by Fiona Brand
Fortier’s expression paled as he indicated they should sit down on the comfortable black leather chairs grouped around a coffee table.
Gabe ignored the offer of a seat. He produced a photocopy of a snippet from a French newspaper where Fortier had stated Gabe was holidaying in Tuscany with his daughter. “You know very well I’ve been in New York and the United Arab Emirates for the past few days.”
Fortier placed the page on the coffee table. “It was a solution. Damage control.”
“Only if I still wished to marry your daughter.”
Fortier stiffened. “There’s no reason our agreement can’t stand, especially since a substantial partial payment has been made. The agreement is sealed.”
“Not any longer.”
Fortier plowed on as if Gabe hadn’t spoken. “Of course I can compensate you for a certain...breach of the conditions.”
The breach being that Nadia was no longer a virgin and, according to the report Gabe had received, hadn’t been for quite some time. Gabe also happened to know that Gerald Fortier had been well aware of that fact when he’d signed the marriage agreement.
Until Gabe had spent that one night with Sarah he hadn’t realized just how much integrity in his relationships mattered. “I’m afraid,” he said softly, “that part of the agreement is nonnegotiable.”
There was a small, tense silence. Fortier’s gaze flickered over Xavier and Hasim, who were flanking Gabe in an unmistakably military fashion. Fortier jerked at his tie. “In that case I will require immediate and full repayment of the funds you’ve received.”
Gabe kept his expression neutral. With the small constitutional change Gabe’s father had made, repaying Fortier would not be a problem. “You’ll have the money as soon as the finance I’ve arranged with a New York bank is approved. In return I’ll make certain that the information that Nadia is having an affair is not leaked to the press.”
Fortier’s face went dead white then flushed bright red. “Thank you.”
The man’s momentary loss of control informed Gabe that, for all his faults, Fortier cared about his daughter’s reputation.
Turning on his heel, Gabe led the way to the elevator. Within an hour he was back on the small jet he had chartered. The engagement was now null and void, although he couldn’t allow himself to celebrate just yet.
His mother was quietly over the moon that Gabe wanted to marry a New Zealand girl and that there was a grandchild already on the way. Breaking the news to the general populace of Zahir, however, would be a more delicate issue.
Preparations for the wedding were almost complete. Invitations had been sent and hotels had been booked out. The cancellation was a matter that would have to be handled by the public relations experts. Although Gabe was certain that once the tourism minister got hold of the fact that Sarah was a descendent of Camille de Vallois, he would leverage the information into a wave of public approval that would smooth over the fact that he was changing brides.
Grinning at the thought that finally there was a practical application for the romantic story of Kadin and Camille, he dropped into a leather seat. Taking out his cell he logged the string of missed calls from Sarah and tried to call her before the jet taxied onto the runway. It was something he hadn’t been able to do while in the remote hill country of Buraimi.
When the call went to voice mail and Sarah didn’t respond on her cell, he checked his messages. There were two from Sarah. He listened to the cool, low register of her voice as she requested that he contact her. The last message had been left four days ago.
Grimly, he tried calling Sarah again. When there was no reply, he turned his cell off. If there was an issue with the pregnancy, Sarah would have said so in one of the two messages she’d left, and which he hadn’t been able to pick up because there was no cell phone service in Buraimi.
Xavier, who had been talking to the pilot, dropped into the seat beside him. “A problem?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
He’d been away from Sarah for two weeks. Two weeks too long. He had missed her.
His jaw tightened at just how much, because a part of him didn’t want to be subject to the whims of desire and the havoc it could wreak.
While the other part of him couldn’t wait to have her back in his arms.
* * *
Zahir glittered beneath the scorching noonday sun as Sarah paid the bellhop who had delivered her bags then strolled through the cool, spacious hotel suite she had reserved for the next ten days.
After changing into a white cotton dress, she collected her camera and a notebook and took the elevator to the ground floor. Evelyn had reluctantly given her the all-clear to travel after her blood test had been much improved. Now that Sarah had moderated her diet the dizzy spells had abated and she was feeling much more energetic.
