by Penny Jordan
A scattering of palm trees fringed the water of the oasis, and beyond them lay a rough area of sparse, spiky grass. The rutted track she had driven down probably was a dried-out river bed, she could see now.
The quality of the stillness and the corresponding silence were almost hypnotic.
A movement on the other side of the oasis caught her eye, her body tensing as she recognised Xavier. He was dressed not in traditional robes, but in jeans and a tee shirt. He seemed to be checking the palm trees, she realised as he paused to inspect one before walking to another. He had obviously not seen her, but instinctively she drew farther back into the shadow cast by the pavilion.
He had turned away from the trees now and was staring across the oasis, shading his eyes as he looked up into the sky.
* * *
THE STORM HADN’T weakened the roots of any of the palm trees, Xavier acknowledged. There was no reason why he shouldn’t go back to the pavilion and continue with his work. And in fact pretty soon he would have to do so. Right now they were in the eye of the storm, but as soon as it moved on the wind would return with even greater force.
But he couldn’t go back inside. Not whilst he was still visualising her lying on the bed...his bed...
Angrily he stripped off his tee shirt, quickly followed by the rest of his clothes. And began to wade out into the water.
Mariella couldn’t move. Like someone deeply beneath the spell of an outside force she stood, muscles clenched, hardly daring to breathe as she fought to repel the sensation coiling through her, and shivering to each and every single sensitive nerve ending as her gaze absorbed the raw male beauty of Xavier’s nudity.
As an artist she was fully aware of the complexities and the beauty of the human form, she had visited Florence and wandered lost in rapt awe as she studied the work of the great masters, but now she recognised she was seeing the work of the greatest Master of all.
Xavier was wading out into the water, the dull glaring sunlight glinting on flesh so warmly and evenly hued that it was immediately obvious that such nudity was normal for him.
As he moved through the water she could see the powerful sinews in his thighs contracting against its pressure. Trying to distract herself she visualised what lay inside that heavy satin male flesh, the bones, the muscles, the tissues, but instead of calming her down, it made her awareness of him increase, her wanton thoughts fiercely pushing aside the pallid academic images she was trying to conjure, in favour of some of their own: like a close-up of that sun-warmed flesh, roped with muscle, hard, sleek, rough with the same fine dark hair she could see so clearly arrowing down the centre of his body.
Only his buttocks were a slightly paler shade than the rest of his skin, taut and man-shaped, packed with the muscles that would drive...
Mariella shuddered violently, feeling as though she herself were sinking into a pool of sensation so deep and dangerous that she had no means of freeing herself from it.
Helplessly she watched as Xavier moved farther into the oasis until all she could see above the water were his head and shoulders. He ducked his whole body beneath the water and she held her breath, expelling it when she saw him break the surface several yards away, cleaving through it with long, powerful over-arm strokes that propelled him at a fierce and silent speed away from her.
She felt sick, shocked, furiously angry, terrifyingly vulnerable, aching from head to toe and most of all, deep down inside the most female part of her body, tormented by a need, a knowledge that ripped apart all her previous beliefs about herself.
She could not possibly want Xavier! But that...that merciless message her body had just given her could not be denied.
It sickened her to think of wanting a man who had hurt her sister so much; a man Tanya still loved so much. Such a feeling was a betrayal of everything within herself she most prided herself on. It was inconceivable that such a thing could be happening, just as it was inconceivable too that she, a woman who took such pride in her ability to mentally control the sexual and emotional side of her nature, could allow herself to feel so...so...
Dragging her gaze away from the oasis, Mariella closed her eyes.
Go on, admit it, she taunted herself mentally. You are so hungry for him that if he came to you now, you would let him do whatever he wanted with you right here and right now. Let him? You would urge him, encourage him, entice him...
Frantically Mariella shook her head, trying to shake away her own tormenting thoughts, the tormenting inner voice that was mocking her so openly.
Blindly she headed back for the pavilion, not seeing the hot breaths of wind tugging warningly at the topmost fronds of the palm trees, and not noticing, either, the bronze ring of light dulling the sun so menacingly.
Once inside the pavilion she hurried to check on Fleur who was still sleeping. She had only been outside for around half an hour, but it felt somehow as though she had passed through a whole time zone and entered another world. A world in which she no longer knew exactly who or what she was.
Quickly she started to get together their things. She didn’t want to be here when Xavier came back. She couldn’t bear to be here when he came back; she couldn’t bear to face him, to be in the same room with him, the same space with him; in fact she wasn’t sure right now if she could even bear to be in the same life with him.
She had never imagined that there could be anyone who could make her feel so threatened, so appalled by her own feelings, and so afraid of them. Flushed and sticky, she surveyed her uncharacteristically chaotic packing.
She would put their things in the four-wheel drive first, and then pop Fleur in and then she would drive back to the hotel and not stop until she got there.
Mariella took a deep breath. Once she was there she would no doubt come to her senses and think of Xavier only as the man who had betrayed her sister, the man who was Fleur’s father!
