The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  How long would it take? Days—weeks? What if he wasn’t successful at all?

  Kristi plumped the pillow and turned on her side. She’d been up since an hour before dawn and she was tired.

  Overtired, she cursed silently an age later. She should never have had coffee after her meal.

  A shaft of light lanced through the darkness then disappeared, and she detected the almost silent click of the bedroom door.

  Who—? She reached out and switched on the lamp, then gave a surprised gasp at the sight of Shalef in the process of removing his thobe.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘WHAT the hell are you doing here?’ Kristi’s voice was filled with outrage.

  Shalef directed her a faintly mocking look. ‘This happens to be my personal suite.’

  She sat up, carrying the sheet with her. ‘Either you go to another room or I will,’ she vented with thinly veiled fury.

  ‘The lodge has four guest suites,’ he enlightened her. ‘I have four guests.’

  ‘Couldn’t two of your guests share?’

  ‘Each suite is identical to this one,’ he revealed. ‘To suggest sharing would constitute a grave insult.’ His mouth curved into an amused smile. ‘You are my...’ he paused deliberately ‘...woman. Where else would you sleep, except with me?’

  ‘Like hell,’ Kristi said inelegantly.

  ‘I don’t perceive there is a problem. The bed is large.’

  It might not be a problem for him, but there was no way she would calmly accept sharing the same room with him, let alone the same bed.

  ‘I’ll get dressed and go sleep on the sofa in the entertainment room,’ she declared purposefully.

  ‘And risk the possibility of being discovered by any one of my guests who might find it difficult to sleep and seeks the solace of music or television for an hour or two?’ One eyebrow slanted. ‘At least here you are beneath my protection.’

  Anger lent her eyes a fiery sparkle. ‘I don’t want to be beneath you for any reason.’

  He began to laugh softly. ‘I’m pleased to hear you enjoy variety.’

  Colour flooded her cheeks, and, without thinking, she caught up a nearby pillow and threw it at him, uncaring at that precise moment if he should choose some form of retribution.

  He fielded it neatly and tossed it back onto the bed, then he continued undressing, and she was unable to look away from the superb musculature of his near-naked body. Sinews stretched and flexed, their fluid movement beneath silk-sheened skin a visual attestation to a man who took care to maintain a physical fitness regime.

  When he reached his briefs she averted her gaze. She wasn’t sufficiently bold to watch as he stripped off the last vestige of clothing.

  Damn him. Didn’t he possess a skerrick of modesty?

  Determination set her features into an angry mask. ‘I’ll opt for the chair.’

  Shalef walked calmly to the opposite side of the bed and slid in beneath the covers. ‘As you please.’

  ‘It doesn’t please me at all,’ she vented in a furious undertone as she scrambled to her feet. She wrenched the sheet from the bed and wrapped it round her slim form, holding it firmly above her breasts with taut fingers as she scooped up the excess length.

  ‘Be careful you don’t trip,’ came a lazy drawl, and she turned to shoot him a fulminating glare.

  The chair was large and looked reasonably comfortable, and she curled into its cushioned depths, adjusting the sheet so that it covered every visible inch of her, then positioned her head on the armrest and closed her eyes.

  The early-morning start coupled with the events of the day gradually overcame her resentment, and she drifted into a light doze, only to stir some hours later as the air temperature dropped several points. The sheet was no longer adequate against the coolness of the air-conditioning, and she carefully attempted to reassemble its folds so that it provided another layer of cover.

  Half an hour later any thought of sleep was impossible. There had to be a store of blankets somewhere, but as she had no knowledge of where they might be there was no point in trying to search for them in the dark. That only left the clothes she’d discarded earlier.

  With considerable care she sat up and attempted to orientate herself to her surroundings. The en suite bathroom had to be directly ahead, the bed to her left, and the door to her right. Therefore all she had to do was creep into the bathroom, reach for her clothes, don them, and creep back to the chair.

