Desert Destiny

by Sarah Holland

  ‘If you won’t answer me that,’ Suliman said thickly, mouth biting out the words, ‘you will at least tell me the truth of what you just admitted! Did you mean it? What you just said, Sheba! Did you speak truly?’

  The helicopter blades were vibrating above the royal tent, sending its cloth walls into a fury of a sandstorm.

  ‘Yes!’ Bethsheba whispered, safe now, about to escape him forever, and able, suddenly, in her moment of freedom, to admit her fierce desire. ‘I—I wanted you when I first saw you! I shared this, your fantasy, all along.’

  There was a tense silence. A hard smile touched his mouth. Suddenly he released her, discarding her as though she was a toy, and strode to the tent flap, sweeping it aside and striding out with a backward glance.

  Bethsheba sat up, eyes flashing with outrage and indignation. How dared he? Anger flooded her and her face burnt with humiliation. He forced me to admit my most secret desires, and then he tossed me aside as though I were a doll!

  Hating him bitterly, hating herself more, she dragged herself outside the tent, shaking with emotion. The helicopter was landing, blades flashing in the sunlight as sand flew everywhere and the goat-hair tents billowed, and the horses danced and whinnied in fright.

  The helicopter bounced lightly on the sands. The sheikh was walking towards it, white robes billowing out around his powerful frame. The helicopter door flashed open.

  Chris Burton stepped on to the sand, blond hair gleaming, dressed in faded blue jeans and white shirt, tall and golden and classically handsome; Apollo incarnate, his mind filled with Shakespeare, the Beatles and dreams of glory.

  ‘Chris!’ Bethsheba cried, and ran towards him to fling herself into the security of his arms.

  Suliman’s eyes flashed with jealous rage as he stared at her, his hard mouth tight with anger, but Bethsheba didn’t care—he deserved it for having thrown her aside so casually after using her like that.

  ‘Beth, I’ve been frantic!’ Chris was saying. ‘What on earth possessed you—?’

  ‘A crazy impulse!’ she sobbed into his throat.

  ‘But don’t you realise what could have happened to you?’

  ‘She was under my protection!’ The sheikh’s commanding voice rang out. ‘She came to no harm.’

  Chris looked up angrily, Bethsheba in his arms. ‘She’s worth millions! She’s a major star with hundreds of people depending on her! I can’t just have her wandering off into the desert like this! For all I knew, she’d been kidnapped, and I could have had a ransom note demanding money that——’

  ‘You must be tired after your long search,’ the shiekh cut in flatly. ‘May I offer you some refreshment? A chance to rest?’

  ‘You must be joking!’ Chris was angry at being cut off by the powerful desert chief. ‘I’m taking Beth straight back to——’

  ‘Your pilot is tired,’ Suliman interrupted, his face coolly arrogant; ‘I will offer him some mint tea before he flies back to Tangier.’

  ‘Now just a minute!’ Chris said, furious, as the sheikh strode past him. ‘I’ve got a lot more to say before I——’

  Sheikh Suliman turned, his hawk-like face arrogant. ‘You may speak with Sheba in the privacy of the royal tent. Tea will be brought to you.’

  The helicopter pilot had got out now and was walking towards the sheikh, his dark-skinned Arabic face filled with respect as he salaamed.

  ‘Well,’ Chris muttered angrily, ‘I guess I can spare another hour.’

  ‘You will be back in Tangier tonight,’ said the sheikh. ‘I have matters to attend to. You will excuse me.’ He turned on the heel of his riding boot and strode away, his men following him as he spoke to the pilot.

  ‘I could easily come to blows with that guy,’ Chris said under his breath. ‘He really is the archetypal arrogant desert prince, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’ Bethsheba’s eyes flashed gold fire as she studied Suliman.

  ‘Come on, then,’ Chris gave a deep sigh, ‘lead me to this royal tent. We’ve got some talking to do.’

  They moved across the sands. Bethsheba’s feet were still bare, and her gold hair tousled from Suliman’s lovemaking. She pushed aside the tent flap and went in, followed by Chris.

  ‘Good God!’ Chris stopped short inside the tent. ‘This is sensational, Beth…like something out of the Arabian Nights!’

  ‘Yes…’ Her eyes slid around the luxury she had become accustomed to.