She strolled out onto one of Zahir’s narrow, quirky streets, loving the heat and the quaint lime-washed buildings clinging to the hills and cliffs that rimmed most of the bay. Zahir was also home to a cluster of beautiful resorts, all owned by the sheikh. The resorts had all been built to blend with the historic old city and looked more like ancient villas and palaces than actual hotels.
Lifting her camera, she took several shots to catch the panoramic view then started down the steep hill to the main street, which ran along the shoreline and was famous for its cafes and souks. As she strolled, she frowned at the sight of a sign in Zahiri and English congratulating Sheikh Kadin on his upcoming marriage. Festive ribbons and lights strung across the streets and huge planters spilled richly scented flowers in celebration. Her mood dropping, she lifted her camera and snapped a photo. If she had wanted confirmation that the wedding had not been called off, this was it.
The zeal she’d had to gather information then fling it at Gabe when next he contacted her abruptly flatlined. It was all very well playing detective, but it didn’t feel so good when the results seemed to confirm her worst fears. Feeling deflated, she stopped to buy a cold drink at a small bustling café.
The pretty English waitress who served her was breezy and chatty and happy enough to answer the few halting questions Sarah asked.
She set a cool drink in front of Sarah. “Almost no one’s actually seen Nadia. I think her family are keeping her under wraps until the day, you know? Although, if you go online you’ll find a few photos. She’s young and drop-dead gorgeous. Apparently she used to be on social media until the engagement was set in concrete, then—” she made a slicing gesture across her throat “—nothing.”
Sarah took a desultory sip of her drink, which was a delicious sweet-sour concoction of plum and lemon, laden with ice. “I guess Gabe—the sheikh, can be controlling.”
The waitress gave her a disbelieving look. “I was talking about Nadia’s father. Kadin is a whole different kettle of fish, a total babe. A lot of women have tried to entice him into marriage, but since he lost his wife, he hasn’t been interested.” She shrugged, her gaze turning soft and a little dreamy. “I guess he must have really loved her. Rumor is that’s why he agreed to an arranged marriage this time around. He can’t have Jasmine, but he needs an heir. Oh, and of course, the Fortiers are rich. I’m guessing that helps.”
Sarah set her glass down, suddenly losing any desire for the drink or the conversation that had gone with it. The pipe dream that she could have a marriage, maybe even true and lasting love, with Gabe was receding fast. She had thought Nadia Fortier was the only problem but, according to the waitress, Nadia came in a bad second because he was still in love with a first wife that he’d almost never mentioned!
* * *
Tired and on edge after the night flight from Paris, Gabe negotiated Zahir’s main street traffic, his temper on a tight rein as he noted the displays of ribbons and strings of colored lights, and the congratulatory messages that were appearing despite the wedding d
ate being weeks away. His phone vibrated. He took the call while he waited at a traffic light.
Xavier, who had been met by his wife when they’d landed, sounded weary. “An Italian tabloid has gotten hold of the story that you’re supposed to be holed up in a castello in Tuscany with Nadia. What do you want me to do?”
“What we always do, nothing.” With any luck the fact that he had openly spent two days in New York and the past week in Dubai would discredit the gossip. “Any luck getting hold of Sarah?”
“Same luck you had. She’s not answering her phone. Tarik went around. She wasn’t home.”
The sense of unease that had gripped him when he hadn’t been able to get hold of Sarah before the flight from Paris returned full force. He tensed at the thought that she might have had another fainting episode. Maybe the diabetes had worsened and she’d been admitted to the hospital. He had thought she was okay now that her diet was under control. But it was always possible she had suffered some other complication.
Suddenly the distance between them, a distance he had thought he needed in order to control his own emotions—was a barrier he was no longer prepared to tolerate. As soon as he could locate Sarah, he would make arrangements to have her fly out to Zahir. Jaw taut, he instructed Xavier to keep trying to locate Sarah, including checking the hospitals.
