Desert Princes Bundle

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Just for me?’ Laura wondered aloud as they walked towards the complex.

  ‘For all our guests. The Sheikh often has visiting dignitaries who expect things to be primitive—it gives him great pleasure to show them how much a part of the modern world we are here at the Palace.’

  Laura shot the servant a curious look as they walked past exquisite flowerbeds, each symmetrically planted with a different colour theme—scarlets, golds and blues. Her pride in her Palace and her Ruler were touching.

  ‘From the air, the flowers in this part of the garden resemble our Kharastan flag,’ said Sidonia. ‘You see the shape of the falcon’s head?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Laura smiled. ‘Your English is so good.’

  Sidonia nodded. ‘I am pleased with my progress—but the credit for that must go to Sorrel.’

  The name rang a bell, and Laura remembered the young blonde woman who had appeared at the banquet, summoning Xavier to the Sheikh, and nodded. ‘Is that Malik’s ward?’ she questioned, and Sidonia nodded. ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘Her parents were the British representatives here in Kharastan—both great Middle Eastern scholars,’ said Sidonia. ‘They died in an aircrash over the mountains of Maraban and everyone thought that Sorrel would go straight home. But she had grown up here and loved it—she considered Kharastan to be her home and was reluctant to leave. She attended the university here—very few English women are fluent in the Kharastan language. One day she will go back to England, but she will not do so until the Sheikh dies.’

  Laura wondered how much Sorrel—and indeed Sidonia—knew about Xavier. Were they aware that he was the Sheikh’s son—perhaps with a legitimate claim on his kingdom? And what if Xavier made no claim, or did not meet with the Sheikh’s approval? Who would rule Kharastan then?

  For some reason Malik’s face swam into Laura’s mind, but they had reached the poolhouses now, and she was dazzled by the sheer opulent splendour of the pool. It was a vast rectangle of perfectly clear water, and it was lined with beautiful golden and blue mosaics which depicted scenes of Kharastan life. The poolhouses themselves were the very last word in luxury—with a steam-room and sauna making it look like a lavish and very exclusive health club.

  ‘You will find everything you need here,’ said Sidonia.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Laura, as she gazed round in delight. ‘And I wonder if you could bring me some day clothes from my room? Perhaps trousers might be suitable?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  After Sidonia had gone, Laura selected a plain black costume and dived into the water, emerging like a seal mid-way down the pool and beginning to swim. She had been good at swimming as a child—with free baths close to their home. Often—if her mother had been working in the evenings—Laura would go there straight from school, swimming length after length in a steady crawl.

  It had always invigorated her rather than tired her out, and it did the same now—so that by time she had finished her swim she felt ready to face anything.

  Afterwards, Laura showered and changed into the linen trousers and silk shirt Sidonia had brought—tying her damp hair back with a green ribbon which echoed the colour of the jade and silver beads she slung round her neck. Narrow sandals were slipped onto her bare feet and she felt in control.

  She looked just right—cool, sophisticated and sleek. Now Laura could see that the Sheikh’s insistence that she wear designer clothes from top to toe had been about much more than dressing to lure Xavier back here—as he had accused her. It meant that she didn’t look out of place in these august surroundings. That she looked as if she fitted in. And that was rather a nice feeling.

  ‘I’d like breakfast now, Sidonia. Is it possible to eat outside?’ she asked the maidservant.

  ‘But of course!’

  A table was set for her beneath the dappled canopy of some exotic large-leafed tree, and she was just spooning mulberry jam onto her plate when a shadow fell over her. She looked up, her heart beginning to pound in her chest when she saw who it was.

  ‘Xavier!’

  She was the first woman who had ever run from him, and yet here she was—looking cool and amazing in linen and silk, with the sun shining on her glossy red hair and some stunning beads emphasising the intense emerald of her eyes.

  ‘You are hiding from me?’ he asked silkily.

  ‘Does it look like it? Hiding would imply fear, and even though it seems I am virtually a prisoner here the last thing I am is frightened!’ she returned. ‘Especially of you!’