  ‘Well, I can see why you leapt at the chance to come here.’ Chris tapped a gold filigree lamp, smelt the cassia oil, then bent to finger a silk cushion. ‘What an incredible place!’

  ‘Like something out of a fantasy…’

  Her softly spoken words clung to the air, and Chris turned slowly, staring at her as though he had never seen her before, eyes racing over her from her tousled hair to her full mouth, bruised from the sheikh’s kisses, the sudden blaze of sensuality in her eyes and body, the gold caftan falling in rich silk over her obviously bare breasts.

  ‘A fantasy?’ Chris asked.

  She flushed. ‘Well, it is, isn’t it?’

  He dropped the cushion, unsmiling. ‘What’s happened here, Beth?’

  Hot colour swept her face. ‘Nothing’s happened!’

  ‘Then why are you talking like this? Looking like——’ He bit back the words, ran a hand through his blond hair. ‘You don’t look like Beth any more. Something’s…changed in you.’

  Accepting it without denial, she said huskily, ‘Is that so awful?’

  ‘Did I say it was?’

  ‘You made it sound awful!’ she said angrily, shame sweeping her.

  ‘Well…I’m just thinking of your career. Your fans. Beth—your image is perfect right now. Young, golden, innocent and healthy. Teenage girls flock to you because you represent everything they want to be.’ He shrugged. ‘You know what they say—never change a winning formula.’

  ‘I’m not a formula!’ She lifted her head angrily. ‘I’m a woman!’

  ‘I didn’t say you were a formula, I just——’ He broke off, staring again, then said suddenly, ‘What’s happened out here, Beth? You’ve changed completely!’

  ‘In a few hours?’ she asked, shaken. ‘Don’t be absurd!’

  ‘It’s that sheikh, isn’t it? He’s done this to you!’

  Scarlet colour burned her face. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  Chris’s eyes widened, and into the tent stole the tension of realisation. ‘He’s made love to you!’ he whispered, pale.

  ‘No!’ She turned away, the guilt in her eyes too revealing. How had he known? How could he have guessed? There had only been a few kisses…but so much fire; so much passion.

  ‘I’m right!’ Chris said under his breath, fists clenching. ‘That bastard…!’

  The tent flap was swept aside. A servant in white turban and jellaba entered with a tray of mint tea and spicy biscuits. He laid it on the trestle-table, then left with a bow.

  ‘I’ll pour the tea, shall I?’ Bethsheba asked shakily, desperate to change the subject, stop Chris probing, end the whole upsetting discussion. ‘You must be very thirsty.’ She moved past him to the table, pouring hot mint tea into filigree cups.

  Chris moved towards her. The fury in his face was almost as bad as the accusation in his eyes. Bethsheba felt a flash of anger with him, but she pushed it aside guiltily.

  ‘Here.’ She smiled tensely as she offered him his tea, then took her own and lay back on the silk cushions, watching him through gold lashes.

  ‘My God,’ Chris said softly, staring down at her, ‘you’re completely at home.’

  She looked up guiltily.

  ‘It’s as though you belong here.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd——’ she began huskily, putting her tea down on the table.

  ‘You know it as well as I do!’ Chris said thickly. ‘And I’m right! That bastard Suliman has made love to you!’

  ‘Chris——’

  ‘He has!’ Chris put his cup down angrily,
mint tea spilling on the arabesque table. ‘He’s made love to you and destroyed everything that was so precious about you!’

  ‘You’re jumping to conclusions that——’

  ‘Don’t lie to me!’ Chris knelt on the silk cushions, staring at her. ‘It was what made you so special…that innocence…like a ravishing bloom in a glass case, never touched or crushed or plucked…’

  She caught her breath, shocked. ‘Chris!’

  ‘You were so damned sexy,’ he said hoarsely, ‘but you didn’t know it! You had no idea! You thought you were the girl next door, but all the time you were Lolita, luring men on without meaning to, making them——’

  ‘Oh, God…’

  ‘But now you know!’ Chris said furiously. ‘Now you know just how sexy you are, and that bastard Suliman has made you aware of it! He’s turned my perfect little teenager into a woman and I’d like

  ‘I’m not a teenager any more!’ she broke out fiercely. ‘I’m——’

  ‘You’ll always be a teenager to your fans!’ Chris exploded. ‘All those little thirteen-year-old wannabees out there—do you think they wannabee what you are now? The sheikh’s mistress?’

