He couldn’t help but smile. She’d floored him. Her sensitivity and tact, especially given her circumstances, made him feel like a brutish clod. He’d been so self-indulgent he hadn’t begun to think about what she might be going through.
“You look great,” he said. And he meant it.
“Thanks.” She came up to his side. He felt his nostrils flare in reflex as she neared, drinking in the fresh, clean scent of her.
“You didn’t join us for dinner.” The banality of his statement belied how he’d felt about it. A part of him had hungered to see her again. Another was relieved when she hadn’t shown. And then, when she still didn’t appear, he’d felt slighted, even irritated.
“I ate in the servants quarters,” she said simply.
“Why?”
She smiled at him, that dimple deepening in her one cheek. He couldn’t take his eyes off the way her lips curved. He noted that one side of her smile was a little higher than the other. It gave her a mischievous look, as if she held some hidden secret, as if she was toying with him.
“I didn’t want to interrupt your private time with Kamilah.” She hesitated. “Dr. Watson told me about her…about her problem.”
He stared at her in stunned silence, a grudging respect rising in him.
She came even closer to his chair. He felt the hairs on his arms rise, warmth stir in his groin. His body was powerless in her presence. Entranced, he watched the way the pale moonlight played across her exotic features.
“How was dinner…I mean with Kamilah. How was she?”
He was taken aback by her question, the intimacy of it. This was Rashid business. “Special,” he said.
She waited, eyes watching him.
“She didn’t talk to me, if that’s what you want to know.”
Her brow raised at the brusqueness of his tone.
He felt a pang of guilt, a need to elaborate. “She…she was there in a way she never was before.” He grinned in spite of himself. “She even laughed at my silly camel jokes.”
Sahar smiled. But it wasn’t the same smile he’d seen before. There was a haunted look deep within her eyes, a look that betrayed her outward control. It was the look of someone adrift. Lost. Even a little afraid.
She was doing her best to appear relaxed, confident. She was looking beyond herself, beyond her own tragedy, caring about him and Kamilah. But he’d glimpsed the truth inside. She was hurting. Guilt knotted in his chest.
“I’m glad I found you,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you all over the place. This palace is like a maze.” Her voice curled like silk ribbon through him, tightening around his insides.
“You were looking for me?” She needed him. That pleased the primal male within.
“I wanted to ask you if…if you’ve had any contact from the mainland yet…about me?”
The question jolted him to his senses. He coughed, recalling his manners, stood up, pulled out a chair for her. “No, I’m afraid not. Communication is still down. Take a seat. Would you like a brandy?”
“No, thanks, I’m fine. I need to work on keeping my mind clear if I want to remember anything.” She sat with fluid grace but he could hear the disappointment in her tone at his answer.
“When I hadn’t heard from you, I guessed there was no information. I kept telling myself you’d come and tell me the minute you learned something.” Her eyes flashed up to his. “Right?”
Oh, God, she’d been waiting all day, anticipating word. And all he’d been thinking about was how to get rid of her, how to stop her impacting his personal life. And here she was being considerate of him, being tactful by not wearing Aisha’s clothes, by not interrupting his dinner time with Kamilah. She’d even waited until the last possible moment in the day before coming to find him, although she’d been dying for some news, some clue to her identity.
The knotted ball of guilt in his chest tightened. “Of course I’d tell you right away,” he said. “Hopefully we’ll know something tomorrow. My tech reckons he’ll have the satellite communication system up and running again by morning.”
“It was downed in the storm?”
“Yeah, the sand out here gets into everything. We use a fixed satellite system which means the phones inside the palace can be operated just like landline sets. Only trouble is the radio antenna unit and junction box need to be mounted outdoors with a clear view of the sky. That means it’s vulnerable to sandstorms.”
She tensed suddenly. Her eyes widened, then the line of her mouth flattened. She turned abruptly away from him, shutting him out.
A frown cut into his brow. What had he said? He studied her profile. She was hugging her arms tight to her stomach, staring out over the inky ocean. What had caused this rapid shift in mood?
Perhaps she was wondering what befell her out there in the dark void, what had happened to the people she may have been with. Something snagged in his chest. What had she been through in that storm? Something so traumatic that it had shut off a part of her brain, made her dissociate from herself? Was what she experienced anything like the mad, awful terror that had gripped him as he’d watched Aisha, bleeding, being sucked down by the waves? Had she, too, known that huge hammer-heads swam like shadows between the reefs underneath?
If Watson was right, her memory loss was only a temporary buffer against pain she might yet have to face in the next few days. Did she even have any idea that her amnesia was psychological? Would it help to tell her? Or would it only cause more distress?
She put her hand to her temple, pressed down on the stitches.
“You okay?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. I mean yes. I’m fine. I…I just got a feeling.”
“You remembered something?” He leaned forward.
“I…I don’t know. Maybe.” She forced a smile and abruptly changed the topic. “You’re a very lucky man to own such a slice of paradise, David. This place is truly beautiful.”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes holding hers. “Very beautiful.”
She faltered at his loaded words but held his gaze. The jasmine-scented air grew warm and thick between them. She swallowed and then turned away, but not before David had glimpsed the flare of female interest in her eyes.
