by Valerie Parv
“Excuse us for a few moments,” he said now to the director of Al-Qasr, who’d been telling him more about the restoration work. The man regarded her curiously, but salaamed and moved away to join another group, leaving the sheikh and Simone in a small island of clear space.
Markaz was aware of Fayed returning to his side. “Would you get Miss Hayes a drink?” the sheikh asked him. “Coffee or something cold?”
Simone brushed a hand across her brow. “Cold, thank you.”
Fayed gestured to a passing waiter, who presented a tray of ice-frosted glasses to her with alacrity. The young woman accepted some sparkling water and drank half of it right away. Markaz felt a flash of envy for the straw between her parted lips. Such beautiful lips, sensuously full and rosy without any sign of artificial enhancement.
In an effort to stop staring at her mouth, he drained the bitter coffee in his thimble-sized cup, passing his hand over it to stop the waiter refilling it. He’d already drunk two cups out of politeness.
The woman lifted her head and smiled at him, her sea-foam eyes brilliant. “Thank you, Your Highness, I was thirsty,” she said, earning a frown from Fayed.
Sometimes his bodyguard was more of a stickler for protocol than Markaz himself, he thought. “Even at this time of year, the heat can be challenging if you’re not accustomed to it.”
She nodded. “Coming from Australia I should be, but I hadn’t planned on being chased all over Al-Qasr.”
The sheikh’s surprised look went to his bodyguard. His orders hadn’t extended to hounding her. “By Fayed?”
“No, by another man. Fayed rescued me from him.”
The gingerly way his friend was moving suggested there was more to the story, but now wasn’t the time to go into details. He would get them from Fayed later. “Who was chasing you?”
She cast a nervous glance around as if her pursuer might still be in the vicinity. “The man I saw abducting Natalie.”
At hearing his ex-wife’s name from this woman’s lips, slivers of ice pierced Markaz. Fayed had already told him she had been seen here, and he had dispatched men to investigate at Markaz’s request. Suddenly the ring Simone had tried to pass to him over the barricades assumed a more sinister importance. Could it contain the information he’d been told Natalie would deliver to him at Al-Qasr?
He masked his concern. “What is your involvement with Natalie?”
“She was feeling ill so I helped her back to the parking lot. As I was leaving her, I saw a man force her into the car. I tried to help, but he got away. I decided to approach you.”
He felt his gaze harden. “How did you know to come to me?”
“Natalie said your life was in danger, and gave me this for you.” Shifting the glass to her left hand, she fumbled in the pocket of her skirt.
But the sheikh closed his hand over hers. “Not here. Join us for lunch inside the marquee.”
Simone’s hand was still in her pocket, but the sheikh’s touch seemed to burn through the light fabric of her skirt. She was imagining it, just as she’d imagined his gaze fixated on her mouth, she assured herself.
She took her hand out of her pocket and pressed the palm against her thigh. “I’m hardly dressed for this company.”
He took her hand and lifted it close to his mouth, his lips whispering over the back of it. “You would be an ornament to any occasion just as you are.”
In a flash she worked out what he was doing. Sheikh Markhaz was reputed to have a roving eye. He certainly didn’t remain with any one woman for long. He was creating the impression that Simone had attracted his interest, so no one would be surprised if he kept her at his side.
Knowing his attention was an act didn’t stop her pulse from racing. It was all she could do not to rub the back of her hand where his courtly kiss had scorched her like a flame. “As Your Highness wishes.”
“My name is Markaz,” he murmured.
If Fayed had disapproved of her speaking to Markaz unbidden, at this he looked thunderstruck. Men and women mixed more freely in Nazaar than in many Arabian countries, but behavior was still conservative by Western standards. The sheikh could have called her Miss Simone without raising eyebrows, but inviting her to use his first name so quickly was a scandalous intimacy.
Was it? She’d been so sure he was putting on an act that she hadn’t let herself think what would happen if there was more to it. He was certainly the most attractive man she’d met in a long time. And she’d broken up with Nick a couple of months before leaving Australia, so there was no man in her life, either.
Stop this, she instructed herself before the fantasy could get any more out of hand. The sheikh had invited her to an official lunch, presumably so she could tell him what she’d seen away from public view. It was hardly an invitation to join his harem.
“I’d feel happier if you’d send someone to look for Natalie,” she said, feeling guilty for indulging in stupid daydreams while the other woman was in danger.
The sheikh looked grim. “It is already being done. As soon as Fayed told me she was here, I dispatched men to investigate. As of yet she has not been located.”
Now Simone understood the significance of his discussion with Fayed. “Her car was parked directly across from the entrance to the north parking lot. She was driving a dark blue coupe with rental plates. I didn’t get the number.”
Markaz’s gesture brought Fayed closer. Their Arabic was too soft for her to translate, although she hoped he was giving Fayed the extra information. The big man once more melted into the crowd.
“If Natalie is in the area, Fayed will find her,” Markaz said.
“You didn’t ask me what she looks like.”
“We already know. The item she gave you could only have come from my ex-wife.”