  Her eyes flashed with gold fury. ‘I am not his mistress!

  ‘You will be,’ he snapped back, ‘if you stay in this damned desert a second longer with that bastard Suliman!’

  ‘He hasn’t made love to me, Chris! I swear it!’

  ‘Beth!’ he said fiercely, and suddenly swept her into his arms, holding her so tight that she could barely breathe. ‘Oh, God, swear it again! Swear it again and mean it!’

  ‘Chris,’ she moaned, clinging to him, ‘he hasn’t made love to me! He hasn’t!’

  The tent flap was swept aside.

  The sheikh stood there in the entrance, dark eyes blazing with rage as he saw them together on the cushions.

  ‘Oh!’ Bethsheba broke out of Chris’s embrace, staring up at the hawk-like face of Suliman, meeting that dark rage and feeling her heart stop violently. ‘Suliman, I——’

  ‘I come to offer you supper at my table,’ Suliman bit out under his breath, teeth bared. ‘Ten minutes! Both of you!’ He turned on his heel and strode out of the tent, and Bethsheba’s pulses were racing dangerously.

  ‘Does he always speak to you like that?’ Chris asked grimly.

  She flushed scarlet. ‘I told you he hasn’t made love to me.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’ he demanded. ‘Why did you come here?’

  Her mouth went dry and she heard herself say hoarsely, ‘I didn’t come willingly. He kidnapped me!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He kidnapped me and brought me here against my will. I’m his prisoner, Chris—not his mistress!’

  He stared. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’

  She swallowed and said thickly, ‘I thought it would be dangerous. This is his land, his douar, and these are his men. Suliman is master here, Chris, and we have no option but to bow to his will.’

  ‘Right,’ Chris said angrily, ‘but I’m master of the helicopter, and as soon as this unwanted supper is over, you and I will be flying straight back to Tangier without passing “Go” or collecting two hundred pounds!’

  Bethsheba looked at him and knew suddenly that the getaway back to Tangier, back to the West, back to Chris and everything she had lived with for seven years, was the way back to hell.

  The gateway to the West had been slammed shut by the sheikh, and no power on earth would ever prise it open again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THEY ate supper at the long arabesque trestle-tables in front of the royal tent. The sun set quickly. It slid behind the sand-dunes like a fire-disc in ten minutes. Camp-fires flickered as darkness fell, and the sky was a theatrical shade of black-red.

  Suliman was arrogantly relaxed. He leant back in his chair, head up, watching his people through hooded lids. Food was brought in a selection of brass-domed dishes. It was hot spicy meat in thick sauce, and Bethsheba ate it hungrily, dipping bread in, her appetite as strong as the sheikh’s own. Chris was tense, however, and barely touched his food, curling his nose at the taste of the rich sauce.

  ‘Beth!’ Chris leant towards her. ‘We have to go. It’s almost eight o’clock and it takes two hours to get back to Tangier.’

  ‘Yes, of course…’ She looked at Suliman immediately, yearning for him, for his world and his ways. Leaving would be so painful. Her eyes traced his strong profile and she longed to kiss him goodbye.

  ‘Sheikh Suliman,’ Chris cleared his throat, ‘your hospitality has been superb and we both appreciate it. But we must leave and——’

  ‘Of course.’ Suliman inclined his head coolly. ‘But first we will have dancing.’

  ‘It’s very kind of your, sir,’ said Chris, ‘but——’

  ‘It is our custom,’ Suliman said flatly, his tone brooking no argument, and clapped his hands.

  At once, music slid into the air. Bells and flutes and skin-drums lilting as the fires blazed and crackled. Khalisha moved out of the shadows, beautiful in a transparent scarlet silk dress that bared her belly, her long black hair flowing like silk as she swayed to the music, cymbals clashing gently in her bird-like fingers.

  Even Chris sat up. He was fascinated, captivated, staring as Khalisha danced like Salome for him, twisting and turning in the firelight, her dark eyes never leaving Chris’s face, her exotic beauty quite mesmerising.

  The cymbal clashed in her fingers as she wound her way to the table, sliding back and forth in front of Chris, her dark eyes as hypnotic as her body was provocative.

  Chris’s hand shook as he reached for his glass. It was empty. He stared enraptured at Khalisha. Suliman smiled coolly and snapped his fingers. A servant sprang forward, removed Chris’s glass and replaced it with another.