  She dared not risk putting on a light, even had she been able to remember precisely where any one of several switches were located. And the room was dark. Not inky black, but sufficiently shrouded to make any movement in unfamiliar territory a bit of a hazard.

  Kristi knew that she could handle the situation in one of two ways: carefully, so that she didn’t make any noise and disturb the man sleeping in the nearby bed, or brazenly, by searching for the light switch and waking Shalef. Somehow carefully presented itself as the better option.

  The sheet had to go. It would rustle with every move. Seconds later she eased out from the chair and trod slowly across the room. Four, six, eight, ten steps. The en suite bathroom’s door should be a few more steps ahead to her left.

  Except that when she reached for the knob she discovered the wall. It had to be further along. Inch by inch she moved to the left, then clenched her teeth as her toe made contact with a solid piece of furniture.

  ‘Kristi?’

  She spun towards the sound of that deep male voice and cried out in anguished despair, ‘Don’t turn on the light!’ Dear God, this had to rank high on her list of embarrassing moments. ‘The sheet is on the chair!’

  ‘And you’re afraid I might catch a glimpse of you au naturel?’

  He was amused. Oh, how she’d like to wipe the smile from his face and delete the mockery from his voice! ‘I was looking for my clothes.’

  ‘I doubt you’ll find them in my wardrobe.’

  She drew in a deep breath. ‘I left them in the en suite bathroom.’

  ‘Your sense of direction leaves something to be desired,’ Shalef informed her drily. ‘The en suite is several feet to your left.’

  Kristi wanted to throw something at him and, preferably, have it connect with a vulnerable part of his anatomy. ‘Thank you,’ she acknowledged with as much civility as she could muster, then gave an anguished cry as the room was illuminated. ‘I asked you not to do that!’ The fact that he had a view of her back didn’t make it any less mortifying.

  ‘I doubt I could forgive himself if you were to add to your list of existing injuries.’ She detected the soft sound of bedclothes, sensed rather than heard him move.

  She began to shake, partly with anger, partly from sheer reaction. ‘At least have the decency to get me a shirt—anything.’

  He hadn’t touched her, but she felt the loss of his immediate presence as much as if she’d been in his embrace.

  Seconds later he was back. ‘Lift your arms.’

  She obeyed, feeling the coolness of fine cotton on her skin as he slid the sleeves in place, then smoothed the shirt over her shoulders. Her fingers clutched the front edges and drew them together.

  ‘You look like a child playing with grown-up clothes,’ Shalef commented with a soft laugh. The shirt-tail brushed the backs of her calves and the sleeves were far too long. ‘Now,’ he ordered quietly, ‘get into bed before I put you there.’

  She turned round to face him, increasingly aware of his essential maleness, and her heart leapt, then thudded into a quickened beat.

  One eyebrow lifted in a gesture of silent mockery. ‘Do you really want to suffer a loss of dignity?’

  What price defeat? Yet she refused to concede easily. ‘Don’t close your eyes, Shalef,’ she warned. ‘I might seek vengeance in the night.’

  He reached out and caught hold of her chin between thumb and forefinger. ‘Be aware that such an action will have only one ending.’

  Something clawed at her innermost being, tightening into
a deep, shooting pain that radiated from her feminine core. Sex with this man, simply as an assuagement of anger, would tear her emotions to shreds.

  ‘I don’t like being manipulated.’ Yet she was helpless in this present situation, and she hated the thought of capitulation.

  ‘You placed your fate in my hands when you left the sanctuary of the palace for the desert,’ he reminded her, tilting her chin as he studied the conflict visible in her expressive features.

  She opened her mouth to voice a protest, only to have it stilled by the placing of his finger over her lips.

  Her eyes mirrored her inner anguish, and the pressure on her mouth eased. ‘You could have sent me back. Why didn’t you?’

  The curve of his mouth deepened as it relaxed into a faint smile. ‘Perhaps it pleases me to have you here.’ His forefinger brushed over the contour of her lower lip, then travelled a similar path along the upper curve.