Suddenly Simone knew why Natalie had seemed familiar. She was the woman he’d married in America, and divorced soon after becoming sheikh. Photos of them together had been on the Web sites Simone had researched for her trip, but Natalie had changed enough in ten years to stop Simone from recognizing her.
She barely had time to absorb this information before Markaz led her into the marquee where long, low tables were covered by dazzling white cloths and more delicacies than Simone had seen in a department store food hall.
At the head of the official table, Markaz’s chair had a higher back than the others, gilded and padded in wine-colored brocade. At his insistence she seated herself at his right, aware of causing a flurry of rearrangements. Although the Al-Qasr staff tried to be unobtrusive about accommodating her, Simone’s presence had undoubtedly caused a stir.
Enormous platters of crepelike bread, mounds of glistening rice and fragrant lamb, smoked chicken, stuffed grape leaves, marrow and squash and salads were served. Simone heard almost no conversation not related to the magnificence of the feast, but she didn’t find this unusual. To the end of his days her father had never become comfortable with the Western habit of conversing over a meal. He’d preferred small talk to take place over coffee and tea before and after a meal.
“You are hardly eating,” Markaz observed. “If you don’t wish to offend our hosts, you should taste a little of everything.”
Natalie’s ring was burning a hole in her pocket, but she followed the sheikh’s lead and paid attention to the feast. Knowing that Fayed was searching for Natalie had eased Simone’s mind enough so she could absorb her surroundings. Unfortunately the royal guards hadn’t accompanied the guests into the marquee and would most likely be eating elsewhere. So she couldn’t use the opportunity to look for Yusef al Hasa.
However bizarre the circumstances, she was a guest of Sheikh Markaz bin Kemal al Nazaari, she reminded herself, picturing her mother’s response when she heard. Would it be enough to pierce Sara’s depression? Simone hoped so, because unless she located Yusef among the sheikh’s escort after the meal, she doubted she’d get a chance like this again.
Moving lightly for such a big man, Fayed appeared at his boss’s sho
ulder. Simone didn’t need to hear what was said to know the news wasn’t encouraging. Fayed’s expression was grim. He didn’t like disappointing the sheikh, she concluded. She doubted it was because Markaz was a demanding boss. He would be tough but fair, she assessed, having noted his courteous treatment of those assigned to serve him.
How had he come to marry an American, she wondered. Not that his personal life was any of her business. She was naturally curious. And why did his ex-wife want him to watch his back? The antiroyal forces in Nazaar were far less of a problem than in her parents’ time, or Simone would never have chosen to visit. Were they on the rise again as Markaz steered the country closer to full democracy?
He leaned toward her. “A short time ago the guards at the entrance to Al-Qasr observed a dark blue rental car speeding away with a man at the wheel and a woman apparently asleep in the passenger seat.”
Simone’s tension notched higher. “Natalie and Business Suit.”
He inclined his head. “Evidently.”
She pulled out the ring and pressed it into his hand beneath the table. “She wanted me to give you this.”
Recognition came swiftly. “It’s our class ring from Harvard. To alumni, the beaver is known as the brass rat.” He showed her a matching ring on his right hand.
Her disappointment showed. “Then the ring isn’t a message?”
He hesitated long enough to suggest that there was more to the ring than he was prepared to share with her. After being chased through the ruins with the item in her possession, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
“The design is modified to reflect each class’s spirit and experiences. By sending our class ring, Natalie made sure her identity is in no doubt,” he said.
“Business Suit appeared before she could tell me any more, other than that your life is in danger.”
“As yours may well be now.”
Her startled gaze lifted to his. “But Fayed said the man left.”
“His people will want to know how much Natalie told you, and what you have shared with me. You should not return to your hotel tonight.”
This was more than she’d bargained for. “My bags are there and my passport’s in the hotel safe. Could you arrange their return, if I check in to another hotel?”
He looked amused and she had to remind herself of who and what he was. In Nazaar, he could do anything he wished. “One hotel is as risky as another.”
“Then where—”
He didn’t wait for her to finish. “Ideally I would have you placed on a flight home to Australia for your safety. But the airport is closed due to a bomb scare. Flights won’t be back to normal until tomorrow.”
She lifted her head. “In any case, I can’t leave yet. I have…business appointments,” she finished, knowing the explanation sounded lame. Instinct told her not to mention Yusef to the sheikh. He might not be so kindly disposed toward her if he knew she hoped to contact a former rebel. And she hadn’t come all this way to be packed off home without achieving her goal.
“No business appointment is worth your life.”
“You’re not leaving,” she pointed out, adding belatedly, “Your Highness.”
His wry smile acknowledged the title. “In my position, danger is a part of life. However, the influence of the rebels is waning. They are the ones fighting for their lives now.”
“Desperate people have been known to do desperate things.”
“True, and you have attracted their attention.”
She spread her hands wide. “What can I do?”
“Return with my party to the palace at Raisa where you will be under royal protection until it is safe for you to leave the country.”
Excitement bubbled through her, warring with an awareness of danger. She told herself she was excited because her chances of finding Yusef among the royal guard had greatly improved. Not because she would be spending more time around Markaz. “I appreciate the offer,” she said.