A thought occurred. Sarah had told him the man she’d dated the night she and Gabe met at the consulate, Southwell, had once broken into her house. It was possible he’d come back to harass her again. “And check on Southwell.”
Even though Sarah had finished with him, Gabe couldn’t rule out the fact that Southwell might try to make another move on Sarah. “One more thing, ask Tarik to check the airport manifests just in case Sarah has left the country.”
Gabe hung up as the light changed. He inched forward in the heavy traffic. He was probably overreacting. It was possible Sarah had gone away for a few days, although that didn’t explain why she hadn’t called or answered her phone. Wherever she was, she would still have a cell phone, which meant she was choosing to be out of contact with him.
He frowned at that thought. Usually, Sarah was more than happy to talk for as long as he wanted to stay on the phone. For her to close off all communication meant something had happened. His fingers tightened on the wheel. At a guess, she had picked up on the scandal brewing around Nadia.
The fact that Sarah had reacted by closing him out, the kind of manipulative tactic Jasmine had often used, should have had him backing off from the relationship. Instead, he thought grimly, it was having the opposite effect and for good reason. Even though he was certain Sarah was emotionally involved with him, she had also made it crystal clear that vulnerability was optional: she could get along without him.
Gabe braked as a truck pulled out from the curb and brooded on the prospect that Sarah might have made the kind of bold, declarative decision she seemed prone to make and ditched him. Caught in traffic, surrounded by the hubbub of a hot Zahiri day, Gerald Fortier’s manipulation still leaving a bad taste, it was an odd moment for Gabe to reach a point of absolute clarity about the future.
He had made a mistake in leaving Sarah alone for so long. It was a mistake he would not make again. Now that he had terminated the agreement with Fortier, he was going to insist he and Sarah get engaged immediately.
Gabe had almost reached the palace when Xavier rang with the news that Sarah had left New Zealand and landed in Zahir that morning.
Fierce satisfaction curled through Gabe. Sarah hadn’t run from him, she was here, on his island. And there could be only one reason: she had come after him.
She loved him, he was suddenly certain of it. Nothing else explained why she had let him make love to her in the first place and then been willing to take him back, even after he had left her flat.
The thought that Sarah was committed enough to come to Zahir in search of him should have sounded alarm bells, but the relief that she had done so somehow canceled out any recoil he should feel. He had dreaded Jasmine’s brand of intense, cloying love, but he found he did not feel the same way about Sarah. If Sarah was in love with him then, as far as he was concerned, that provided a counterbalance to her strong will and a measure of certainty he needed. The desire to consolidate their relationship with marriage settled even more firmly into place. He registered that Xavier was still talking.
“Uh—as it happens Southwell is also on Zahir, but they’re not staying at the same hotel and they didn’t travel together.”
Frowning at the irritating specter of Southwell, Gabe did a U-turn and headed for the hotel. He braked for a stream of pedestrians crossing to a waterfront souk. A woman dressed in white with dark, caramel-streaked hair arranged in a sexy knot caught his eye. He couldn’t see her face, but something about the confident feminine stride spun him back to a stormy night in Wellington.
Traffic moved at a snail’s pace as the woman in white paused at the entrance to the souk. Hitching the strap of her handbag a little higher on her shoulder, she checked her watch. Gabe’s heart slammed against the wall of his chest. He would recognize the elegant shape of her cheekbones, the smoky slant of her eyes and that delicate, faintly imperious nose anywhere. It was Sarah.
There was no place to park on the congested street, so he backed up a few feet, waited on traffic then turned down a narrow lane that ran down one side of the souk. There was no official parking, just dedicated loading bays for the stallholders. He found a space at the back of a diamond merchant’s shop and parked.