  A deep shiver feathered its way down her spine at his action, and she consciously stilled the flood of warmth that invaded her veins.

  ‘To share with you the stark beauty and the cruelty of a land that holds such an attraction for the men born to it.’ His hand moved to cup her chin, while the other lifted and held fast her nape.

  Kristi hated the sudden breathlessness that seemed to have taken control of her lungs. She had to stop this now. ‘It’s late, I’m tired, and I’d like to get some sleep.’

  His faint smile was tinged with wry humour. ‘So too would I.’ He released her, and walked round to the opposite side of the bed. ‘Get in, Kristi,’ he ordered with dangerous softness as he slid in beneath the covers.

  Something leapt inside her—anger, fear, resentment at his high-handedness. Yet instinct warned her not to voice it. The consequences of doing so hung like a palpable threat, and she had no intention of providing further provocation.

  With extreme care she took the few steps to the bed, then lifted the covers and lay down as close to the edge of the mattress as possible.

  Seconds later she felt the slight movement as he reached for the lamp switch, then the room was plunged into darkness.

  Her body was the antithesis of relaxed, with every cell, every nerve acutely tuned to the presence of the man lying within touching distance. It was almost as if every part of her was silently reaching out to him, aware to such a degree that she ached with need.

  Imagining what it would be like to have him caress each pleasure pulse, touch his lips to every part of her body was an unbearable torture. And that would be only the prelude to a concerto that she instinctively knew would be wildly passionate, its crescendo bringing such tumultuous joy that a woman might feel as if she’d died and gone to heaven.

  Or was it simply a fallacy, a fantasy created by emotions so strong, so impossibly vivid that the reality could only be a disappointment by comparison?

  Kristi assured herself that she didn’t want to find out. You lie, a tiny voice taunted.

  Dammit, sleep, she commanded herself silently with irritated frustration. In desperation she forced herself to breathe evenly in an attempt to slow the emotional pendulum.

  She wasn’t successful, and it seemed an age that she lay staring sightlessly at the ceiling, hating, hating the ease with which the man slept beside her.

  Eventually she must have dozed, for when she woke the darkness of night had been replaced by an early-dawn light that filtered into the room, dispensing with shadows and providing colour where previously there had been none.

  Slowly, carefully, she turned her head, only to find the bed empty, and a long, shuddering breath left her body as she stretched each limb in turn before rolling over onto her stomach. One more blissful hour, then she’d rise from the bed, shower and dress, before seeking some food and strong black coffee.

  The next thing she knew was a hand on her shoulder and a deep male voice intoning, ‘If you want to accompany me into the desert, you have fifteen minutes to dress and eat.’

  Kristi lifted her head from the pillow and felt her pulse leap at the sight of Shalef standing at the side of the bed.

  ‘I thought you had already left.’ With deft movements she secured the top few buttons of her shirt, tugged its length into respectability, then slid to her feet.

  ‘My guests have. I’ll join them later in the day.’ He reached out and smoothed back the tousled length of her hair.

  The breath caught in her throat, momentarily robbing her of the ability to speak. ‘Please don’t do that.’

  His smile was infinitely lazy. ‘You sound almost afraid.’

  Because I am, she longed to cry out. ‘You said fifteen minutes,’ she reminded him, neatly sidestepping him as she moved towards the en suite bathroom.

  ‘I’ll have one of the servants pour your coffee.’

  She would have been willing to swear that she detected a tinge of humour in his voice, and she quickly showered, then pulled on her clothes.

  When she entered the dining room there was a dish of fresh fruit salad, toast, and the tantalising aroma of freshly brewed coffee, steaming from a small pot.

  When she had finished the meal she joined Shalef in the foyer.

  ‘You’ll need to wear a shayla and apply sunscreen.’

  She stood perfectly still as he fixed the long scarf in position. ‘Shall we leave?’

  The four-wheel drive was the same model as the one she’d driven from the palace, and she wondered if he’d ordered them by the half-dozen.

