He watched nosy, bony fingers pick up a pomegranate, he saw the servant move in with a knife, but he took over and tore the fruit in two.
‘Take me to the desert,’ Georgie said, because she hadn’t been there since that night and her womb ached for him.
And Ibrahim was about to remind her, but he checked himself. Yes, there was duty, except he had other priorities today. They had posed for the photos, had waved to the crowds, had feasted and danced—had done every last thing Georgie hated—and his duty was now to her.
‘You can’t just leave,’ her mother chided, as Ibrahim spoke with the king. ‘You can’t leave midway through your own wedding.’
‘Yes, she can.’ Felicity hugged her sister as Ibrahim returned.
‘What did he say?’ Georgie asked, but it was too noisy for him to answer. They were supposed to dance again, and with the end in sight, she did. Out of the palace and to a waiting helicopter, and they flew into a desert that looked like an ocean and for a while there were no words, just his kisses as they flew over it.
‘What did he say?’ Georgie asked, when finally they were alone in the desert and she still worried that they’d caused trouble. ‘What did the king say when you told him we were leaving?’
‘To look after you.’ Ibrahim replied. ‘Which, I told him, goes without saying.’
She stepped into his tent and braced herself for servants, for Bedra, for bathing and petals and all the drama that was a royal wedding, consoling herself that in an hour or so they could escape to bed, but it was Ibrahim lighting the lanterns that led them.
‘Where is everyone?’
‘Gone,’ Ibrahim answered. ‘It’s just you and me and no one waiting, no one watching to make sure we’re safe …’ He looked at his bride, at the broken mould that was Georgie, and he wouldn’t change a single thing just to have this moment. ‘Which you are.’
Safe in the desert, alone with him.
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II BV/S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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First published in Great Britain 2011
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited,
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
© Carol Marinelli 2011
ISBN: 978-1-408-92585-0
Table of Contents
Cover
Excerpt
About the Author
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Copyright
Heart of the Desert Page 14