Lucy and the Sheikh

by Diana Fraser

  “Welcome to our country, Lucy.” His voice was the same as Lucy remembered and had the same effect, like notes playing softly upon her skin, the vibrations continuing into her body.

  “You two haven’t met before, have you?”

  “And how could we have done that, Alex?” The King’s lips quirked into a smile and he dipped his head to Lucy before turning away. “Knowing how tight a ship you run, I’m sure Lucy hasn’t had the time or opportunity to leave the boat.”

  The King turned away and walked over to the vacant chair, either side of which a bodyguard stood. Now he’d drawn away from her he was entirely the King. She could hardly reconcile the man before her with the man from last night. His power and status were palpable. Besides the guards, there were attendants at all the doors, a secretary hovering near and domestic staff placing refreshments before them.

  He waved his hand. “Please, be seated.”

  They sat in the ornate chairs and Lucy willed herself to relax. She inhaled deeply but the dry air caught in her throat, making her cough. She glanced up at him, only to discover he was staring directly at her. His dark eyes appeared cold under the harsh light of the reception room, his brow was lowered and the sharp planes of his cheeks fell in shadows to a mouth that seemed more thoughtful than passionate. She immediately lowered her eyes and thanked God for the custom of women keeping their eyes lowered. Normally she would have balked at the restriction, but now? She was intensely grateful for it, as she studied the ancient patterns within the marble floor. She needed time to think and only half-listened to the polite conversation the King conducted with the crew, and the more playful banter he exchanged with Alex.

  Could this be the man who was somehow implicated in Maia’s disappearance? This man, whom she’d nearly made love to last night but who had carefully extricated himself with a control that she knew his body belied? This was the monster she’d come to investigate? She sipped the mint tea she’d been given as she tried to comprehend the impossible. Had Maia been seduced just as willingly as she had nearly been?

  “Lucy! Answer the King.”

  Lucy looked up bewildered. “I’m sorry…”

  The King leaned forward toward her, his arms on his knees. The increased proximity was all it took to bring the flood of color to her cheeks once more. “I understand from Alex that you wish is to stay here for a short holiday rather than proceed with the expedition.”

  She nodded, not knowing if her voice would be steady.

  “I was asking, Miss Gee, if you would care to stay here at the palace, as my guest.”

  Lucy swallowed. It was more than she could have hoped for. It was being handed to her on a plate. Except for one thing. She hadn’t anticipated, in her wildest dreams, that she would want the man she suspected of knowing the whereabouts of her sister. Not just want, but physically ache for him.

  “That,” she cleared her throat of the huskiness that was threatening to creep into it, “would be very, err, agreeable.” She glanced quickly at Alex who sat back in his chair, one hand tapping his lips, amusement brimming in his eyes as they moved back and forward between Lucy and the King. “Thank you. If that’s OK with you Alex?”

  “Certainly.” He smiled slyly at the King. “We’ll miss Lucy but I can recruit a replacement here—with your help. I know Lucy will be in good hands, so to speak.”

  The King’s expression didn’t change, his eyes remained on Lucy, either oblivious to, or determined to ignore, the innuendo in Alex’s words. “Then, Lucy, you are most welcome.”

  The low tone of his voice filtered through her body like a vibration: from the bones in her feet, sweeping up through the heat at her centre and through to her fingertips. Suddenly panic gripped her. She was totally susceptible to him. What the hell did she think she was doing? Was she mad? Did she really believe she could find Maia in this world—closed for so long to outsiders—or would she more likely end up the same way as her sister? Disappear in this hot southern land without trace?

  “Are you sure it’s not an imposition?”

  He gestured around him. “The palace is vast. It’s no imposition.”

  “But…”

  “But, what? You think perhaps I require payment for my hospitality? Such an attitude would be called ‘mercenary’, do you not think, Miss Gee?”

  So he had heard.

  “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  He waved his hand as if to brush away her apology. “You were correct in one regard. I do want something from you.”

  The continual thrumming sensation inspired by his proximity suddenly turned to fear. She bit her lip to try to stem the trembling as she met his thoughtful gaze. “And what’s that?” Her voice sounded falsely loud to her over-sensitive ears.

  “My country has no tourism industry. I wish to develop one—carefully and on a small scale—and Alex tells me you have a background in the hospitality industry. I’d be interested in your opinion on how to develop the tourism projects we have planned.”

  She exhaled a tense breath and suddenly felt calmer. She was on surer, more familiar ground now. “I’m no expert but I’ve traveled widely. I’d be happy to give you informal advice.”

  “Perfect. You may stay here at the palace as long as you wish and I will arrange a guide to show you around. I have someone in mind.” The heat of his brown eyes bridged the space between them and she flicked her tongue around suddenly needy lips. His gaze dipped to her mouth and stayed there, for one long moment, before returning to her eyes, the chocolate brown of his eyes now darker than before, as if burned by the heat. He recovered swiftly and the heat was replaced by a flicker of humor, reinforced by a slight crinkling of the fine lines at the outer corners of his eyes. She felt the visceral stab of lust, low in her body. It ground in deep and refused to leave.