“Do storms like that happen often out here?” she asked, her voice smoky, thicker. Her obvious physical reaction to him did wild things to his body. Heat simmered in his belly. His throat went dry. He told himself this was ridiculous. To even begin to think of her in this way was a fool’s game. She was vulnerable. She wasn’t able to make rational decisions in her state. And she probably had a lover waiting for her somewhere.
He cleared his throat. “No,” he said. “Storms like that are rare. And when they do come, it’s usually without the rain.” He angled his head, caught her eyes. “And without mermaids.”
She laughed. The sound caught him by surprise. Husky. Rich. It socked him right in the gut. But even though she laughed, David noted she was rubbing her arm nervously. Inside she was still loaded with angst. He wondered if it would help if he tried to prompt her memory. And a part of him couldn’t help thinking about the possibility she could be faking this. “What do you know about the Red Sea?” he asked.
“Nothing really…I think.”
“Seems strange how you washed up out of a sea you know nothing about.”
She stopped rubbing her arm. “You make it sound like you don’t believe me.”
He took a long, slow sip of his brandy, studying her face carefully. She didn’t shy away from his scrutiny for an instant.
“No, I believe you,” he said finally. “What would you stand to gain by faking something like this, anyway?”
“That’s a rhetorical question, right?” Her words were markedly clipped. “I can’t believe you’d even begin to think I was malingering.”
“Right,” he said, noting her use of the word malingering. Watson had used the same word in a medical context. That didn’t necessarily mean a thing. But still, it alerted him, pu
t him on guard. David was not a man who trusted easily. He’d never have gotten where he was now if trust had come easy. He’d learned as a child out in the desert that you always had to watch your back. And he’d gradually learned that the more powerful a man became, the more people tried to tear him down.
No. For David Rashid trust was a very rare commodity. For him trust was hard-won.
But his suspicion had offended her. She glared at him, fire snapping in her eyes. Even though he’d upset her, he was pleased to see her energy back. He could deal with anger. He couldn’t deal with the haunting loneliness he’d glimpsed a few seconds ago.
“Believe me,” she said in a low, cool tone. “I have no desire to be stuck out here on some lump of land in the Red Sea with a man who doesn’t believe I can’t remember who I am.” She pushed herself up from the chair. “If you think for an instant that I’m enjoying any part of this, you’re dead wrong. It sucks. And I can’t wait to get off this bloody island.”
He grabbed her wrist as she turned to go. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking up into her eyes. “That really was uncalled for. It’s just such a strange thing to have happened. And I can’t even begin to imagine how it feels to have no sense of self. I do apologize.”
She glared at the hand that restrained her. But he wasn’t going to let go until he got through to her. “Will you forgive me?” He smiled slowly, deliberately, aware he was turning on the famous Rashid charm.
He felt her relax under his fingers. Male satisfaction spurted through him. His charm had effect on her. She was not immune to him. He released her arm. “Please sit.”
She acquiesced, but a sharp wariness lingered in her eyes. He felt compelled to chase it away. “I should be doing more than apologizing,” he said. “I should be thanking you for allowing my daughter to speak again.”
Her eyes softened. “Dr. Watson told me she hasn’t spoken in nearly two years, not since the death of her mother.” She hesitated as if unsure of her ground. “I’m sorry for your loss, David,” she said. “I’m sorry for what you and Kamilah must have gone through.”
The muscles of his neck constricted. He shouldn’t have opened this door. He didn’t know what had possessed him to do it. He looked away. “It’s in the past,” he said.
She had enough presence of mind not to press him. They sat in uneasy silence, watching the pull of the moon on the ocean, keenly aware of each other’s presence.
“David,” she said suddenly.
His eyes shot to hers.
“I…I want you to know that I’ll do whatever I can to help Kamilah.”
“Why?” The word came out too terse.
“Because I feel somehow responsible. I…” She wavered. The light of the moon caught the glisten in her huge green eyes, giving her away. She swallowed. “I don’t know how to explain it but I feel like I have a connection, that I can somehow relate to her…to what she’s been through.”
David wanted to reach out, to touch her pain, to share his own. Instead he slammed down the doors. “You’ll probably be gone by tomorrow night,” he said brusquely.
Hurt flashed through her eyes. She turned her face away from him. “Yes,” she said softly. “I hope I will be gone by then.” She got up and left.
And he let her go.
He cursed silently in Arabic and swigged back the last of his drink, relishing the angry burn down his throat.
It took all Sahar’s control not to run. She walked calmly over the terrace and back into the palace. But once inside, she pressed her back hard up against the cool stone wall and scrunched her eyes tight, willing hot tears of frustration away. She was shaky, an absolute mess of conflicting emotions. She knew exactly how David Rashid’s satellite communication system worked. The realization had hit full-blow between her eyes the instant he’d begun to explain it to her. And she’d gone stone-cold. Some remote part of her brain had recognized that how his communications system functioned was somehow vitally important to her. But why?
