A Bed of Sand

by Laura Wright

  “Flight Fourteen to Paris, France, en route to Dallas, Texas, will be boarding at Gate Six.”

  Rita didn’t even glance up when her flight was called. She’d booked a commercial flight back to the States, with a short layover in Paris. She hadn’t told Sakir she was leaving, as she sure didn’t want to ride back with him.

  Her stomach clenched. Just the thought of hours on a plane with the man who had rejected her…it would be way too humiliating.

  “All first-class passengers traveling on Flight Fourteen to Paris, France, en route to Dallas, Texas, should be boarding at this time.”

  Rita flipped through her magazine not even seeing the pictures. She didn’t want to run in the direction of the gateway, not just yet. She had a little time, sure, but it wasn’t that. The truth was she wanted to hold on to Emand and the memories she’d made here for as long as possible.

  A fact that made her want to kick herself.

  Oh, well. Soon enough she’d be on that plane, climbing into her snug little coach seat and flying home.

  Back to Paradise.

  Rita smiled a little sadly. Right now, her hometown sounded like just that—heaven for a woman who felt like hell.

  Unbidden, an image of she and Sakir making love, laughing underneath that massive fig tree, popped into her head.

  Her throat ached with unshed tears. How could she have been so stupid? Thinking all the time that a future with this man never mattered, that all those wonderful days and nights and moments and memories would just fade into the scrapbook of her mind—forget the emotions that had come with them.

  Well, Rita. That’s what you get for marrying the boss.

  Boss…

  She shook her head, feeling unbelievably defeated. After today, Sakir would no longer be her boss. She’d quit, and no matter how hard it was going to be to find a new job, there was no way she was going back to Al-Nayhal Corporation. She couldn’t see Sakir again and work with him every day, as her heart continued to pine and to break.

  “At this time we would like to invite all coach passengers traveling on Flight Fourteen to Paris, France, en route to Dallas, Texas, to board.”

  On legs of water, Rita stood up, her carry-on feeling like it was filled with boulders as she walked slowly toward the terminal.

  “Where has she gone?”

  Sakir stood over Gana, who, up until a moment ago, had been stripping the sheets on the bed he had shared with Rita just a few nights ago. Zayad was beside him, not saying much, just giving his brother the support he had claimed he did not need.

  The young woman bowed low. “I do not know, Your Highness.”

  “She said nothing?” he demanded, his arms crossed over his chest—a chest that had been constricting every time he thought about Rita leaving the palace, leaving him without a word.

  “She embraced me, Your Highness. Thanked me for my service.”

  Sakir could barely contain his frustration, but he forced calm into his voice. “Think Gana, please. She packed her clothes—”

  “The princess left most of her clothing, Your Highness,” Gana said quickly.

  A cold knot twisted in Sakir’s belly. Of course she would not take his gifts. She was far too proud to take from him after what had happened, after what he had said to her. “Fine,” he said tightly. “She packed the clothes she brought to Emand then, and…?”

  The woman looked up to the ceiling, sniffed, clearly racking her brain for more of an answer than “I do not know.” Finally, her weary gaze returned to his. “I am sorry, Your Highness.”

  Zayad, who had remained quiet up until now, stepped forward. “Did she want to travel to the mountains again? Perhaps tour the deserts?”

  The young woman took a deep breath, shook her head. “Not that I am aware of, Your Royal Highness.” Her brow furrowed then. “Wait a moment.”

  “What is it?” Sakir demanded.

  “There was one thing she said that sounded strange.”

  Zayad looked ready to shake the maid. “Well, out with it, Gana.”

  The young woman’s eyes widened. “It was about the French.”

  “The French?” Sakir repeated. “What the devil does that mean?”

  “She asked me if I thought the people in France call their string potatoes French fries as she would in America.”

  Zayad grinned at the amusing query, said to his brother, “She means to leave Emand.”

  Sakir nodded, his gut tight. Routes back to the States on commercial airlines went regularly through London and Paris. Odds were that she was at the airport this minute, or already on her way out of the country.

  On his way up to the suite moments ago, he had thought that perhaps she had made her way to the airport. But he had not been certain and did not want to alert the airport security, and whoever else might be listening in, of a missing Emand princess.

  Sakir walked to the open balcony and looked out. His heart pounded wildly in his chest; his mouth felt dry as the desert beyond. Never in his life had he been so afraid to lose something, someone. He had been a fool to hold on to the past with an iron fist. Now he was paying the price.

  “Sakir?”

  He turned. His brother raised a brow in unspoken query.

  What to do?

  Well, he would not let her leave, certainly. Not until he had said what was on his mind and on his heart. Odds were good she would refuse him, but if he did not see her one last time, apologize and profess his truths, he would lose not only the woman he loved, but his sanity as well.

