“No.” He flashed a smile at her; even white teeth shone in his symmetrical mouth. “I’m not tired.”
And Evie realized she wasn’t either. He was waking her up, cell by cell, so that gradually she was remembering what happiness and pleasure were like. And she was becoming addicted to those feelings, and overarchingly, to him.
CHAPTER FIVE
Her dream was filled with him, and the past. That afternoon when first they’d met.
“Stop immediately.” The voice had come from nowhere, like a beacon in the dusk sky. It was deep and commanding, as though empowered with the force of a megaphone. But it wasn’t. Evie turned, the smile on her face quite natural. What a day she’d had! From her suitcase being misplaced to the kitchen hand who had spilled a dozen whipped eggs all over her borrowed dress, which had resulted in her wearing a standard issue palace uniform that was far too big, and a faint smell of breakfast in her long red hair.
If only David and Sabra had arrived! Sabra would have been able to help. But Evie had come two days before the wedding in order to bake the cake and oversee its decoration. She was alone in this beautiful, strange land and now the most stunning man she’d ever seen was addressing her in spicy, accented words.
She began to walk towards him, but he held up a hand and glanced towards the sky.
Evie followed his gaze, squinting through the spindly branches that covered this side of the palace garden. They were not large gardens: Evie had explored most of them already and had decided this spot, with its wild, untamed beauty, was her favourite. Beyond it there was rugged terrain that led all the way to the palace walls.
She turned back to the man and shrugged. “What is it?”
He narrowed his gaze, his manner imposing as he studied her. He was dressed casually, in a pair of beige pants and a loose, flowing beige top. His hair was jet-black and thick; his chin was covered with stubble but beneath it she could discern a squared jaw and the hint of a cleft. His eyes were dark like onyx, and they burned with an intensity that almost made her want to flinch.
“Do you not understand the word ‘stop’?” He muttered impatiently.
Evie couldn’t get a grasp on the reason for such hostility. “What? What’s the matter?” She took several more steps towards him and with a guttural sound of frustration he echoed her movements, closing the distance between them and putting a strong, muscled arm around her shoulders. He pulled her to his chest and then lifted an arm at the same time he made a low-pitched song that was both magical and mysterious.
But Evie could hardly breathe. Tucked tight in the crook of this man’s arm, her chest against his warm, musty chest, a slick of awareness was tormenting her insides. She stepped aside a little but he hissed angrily, “You must stay near me.”
Gladly, she thought with a small grin, but her stomach was in knots. What if someone from the palace saw the way she was cuddled up to this strange man? Ishala was a conservative country and she was a special guest of its princess.
“Why?” When she spoke she inhaled and the spicy, wild heat of the man curled her toes.
He spoke now in his own language, and there was a flapping of wind, accompanied by much noise and movement. She angled her head to look but caught only a brief glimpse of the most enormous bird she’d ever seen, its talons like nails, its beak like a dagger, its body shimmering blue black, before the man tightened his grip around Evie and tucked her head into his chest.
Still he made the song, and she heard it rumble from his heart. A melody that was eerie and haunted, deep and intriguing. Finally, the flapping seemed to slow; he kept singing. Something brushed her cheek, and she would realise later that it was the eagle’s wing.
Evie dared to squint up at it. The bird sat proud on the man’s shoulder, as dark as its master, its head tilted towards her with an unmistakably menacing glint in its beautiful eyes. Yet she was not afraid.
In the protection of this man’s body she felt like no harm would ever befall her.
Except perhaps from him. He spoke in his own language first and she gathered he was releasing an assortment of curse words. “What were you thinking, to come to this garden?”
Evie startled, but he strengthened his grip around her shoulder. “I didn’t … should I … is that a problem?”
He ground his teeth together, causing his powerful jaw to shift in a way that she found fascinating. Her fingers tingled with a desire to lift up and trace the hard lines of his face; he looked to have been cast from granite and steel when the earth was being formed. The fault lines of his face were no less dramatic than the most famous mountainous ranges in the world.
He spoke in his own language, a harsh word that Evie could only surmise was a curse.
“I didn’t know.” It was a terse declaration in spite of her obvious wrong-doing. “You should have a sign up or something.”
He might have laughed were he not still burdened by mental images of what could have become of the pretty woman. “Palace staff are expected to know the family’s areas of the palace and remain out of them.”
“Well, you’re here,” she pointed out with surprising acerbity for someone who probably now owed her life to this man. “How come you get to come into the family’s area and I don’t?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say something to clear up the misunderstanding but he spoke again, this time with a sense of grudging inevitability. “I come here to exercise the bird.” He released his grip just enough for her to look up at his face and once again see the sharp lines and honeyed tones of his flesh. “This is Khadir. He would not have hesitated to peck the flesh from your body.”
She shivered involuntarily. “Don’t say that.” Her eyes drifted to the bird; it was still watching her with an air of grievance.
“It is only that you are now close to me that he is giving you a reprieve. If I let you walk away he would fly after you.”
“Why would such a hideous vulture be kept in the palace?”
