A Bed of Sand

by Laura Wright

  Finally, they came to the spot Tureen, one of the sultan’s men, had told her about—a rich, well preserved valley floor with a stream, several beautiful old acacia trees and one massive fig tree.

  When Rita stopped, Sakir followed suit. “I have never been to this part of the Bari Mountains before.”

  Rita grinned. “I know.”

  He frowned, but humor burned behind his eyes. “I do not like this…this secrecy, going behind my back.”

  On a laugh, Rita grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the surprise she’d been planning since they’d returned from the palm tree forest. “Oh, just relax, Your Highness, and come with me. You’ll like it plenty when you see where we’re going.”

  In just under a minute, they stood before it.

  Rita turned to watch Sakir’s face as he took in the most enormous fig tree in Emand, or so Tureen had told her. His eyes widened and his mouth curved into a handsome smile. With great care, he reached up, cupped a giant piece of ripe, black fruit that hung from the tree’s large puzzle-like leafs.

  She squeezed his hand. “I thought a picnic under this tree. Bread, cheese, fruit, a little wine. And all we have to do is reach up for dessert.”

  Sakir said nothing, and she wondered for a moment if he was displeased or worse, unmoved by her sentiment. But after a moment, he turned to her, pulled her into his arms and whispered against her hair. “How did you know?”

  “You told me.” She pulled back slightly, looked into his eyes. “Don’t you remember?”

  He blinked, no doubt trying to recall a time when he’d allowed himself to be so open with another human being.

  His hands threaded her hair. “Why would you do such a thing for me?”

  She smiled a little sadly, stared up at the man of her dreams, knowing full well that she couldn’t tell him how much she loved him. It was as though a hand fisted around her heart, but she managed a clear, “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” he said, his gaze warm, safe.

  She shrugged, not willing to believe she was ever safe enough with him to tell him the truth about her feelings. “I guess I thought you’d like to see it, that’s all.”

  “I do.” He smiled. “You are amazing, Rita.”

  “I hope that doesn’t end with ‘and any man would be lucky to have you.’” She gave him a playful grin.

  He lowered his head, kissed her on the mouth. A soft, tender kiss—not heated as it was this morning. “This is true. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

  The ultrafeminine genes that dwelled within her sprung to life and she wanted to ask him if he would be that man. That lucky one. But she stopped herself, for she wasn’t sure if she wanted the answer.

  Not now, anyway.

  And not here, in this perfect setting.

  There would be enough time for truths, she knew. And although she hated to admit it, in her heart she was hoping that with all this time they were spending together, perhaps Sakir would knock down his wall of anger and resentment and embrace a future with her, fall as deeply in love with her as she was with him.

  It was, of course, wishful thinking. But hopes could not be helped.

  Sakir reached up again. This time, he picked that luscious, black fig from the tree and brought it down between them.

  “Have you had a fig from Emand, Rita?”

  “Never.”

  “The taste is unlike anything you have ever known. It is pure and it is pleasure.”

  Rita’s breath caught in her throat. He could be speaking of them, of their time here—of her love for him.

  She grinned.

  Sakir did, too. “Open your mouth for me.”

  Resisting the fruit seemed foolish, but resisting Sakir seemed futile. She did as he asked and sighed as warm, sweet fruit met her tongue.

  When Sakir and Rita returned to the palace later that day, happy, full and sexually content, there was a message waiting for them.

  A message that tossed their relaxed and carefree mood right out of the palace’s extravagant floor-to-ceiling windows.

  It was from Asad Qahhar and asked for the prince to return his call at his earliest convenience. A deep sense of regret filled Sakir’s blood as he left Rita in their suite and went up to his offices in the tower. He was not ready to hear the man’s answer, nor was he ready for his time with Rita to end. But in his life, business always came first.

  The call took just five minutes, but the outcome brought Sakir little happiness. He was slow in traveling back down to the suite, uncharacteristically awkward as he sat beside Rita on the bed. She was taking off her shoes, looking very content after a day filled with food, figs and lovemaking. He too had felt such contentment.

  Until just a moment ago.

  When reality had returned.

  “Qahhar wishes to meet with us tomorrow afternoon,” Sakir said at long last. “He has made his decision.”

  Rita looked up, her brows knit together. “So soon?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  She exhaled heavily, her shoes all but forgotten now. “I thought we’d have more time.”

  “As did I.”

  The air rushed from Sakir’s lungs in a melancholy wheeze. What the devil was wrong with him? He did not understand the depths of his own feeling. This was what he had wanted, what he had come home for. He was poised, ready to take what Qahhar was about to offer him. Hell, he had heard as much in the man’s voice. No secretary calling. The man himself, sounding very pleased.

  And yet Sakir could muster no excitement.

  The thrill of the chase had always been a pleasant one, but it was the capture that truly pleased him.

  Not today.

  A vise fisted his chest. He did not want to examine the reasons—or reason. He did not dare.

  “Well,” Rita began, a forced enthusiasm to her tone. “A positive and very profitable answer from Qahhar is why we came to Emand, right?”

