
"Rashid is unhappy. Because he is unhappy, his mother is unhappy, and when his mother is unhappy, our father is, also."
"I fail to see what could possibly have brought you all this way to see me. I'm sorry Rudi is unhappy, but there's nothing I can do about it."
"I believe you are wrong. I believe you are the only one who can help."
"I'm not," Ellen snapped. "I am the last person you should be talking to."
"I offer you the chance to prove what you say." Ibrahim reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out an airline ticket and offered it to her. "Come to Qarif. Talk to Rashid, to your Rudi. Ask him whether he sees you as a disgusting failure, or whether—as I heard with my own ears from his lips—whether you are the woman he loves."
Ellen stared at the ticket, but couldn't make herself take it. She couldn't make herself believe Rudi could have said what Ibrahim claimed he had. She didn't dare. Twice already she had lost him. Her heart would never survive a third time.
Ibrahim took the two steps necessary to reach her desk and slapped the ticket down on its surface. The emotional weight behind the slim paper folder made the noise seem to echo through her, and Ellen shuddered.
"Come to Qarif," Ibrahim said. "If you have the courage of your convictions. Come to Qarif, if you dare to take the chance that you might be wrong about Rashid."
She could feel Ibrahim watching her, but she could not take her eyes off that airline ticket. It wasn't the chance that she might be wrong about Rudi that frightened her, but the possibility that she might be right. She didn't dare…
"The date on the ticket is open," Ibrahim said, his voice matter-of-fact. "You may use it at any time. Or you may cash it in, if you do not care enough to come."
Ellen heard the door open and close and knew he was gone, but still she stared at the ticket. It wasn't that she didn't care. She cared too much. And she was afraid. Twice now she'd thought the words I don't dare. Ellen Sheffield, the woman who would try anything, who jumped out a window in her Wonder Woman boots, who climbed a cliff thirty feet high with only her hands and feet—this same woman was afraid of a little airplane trip.
Okay, so it wasn't just the flight. It was the man at the end of the flight. Cliffs and window jumping could only break her bones, hurt her physically. Rashid ibn Saqr ibn Faruq al Mukhtar Qarif had the power to rip open her very soul, because she loved him. She loved him enough to remember every single one of his names, for crying out loud. And he didn't love her back.
But what if he did? What if he was just as miserable there in his palace as she was in her tiny high-rise apartment? She found it hard to believe, but Ibrahim had given her the means to know for certain. If she had the courage to take him up on his challenge.
Ellen gritted her teeth. Did she dare? She could hear her brothers in her mind, clucking like chickens as they taunted her for her cowardice. She could see Rudi's mocking smile, the challenge in his eyes as he dared her to accept his ridiculous wager, as he told her, "You are afraid of what I make you feel."
He'd been right. And yet, when she had taken his challenge and dared to feel those things, they had been so much more than she could have believed possible. They had made the pain of his leaving so much worse. But to know so much joy, so much delight, wouldn't people pay any price? Didn't they, trying to find it in drugs or drink?
And if Ibrahim was right, if Rudi did care for her— she couldn't think the word love for fear she would jinx it somehow. She knocked on her wooden desk just in case. But if he did care, that meant she didn't have to endure the pain, that she could have the joy.
Hope hurt. Ellen had almost become accustomed to the ache of its absence, and now Ibrahim had made her hope again, stirring up the pain. He had dared her. She'd never backed down from a dare before, and she wouldn't start now.
Coward or not, she had to know the truth. With her knees knocking and teeth chattering all the way, she would go to Qarif and find it.
Eleven
Rudi sat with his face turned up to the sun, eyes closed, basking in the warmth, sheltered by the balcony wall from the chill north wind that had swept through only this morning. He should not have pushed himself so hard while drilling that well. He'd known it while he did it, but the work was the first thing he had found to take his mind off his loss. When he stopped working, Ellen intruded into his thoughts again, so he simply kept going.
The exhaustion that had overtaken him when the water flowed bubbling into the cistern had been a blessing as well, for when he dreamed of her, he dreamed they were happy together. Waking was the nightmare.