  Xavier smiled. Her feisty form was like a breath of fresh air after the tumult of the previous night. His meeting with the Sheikh had affected him more than he had anticipated. He had thought that sex with Laura would wipe it all away—his troubled feelings as well as his lust for her—but he had felt none of the expected sense of closure this morning.

  So he had come looking for Laura, expecting…what? To find her tearstained or regretful—not sitting in the sunshine eating her breakfast!

  ‘Then why did you run away?’ he probed.

  ‘Because your remarks to me were insulting.’

  ‘So you weren’t asked to seduce me to entice me to stay?’ In the bright, clear air of the morning the accusation sounded ridiculous as soon as it fell from his lips.

  ‘I’m a lawyer, Xavier—not a professional siren! Tell me, are the women you usually deal with unscrupulous enough to do something like that?’

  He shrugged. ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Then you’ve been mixing with the wrong kind of woman.’

  Their eyes met in a long moment. ‘Maybe I have,’ he said slowly.

  Laura saw the cat-like dilation of his black eyes and felt the tiptoe of awareness shivering its way down her spine. ‘And that wasn’t supposed to be a come-on!’

  ‘Maybe I want it to be.’

  But Laura shook her head, praying for the strength and resolve she needed. ‘No, Xavier. And it’s no good looking at me like that—I mean it.’

  ‘No?’ he echoed, in disbelief.

  His arrogance was staggering! He thought he could say whatever he wanted to her and she would just lie back and let him make love to her!

  ‘You are something else,’ she breathed. ‘But—just so that there’s no misunderstanding—let me make myself clear. Sex with you was utterly fantastic, as I’m sure you know—but sex for women, most women, involves a lot more than that. Respect and self-worth play a pretty important part in the equation. If you really think me capable of going around and sleeping with different men on the Sheikh’s say-so then you have only yourself to blame when I insist on keeping you at arm’s length—no matter how good a lover you are.’

  ‘You cannot mean this, Laura,’ he objected. ‘You have voiced your anger towards me, and I accept it. Perhaps I even deserved it. I apologise for the things I said to you. I take them back.’ A smile curved the edges of his lips. ‘There.’

  Shaking her head, she pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘You just don’t get it, do you, Xavier? It can’t just be made better with a grudging apology accompanied by a sexy smile.’

  He could smell her newly washed hair and the faint drift of scent on her skin, and something about its innocent freshness made him want to groan aloud with frustration. ‘But I want you, Laura—I want you now!’

  ‘Read my lips,’ she said, savouring the heady sensation of having taken back control. ‘Which part of the word no don’t you understand? There will be no intimacy. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.’

  ‘Friends?’

  ‘There’s no need to make it sound as if I’ve suggested something obscene—you do have friends, I suppose, Xavier?’

  Of course he had friends—but no real close women-friends. And never lovers who became friends, because they always wanted to continue the intimate side of their relationship. And would Laura be any different, despite her vowed intentions?

  Xavier’s face was like stone, but beneath its unmoving exterior he felt the heavy p
ulsing of his blood as he stared down at her parted lips and her determined expression. The light of battle suddenly flared in his eyes.

  No intimacy?

  Like hell there wouldn’t be!

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘YOUR resolve is admirably strong,’ breathed Xavier in reluctant admiration. ‘But I think that the strain of resisting what you really want is beginning to get to you—don’t you, Laura? Your face is pale, despite the sun, and see how you tremble whenever I am near. And you really shouldn’t lose any more weight—your body is quite perfect as it is.’

  Never had Laura been so glad of the canopy of her wide-brimmed hat—which not only protected her pale skin from the scorching heat of the desert sun but also hid her face from Xavier’s piercing black stare. Because if he had the opportunity to look closely he would discover that he was right—she was finding it difficult to withstand his relentless, sexy appeal.

  Since their—she supposed you might call it showdown, they had spent nine days and nights in close confines within the walls of the Blue Palace, where she had learnt a surprising yet uncomfortable fact.

