by Kim Lawrence
She shook her head. ‘I don’t suppose it was easy to sleep in prison?’
‘Actually, there wasn’t a lot else to do—and you know me. I can sleep anywhere, any time. The King of the Catnap!’ he said, stretching out on the sofa and yawning. ‘Haven’t you got some packing to do or something? Shall I order a taxi?’
Gabby took a deep breath. ‘Actually, Paul, I thought I might stay on for a while.’
‘You’re not coming home?’
Home. The emotional lump of loss in Gabby’s throat swelled, and she blinked as she felt the prickle of tears behind her eyelids.
She could get on that plane with Paul.
She had given her word, but that had been under duress so it didn’t count. There was nothing barring the integrity Rafiq seemed so convinced she possessed stopping her. She could sleep in her own bed tonight.
The idea held a lot of appeal.
What was to stop her? Who was to stop her?
Rafiq? Even Rafiq would stop short of boarding an international flight and hauling her off—wouldn’t he? An image of Rafiq’s face—the carved cheekbones, the sensually sculpted mouth and the implacable dark eyes—flashed into her mind.
It was the face of a man who would stop short of nothing to achieve the goal he had set himself. The man was so fixated and stubborn that she was wasting her time telling him his plan was crazy, but she was sure that the passage of time would prove what he didn’t want to hear.
‘I thought I’d take an extended holiday,’ she said.
Just the odd twenty years or so, if things went according to Rafiq’s plan. But it wouldn’t—it couldn’t. Gabby clung to her conviction. The alternative was something she couldn’t bring herself to contemplate.
‘But you don’t go on holiday.’
‘I don’t go on holiday as often as you—but then who does?’
Paul worked only to pay for his trips, while their parents lived in hope that he would outgrow his wanderlust, but so far it showed no signs of happening.
‘I went to the Lake District last summer,’ she reminded him.
Paul dismissed the Lake District with a grimace. ‘You took a group of kids and you camped in the rain. I don’t call that a holiday.’
‘The Lake District is beautiful.’
Paul shook his head. ‘You know, Gabby, sometimes I worry about you. Maybe I’ll stay on with you.’
The word exploded from Gabby. ‘No!’
She felt Paul’s astonished stare, and added in a more moderate tone, ‘What I mean is, you have to go home. This has been traumatic for Mum and Dad, and they’re not going to believe you’re safe until they see you and hug you.’
Paul grimaced and looked contrite. ‘Point taken. Poor Mum and Dad—I’ve given them a tough time over the years, haven’t I? I never mean for these thing to happen, you know.’
Gabby’s expression softened with affection. ‘I know you don’t.’
‘Well, at least they have one kid who doesn’t give them nightmares.’
Gabby dodged his gaze. She was still working on the assumption that Rafiq’s plan would never actually come to fruition, but if it did it would not be just her own life that was affected.
She tuned back in from her worried analysis just in time to hear Paul say, ‘Shame, though. I’d have liked to show you the sights…Not jail, obviously. Are you staying on at this hotel? How much are they asking a night? Let me speak to the management—I’ll see if they’ll do you a deal.’
‘Thanks, Paul, but actually I’ve had an invite to stay with…a family.’
‘Cool—the best way to see a country is to stay with locals. Or are they ex-pats?’
‘No, they’re local, actually. I’ve been invited to stay at the palace.’
Paul stared at her. After a long, startled silence he clapped his hands and gave a smug smile. ‘See—I was right!’
‘You were?’ she said warily.
‘Yeah. They’re scared stiff I’ll stir up trouble and they’re pulling a charm offensive on you. I say go for it, sis. You might even get to see the Royals.’
‘I can hardly wait.’
‘I was just joking. That place is vast—and you’re not likely to get invited to dinner with the King.’
Gabby, her mind very much on the ordeal awaiting her that evening, joined in weakly as Paul laughed heartily at his own joke.