  ‘She is magnificent, is she not, Burton?’ Suliman drawled coolly.

  ‘Magnificent!’ Chris agreed thickly, and picked up his glass, draining it thirstily as he stared, riveted, at Khalisha. His glass was quickly refilled. He drained it again.

  The cymbals were clashing furiously. Sweat gleamed on Khalisha’s face and body. She twisted and turned as the music rose to its crescendo.

  Bethsheba watched, her face white with jealousy, and felt her hatred for Suliman return in waves of dark angry passion. Magnificent! Yes, Khalisha was magnificent tonight—but did Suliman have to say so in front of her?

  Suddenly, Khalisha flung herself on the sand before Chris. The music stopped.

  ‘Fantastic!’ Chris rose, clapping loudly, and walked across to Khalisha, taking her slender bangled hand as he lifted her to her feet. ‘You must come to see me in Tangier! I could make you a star! If you can sing as well as you——’

  ‘Khalisha is of the desert,’ the sheikh said flatly. ‘She would die within the confines of the West.’

  ‘But she’s fantastic,’ Chris said, ‘the—the best thing…’ he paused, frowning ‘…I—I mean…’ He stumbled, shook his head, very pale. ‘She’s—she’s——’

  Chris?’ Bethsheba stood up, worried.

  He stared. ‘I—I feel weird…must be the heat and——’ He broke off, confused, shook his head again and stumbled.

  ‘Maybe he should lie down!’ Bethsheba turned to Suliman anxiously.

  Suliman was on his feet, dark eyes contemptuous. ‘Maybe he will fall down instead!’

  There was a stunned silence.

  Chris stared. ‘The tea…it was drugged…!’ His legs began to buckle and he fell sideways into the table with a crash, sending dishes and cups and glasses crashing everywhere before he landed on the sand with a thud.

  ‘Chris!’ Bethsheba ran towards him.

  ‘Leave him!’ Suliman’s hand caught her, dragged her back. ‘My people will attend to him!’

  ‘Let me go, you bastard!’ she cried, struggling. ‘He might be hurt!’

  ‘You come with me!’ Suliman bit out, and dragged her towards the royal tent.

  ‘No!’ She
stumbled after him, struggling angrily, looking back to see two servants picking Chris up. ‘Where are they taking him? What——?’

  To sleep it off,’ Suliman said flatly and thrust her into the royal tent. ‘When he wakes it will be morning and you and I will be long gone!’

  ‘What…?’ Breathless, she stumbled backwards, staring at him, her heart pounding like a drum.

  His dark eyes flashed as he towered over her, dominating her in the royal tent with his arrogant regal presence. ‘Did you think, bint, that I would step back and allow him to take you from me?’

  Shaking, she said hoarsely, ‘But you promised that——’

  ‘I lied.’ He strode to her, his hand biting into her wrist as he pulled her hard against his powerful body. ‘But you didn’t, did you, Sheba? You told me the truth. That you wanted me, that you hungered for me from the moment our eyes met, just as I hungered for——’

  ‘I didn’t know what I was saying!’ she protested hoarsely. ‘I was trapped! I would have said anything!’

  ‘Well now, bint,’ he said through his teeth, ‘feel the trap closing behind you!’

  She caught her breath, staring into that hard face. ‘You can’t do this…’ she whispered. ‘You can’t just——’

  ‘We leave immediately,’ he said flatly, and released her, striding to the table on which lay a collection of clothes. ‘Here!’ He thrust them into her arms. ‘You will dress in these. We will be in disguise, Sheba. And your friend will not find us. Not even if he searches the Sahara for ten days in his helicopter!’

  ‘Chris will scour the desert until he finds me!’ she said hoarsely. ‘He’ll stop at nothing——’

  ‘He will be looking for a sheikh and a golden-haired she-cat!’ he drawled softly, dark eyes cynical. ‘But he will find only two Bedouin in dark robes…and he will pass us by, Sheba. Of that you can be sure.’

  He turned on his heel, striding out of the tent. Bethsheba stared after him, her legs weak with fear and her body pulsating with a mixture of anger and excitement.

  Staring at the dark red robes in her hands, her mouth shook with anger. How dared he do this? Drug Chris and hold him prisoner while he re-kidnapped her against her will!