  Naïvely, Laura had supposed that women didn’t feel sexual frustration in the same way as men did. She had certainly never been afflicted by it before. Her split with Josh had had rather terrifying financial repercussions, but she’d been greatly relieved at no longer having to endure his acrobatic but ultimately unsatisfactory style of lovemaking.

  But this was different.

  Lying in bed at night—knowing that the magnificent olive-skinned body of Xavier de Maistre was lying naked on the other side of the door she now insisted on locking…well. It would be enough to make any woman ache, surely—especially if she’d already tasted his sensual skills?

  She considered his accusation now, as she slid two fingers easily inside the waistband of her trousers—had she lost weight? ‘Everyone loses weight in hot weather,’ she defended.

  ‘But not everyone watches the object of her desire with hungry eyes instead of giving in to that desire. How stubborn you are, Laura.’

  But Laura was less stubborn than concerned that her clever plan might have completely backfired on her. She had kept Xavier at arm’s length and told him she wanted to be friends without realising that friendship broke down barriers in the same way that sex did.

  If you lived very closely with a man and he wasn’t kissing you the chances were he would have to talk to you, and you to him. And, as two foreigners in a strange land, they’d had plenty to talk about.

  Laura had already decided that it would be easier if they liked each other—what she hadn’t realised was how easy it would be to like him. Nor had she expected the look of admiration in his black eyes when she stuck to her guns and would not be swayed by his occasional flirtatious comments. It was as if he had been waiting for her resolve to crumble, and when it hadn’t he had been forced to look at the situation—and her—in a completely different way.

  Gradually, his expression of wry frustration had become replaced with a growing respect, and that made Laura feel good. It gave her back her self-respect, which meant she relaxed, and the more she relaxed the more he did—and, oh, that made her feel vulnerable all over again!

  In her attempt to protect herself she had made herself susceptible to his careless charm, which was almost as devastating as his kiss.

  She wiped the glow of sweat from her face as they stood on the summit overlooking the wide, sweeping plain of Kharastan’s flat and rolling desert. The stark and dramatic country was becoming a little more familiar to her day by day—since every day something different had been laid on for the benefit of the Sheikh’s honoured guests.

  They had been to visit the bustling bazaars in the capital of Kumush Ay, and had been mesmerised by the sights and sounds and wonderful smells and bright colours of the busy marketplace. They had been taken to the formal riding school and witnessed a magnificent display by a troop of Akhal-Teke horses. And this morning they had come to watch Malik and a group of other Kharastani noblemen engage in the ancient sport of falconry.

  Laura stood a little way back as she watched, aware of Xavier’s rapt air of concentration and the realisation that this was very much a male bonding thing.

  ‘Today we still practise this noble art as a mark of respect to the survival of our forefathers in the desert,’ said Malik, as a terrifying-looking bird with cruel eyes perched on his leather-covered arm.

  Xavier had revelled in his stay in the country—aware that he and Laura were being shown a variety of Kharastan life and recognising how rich and diverse it was. But through all the banquets, the shows and the lavish displays, he had remained somewhat on the sidelines. A spectator rather than a participant—until today. Under this beating desert sun, in this harsh and unforgiving terrain, something had happened to him.

  Xavier had been captivated by the powerful raptor as it flew low across the coarse desert. Bobbing and veering like a drunk teetering home late at night, it shot high into the air as the lure was thrown. It was primitive and elemental, and in a moment of clarity he could suddenly see the point of the sport. But it was more than that.

  It was like the click of understanding when you reached fluency in a foreign language. For the first time he allowed himself to feel the connection between himself and his forebears, to acknowledge his birthright.

  His ancestors must have stood on this hot and harsh terrain, he thought, as tiny grains of sand whispered against his skin. When survival in the desert was a daily battle and falconry was not an elegant sport but a means of obtaining food. And at that moment he seemed a long long way from his elegant Parisian apartments.