As he locked the car, the security guard for the merchant, a tall heavyset man dressed in a suit, stepped into the loading bay. His grim expression changed when he noted Gabe’s signature kaffiyeh and agal. Moments later, the security guard was joined by the owner, who assured Gabe he could leave his car for as long as he wanted. The effusive offer was followed by a sales pitch on a line of diamond earrings that would make Gabe’s future bride melt with desire.
Gabe assured the owner of the souk that if he required diamonds, he would be sure to consider him. It was a fact that now that the way was clear to marry Sarah, he would need a ring. It would seal the engagement and be a tangible sign that Sarah was his.
He found himself wondering what kind of diamond Sarah would like. It was not the kind of question that had ever consumed him before. Jasmine had insisted on choosing her own ring, and he had never known what Nadia liked; the ring she had received had been chosen by Hasim. But Gabe had an intimate knowledge of Sarah’s tastes: fresh flowers and spicy food; old-fashioned, mismatched dinner plates; colorful, funky kids’ clothes. His kid’s clothes.
Stepping out into the main thoroughfare, Gabe skimmed the press of shoppers that flowed like colorful flotsam through the streets. Most were Western tourists, drawn here by a media campaign that had been formulated by Zahir’s young and aggressive minister of tourism. A Harvard graduate Gabe had met while he was studying, Faruq Malik was intent on selling Zahir as an island of romance, history and mysticism.
Faruq had left no stone unturned in his attempt to resurrect the mystery of Camille’s lost bridal dowry and the first Sheikh Kadin’s ancient romance. He had even invented new aspects to the story, claiming that the moon had been full the night of the wedding and that the vows had been exchanged at midnight.
Gabe glimpsed a cool flash of white in a sea of vibrant reds, blues, oranges and glaring pinks. He made his way through eager streams of shoppers, all avid for gold and silks, jewel-bright rugs and exotic spices, until he reached the silk merchant’s shop that Sarah had entered.
A group of Japanese tourists were clustered around the counter. Sarah half turned as he entered the shop, a sumptuous drift of berry-red silk held draped against her body. For a split second, Gabe was riveted. The sensual richness of the cloth seemed to make her skin glow and her eyes seem even darker and more exotic.
Red. It was her co
lor.
Sarah’s gaze passed blithely over him then zapped back. “You.”
The fiery glare spun him back to the conversation in his Jeep when Sarah had discovered he had gotten engaged straight after they had made love. She had been angry and then she had kissed him.
A purely masculine satisfaction filled him. If Sarah had been disconnected and indifferent, he would be worried, but she wasn’t. She was mad, her glare pointed and highly personal as if everything that was wrong was his fault. Which, if she had read the gutter-press story claiming that he was holed up with Nadia in Italy, was understandable.
In the heat of that glare, he found himself feeling oddly at home, as if they had just picked up on a half-finished conversation. In that moment he realized how much he’d missed the long phone calls and the electrical connection that seemed to hum between them. Crazily, putting distance between them had done nothing to lessen what he felt for her.
“Sarah. What a surprise to find you on Zahir.”
Ten
Unwillingly arrested by the traditional kaffiyeh and agal, which had distracted her from recognizing that it was Gabe filling the shop doorway, Sarah dumped the red cloth back in a bin filled with colored silks. The low timbre of his voice shivered through her, but she refused to be seduced by it. Been there, done that, she thought grimly. Didn’t want the T-shirt.
She dredged up a cool smile. “I’d hate to miss your wedding.”
In the dim interior of the shop, dressed in a dark suit with the kaffiyeh, his jaw stubbled as if he hadn’t had time to shave, his amber eyes gleaming in the shadows, he looked exotic and even larger and edgier than she remembered.
Her anger and hurt that he had not canceled his wedding and had spent the past couple of weeks at some Italian castello with Nadia dropped to a slow simmer as Sarah registered how utterly out of place Gabe was in a silk merchant’s shop. That could only mean that he had seen her and followed her into the shop. The thought instigated a flicker of pleasure that she could not allow to make headway, given that Gabe had betrayed both her and their baby and from all accounts had enjoyed every moment of it.
