Lucy and the Sheikh

by Diana Fraser

  “Thank you,” Lucy replied ambiguously. She had no intention of calling anyone.

  The woman retreated noiselessly on her soft sandals and Lucy entered the room, closing the door firmly behind her before leaning back on it and sighing with relief.

  “Room” was not a word she’d have used to describe it. A small apartment was what she’d have called it. Being part of the older buildings the ceiling wasn’t as lofty as in the newer wing of the palace, but the decor was fabulous. The floor was covered with ancient grey and white geometric tiles that continued up the first quarter of the wall. Above them the stone walls were creamy white. Simple white curtains and fabrics swathed the windows and four-poster bed. But it was the view that attracted Lucy’s attention.

  She walked across the room and opened the narrow French windows, revealing a small secluded garden, onto which only her room led. On two sides, stone walls rose, covered in climbing plants and on the fourth side a trellised wall backed onto what appeared to be an orchard. Within it was a small door. Here, the sounds of the palace and the city were muffled and distant, insignificant besides the soporific trickle of water that ran from a simple white marble spout before splitting into four rills of water that intersected the intricate tile pattern laid on the ground. Its geometric design was calming, as was the low, green light, from the sheltering canopy of interwoven trees above. It was simple, relaxing and magical.

  She didn’t want magical. She didn’t want to be seduced either by a tall, dark, dangerous man or by her surroundings. She wasn’t used to luxury and she was scared of it: scared she’d be beguiled by it. She shook her head, as if to shed it of the lulling sound of the water, of the soft touch of the silk curtains beneath her fingers. She had to be strong—strong for Maia.

  She skirted the seductive bed and sat on the upright chair in front of the small Louis XVI escritoire. She pulled the scarf from her head, pushed her fingers through her hair and held her head in her hands, as she tried to contain the conflicting feelings and thoughts that bombarded her. She had to focus.

  She groaned. On one hand just the sight of this man whose lips she could still feel on her own, just the smell of his aftershave and his own masculine scent, just the feel of his presence had her body on fire for him. Yet on the other hand, this was the man who was her last clue to her sister’s whereabouts. Quite possibly, he was dangerous. She couldn’t let herself fall for him. And yet she couldn’t avoid him. She needed him to trust her; she needed him to like her. Yet she knew she could be burned if she came too close. But she had no choice.

  She jumped up and paced across the room. She had to get moving, do something. She couldn’t just sit around and wait like some passive victim. She hadn’t been able to access the internet for a few days and she was desperate to check to see if there were any more Facebook messages from Maia. Even if they had been designed to obscure where she was, at least they told her she was still alive. She needed to find an office.

  She pulled the scarf back over her head, figuring it would at least give her a degree of anonymity, and stepped outside her suite of rooms. She cast quick glances around her, wondering which way to go. The gardens and covered walkways were empty and there was no sound to guide her. She didn’t have a clue but, rather than return the way she’d come, she decided to explore deeper into the castle, taking the worn steps higher up the hill. Within moments she was lost and she realized why the maid had been so insistent upon her calling for someone. She’d imagined it was for control but she had to admit as she came upon another set of doors that appeared identical to the last, she was hopelessly lost.

  She retraced her steps until she reckoned she was close by her room. She pushed open a large door and found herself in an old, echoing hall that was sumptuously furnished. She listened for subdued voices, for any sign of life. But all was strangely quiet. Suddenly she felt nervous, as though she was intruding, and exited the rooms through open windows. Under the canopy of trees and tracery of greenery the mid-afternoon heat was tolerable. Here, the heavy scent of flowers was mediated by the salty tang of the sea, drifting to her on the soft breeze.

  She paused for a moment, soaking up the atmosphere and then she saw a western newspaper left untidily on a cushioned seat, designed for comfort rather than show. She looked closer and saw stereo speakers hidden in the trees. Her heart thumped heavily in her chest. She had to get out of here.