  An hour later Shalef eased the vehicle off the road and drove along a well-worn track for several kilometres before slowing to a halt close to a large black tent.

  He indicated a tall elderly man moving forward to greet them. ‘My father sprang from the seed of the Bedouin. I thought it might interest you to meet some of them. We’ll be offered coffee, which if we refuse will cause offence. Remember to accept the cup with your right hand. Follow my example.’

  He offered her a faintly quizzical smile. ‘This man and his family have no command of English. They will accept your dutiful silence as a mark of respect for me.’ He leaned forward and caught the edge of her shayla, adjusting it to form a partial veil. ‘Let the edge fall when we are inside the tent and refreshments are about to be served.’

  Kristi was enthralled by their hosts, and she was careful to follow Shalef’s brief instructions, all the time aware of their circumspect appraisal.

  Her jeans were well washed, their cut generous, and her chambray shirt was buttoned almost to the neck, the sleeves long and cuffed. The shayla felt a little strange, but it covered her head and shoulders.

  Out here, she could almost sense Shalef’s empathy with these people, the link by birth, the inheritance of definitive genes. He was at one with them, yet different.

  His education, she knew, had been extensive, and gained in one of the best boarding-schools in England. He was fluent in several languages and held a doctorate. His business acumen and standing in the financial sector were legendary. Yet he spoke Arabic as if it were his first language, mingled with the Bedu, and chose the simplicity and the relative isolation of this desert land for his home for weeks on end at least twice a year.

  Was the call of his Bedouin blood so strong? Or was it contrived out of duty to his late father, to Nashwa and her daughters?

  The woman in his life would have to understand that, while she could be his hostess in London, New York, Paris, Lucerne or Rome, there would be times when she would need not only to accompany him to Riyadh, but to accept the severe restrictions that extended to women in this land. She would also have to don the abaaya, shayla and veil—light, gauzy colours in the palace, and black in public. She would have to forgo her independence temporarily, and never in the presence of others would she be able to question his opinions, his direction or his wishes.

  Yet there was a dignity, a sense of timelessness, an acceptance that was encapsulated in inshallah ...if God wills it.

  Kristi watched as the coffee was served first to Shalef, then the
ir host. Kristi was careful to accept her cup as Shalef had instructed, then she waited until he drank from his cup before attempting to touch the contents of her own.

  She would have liked to know the topic of their conversation, but she sat quietly, instinctively aware that she should not intrude. When she was offered another coffee she didn’t refuse.

  The encampment was small, and there were a few camels that contrasted sharply with a Japanese-assembled pick-up truck. Even the equipment and utensils were at variance with each other. Water reposed in plastic containers instead of bags made from animal skins, and there was a modern transistor radio close to where their host’s wife had prepared the coffee.

  At last Shalef rose to his feet, his actions repeated by their host, and Kristi followed suit as it became apparent that they were preparing to leave.

  Outside the tent, Shalef was drawn by his host towards the camels, and each was solemnly inspected and commented upon. Then came the formal farewell before Shalef made his way to the four-wheel drive.

  As soon as they were on their way he asked, ‘You found the encounter interesting?’

  The four-wheel drive gathered speed, billowing dust behind it as Shalef headed for the bitumen road.

  ‘Intriguing,’ Kristi amended.

  ‘Perhaps you’d care to elaborate?’

  ‘You fit in so well, yet your Arabian persona is totally at variance with the Western image.’

  ‘You find that strange?’

  ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘Somehow it suits you. Yet I can’t help wondering if you suffer a conflict of interests. Having enjoyed the best of what the West has to offer, doesn’t it even bother you that Aisha and Hanan are not free to experience the freedom of their Western sisters?’

  He directed her a sharp glance. ‘One does not choose the country of one’s birth,’ Shalef pointed out. ‘One simply accepts the dictates of one’s heritage until education and personal choice instil the will to change. Aisha and Hanan are fortunate in that their education will be completed abroad, they are free to work in their chosen careers, and they are free to marry—wisely, one hopes—a suitable man of their choosing.’