“He is an eagle, not a vulture,” Malakhi said with a tight smile. “And there has been one at the palace for as long as it has been walled. In the past they used to be sent out to attack pirates who tormented our traders.”
“And now?” She asked, moving back towards his chest in a gesture that wasn’t entirely motivated by fear so much as fascination.
“Khadir accompanies … The Sheikh … when he travels into the deserts to the south. There is no fiercer bodyguard.”
“Yes, well, you’ll forgive me if I don’t express admiration for an animal that wants to kill me.”
“Not to kill you, necessarily,” he said, a grin changing his face completely into one of intense beauty and interest. “Come. I will take you inside.”
“Thank you.” Pleasure throbbed through her. She was an engaged woman and yet everything about this guy was sending her into a total tailspin.
The three of them made an odd picture as they walked towards the Southern side of the palace. He with his long, powerful stride and Evie having to almost run to keep up, and the bird, surely almost a metre tall, perched at the top of his arm and pinning her with his assessing gaze. Once safely framed by the wide door to the palace, the man put a hand out and the bird transferred to it. He said something in his own language and the bird lifted up, its enormous wings flapping as it did a circle to shoot one last look at Evie and then moved closer towards the trees where it had originally sat.
“You must be more careful.” The man turned back to the woman who, now that danger had passed, was as white as a sheet and trembling visibly. Without an imminent threat, he had the luxury of time and looked at her properly. He hadn’t seen her before, but that wasn’t saying much: his palace boasted hundreds of staff and he knew only a handful personally.
“I didn’t know,” she said with a shake of her head.
Malakhi narrowed his gaze. “You are not from Ishala.”
“No.”
“And did no one tell you where you may and may not go in the palace?”
S
he bit down on her lip. “I’ve mainly been in the kitchen,” she explained.
“Ah.” He nodded. “You are here for the wedding.” The usual numbers of staff had trebled in the lead up to his sister’s nuptials. “That explains it.”
She nodded, about to elaborate that she was a guest of Sabra’s so that she didn’t get anyone in trouble for not having given her proper induction or training but he forestalled the comment by putting a hand over hers. Electricity ran the length of her arm; her eyes flew to his and the sparks were bold and terrifying. Her lips parted in recognition of the sensations and she took a step backwards. What the hell was going on?
“I have time now if you would like to see some of the other areas of the palace that are forbidden.”
A thousand reasons to demur came to mind but Evie was nodding them away. “I’d like that.”
She woke with a start, her heart pounding every bit as fiercely in that moment as it had then. The room was bathed in the milky morning light – the promise of heat was already burning through the glass windows. Evie swallowed, blinking away the last vestiges of the dream that was coating her insides in remembered adrenalin and love.
Yes. She’d believed herself in love with him in that moment, when first they’d met. All thoughts of Nick had flown from her mind. Ditto Sabra and Dave.
She had only had the space for him. This goliath. Her saviour. Her masculine, swarthy, mystery man.
How long had it been before she’d realised her mistake?
Only a few minutes, surely, before a servant had deferentially bowed to him, and their connection had become obvious.
She should have walked away from Malakhi then; for what good could eventuate
But he had been magnetic and she utterly powerless to resist his tug.
“What is is, Jamila?”
In the first light of day, his face was wiped of its usual ruthless power, and she smiled at him naturally, happily, without reserve. “Why do you call me that? What does it mean?”
He pulled on her arm, bringing her to his chest. She could hear the steady, rhythmic beating of his heart: strong and defiant as it had been that day. “It means ‘pretty’,” he said softly.
Her lips curved in a sweet smile.
“So? What woke you so abruptly?”
“Oh.” She blinked up at him, her eyes chasing the tail end of the dream. “Funny enough, I was thinking of you.”
“I see. Elaborate?”
She bit down on her lip. “You told me you don’t lie…”
His nod was curt. “That’s true.”
“But you did. To me.”
He ran a hand down her back, shifting a little so he could better see her face. “When?”
“The day we met. Do you remember …?”
He nodded slowly. “I remember you were in a hell of a lot more danger than you seemed to appreciate.”
“Yes, yes, I know.” She balanced her chin into his chest. “But you didn’t tell me who you were…”
“I had more pressing matters on my mind. Such as stopping Khadir from pecking you apart, piece by piece.”
“But afterwards,” she pressed. “You could have told me that you were the Sheikh…”
“And you could have told me you were the groom’s sister.” He ran a hand over her hair and then shifted finally, easing himself out of the bed.
“How do you feel?” The question caught her by surprise. His tender concern was unexpected. Or was he just ensuring she’d be back in form for their next passionate encounter?
“Fine,” she smiled. Though she didn’t know it, the sun lanced through the room at that moment, bathing her in a combination of colours that seemed almost to glint with magic.
“What will you do today?”
She batted her lashes at him, fanning them down against her cheeks. “You mean you aren’t going to give me a schedule for my day?”
His smile was perfunctory. “My only expectation is that you remain well-rested.” He reached down and pulled the bed sheet away from her, revealing her breasts to his appreciative gaze. “And naked, as much as possible.”
Evie fought the urge to roll her eyes. He was a complete dictator but she wasn’t going to be hypocritical and pretend she wasn’t enjoying a hell of a lot about their interaction.