  She turned abruptly, about to flee, but caught sight of someone alone, pacing the floor, hands thrust into his pockets, turning and then stopping before the open vista of the city below. It was Razeen; it was the King. Lucy froze. No wonder it was so quiet. This was obviously his private wing of the palace. She should move, she knew she had to leave, but there was something about him that compelled her to stay. This was not the man she’d seen earlier. There was a sense of despair, rather than of omnipotent power about him; a sense of sadness and loneliness, rather than confidence. The feelings she’d been so carefully trying to contain, unraveled instantly. She only just managed to contain a gasp before turning away. But in her haste she caught her robes on a thorn of a bougainvillea and the sound of tearing cloth rent the air.

  “Lucy!”

  That voice! It sent ripples of longing through her. She drew in a deep breath, suddenly aware that the air had left her body. She turned to see him walking toward her with a haste prompted by either anger or the same need she felt. She didn’t know which.

  “Lucy, what are you doing here?” Within seconds he was beside her.

  “Trying to walk around like a normal person swathed from head to foot in cloth that seems to catch everywhere.”

  He grinned. “Here, let me help you.”

  He focused on untwisting the thorn from her robe. His large hands were gentle and he was so close that every one of her senses was aware of him: she was unable to take her eyes off the strong, downward sweep of his jawline. The brush of his fine robes against the back of her hand as his fingers twisted the cloth away from the grasping thorn, sent shivers tracking through her body. The subtle smell of his aftershave, together with something indefinable, something purely him, fed her body with a stimulus she could do without.

  “You knew,” she whispered.

  “I know many things—to what in particular are you referring?”

  “That you’d be seeing me this morning.”

  “Of course. I would never have let you go otherwise.”

  A thrill ran through her body, despite everything she’d been trying to make herself think, make herself control. It all evaporated in his presence.

  “You would have kept me with you by force?”

  He frowned but his eyes glittered with amusement. “You think I am a savage from a savage country? Is that it Miss Gee?” He brought the tangled piece of cloth closer until it stroked her face.

  “Not savage, just different. I don’t know your ways.”

  “But you will. All I meant was, if I hadn’t known I would see you again, I wouldn’t have let you go without discovering how to contact you.”

  “Why? You can’t be short of entertainment here. You’re a King after all.”

  “Shall we say ‘entertainment’ alone can wear a little thin after a while. Besides you will prove useful to me. As I will to you, I hope.”

  She swallowed, trying to control the quickened thudding of her heart. His words were ambiguous, given what little she knew of Maia's last movements.

  “What exactly is it you want from me?”

  He shook his head, smiling and released her robes. “There, you are free from the thorn now.” But he didn’t step away. “And as to what I want from you?” He hesitated as he searched her face, as if looking for an answer to his own question. “That is an interesting question. And probably irrelevant.”

  It was her turn to show confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “My dear Lucy, what I want and what I allow myself are two different things. I am a ruler of a country; my life is not as simple as yours.”


  “Mine, simple?” she half-laughed. “Now I know you don’t know me.”

  “No, of course. However, what I’d like from you is just as we’d discussed earlier. I need to bring my country into the twenty-first century and I need help to do it. Your knowledge of tourism, your magazine articles could prove invaluable.”

  “Surely you have experts who can help. I don’t claim to be an authority.”

  “It’s not only your experience. You are also the demographic we hope to entice here. It’s one thing talking to an expert with theoretical knowledge, it’s another talking to a young woman who’s worked at the top dive spots in the world.”

  “Alex told you that?”

  “Yes. Last night, before I met you, he told me about you, about your desire to stay for a few weeks to look around. So I was interested in you working for me.” He paused. “But that was before I met you.”

  “And now?”

  “After last night? I don’t want you just for your expertise. I’d like to get to know you better. If that’s also what you want?”

  She wanted to scream two contradictory answers. Instead she opened her mouth to speak but no words came. She simply nodded her agreement.