Now that he had some of his strength back, he could begin on the next part of the water project, piping it into the homes of the villagers. This time he would pace himself, at least as much as he was able.
He heard footsteps behind him, but didn't bother to open his eyes. He was convalescing. If he pretended to sleep, perhaps whoever it was would go away. The sun's warmth would soon send him to sleep for real.
"Rudi?"
His fantasies were improving. Ellen's voice sounded as if it were on the balcony with him. He brought her smiling face up before his mind's eye.
"Ibrahim told me you'd worked yourself to exhaustion, but I never imagined…"
The chaise where he reclined dipped as weight settled onto it, and his eyes flew open in shock.
This was no fantasy.
Rudi sat up, reached for her, needing to be sure. She caught his hand, gripped it tight. He touched her cheek, devouring her with his gaze.
"Are you real?" he whispered.
She must be. The rosy cheeks of his memory had vanished, replaced by pale hollows, with dark-circled eyes above.
"Ibrahim said I looked as bad as you do." She smiled, and his heart began beating again.
Strange that he had never noticed how it had failed to beat during all the time they were apart.
"But I think he's wrong," she went on. "You look much worse than I do."
"Because I missed you more."
"Did you?"
The uncertainty in her eyes tore at him, and he reminded himself why he had left. He could not risk her life. He could not bind her with the truth, and yet how could he lie? Rudi answered her with a smile, unable to find words.
Yet his fingers spoke what his lips could not, tracing tenderly over the curves and planes of her face, sharper now with her thinness. He could not stop touching her.
"Why have you come, Ellen? To assist in the capture of the terrorists? We are very close, or so I am told."
"No," she said.
Still he caressed her, smoothing a finger across the sweep of her brow, down the line of her nose, along the ends of her eyelashes, making her smile at the faint tickle.
"Have you come to protect us while we lie asleep in our beds?" he asked.
Ellen shook her head. Then she leaned forward, taking his face be
tween her hands as if to prevent his escape, and she kissed him, a sweet, passionless kiss. "I came on a dare," she murmured against his lips.
A dare. He should have known. Rudi thrust her away and stood, striding to the end of the balcony.
Ellen came after him. "Rudi—"
He spun around and put his hand over her mouth, harsh at first, but he could never be harsh with her. His touch gentled, became another caress sealing her lips. He didn't want to hear her reasons for coming. Whatever they were, they could not possibly be what he wished them to be.
"I missed you." The words came out, despite his intention otherwise.
Ellen opened her mouth to speak past his fingertips. Desperate to stop her, Rudi did the only thing he could think of. He kissed her.
One hand gripped her shoulder, fingers still alive with the feel of her mouth. He lifted the other to cup her head as the kiss softened, deepened. Ellen's mouth had been open, and he took advantage, his tongue joining in the kiss. Her tongue slid across his in welcome, and somehow, suddenly, his arms were wrapped tightly around her, crushing her softness against his body.
Rudi pressed his arousal hard into the soft cradle between her hips. He wanted her to know how much he had missed her, what her presence did to him. His long native tunic and the light trousers he wore beneath allowed more sensation, more of the feel of her body along his to reach him. He should send her away for her own safety, but he simply could not let her go.
It had been too many long days and even longer nights since he had held her in his arms. He loved her so, wanted her, needed her so. He could not think. He was caught up in the chains of his passion, and he realized, as her hands supped beneath the bunched-up fabric of his tunic, so was Ellen.
The touch of her hands on his bare skin drove him to madness. Rudi turned her, leaning her back against the side wall of the balcony, and reached for her skirt. Today it was long and flowing, the soft folds lifting easily until he brushed her silken thigh.
He touched lace, then skin above the stocking, and he shuddered. He got both hands beneath her skirt as he kissed her, his tongue stroking in imitation of the act he was so desperate for. This was indeed madness. He retained only a semblance of control as he stroked up and around and down her thighs where they were bared above the stockings. Then Ellen untied the drawstring of his trousers, closed her hand around his aching flesh, and he lost even that semblance.