  “Shall I call for the car?” Zayad asked.

  Sakir nodded, reached in his pocket and took out his cell phone. “But first, I will speak to my men at the airport.”

  “Rita Al-Nayhal?”

  The man who had spoken her name so quietly and with such reverence stood before her, his head inclined slightly. He was joined at the hip with a far larger man, very bodyguard-esque in his searching eyes, meaty fists and tight-lipped mouth.

  “It’s Rita Thompson, actually,” she corrected, her heart dipping just a bit as she said the words.

  The man didn’t acknowledge her amendment, just said very seriously, “Would you follow me, ma’am?”

  “I’m about to get on a plane.” She shook her head, confused. “Is there some problem?”

  “No problem at all, ma’am.” The man lowered his voice once more. “There are a few security measures for members of the Al-Nayhal family that we must adhere to.”

  Rita opened her mouth to reiterate that she was no longer a member of the family, but the man said far too quickly, “We have changed the gate for your flight, that is all, and wish to escort you there.”

  A shiver inched up Rita’s spine and she turned. She saw many of her fellow passengers stopping where a woman collected boarding passes and stamped their tickets before they went through to the gate. “I don’t think so. This is my plane right here. It’s going to Paris, then to Texas.”

  “Your Highness, we do not wish to make a scene.”

  “Neither do I. And by the way, how do you know who I am?”

  “We are security, ma’am,” was all he offered. “It is important for you to come with us.”

  Panic shot through Rita’s blood. “I’m not going anywhere with you people.”

  Just then, the bodyguard stepped forward. He said nothing, but he didn’t have to. He was pretty imposing. The smallish man continued to speak, “You will come with us, ma’am.” He lifted a brow. “How you come with us is entirely up to you.”

  Anxiety turned to anger inside of Rita. She knew who was behind this. Her “husband.” No doubt, Sakir had called the airport and was having her sent back to the palace.

  Why, she didn’t know. He didn’t want her anymore.

  She eyed the bodyguard, knew she couldn’t take him down or run from him, so she acquiesced. But she knew that when she got back to the palace, she was going to give that arrogant sheikh a piece of her mind.

  The two men escorted her through the
airport and down several hallways. Soon the exit to the airport came into view, but the men didn’t lead her in that direction.

  “Where are we going?” she demanded, fear twisting in her blood.

  “To your plane, ma’am.”

  “My plane—” she began, then paused.

  There it was, sitting pretty outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  Sakir’s plane.

  Of course.

  A deep sadness filled her, and a lump formed in her throat. Sakir wasn’t bringing her back to the palace for a chat. He was letting her leave. No fight. He just wanted to make sure she left in the same way she’d come—safe and sound and in style.

  As if that mattered to her at all.

  But no one was going to accuse Sakir Al-Nayhal of not being a gentleman.

  Rita lifted her chin and proudly walked out into the sunshine, onto the tarmac and up the steps of the plane. A week ago, she’d come down these steps with a light heart and a wave of excitement.

  What a heartbreaking turnaround.

  When she entered the body of the plane, Rita felt thankful to leave the jerk security guys behind and to see the same flight attendant who had worked on her last flight over to Emand.

  The man bowed to her and gave a warm, “Welcome aboard, Your Highness.”

  “I’m not a ‘Your Highness’ any more,” she said drily.

  The man only inclined his head.

  “Can I take any seat?” she asked, just wanting to curl up in a ball and pray for sleep to hit her.

  “The sheikh has requested your presence in the back of the plane, Your Highness.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, you can just tell the sheikh to go—”

  She stopped short, her brows knitting together.

  The sheikh requested…

  Oh, God, no.

  Her heart slamming against her ribs, she struggled to think of what to do next. She didn’t want to see him and she sure as hell couldn’t let him see her—not with love still shining in her eyes.

  “Where is it that I should go, Rita?”

  Rita stood stock-still, letting that voice seep into her heart and soul like honey and chocolate. If she wasn’t as strong as she was, there would be nothing to stop her from running to him and throwing her arms around his neck.

  But she was strong.

  She turned around and faced him. As always, he looked too gorgeous for words, casually dressed in jeans and a black shirt. “What are you doing here?”

  “We came here together. We will leave together.”

  “Honestly, there’s no need to act all chivalrous,” she said rigidly. “You should go home, back to the palace, to your people, where you belong—and let me go home to Paradise, where I belong.”

  His eyes were intense and passion-filled. “You do not belong in Paradise.”

  She sniffed. “More than I do here, that’s for sure.”

  “I do not agree.”

  “Sakir,” she said quickly, done with all this small talk. “What am I doing here? What do you want?”