‘Come on,’ she said, playfully knocking his foot down from the sofa. ‘Shake a leg. You don’t want to miss your flight.’
‘What did I tell you?’ Paul said as she climbed into the limo beside him. ‘VIP treatment. I’m tempted to stay and milk it a bit.’
‘They might be tempted to change their mind and throw you back into jail.’
Paul laughed and patted her hand. ‘You’re such a worrier, Gabby.’
At the airport the VIP treatment continued. They were even shown through to a private lounge and offered refreshments. Gabby had a few moments’ panic when the flight was called and Paul was nowhere to be found, but he returned before she had gone into meltdown, looking pleased with himself.
‘Where were you? The flight has been called.’
‘First class,’ he announced as she hustled him out of the lounge. ‘Now do you believe me?’
She smiled and shook her head. ‘You’re incorrigible. But promise me one thing—don’t talk to any strange women.’
‘I’ve sworn off women.’
‘I’ve heard that before,’ Gabby muttered as she watched him go through security.
The relief she felt as she watched Paul’s flight lift off was intense.
He was safe. She had achieved what she came out here to do. But at a price.
The heat outside the air-conditioned terminal building hit Gabby like a solid shimmering wall as she stepped onto the wide pavement in front.
There was no sign of the car that had deposited them, and Gabby was wondering what to do next when a long black limo with tinted windows pulled up.
The rear door opened.
‘Get in,’ a disembodied voice snapped.
It was the verbal equivalent of a click of the fingers. Gabby’s lips thinned in displeasure. She would have given a lot not to jump in in response, but she had very little option.
‘Is that an invitation or an order?’
‘It’s whichever works.’
With a snort, Gabby slid into the back seat. She arranged her skirts neatly around her knees and crossed her ankles, but she was only delaying the inevitable. She had to look at him some time.
‘How did you find your brother? He is well?’
As if he actually cared. With anger in her eyes, Gabby turned her head and promptly forgot what she had been about to say.
Today, along with a traditional flowing white robe, his head was covered by a white keffiyah, held in place by a woven gold band. The only blemish on his face was the healing wound on his forehead. The traditional headgear emphasised the remarkable bones, the sybaritic purity and the strongly sensual quality of his face. Especially, she thought, the sensual quality of his mouth. Her eyes were irresistibly drawn to the blatantly sexual curve of his lips. It was obvious that a man with a mouth like that had to be a good kisser—and he was.
It was some time later that her drifting, dreamy gaze finally connected with his. He arched a questioning brow. Embarrassed colour flew to her pale cheeks.
She compressed her lips and tossed him a cold response. ‘Considering what he’s been through, he’s remarkably well.’ She sniffed and thought, No thanks to you!
‘You have explained the situation?’
‘You mean did I tell him I bought his freedom by relinquishing mine? Strangely enough, no, I didn’t. This may seem like some sort of business deal to you, but to most people it would look like blackmail—and, actually, that’s how it feels.’
And you’re telling him this why? Rafiq is not interested in how you feel.
Instead of answering her outburst with some cutting riposte or sinister warning
he didn’t say anything at all. But she could feel his eyes, even though she had turned her head and was staring blindly out of the window. Finally she could bear it no longer. She turned her head.
Rafiq was scowling at her.
She lifted her hands like someone protesting their innocence. ‘What? It’s the truth. Can you say you haven’t blackmailed me?’
‘What have you done to yourself?’
The seemingly unconnected criticism made her blink. ‘Done to myself? I haven’t done anything.’
He lifted a hand and inscribed a motion above his own head. ‘Your hair…your face.’
‘That wasn’t me—that was your hit squad. You don’t like it?’ She just managed to stop herself touching her hair.
‘I do not like it.’
‘How very rude of you to mention it.’ And how totally ridiculous that I actually care.
‘Why did you let them do this to you?’
The utter unfairness took her breath away. ‘Like me, they were following orders—yours!’