The wind was beginning to bend the palms as Mariella hurried out to the vehicle with their things, but she was oblivious to it as she wrestled with the heavy door and started to load the car.
Xavier saw her as he turned to swim another length. Treading water, he watched in furious disbelief as she struggled with the vehicle’s door and then started to push the bulky container she had brought with her inside it.
* * *
THERE! NOW ALL she had to do was go back for Fleur and then they could leave, hopefully whilst Xavier was too busy swimming to notice! And anyway, if he had wanted a swim that badly why couldn’t he have worn...well, something? Why had he had to—to flaunt his undeniably supremely male and very, very sexy body in the way he had?
Engrossed in her thoughts, she failed to see Xavier wade out of the water and pull on his tee shirt and jeans without wasting time on anything else, before starting to run towards the pavilion into which she had already disappeared.
‘Come on, my beautiful baby,’ Mariella crooned lovingly to Fleur as she wrapped her up. ‘You and I are going—’
‘Nowhere!’
Turning round, white-faced and clutching Fleur protectively to her, Mariella glared at him. The fine cotton tee shirt was plastered to his very obviously still damp body and her skittering gaze slid helplessly downward to rest indiscreetly on the groin of his jeans at the same time as her heart came to rest against her chest wall in a massive breathtaking thud.
He was standing in the exit blocking her way, but infuriatingly, instead of registering this vitally important fact first, her senses seemed to be far too preoccupied with taking a personal inventory of the way he looked clothed and the way he had looked...before!
Reminding herself that she was an adult, mature businesswoman, well used to running her own life and making her own decisions, and not the sad female with her hormones running riot that she was currently doing a good impression of, she drew herself up to her full height and told him deter
minedly, ‘I am taking Fleur back to the city and there is no way you are going to stop me. And anyway, I can’t imagine why you would want us to stay after the way you have behaved! The things you have said!’
‘Want you to stay? No, I don’t!’ Xavier confirmed harshly. ‘But unfortunately you are going to have to, unless, of course, you want to condemn yourself and the baby to almost certain death.’
Mariella stared at him. What did he mean? Was he trying to threaten her? ‘We’re leaving,’ she repeated, making for the exit, and trying to ignore both the furious thud of her heart and the fact that he was standing in the way.
‘Are you mad? You’d be lucky to get above half a dozen miles before being buried in a sand drift. If you thought the wind coming here was bad, well, let me tell you that was nothing compared with what’s blowing up out there now!’
Mariella took a deep breath.
‘I’ve just been outside. There is no wind,’ she told him patiently, slowly spacing each word with immense care. ‘The storm is over.’
‘And you would know, of course, being an expert on desert weather conditions, no doubt. For your information, the reason that there was no wind, as you put it, is because we are, or rather we were in the eye of the storm. And anyone who knows anything about the desert would know that. Couldn’t you feel the stillness? Didn’t you notice the sand haze in the sky?’ The look he shot her could have lit tinder at fifty paces, Mariella recognised shakily.
‘You’re lying,’ she told him stubbornly, determined not to let him get the better of her. ‘You just want to keep us here because—’
When she stopped he looked derisively at her.
‘Yes. I want to keep you here because what?’
Because you know how dangerously much I want you, a treacherous little voice whispered insidiously inside Mariella’s head, and you feel the same way.
Shuddering, she pushed her thoughts back into the realms of reality—and safety.
‘You’re lying,’ she repeated doggedly, eyeing the exit rebelliously.
‘Am I?’ Moving to one side, he swept back the tent flap so that she could see outside.
The palms were bending so much beneath the strength of the wind that their fronds were brushing the sand.
As she stared in disbelief Mariella could hear the strength of the wind increasing until it whistled eerily around the oasis, physically hurting her ears.
Out of nowhere it whipped up huge spirals of sand, making them dance in front of her. She could hardly see the sun or differentiate any longer between sand and sky.
Disbelievingly she took a step outside and cried out in shock as she was almost lifted off her feet when the wind punched into her. In her arms, Fleur screamed and was immediately removed to the protection of a much stronger and safer pair as Xavier snatched Fleur from her.
The thought of what would have happened to them if they had been caught in the open desert in such conditions drove the colour from Mariella’s face.
‘Now do you believe me?’ Xavier demanded grimly when they were both back inside and he had secured the tent flap.
Reaching out to take Fleur from him, Mariella, whose fingers had inadvertently come into contact with the damp heat of his tee-shirt-clad chest, withdrew her hand so fast she almost lost her balance.
Immediately Xavier gripped her arm to steady her, supporting whilst he did so, so that it looked almost as though he were embracing them both, holding them both safe.
Against all rationality, given what she knew about him, Mariella discovered that her eyes were burning with emotional tears. She should be crying, she acknowledged grimly, for her own stupidity in allowing her emotions to be aroused so much for so little real reason! Pulling back from him, she demanded, ‘Just how long is this storm going to last?’
‘At least twenty-four hours, perhaps longer. Since the storm is making it impossible to receive any kind of communication signal, it is impossible to know. Such storms are rare at this time of year, but when they do occur they are both unpredictable and fierce.’