“Yessir.” She simpered with a small smile.
His answering grin flipped her tummy over.
“It will be hot today …”
“When is it not?” She ran her fingers along the crisp white sheet, pleating it without thought. “I’ll go and see Kalem.” She blinked up at him. “He’s so close to walking.”
“Is he? I would have thought he was too young.”
She shrugged. “Eleven months isn’t that young. Sabra walked at ten months. You did too.”
“Did I?” He laughed. “How do you know …” The sentence died off halfway through as he realised the only source she could have had for such personal information. “She told you.”
Evie nodded once. “We were comparing milestones,” she said softly. “The night Kalem was born.” She increased the speed of her pleating, folding the bed sheet back on itself.
“He is very like Sabra.”
Evie’s eyes flew to Malakhi’s. “Yes.” The sting of tears was never far away. She felt it squeeze her throat tight.
“But he has your brother’s smile. Your smile.” He reached down and ran his finger around her lips. “I like seeing you smile.”
The admission was, perhaps, the most confusing statement he’d ever made: for both of them.
Evie pulled away, her cheeks burning with self-conscious awareness. Strange how they could be so intimate in bed, and find it so excruciating to have a conversation by day. “Why don’t you join us?” She heard herself ask. “We’ll probably just wander the grounds until his nap …”
“I can’t,” he said, before giving any thought to whether or not that was accurate. He walked towards his ensuite, his back straight, his demeanour pulling him further and further away from her. “Take care to stay away from Khadir, won’t you?”
* * *
“Careful,” she smiled kindly as Kalem pulled sharply on her hair, pointing towards the ocean. His chubby little fist pushed in its direction – the glistening oasis far off in the distance that promised relief from this stymying heat.
“Wa-wa.” The words were almost unrecognisable but Evie understood.
“Yes, water.” He was heavy, propped on her hip. With her spare hand she cupped the back of her neck, wiping away the sweat that was forming there. “And you, my Tiny Highness, are getting bigger by the day. What are they feeding you, hmm?”
“Wa-wa.”
She nodded. “I know, I know.” She fixed him with a considering stare, her eyes skimming his sweet little face. Her heart clutched tight in her chest. “I’d like wa-wa, too.”
“Wa-wa. Wa-wa.”
She giggled and nodded. “Okay, little Master. I suppose I should consider that a royal decree, huh?” She put him down on the ground carefully, holding his fleshy arms above his head for stability. “But you walk there. That’s our deal. Got it?”
“Wa-wa.”
She giggled again and crouched down beside him. “We only have one problem. Where are these fabled swimming pools, hmm?” She crinkled her nose and scanned the terrace they were on with no clue which direction they should go. “It’s your palace. Can’t you lead the way?”
He laughed, though of course he had no concept really of what she was saying. “Never mind. I’ll find someone to help us.” She stood again, moving at his pace towards a large set of double doors. They were guarded on either side by men in exceptionally fancy military uniforms. How unbearably hot they must have been, given the climate of the day! She cringed as she looked from their black jackets with golden embroidery to the full-length black pants and boots.
“Excuse me.” She spoke to the gentleman on the left. His eyes, framed by bushy black brows, flicked to her but he didn’t spea
k. “Are you able to give me directions?”
His gaze dropped lower to the sweet little boy she held hands with. A flash of recognition marked his features, chased quickly by surprise. He lifted a hand and spoke in his own language into a little microphone that was concealed at his risk.
“Minute,” he said in a heavily accented word.
Evie nodded. “Thank you.” She resisted the urge to pat down her face in front of the guards, but she was melting alive.
A figure appeared behind the door and she waited for it to open and then almost pulled a face. The rather dour shape of Fatima stood on the other side, her expression grim, her eyes just naturally cross – at least it seemed that way to Evie. Why had the guard called Kalem’s horrible nanny?
“You didn’t need to trouble yourself with coming down,” Evie said with an attempt at a smile. “I was only asking for directions.”
“To a swimming pool?” She said thickly.
Evie bristled at the perceived disapproval. “Yes. Kalem would like to go for a swim.”
When the older woman’s gaze dropped to the little Prince something shifted in her face. There was almost a real smile on her lips. “I show you it,” she said slowly, carefully, choosing her words with care. “But he needs the sleep.”
“Sleep?” Evie lifted her delicate gold wrist watch – a gift from Sabra for her twenty second birthday – and startled. How the morning had flown! “Goodness me, I didn’t realise the time. Oh. What a shame! I was so looking forward to letting him have a little paddle.”
“I show you. For later.” She nodded efficiently and Evie, taken aback by the surprisingly generous offer, smiled naturally.
“That’s very kind.”
It was difficult to guess Fatima’s age. She could have been anywhere from fifty to eighty, but she moved with the alacrity of a twenty year old Olympian. Her feet seemed to glide across the marbled corridors so that Evie had no choice but to abandon her encouraging of Kalem’s walking and lift him back to her hip.
He put his head on her shoulder gratefully and she momentarily felt guilty that she hadn’t realised he was flagging.
Royal Weddings Page 8