  “Good. Now, perhaps I can offer you a cold drink and you can tell me more about yourself, about why you’re here.”

  Again, all she could do was nod and follow him to the al fresco seating area where he poured her a glass of lemonade. “There’s not much to tell, nothing interesting.”

  “Believe me, I’m interested. First, tell me, why did you come to Sitra?”

  She was suddenly jolted back into reality. She could be honest and tell him straight answer, ask him outright if he knew were Maia was. But what if he was implicated and his answer was a blank “no”? She’d have lost her advantage. He’d throw her out of the country and she’d never be allowed back in. If he wasn’t implicated and he was willing to help, he’d still be willing after she’d made some preliminary enquiries. She couldn’t afford to lose her advantage. But she knew he wouldn’t believe anything that had absolutely no foundation of truth.

  “I’ve traveled a lot, catering on yachts, and love diving, especially in unspoiled places like here. When I saw the advert for working on Alex’s expedition I was drawn to it. I knew entry into the country was impossible otherwise; I thought I might never get another chance.”

  “Hopefully you will. And others will too, if my plans work out.”

  “And what are your plans exactly?”

  “Develop a few heavily protected diving resorts away from the capital city. The work Alex and his crew are doing will provide the ground work so we can both protect and promote the reefs.”

  “You’ve certainly got the beautiful beaches that will attract people. And the waters, they’re so clear and warm. You’ll have more problems keeping people away, I should think.”

  “Possibly. But Alex seems to think the coral is robust enough to sustain low to moderate tourism ventures.”

  “But you don’t want people in the city?”

  “No doubt some will venture into the city but I certainly don’t wish to promote it. We don’t have the infrastructure. But, yes, controlled tours into the interior are a possibility—we have ancient ruins that will be of interest. But it’s the diving you’ll be interested in going to first, I imagine.”

  He imagined right. But this wasn’t about her. This was about her sister. And her sister liked the glamorous life.

  “I’d love to see everything the average reader of the magazine I write for is interested in. The long, white, sandy beaches, the glamour of the desert, Bedouin tents, that sort of thing…” She glanced at him from under her lashes, suddenly aware that her mind had drifted at the thought of a tent, and Razeen. She cleared her throat. “Got anywhere like that? Where a girl, not exactly wanting authentic culture, but an ‘experience’ might want to go?”

  He frowned. “This isn’t Disneyland, Lucy, nor Hollywood; it’s not a sanitized version of Arabia.”

  “I know. But not every visitor will want ‘authenticity’. They want a holiday in the sun with a bit of difference.”

  The frown disappeared. “You’re correct, of course.” He sat back, his fist rubbing his lips as he focused his dark eyes on her. The dappled shade of the overhead leaves made it hard to read his thoughts. But, given the long pause, and the slight upward tilt of his lips, it was no doubt along the same, errant lines, as herself. “There are places I can arrange to have you taken.”

  Her heart thudded in her chest. She didn’t want a member of his staff showing her around. She needed him. She needed to be alert for a slip in his speech, she needed to learn of his needs and desires. She needed him. He was the key to finding Maia.

  She hesitated only briefly before leaning toward him. “You said you wanted to get to know me, Razeen. What better opportunity than showing me your country?”

  His face didn’t change expression; he continued to stare at her. She willed herself not to blink, not to blush, not to reveal how much was riding on his answer. Then his face relaxed into a faint, tense smile.

  “You’re right, again.” He didn’t lean forward toward her. Hesitatingly, self consciously, Lucy sat back in her chair. She’d made an advance and it hadn’t been accepted. “Meanwhile, I have work to complete. I’ll take you back to your room and I’ll have someone bring you to me later. I’ll take you round Sitra this afternoon, if you wish?

  “That would be great, thanks.”

  “Or perhaps you would like to rest? I believe you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  She grinned. “I’m used to it. I don’t sleep well.”