As was Xavier himself, Mariella decided as she took Fleur from him.
CHAPTER FIVE
GETTING up from the bed where she had been lying reading one of the research books she had brought to Zuran with her, Mariella went to check on Fleur.
A brief glance at her watch showed her that it was nearly eight p.m. Fleur was awake but obviously quite content, and happy to oblige when Mariella checked her mouth to look at the small pearly white tooth just beginning to appear. Her face was still a little bit swollen and flushed, but the paracetamol seemed to have eased the pain she had suffered the previous night.
Mariella had retreated to ‘her bedroom’ late in the afternoon, desperate to escape from the highly charged atmosphere in the main living area.
It had become impossible for her to look at Xavier without imagining him as he had been earlier: naked...male.
He had retrieved the things she had carried out to the four-wheel drive and put them back in the bedroom, and when Mariella had come across a sketch-book and pencils she had forgotten she had brought, along with her book, she had fallen on the book with a surge of relief.
Apart from the fact that she genuinely found the subject interesting, it gave her a perfect excuse to distance herself from Xavier, who had been busily working on his laptop.
On the pretext of Fleur needing a nap she had come into the sleeping quarters and had remained there ever since.
A thorough understanding of anatomy was essential for any painter in her type of field, and she had quickly become totally engrossed in trying to trace the development of the modern-day racehorse from the original Arabian bloodstock.
As Kate had said, the potential commission from the prince was indeed a prestigious one.
Picking up her sketch-book, Mariella started to work. Those incredible muscles that powered every movement... Her pencil flew over the paper, her absorption in what she was doing only broken when Fleur started to demand her attention.
Smiling, she discarded the sketch-book and then frowned sharply as she looked at what she had done, her face burning mortifying and disbelieving scarlet.
How on earth had that happened? How on earth had she managed to sketch, not a horse, but a man... Xavier...Xavier, swimming, Xavier standing, Xavier: his body lean and naked, clean-muscled and powerful.
Guiltily, Mariella flipped over the page. Fleur was blowing kisses at her and becoming increasingly vociferous.
Tucking the sketch-pad safely out of sight, Mariella went to her and picked her up, fastening her into her car seat and then carrying her into the kitchen.
‘Look at this yummy dinner you’re going to have,’ Mariella crooned to Fleur as she prepared her food.
It had been her intention to take Fleur back into the bedroom to feed her, but instead Mariella carried her into the living area.
Fleur was Xavier’s daughter, after all, and perhaps they both needed reminding just what that meant, albeit for very different reasons! Perhaps too he ought to be made to see just what he was missing out on by not acknowledging her.
He was working on the laptop when Mariella walked in and put Fleur down in her seat so that she could feed her.
She was a strong, healthy baby with a good appetite, who thankfully no longer seemed to be too bothered by the tooth she had been cutting.
Absorbed in her own enjoyable task, Mariella didn’t realise that Xavier had stopped work to turn and study them until some sixth sense warned her that they were being watched.
His abrupt, ‘She has your nose,’ made Mariella’s hand tremble slightly. She and Tanya shared the same shaped nose, which they had both inherited from their mother. Fleur had their nose, but, according to Tanya, her father’s deliciously long thick eyelashes.
Mariella could feel her
face starting to burn. What was it about a certain type of man that enabled him to behave so uncaringly towards the child he had fathered?
The way Xavier was behaving towards Fleur was so reminiscent of the way her father had behaved towards her! She knew all too well what it was like to grow up feeling rejected and unloved by one’s father and she couldn’t bear to see that happen to Fleur!
Xavier ought to be made to see that she was at least in part his responsibility instead of being allowed to just walk away from her. The way she felt had nothing whatsoever to do with money, Mariella recognised, and everything to do with emotion.
Fleur had finished her meal and was beginning to drift off to sleep. Bending down to double check that she was comfortably fastened into her seat, Mariella tenderly kissed her downy cheek, then straightened up and headed for the kitchen to wash out her feeding things.
Left on his own with Fleur, Xavier studied her frowningly. She was far fairer skinned than his cousin and, whilst Xavier could see an unmistakable physical resemblance to Mariella in her, he could see none to Khalid. Fast asleep now, Fleur gave a small quiver.
Immediately Xavier went over to her. Desert nights could be unbelievably cold—she felt warm enough, but perhaps she needed an extra cover?
He could hear Mariella in the kitchen and so he went through into the bedroom area, to get an extra blanket from the carry-cot.
Mariella had tucked her sketch-pad in between the carry-cot and the box of baby equipment, and as Xavier reached for a blanket he saw the sketch-pad, and its very recognisable sketches.
Frowning, he picked it up and studied it.
Having washed Fleur’s feeding cup, Mariella walked into the bedroom intending to put it away, coming to an abrupt halt as she saw Xavier bending towards the carry-cot.
‘Where is Fleur?’ she demanded immediately.
‘What—?’
‘She’s fast asleep where you left her,’ Xavier answered her adding, ‘From looking at her, it is plain to see her resemblance to you, but as to there being a similarity to her supposed father...’