  “When did your mother die, Rita?”

  Rita sucked in a breath, the question taking her completely by surprise. Tears filled her eyes and she choked out, “What?”

  Sakir shook his head. “I am sorry that I never asked about her, about the pain you must have experienced in losing her.” He shrugged sadly. “I was caught up in my own history—too caught up to see anything else.”

  Confusion spun in Rita’s mind. “I don’t understand. Why are you doing this? It’s—”

  “Important?”

  “No. No, it’s cruel.” She took a step toward him, her voice breaking. “Don’t pretend to care about me now. It’s over, okay? I’m fine. There’s no need to apologize, or have regrets.” She threw her hands in the air. “No harm done.”

  His eyes filled with tenderness and with disbelief.

  She sighed and sagged a little. “Well, maybe that’s not entirely true, but I’ll get over it.” She paused and said words that were killing her to say. “I’ll get over you.”

  “I do not wish for you to get over me.”

  “Why is that? So I’ll stay at Al-Nayhal Corporation?”

  “I will not pretend that you remaining in my company is not important to me, but it is nothing to having you beside me in other ways.” His gaze went soft, tender. “In my arms, my bed, my heart.”

  Rita just stared, a flicker of hope winding its way though her. “Sakir…”

  “Please come to me.” He held a hand out to her.

  She shook her head.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe any of this.”

  “And?”

  “And…” Her throat was so tight. “I’m afraid.”

  “Of what, Rita?”

  “Your words. They hurt too much.”

  He frowned. “I know. God, I know. I am beside myself with shame for what I have said to you. It was wrong and wholeheartedly untrue. My only excuse is one of fear. I knew I had fallen in love with you. I thought the only way I could regain my power was to hurt you.” He shook his head, drew a jagged breath. “I was a coward, Rita.”

  Rita held her breath; on the verge of tears, she thought she’d bust out at any moment. She didn’t know what to think, what to believe. She loved this man so much she ached with it. But she was so afraid; her heart couldn’t take another rejection.

  “Words can hurt, dearest,” he said with supreme tenderness in his tone. “But they can also heal. I know this because my brother and I have talked and reconciled.”

  “You have?” she said, overcome with astonishment. “But I thought—”

  “You thought I was a fool who would continue to hold my brother responsible for a life he had no control over in the first place just to protect myself against further pain.”

  “Yes.”

  “I am a new man, Rita.” Sakir grinned, his eyes filled with warmth. “You have made me thus. Just as you have given Zayad and me a new beginning. Make no mistake, dearest. We both know that it was you who brought our family back together.”

  Tears spilled from Rita’s eyes. She shook her head. “No.”

  “Yes, dearest.” Again, he held his hand out to her. “I want to thank you. And if you will let me, I want to give you the family you have given me.”

  “Sakir…”

  “Forgive me. Please.”

  Rita could hardly say the word. All the emotion, all the love in her heart had settled in her throat. But she couldn’t help herself. She felt herself nod, felt herself running to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, sighing as she felt him so strong and safe and real.

  He nuzzled her neck and whispered in her ear, “Thank you.”

  She clung to him.

  “I love you, my dearest,” he said.

  “And I love you,” Rita said breathlessly.

  Sakir pulled back just an inch, dipped his head and covered her mouth with his. His kiss was tender at first, so loving and open. But it quickly grew heated and sensual, his mouth moving over hers as he murmured words of love she’d longed for, hoped for and wished to hear.

  After a few moments, he eased his mouth from hers, though his gaze remained steadfast, true and so open at long last.

  “Dearest?”

  “Yes?” she said, loving this new and heartfelt endearment he was calling her.

  Sakir lowered to one knee, grinned up at her. “I ask for your hand in marriage.”

  She gave a chirp of laughter. “Again?”

  “This time, I will do things properly.”

  With a grin, he opened a small box. Rita looked down and snaked in a breath. An enormous pink diamond winked up at her.

  “Will you have me?” he asked.

  “Oh, Sakir, always and forever.” She smiled at him, watched and held her breath as he slipped the ring on her finger.

  Just a short time ago, she had been standing at an altar with a man who knew no love, no forgiveness
and no true happiness. Because she wanted him and believed in him, she had been willing to go with him, see a different side of life, experience new and exciting adventures.

  Sakir stood then, kissed her softly on the mouth and then hauled her to him.

  Around them, the engines of the plane roared to life. The sound was a metaphor for them and for new beginnings.

  Rita melted into Sakir’s arms, knowing deep in her soul that she’d found all that she’d been looking for—her ideal husband, her loyal fiancé, her one true love and so many magnificent adventures to come.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-8041-4

  A BED OF SAND

  Copyright © 2004 by Laura Wright

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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