  It seemed that he was not who he had thought he was—instead he had discovered a man who was almost a stranger to himself. And he knew in that moment that he had changed, and that he could never go back to being the person he had been before. How could he? He was half-Kharastani!

  The thought shook him—and, just like his early ancestors must have done, he sought refuge from his troubled thoughts in the calm balm of a woman’s soothing presence.

  He turned to look at Laura, who was standing watching the display with a mixture of fear and fascination, and he recognised that it had been her determination to push him away which had allowed him to focus his mind and his thoughts, like an athlete preparing for a big race. The absence of sex had filled him with a new and inner sense of purpose and—yes—of identity. But now he ached for her in a way he could never remember aching for a woman before.

  Now, in the bright desert light, he narrowed his eyes to see if he could see the dark blot on the horizon which would herald the return of the strong, graceful bird they called the Saker Falcon. The skies remained clear, but inside Xavier was still troubled.

  He thought of the local name for the Saker—hurr, meaning noble, or free. Malik had told him about it when they had come from Zahir’s room last night, after one of their regular evening meetings with the Sheikh.

  ‘How is Zahir?’ Laura asked, her soft voice breaking into his thoughts.

  Xavier looked at her, a picture of loveliness in the wide-brimmed hat which shielded her fair skin from the fierce Kharastani sun. He wanted to pull the ribbon from her hair and shake it loose, lose himself in its thick, scented satin. To feel rather than think—about anything—and yet she seemed determined to torment him, one way or another.

  ‘He’s about the same.’ He shrugged.

  ‘So what do you and he talk about, night after night?’

  ‘Sacre bleu, but you stretch my patience, cherie!’ Xavier laughed in spite of himself, for at that moment they saw the Saker contrasted against the bright sky, and there was whoop of joy from all the men. He turned to Laura, his face animated and alive with pleasure at the ancient ritual he had just witnessed. ‘You keep me at arm’s length, Laura—and yet you pry into my soul!’

  Laura shook her head. ‘I don’t mean to pry, Xavier,’ she said truthfully. ‘I just wonder if it’s good for you to keep everyt
hing bottled up—not to talk about this huge thing in your life that has happened. Unless you discuss it with Malik, of course?’

  Xavier shook his head. The Sheikh’s aide seemed to have a curiously ambivalent attitude towards him. At times they were at ease together, yet at others there was tension and once—just once—Xavier had looked up and been surprised to see a look almost of jealousy there. Did he resent another man’s growing closeness with the Sheikh? he wondered. After years of being his sole and trusted aide?

  ‘No, I don’t talk to Malik,’ he said flatly.

  ‘Then why not talk to me?’ asked Laura, as she climbed into the back of their four-wheel drive and Xavier got in beside her, before the car moved away in a cloud of desert dust.

  ‘Why should I do that?’

  ‘Well, I’m a good listener. I’m impartial—and I’m honest enough to tell you what I think rather than what you want to hear—which in your case is no bad thing.’

  ‘Are you quite possibly perfect in every way?’ he asked, in a voice which was silkily sardonic.

  When they’d first arrived here Laura might have viewed this question as making fun of her. But she had altered—was altering—she could feel it happening even now. She had stood firm in her resolve not to be a compliant bedfellow that he would soon tire of, and had regained her self-respect by managing to resist his breathtaking allure.

  Friendship you had to work harder at than sexual chemistry—but she felt they were getting there.

  But it was much bigger than just what she had got out of the experience. Laura had been looking outwards, as well as inwards. She could see the chase of conflicting emotions in Xavier’s eyes, and suddenly found that she wanted to help him come to terms with what was happening to him.

  ‘Quite possibly completely perfect,’ she agreed, half turning in her seat to look at him. ‘Tell me if you want. Don’t if you don’t.’

  Her neck was like a graceful arc, down which the rope of dark red hair fell like plaited silk. What did he have to lose? ‘In the absence of much more distracting pursuits I can see no alternative to talking,’ he said. ‘Yet are you bound by professional confidence, Laura—or will you be contracting my story to the highest-bidding journalist on our return to the West?’