  “Thank you.” She hesitated as she racked her brain for something normal to say, something that wouldn’t reveal her body’s response to him. “Your country appears very beautiful. I’m interested in seeing as much as possible.” He frowned. She could have kicked herself. She was so busy trying to cover her reaction to this powerful man, that she’d made him suspicious.

  “Any particular reason?”

  “I write the occasional travel piece. The magazine editor’s keen for one on a country few know anything about.”

  “My father’s decision to isolate our country from the West was no doubt the best one at the time. But times have changed. I think your reports could be very helpful to us. Is there anything in particular you wish to know?”

  What the hell’s happened to my sister? Lucy sucked in a raw breath—the dry air-conditioned air ripping through her lungs. “Sitra’s heritage, its culture, of course, and also the kind of things that could attract a twenty-first-century tourist. Someone like me.” Someone like Maia.

  “I will show you around, personally and my staff will make sure you have everything you require.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

  “Kind?” The repeated word was softly spoken, barely breathed, but it sent shivers of anticipation skittering up and down Lucy’s body as she contemplated what it was the King would gain from this personal attention. “I’m sure I will enjoy it. Alex, perhaps you’d send Miss Gee’s things to the palace.”

  Alex was sitting back in his chair, arms crossed, unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face. “Sure.”

  The King’s eyes never left hers and Lucy’s heart raced; heat shimmered through her body, despite the air conditioning, and it felt as if they were the only two people in the room. And then he smiled: his lips quirking briefly at the corners, as if in both acknowledgement of their unspoken exchange, and of dismissal. He shifted in his seat and turned to Alex, talking amiably as if nothing had happened.

  It was as if the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving her alone in darkness. She turned around to see if anyone had noticed her sudden vulnerability—she was never vulnerable, she was always the strong one—but everyo
ne else was focused on the conversation between Alex and the King. They were all too caught up with the opportunity to continue their work, researching the reef and marine life off the coast of Sitra. None of the others had noticed the intensity of their exchange. For a brief moment she wondered if it had been all in her imagination. But no, a quick, curious glance from the King and she saw she hadn’t imagined any of it.

  She focused on her hands that were tightly clasped in her lap and let the conversation flow over her, as she tried to contain the deep-seated guilt that stirred in the pit of her stomach. She was lusting after someone who was implicated in the disappearance of her sister. She’d thought she’d anticipated every eventuality but this had never occurred to her. Her mind was set—she had to find out what happened to Maia. But her body swayed, drawn by this stranger’s scent, mesmerized by his eyes, melting under his touch. She wrung her hands together more tightly, desperate for control. The last image her sister had posted on Facebook floated into her mind—a beaming smile for the paparazzi as she leaned into the embrace of a tall, dark man—the King of Sitra.

  Suddenly she realized the talk had come to an end. She looked up to see people were standing as the King made arrangements to see Alex in a few weeks’ time. The crew came to say their farewells to Lucy and she clung too long to Alex, aware of the King’s frown. Alex drew her to one side.

  “You OK, Luce?”

  She drew in a deep breath and nodded too vigorously. “Sure.”

  “Come back with us if you want,” he whispered. “But, you know, the King’s a good man. You’ll be safe in his hands. I’ve known him since we were seven years old. Your choice.”

  She was filled with gratitude for the kindness of this man whom she’d only known a few weeks. “I’ll be fine. Just feeling a bit hot under these robes.” She grinned. “Thanks, Alex, for everything. I’ll be OK. It’s what I want.”

  He grinned. “You’ll be fine. You have my phone number if you need me.” He squeezed her hands in his and walked over to his team who were talking with the King. When they’d finished, the King stepped back to where his bodyguards stood. It was a signal the audience was at an end. He swept out of the room without a second glance at Lucy. People disappeared from the many doors that lined the reception room and after a few hugs and farewells, Maia watched her friends disappear to attend the meetings the King had arranged with his own team of scientists.

  As her colleagues left the room, part of her wanted to run after them and cling to them and beg them to take her back with them. But that part was the coward who’d let Maia step in front of her and defend her against school bullies. The same scared part that would watch as Maia lied to authorities about who looked after them. Maia had had no qualms about such things; she’d believed she was quite capable of looking after her little sister—Maia had been sixteen after all.

  But that was then and this was now.

  Maia had brought her up and brought her up strong. And she had to be strong now, for her. She turned around to see a woman waiting discreetly behind her. The woman bowed, waiting for Lucy to come with her. She had no choice; she had to find Maia. She smiled uncertainly and went over to the waiting woman.

  Alex and the research team may have got what they needed from the King but, for her, the quest was only just beginning.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Razeen tried to focus on his advisor’s report on the economic reforms he’d implemented, but his mind was full of the woman in the black abaya, whose eyes held a challenge and attraction like none he could remember.

  “Your Majesty, everything is on track, but—”

  His advisor’s hesitation brought Razeen’s mind back to his current problems. “None of it’s working, is it?”