Her orders had been delivered on a silver tray. Along with details of her brother’s flight and where she could meet him, the handwritten note had also informed her that she would be dining that evening with the two Princes. The postscript had explained that a selection of suitable outfits would be delivered to her room later.
They had been—along with a hairdresser, a stylist and a make-up artist. They had admired her skin until Gabby had let slip that her skincare regime was a bit hit and miss, and depended greatly on what skincare products were on special offer. The women had then discovered a lot more room for improvement.
Rafiq looked outraged. ‘I did not tell them to do this!’
‘This?’ This time she couldn’t stop herself touching her hair. ‘What’s wrong with it? I’ve been styled, made over…’ And apparently I still don’t make the grade—great!
‘You could be any woman in the street.’
Only the ones who could afford couture, she thought. ‘No—any woman in the street could catch a plane and go back home.’
‘Your style is individual.’ His frowning scrutiny returned to her hair, which shone like glass and fell river-straight down her back.
‘That’s what I thought you wanted to get rid of.’
Rafiq did not respond. His expression, as he continued to stare at her hair, was distracted. Then without warning he reached out and swept a strand of shiny hair from her cheek.
‘That’s what I thought too.’ But he had changed his mind.
Gabby stared at the blood-red stone on his finger and shivered as his fingertips brushed her cheek.
‘Yesterday your hair looked as if you hadn’t combed it. When you were sleeping, you…’ He speared his fingers deeper into it, and remembered doing the same when he had kissed her. The memory made it hard to retain his detachment. It made him hard, full-stop.
Gabby hardly recognised the hoarse, husky voice as her own as she retorted, ‘I don’t always look that bad. Yesterday I had been sleeping in the desert.’
‘And worrying about me.’ His hand dropped and his hooded stare darkened as his long fingers curled around her throat.
Gabby felt the light touch like a burning brand on her skin. ‘I was worried about everyone. How are…?’
The relief she felt when his hand fell away was so intense she had to bite back a bubble of hysterical laughter.
‘Two are still on the critical list.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She was utterly bewildered, and had no way of articulating her helpless physical response to this man. She had never experienced anything like the sensations that were thrumming through her body. So much for taking control of her hormones!
She ran her tongue along her upper lip to blot the beads of moisture that had broken out there, fighting the desire to crawl out of her skin.
‘Well, I suppose it’s too late to do anything about your hair now.’
‘You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself. You could always chuck me out of the car to try and get the look you apparently liked so much,’ she said, reaching for the door handle.
With a curse he leaned across her and clamped his hand over hers.
Gabby shrank back in her seat, her senses spinning and her pulses leaping as his arm pressed her into the seat.
‘I was joking,’ she said. But not now. Now jumping seemed a pretty safe alternative to having him this close. She was overwhelmingly conscious at a cellular level of his hard male body, the heat, the scent, the raw, powerful masculinity of him.
His hand still covering hers, he turned his head. His face was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek and see the network of fine lines around his eyes. His dark hooded eyes were fierce and hypnotic.
And then it came. The forbidden thought she had walled away—he’s dying.
A keening cry ached for escape from her tight throat. She shouldn’t feel this terrible sense of loss—for God’s sake, she didn’t even like him, he was her enemy—but the empathic connection she felt with him was so strong she could feel the weight of his emotional isolation, and her foolish heart ached for him.
How do I feel so close to this man?
Their eyes connected and clung, and for a moment time seemed to slow, then freeze. It was Rafiq who leaned back in his seat, and the spell broke.
Gabby expelled a shaky sigh and sat on her hands, to hide the fact they were shaking. ‘Talk about overreaction. You have no sense of humour.’ She gave a light laugh and turned her head to look out of the window. Please let this journey be over!
The highway from the airport was wide, long and straight, cutting directly through miles of flat ochre-coloured desert, dotted with strange and weirdly shaped rock formations that rose up into the sky, casting even weirder shadows against the desert floor. There was a lot of traffic. She commented on the fact, because it seemed like a fairly safe and impersonal subject.