  “It is.” No, he reminded himself, she could not read his thoughts. But it was as though she had.

  She looked over at him, her eyes filled with questions. But she only asked one. And a general one, at that. “So after we get his decision, we could go back home?”

  Sakir nodded. “Perhaps as early as tomorrow night.”

  Rita said nothing, just gave him a tight-lipped smile. Sakir wanted Rita to force his hand, remind him of their lovemaking, remind him of their time together, remind him that if he were an honorable man he would ask her to be with him—to make their “union” a true and honest state.

  But he would not ask for this, just as he knew Rita would not. For very different reasons, of course—where he could never give love to another, Rita was far too proud to ask it of him.

  “Do you want me to call him in the morning?” she asked, her back straight, her countenance one of a good and solid business assistant. “Confirm our meeting?”

  Sakir put his hand on hers. “Thank you, but no, I will make the call.”

  With amazing warmth, Rita covered his hand with her remaining one and squeezed.

  The action nearly tore Sakir apart.

  Where, hours ago, this woman had been his—body, heart and soul—she now had once again become his assistant. He hated the fact, but knew he could have it no other way.

  He released her, then stood up, bowed. “I will leave you to get ready for bed.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “I think I will take a walk in the garden.”

  “Would you like some company?”

  The muscles in his body tensed. He looked down, into her eyes and wanted to get lost there, wanted to say yes. Hell, if he had his preference, he would stay right here, in this bed. But such dreams were impractical. If he continued this impossible romance now, he would not be just a careless rogue, he would be a heartless one.

  Rita deserved far more than that.

  “I should like to go alone.”

  She nodded, but stopped him as he turned to walk away. “You
know, Sakir,” she said, her voice alive with passion. “What you’re looking for isn’t in that garden. And it’s not in an eighty-hour workweek or a sprawling ranch in Texas.”

  He stopped, but didn’t turn around.

  “God, I hope you find it.”

  His jaw tight, he asked, “Find what?”

  “Whatever it is that’s going to make you happy and fulfilled.” She paused, took a breath. “I’d truly love to see you that way.”

  Anger surged into Sakir, but at what—at whom—he was not sure. Madness had come over him the moment he had stepped onto his plane with this woman beside him.

  Did she not understand?

  He did not care for happiness and fulfillment. They were fleeting. No, he wanted only to find sanity again.

  A muscle twitched beneath his right eye, but he ignored the uncontrolled movement, stuck out his chin proudly and walked out of the room.

  Fourteen

  The time was 1:00 p.m.

  The place: the grand library in the sultan’s palace.

  Beautifully bound books swelled to the rafters; leather sofas and chairs were dotted about atop silk carpets to make the space a comfortable one; gold and marble tables held platters of cakes and cookies, while in the royal china were full servings of hot Turkish coffee.

  It was glorious, and very overwhelming for the laymen, a class to which Rita and Emand Oil’s Asad Qahhar definitely subscribed.

  Rita had not been surprised at Sakir’s quick change of venue. He liked the home court advantage, so to speak, when closing a deal. And there was nothing that rivaled the palace, save the White House.

  Asad did not lean back in his chair as he had in his own offices in town. No, he remained straight-backed in his posture and deferential in his manner. “I am pleased, Your Highness. Al-Nayhal Corporation will do well for Emand Oil, I am certain of it.”

  Sakir, who had yet to sit down, nodded from his place behind the sofa. “We look forward to working with you.”

  “I feel the same,” Asad said, then paused. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you will be in Emand several times a year. This makes me feel very comfortable in my choice.”

  Rita could feel Sakir stiffen all the way across the room. Although she didn’t have to, she caught the quick glare he sent her way. She wasn’t sure what he was going to do here or say to Qahhar. Perhaps he’d ignore the man’s comment or amend Rita’s previous and imprudent offer from their last meeting. Either way, it would surely quash the deal for them.

  “I will be here two or three times per year,” Sakir announced, then proceeded to pour himself another cup of coffee.

  Rita nearly fell out of her leather armchair and choked on a pecan cookie. Had she heard him right? Had he just agreed to come home several times a year? She had no clue what had brought on such a change of heart, but she vowed to ask him about it later.

  Asad nodded. “Two or three times, you say?”

  “If this is not sufficient, I am sorry,” Sakir said tightly. “But, alas, it is all I will commit to.”

  Asad shook his head. “No. This is very well, Your Highness. I am very pleased indeed.”

  “Good.” He stuck out his hand. “We have a deal then.”

  Asad Qahhar stood and the two men shook on it. Rita just stared at them, her brain in some type of fog. She couldn’t wait for the older man to leave so she could ask Sakir what had just happened here. And when he did, she pounced on Sakir.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “What don’t you understand?” Sakir said, still standing, still looking as tight and professional as ever.

  “You have agreed to come to Emand several times a year.”

  “I have.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Are you going to make me spell this out?”

  Sakir sighed. “I did what I had to do to make the deal.”