  His advisor examined the papers in his hands. “No, Your Majesty, it’s not. Everything is in place; on paper the systems and procedures are workable but, the people… the people are not yet behind it.”

  Razeen sighed. “And until they are, we don’t stand a chance of implementing these reforms, do we?”

  The advisor shook his head in silent agreement.

  “What is it they want?”

  The advisor coughed. “Your Majesty…”

  Razeen winced at the title. His attempts at informality within the palace had been met with stony resistance and he’d soon returned to the formality of his father’s reign.

  “Najib, just tell me what you think will work, tell me how you believe we can move on from here. You knew my father, you knew my brother, what would they have done?”

  The older man, his weathered face settled in deep vertical lines, pushed up his spectacles and peered at Razeen, blinking. His intelligent, astute eyes were full of doubt. Razeen understood the doubt. Both his father and brother had been raised to take on the traditional role of King of their country. Razeen hadn’t.

  “The people want a King who is a true leader—a sheikh. The people need reform—that you have given them—but they want a traditional sheikh, with a traditional family. Then, I believe they will accept the reforms.”

  “A traditional family,” Razeen scoffed. “A traditional wife you mean. I’ve been seen in every tabloid newspaper, in every country, with every new model on my arm. I’m not exactly known for tradition.”

  “I do not believe the people will care. In fact, someone who turns their back on the West in favor of traditional values will be seen to vindicate their way of life. Give them yourself, reformed, and you can bring the country into the twenty-first century, you can bring prosperity to the people once more.”

  “Myself, reformed.”

  He closed his eyes and tried to rid himself of the image of green eyes, a heart-shaped face and wayward strands sun-streaked honey-brown hair that had escaped the hijab; he tried to eradicate the memory of her lips upon his, but it didn’t work. He opened his eyes, feeling anger and frustration in every cell of his body at what might have been. But “what might have been”—his ability to choose what he wanted from life—had died along with his brother.

  “Myself, married.” Of all the things he’d anticipated in the first twenty-eight years of his life, an arranged marriage was not one of them. “I suppose I’m unable to choose.”

  “Of course you may choose. We have already compiled a selection for you to choose from.” The old man’s eyes lit up with excitement. “It is the best decision, Your Majesty. There are a number of young women from the most distinguished Sitran families who would be suitable. Their alliance would guarantee you support from key tribes. It will be the most effective strategy you can adopt to secure your country’s future.”

  Razeen rose and walked over to the window that overlooked the city. It lay, spread before him, its subtle tones of sand and terra cotta sharply juxtaposed against the stunning brilliance of the aqua sea. But the beauty was a mask to the corruption and disorganization that was crippling his country’s wealth. The only way forward was to gain the support of the people with the power—the country’s old elite—and the affection of a people whose life was centered on tradition. The only way.

  “Make the arrangements.” His mind flicked back to Lucy once more. She was here now. She’d be gone within weeks and he’d be left with years of duty and responsibility. “But I want my diary cleared of all but the most urgent meetings for two weeks.” He sighed deeply, feeling the burden of his duty more oppressively than he’d ever done before. “No functions, no introductions, no meetings other than essential ones, for two weeks.” His advisor bowed his head in acceptance. And Razeen closed his eyes in regret.

  Lucy was filled by a sense of both beauty and isolation as the servant led the way through the palace to her room. It was a world within a world. From the symmetry and control of the formal wing of the palace—with its over-sized marble fountains and clipped trees—to the older, more rambling parts of the palace, there was a quietness, a remoteness, which made Lucy uneasy.

  She had the weird feeling that she might just disappear amongst the maze of colo
nnaded walkways, perfumed gardens and darkened doorways and never reappear. She shivered. Had Maia been here? Had she felt the same? Had she smelt these same fragrances, had she also tasted the lips of the sheikh?

  Lucy felt the chill ache of poisonous self-recriminations in every fiber of her body. True, she hadn’t known his identity but equally true, she’d been a fool: too confident in her own ability to survive and too impetuous as usual. And she’d berated her sister for her impulsive ways. Lucy was as bad.

  The servant stopped suddenly beside a large wooden door. “Here, madam. Here is your room.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If you need anything, please use the telephone. Please call at any time.”

  “Any internet access?”

  “No, madam. Only the office and the King have access to the internet.”

  “Really?” Lucy couldn’t prevent incredulity from creeping into her voice.

  “It was not something we had in this country until the new King took the throne.”

  Lucy thought the woman’s tone sounded faintly disapproving. “You don’t know what you’ve been missing.”

  The woman, for all her supposed lowly status, gazed pityingly at Lucy. “We managed well without it.” She paused briefly to collect herself. “If you wish to go anywhere, please use the telephone. Someone will come for you.”

  “Thanks but I’m sure I won’t be needing you. I’ll find my own way about.”

  “No, you must not do that. You could lose yourself.”

  Or go where I’m not wanted, thought Lucy.

  “Please call and either myself,” continued the maid, “or someone else will show you around, as you require. Until someone comes, you must wait.”