Again that maddening half smile played around his sensuous mouth, as if she were a child he was indulging. “You may consider it an offer if you wish.”
As long as she did as he commanded, she read between the lines, her hackles rising. She disliked being ordered around. But if the rebels had Natalie, Simone didn’t plan on being their next victim. There was only one possible response. “Thank you. I accept your offer.”
Chapter 3
Markaz kept her at his side as they made their way back to the waiting fleet of cars. If the situation hadn’t been so nerve-racking, she would have enjoyed the ripples her appearance with the sheikh caused among the onlookers.
There were advantages to being under royal protection, she decided. Not only did she feel less vulnerable having Markaz’s guards around her, she felt like a celebrity. Unlike back home, there’d be no tabloid headlines speculating about the sheikh’s mystery woman tomorrow. Nazaar might be edging toward democracy, but the media still treated the royal family with deference.
She had expected to ride in one of the following cars with members of the sheikh’s entourage, but Markaz indicated she was to ride with him in the vehicle flying the royal standard. As they approached, a driver opened the door for them and Markaz gestured for her to get in. She hesitated. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“Are you worried about your image or mine?” he asked dryly. Before she could answer, he added, “It’s a little late to trouble yourself about either one. The gossip mills will already be working overtime.”
So Nazaar had its version of the tabloids, she thought. Remembering the whispers following her when she’d been the only child with refugee parents in her class at school, she kept her head high. What people chose to say about her was their business. She knew why she was with Markaz, and if being with him kept her safe and got her closer to her goal of finding Yusef, she could handle the gossip. It wasn’t as if he really had a romantic interest in her.
All the same she was aware of how close together they were once the driver closed the car door. There was room enough for her to stretch her legs out, but Markaz seemed to shrink the space alarmingly. While they were standing, Simone hadn’t noticed a big difference in their heights, but in the car he seemed so broad and solid that she automatically tucked herself into a corner to give him more space.
Fayed squeezed into the front seat beside the driver, and pressed a button, closing a tinted glass screen to give the passengers privacy. In the enclosed space, her senses were stirred by the faint scent of cinnamon and citrus from the sheikh’s cologne. Normally she preferred men who smelled cleanly of soap and talc, but there was something disturbingly sensual about whatever Markaz was wearing.
She wasn’t usually attracted to men in skirts, either, she thought. But the traditional robes looked so perfect on him that she couldn’t imagine him wearing anything else. Up close, the gold embroidery on his mishlah was even more intricate than it had looked from a distance.
The motorcade was gathering speed out of Al-Qasr when he said, “Will you know me again next time you see me?”
She would know him anywhere, came the unbidden thought. He dominated the space in the car as much by force of personality as physical size. Since she could hardly say so, she said, “I didn’t mean to stare, but I’m interested in traditional embroidery, and you’re wearing a wonderful example.”
“You find my clothes riveting?” His tone was all wounded male pride.
The alternative was to admit how riveting she found him, and she didn’t feel any such thing. “My business specializes in heirloom embroidery designs. Nazaar designs are not yet famous, but they should be,” she explained.
“Let me guess. You have a mission to bring our traditional crafts to the attention of the Western world?”
His sarcasm wasn’t lost on her. “Not so much a mission as a passion.”
“Old women have a passion for embroidery. You can’t be more than twenty-five.”
“Twenty-eight,” she corrected, pleased that he th
ought her younger. “Embroidery is popular with people of all ages. My Internet business even has a few men as customers.”
Looking unconvinced, the sheikh opened a compartment to reveal a well-stocked bar. “Champagne?”
She had never drunk champagne in a moving car before. And she found she didn’t like having him think of her as stuffy, so she nodded. “I’d love some.”
The famous label on the bottle he opened made her blink. But what else would one drink in the back of a Rolls Royce? she thought as he poured two glasses and raised his to her. “Santé.”
She returned the toast. “To Your Highness’s health.”
His dark eyes met hers over the rim of the glass. “I trust we’ll both enjoy good health for a long time to come.”
Reminded of why she was in his company, Simone’s mood darkened and Markaz frowned in response. “I don’t mean to blacken your mood.”
“Business Suit blackened it when he abducted Natalie, then came after me this morning,” she said. “For a few minutes, I allowed myself to forget.”
“Then I must find a way to make you forget again. When you spoke of your passion for embroidery, you looked even more vibrant and beautiful.”
She managed a slight smile. She wasn’t beautiful, but a little flattery never hurt. “How do you stand being under threat as part of your everyday existence?”
He shrugged. “Everyone is under some kind of threat, whether it’s from illness, misfortune or the passage of time. Being royal simply makes one more conscious of life’s hazards.”
She sipped champagne. “I hadn’t thought about it like that. But you can’t equate getting sick or old with the threat of assassination.”
A flicking gesture of his fingers dismissed her argument, but her smile was teasing as he said, “I am the sheikh. I can do anything I choose.”
Not sure why, she felt driven to be contrary. “Your power must have some limits. Surely you can’t command the weather, or make someone fall in love with you?” Now why had she chosen that example?