  “Too many mid-night swims perhaps.”

  “That and too many vivid dreams.”

  “Me also.” He held her gaze with an intensity of need that both scared and mesmerized her. The silence between them stretched too long to continue with polite conversation. He rose and extended his hand to hers. She accepted it and he pulled her to him. Slowly, so slowly he placed both his hands over hers and brought them to his lips. Such an old-fashioned gesture, yet the effect of the pressure of his lips against her skin was anything but tame. She pulsed deep inside, her body reacting to his touch like a slackly strung cello string played long and low: vibrating, in tune, shivering under his touch. Her body felt his touch long after his hands had left her. “Lucy Gee. Where did you come from?” His voice was gravelly with lust.

  “From out of the blue.”

  “And is that where you’ll disappear to?”

  She nodded, trying to focus on his words when all her body wanted to do was focus on his body. “I have two weeks before I return.”

  “Two weeks.” He said slowly. “That’s convenient. Come. I’ll take you back to your room.” He took her by the hand and led her out into brilliant sunshine.

  Her body and mind were in turmoil. She couldn’t deny the attraction that did more than simmer between them. Everything about him set her on fire: from the firm grip of his hand on hers, to the intensity of his gaze and the memory of last night’s kiss. But this was the man whom Maia has fallen for, with whom she had been last seen. Was she going to follow in her sister’s footsteps and be the next to disappear in this medieval foreign land?

  With each step she took beside him, with each subtle shift and squeeze of his fingers against her skin, the answer became more certain. Yes, she was. Because her body couldn’t deny him and because it was the only way to find Maia.

  The return to her room was much quicker than the route she’d taken. At her door he halted, gave her hand a sweeping caress with his thumb before dropping it to her side. “I look forward to showing you around later.”

  “Do you always take such care of your employees?”

  Again that smile. “No. Nor do I give them a bedroom suite so close to mine.”

  She fumbled with the door handle, suddenly unable to face him, or the fact that the blatant sexual vibe between them wasn’t only on her side. He wanted
her too. He was imagining them picking up where they left off, just as she was. Having the undercurrents suddenly thrust out into the open should have made her realize how impossible the situation was. But all she could think about was how close he was to her.

  Before she could open the door, he’d slid his fingers under her chin and brought her lips to his. Her heart pounded once, twice, from lust and something else she refused to contemplate: the guilt could wait. He held his lips to hers, barely moving her mouth for seconds, as if he were testing her, rather than tasting her. Slowly she slipped under his spell, her eyelids flickering closed as her senses sunk under the power of his touch.

  He withdrew leisurely, his narrowed eyes never leaving hers, as if assessing her response. “Until later, Lucy…” His thumb dragged lightly across her lips. And then he was gone: lost amidst the lush growth of the gardens.

  She opened the door, rushed inside and fell back against the closed door, pressed her eyes shut with her fingers and cursed.

  What the hell was she doing? Even if he wasn’t implicated in Maia’s disappearance, Lucy Gee didn’t do relationships, she didn’t do emotional intimacy. She just kept on moving on to the next thing. Always moving. It wasn’t only that it was part of the pact she’d made with Maia to experience everything. It was more than that. Lucy had no wish to repeat the devastation of her first love and its dire consequences. She refused to ever go there again, to risk herself again. And here she was playing with fire because without that fire, she couldn’t find Maia.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Lucy thanked the attendant who’d brought her back to Razeen’s private gardens. She pushed the heavy bough of flowers back and walked out to the seating area that overlooked the bay. The unbroken line of the horizon melted into the intensely blue sky. The welcome sea breeze shifted the heavy air and Lucy relaxed within sight and sound of the sea once more. She didn’t think she could live without having the sea close by. It had been a point of difference between Lucy and Maia: she needed the sea and Maia had always sought the crowded cities of Europe. So what the hell was Maia doing miles from anywhere?