  This made her pause. For a moment, just a moment there, she’d thought perhaps he’d really changed. She’d thought that maybe he’d forgiven his brother, wanted to come home again, wanted something different than deals and contracts and work, work, work. But that—again—had been just wishful thinking.

  “You did what you had to do for the deal,” she repeated. “Just as you did with us, right?”

  “Yes,” he said tightly. “That is right.”

  Rita stared at Sakir, her heart bleeding. No longer was he the sensual, carefree man she had known over the last several days. The man she loved and had made love to in her bed. No, the man that stood before her now was the same man who had left her last night and who had slept on the couch in their suite.

  Her boss.

  All business. All the time.

  “I must see to some paperwork,” he said, then quickly downed the cup of coffee. “We will see each other later, yes?”

  “Of course.” Her heart thoroughly ached, and she wanted to curl up in her chair with a big, fluffy blanket and cry for a few hours. But she didn’t have that luxury. She had to be all about business as well if she was to survive this. “Do you need any help with the work?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  It was funny. Even in her anger and frustration, she wanted to help him. Well, that was love, folks. What an idiot she was for thinking she could get through this unscathed.

  She watched him walk out of the room, then fell back against the chair and downed her coffee. She wanted to take a few minutes, a little time to sit and feel sorry for herself, but the library suddenly felt very confining and she decided to get up and get out. Once in the hall, she headed out to the gardens. It seemed the place for thought and reflection—perhaps even regrets, if she had a mind to list them.

  The morning sun warmed her skin and the desert breeze cooled her down as she walked along the rows of roses. She was just bending down to smell a perfectly lovely yellow variety, when someone came up behind her.

  “We must talk.”

  Rita whirled around, nearly stabbing her palm with a thorn in the process. “Zayad. You scared the life out of me.”

  “I apologize,” he said, but didn’t look the least bit sorry.

  He stood before her, hands behind his back, his handsome face etched with tension as his white caftan whipped in the soft wind. “I know I have agreed to keep silent on the subject of my brother until he is ready, but I can do this no longer.”

  Rita’s heart leapt into her throat. “Why?”

  “I know the bargain you have made with Qahhar. This means your business is done here. You will leave Emand very shortly and I will never be able to confront my brother.”

  Rita’s mind whirled with thought. Zayad was right, of course, but if he talked to Sakir now, about what she’d said, Sakir would be livid. He would admonish her for interfering, but he would probably never speak to her again for having his pride crushed before his brother.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Zayad, but—”

  “I am sorry, too, my sister, but Sakir and I must speak.”

  “He’s got to find his own way back home and to you,” she said passionately.

  He stood tall before her, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “Are you really asking me to forget all that you have said to me?”

  “For now, yes.”

  “Well, I cannot. I will not.” He turned away, his head high, his manner defiant. Then he turned back. “I brought Sakir here to end this war, not to—”

  “What?” The blood in Rita’s ears began to pound. “What did you just say?”

  Zayad shook his head, his lips thinning dangerously. “I want our family back together. I want my brother to know his place here. I want him back in Emand where he belongs. It is important to all—”

  “Stop.” Rita couldn’t believe she was speaking so boldly, commanding a sultan in his own home, but she was beyond reason. “You brought Sakir here?”

  Zayad sighed, said nothing for a moment and then, “Yes. I arranged for the meeting between Sakir and Qahhar.”

  “Oh my God.”

&
nbsp; “The interest in my brother for Emand Oil was my doing. So what?”

  “So what?” she fairly choked out. “You speak of pride and honor. Sakir has these in spades.”

  “He would come no other way.”

  She threw her hands up. “He thought he got this all on his own, his talents…”

  “It was on his own merit that he landed this account, Rita. Make no mistake. But Qahhar did come to me for counsel, and I gave him my advice. I told him who I believed was the best man for the job.”

  Above them, a cloud rolled in and covered the sun. The air cooled and the flowers seemed to wilt slightly. Rita swallowed, shook her head. “Sakir is going to be furious when he finds this out.”

  Zayad lifted his chin. “Just as he would if he knew you discussed his fears of loss regarding his family with me?”

  Her belly clenched, she nodded. “Yes.”

  “Well, it is too late for the both of you, then.”

  Rita whirled around, her heart in her throat. No, no, no. It wasn’t him. Not now.

  But her silent plea went unanswered.

  Eyes filled with hatred, Sakir stared at her. “From him I would expect such deceit—” he shook his head, his voice brutal “—but never from you, Rita.”

  Stunned, sickened by his withering gaze, Rita could only shake her head. But aloud, she could take nothing back. The situation before Sakir looked just as it was. Two people discussing him, covering up their previous conversations—conspiring to hold back things he had a right to know.

  Rita felt raw, exposed and utterly defeated.

  In her hope of helping him, she had deceived him.

  “Brother,” Zayad began slowly and with much patience.

  “We are no longer brothers,” Sakir uttered with thick revulsion.

  Tears pricked Rita’s eyes, but she swiped at them and took a step toward the man she loved. “Sakir, please listen to me—”

  He stopped her cold. Full-blown reproach burned in his green eyes. Then, as he’d done earlier that day, he turned and walked away.