‘It is a holiday here and it is tradition for people—families—to go to the sea. They are now returning to the city.’
‘I know someone who took a diving holiday here a few a years ago.’
‘Yes, there is good diving. The coast is littered with wrecks that are rich in sea life. I learnt to dive there myself.’
‘And those green patches I keep seeing in the desert? What are they?’ she asked, looking at his cut glass profile and not at the scenery rushing by.
‘They are areas of irrigation, and most productive. We actually have a strong agricultural economy, and even without the hand of man the desert is not as arid and lifeless as it appears. Many species have adapted to the conditions and temperature fluctuations—I have even seen fig trees growing miles from water.’
Gabby listened, fascinated as much by the passion, enthusiasm and pride for his country she could hear in his voice as the information.
‘In the south, where there is no shortage of rainfall, we have—’ He stopped abruptly and turned his head. ‘Are you actually interested?’
Gabby said the first thing that came into her head. Unfortunately it was the truth.
‘No, I just like the sound of your voice.’ Actually, like was far too tepid a term. ‘And of course,’ she continued, adopting a flippant attitude, ‘I’m going to be Queen of all I survey…’ Quick recovery, Gabby. Her mocking smile faded. ‘You do know it’s not going to happen, don’t you, Rafiq?’ she said quietly. ‘Have you even told your family that you’re ill?’
‘I will tell them at the appropriate time,’ he replied with deceptive calm. The problem was one that he knew he would have to face. But not yet.
His father was not young, and though he was not a physically demonstrative man Rafiq knew that his sons were his life. Once people knew he would be treated differently, and this was something he wanted to postpone for as long as possible.
‘They have a right to know,’ Gabby began earnestly. ‘And you shouldn’t be alone. You should have—’
Rafiq listened until he could bear no more.
‘Enough!’ He cut her dead with a jerky motion of his hand. ‘I hardly need a support network when I have you, do I?’
His sarcasm made her flush and look away—but not before Rafiq had seen the glitter of tears in her eyes.
He studied her delicate profile and felt glad there was no woman in his life who would weep tears for him and mourn. What man could contemplate the prospect of the woman he had held in his arms and made love to watching him fade away by slow degrees without horror?
‘Let me make it plain that I do not need your pity, your understanding, or your compassion. Is that clear?’
She swallowed and compressed her lips. ‘As crystal.’
His voice soft with menace, he leaned in towards her, his dark eyes burning into hers. ‘And if you have any ideas about telling anyone…’
‘I won’t blab.’
‘Good,’ he said, settling back in his seat as the car glided through the open palace gates.
CHAPTER TEN
‘WE ARE dining in the small family dining room.’
‘Cosy. Very cosy,’ she commented as he stood aside to let her precede him into the room. The ‘small family dining room’ was the size of a football pitch. The table set at one end, with gold candlesticks, heavy crystal and antique silver, was about thirty feet long, and they were walking on a mosaic floor that had to be centuries old.
Rafiq, upon whom her irony was wasted, saw her staring at the glowing mosaic and said casually, ‘Byzantine,’ before approaching the man sitting at the table with a newspaper propped in front of him.
Gabby looked curiously at the man she was meant to marry. It just so was not going to happen. He was around six feet tall and slim, and he wore his dark hair cropped short and spiky at the front. A black tee shirt under a silver-grey suit and scuffed trainers completed his ensemble.
The same individuality and lack of formality was evident in his greeting, as he clapped his elder brother on the back and regarded Gabby with open curiosity.
‘Hello, I’m Hakim. You must be Gabriella. I’ve heard a lot about you.’
Gabby’s eyes widened. ‘You have?’ She threw Rafiq a questioning glare before accepting the hand extended to her. Her fixed smile broadened when the young Prince held her eyes and raised it to his lips.