She shivered. The more snippets of recollection she got, the more ominous her whole situation seemed. She felt there was something really big she was just not grasping. But the more she tried to grab hold of those elusive feelings, the further it all seemed to retreat into the murky shadows of her mind. It made her feel vulnerable, as if an unidentified enemy prowled in the peripheral darkness of her brain, closing in. And Sahar knew that whoever she was, she hated feeling vulnerable.
And on top of it all, she was attracted to the man in the most basic way. He stirred things inside her she didn’t want to begin to think about right now. Not when she didn’t know if he was supposed to be an enemy. But even though David Rashid set off every warning bell in her system, an instinctive female part of her wanted to ease his pain, help him connect with his daughter. And she’d tried to do just that. She’d reached out to help. And she’d been burned by rejection.
Despite Sahar’s best efforts to quash the rising tide of emotions, a sob escaped her. It shuddered up through her body, and the pent-up frustration spilled hot down her cheeks.
David was furious with himself. He shouldn’t have let her go like that. He jerked off his chair, stormed across the terrace, swung into the dining hall. And froze.
She was pressed up against the wall, head back, eyes closed, a shimmering trail of tears down her cheeks.
His throat closed. He’d done this to her.
“Sahar,” he said, his voice thick.
Her eyes flared open. She gasped, tried to turn away. He lunged forward and grabbed her arm. She stilled. He reached up, cupped her jaw, turned her slowly to face him. But she wouldn’t look him in the eyes.
“I…I didn’t want you to see me like this,” she whispered.
“Oh, God, Sahar, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
She pulled loose. “Don’t. It’s nothing. It’s me. I’m just tired. I need sleep. I…I guess I get emotional when I’m tired.” She forced a weak smile. “See, I’m learning something about myself.”
“Sahar,” he said firmly.
Those huge green eyes looked into his. Bewitching, mesmerizing eyes, filled with a shimmering ocean of emotion. He felt himself pulled inexorably toward her, he felt his lips move closer to hers. So close he could feel the warmth of her breath against his mouth. It took all his strength to hold back. To not press his lips down on hers. “Sahar.” His voice came out rough and deep. “I meant it when I said thank you…for helping Kamilah.”
She stared silently up at him, her lips parted. The look of hurt and frustration in her eyes tore at his heart. He moved a stray gold tendril of hair from her face, hooked it behind her ear. “In the desert,” he said softly, “rain is a gift directly from the gods. There is nothing more spiritual than rain in the desert. Because it not only brings life, it is life.”
He cleared his throat. The look in her eyes had forced him down this track. And he could no longer turn back. “You blew in with the rain, Sahar. And like the rain you brought the life back to my child. You awakened her. And me. That’s the reason behind my choice of name. Sahar. It means dawn, to awaken. A time of new beginnings. Of growth. Life. I want you to know that. I want you to know why I chose it.”
Time stretched as she stared up into his eyes, a range of unreadable emotions crossing her face.
“It’s a beautiful name, David,” she said finally, her voice thick and husky. “Thank you.” She looked away. “I wish it really was mine. I mean, to keep…forever.”
And David suddenly felt sick. Because nothing about this woman in front of him could be forever. It was simply a matter of days before she was history. He’d do well to remember that fact. But right now trying to send her away seemed about as logical as trying to stuff the rain back into the clouds, as trying to roll the morning sun back into the night.
“I…I really should go to bed,” she said. “Good night, David. And thank you for your hospitality, for your help.” She turned to go.
He watched the sensuous sway of her hips as she
walked the length of the dining hall, her spine held stiff, her chin held high, her luxurious reddish-gold hair rippling across the small of her back. He swallowed against the thickness in his throat. He hadn’t been any damn help at all. He’d been suspicious, resentful and ridiculously turned on by this woman.
He’d been focused only on himself and Kamilah and how this woman was rocking their boat. Not on her anguish, her loss. And he could kick himself for the way things had gone tonight.
“Night, Sahar,” he whispered as she slipped through the doorway into the corridor.
But there was no one to hear him.
O’Reilly peered through the dim blue haze of smoke. He spotted Lancaster at the far end of the bar. He made his way through the crowd, edged in next to him. “You’ll never guess who dropped in on the ambassador’s little soiree this evening.”
“Who?”
O’Reilly glanced over his shoulder, leaned forward and dropped his voice so that it was drowned by the bar racket. “Rashid’s very own Dr. James Watson.”
Lancaster’s body stiffened. “And?”
“They have her. On Shendi Island.”
“Jesus, you’ve got to be joking—she survived the storm?”
“You betcha. And get this, she claims to have amnesia. According to the doctor, she has no idea who she is. Apart from that, she’s fine.”
Lancaster threw his head back and roared with laughter. He stopped almost immediately. “What did the doctor want from the ambassador?”
“Rashid sent him. Our sheik is trying to find out who she is. He wants the ambassador to get the word out.”
“Kill it.”
O’Reilly grinned. “Already done. Rashid will never be the wiser.” O’Reilly motioned to the bartender to bring him a whiskey. He took a swig, then paused. “What if…I mean, what if she really can’t remember? What if she’s not faking?”
The Sheik Who Loved Me Page 6
