Brittany stared in shock at the dozens, no, hundreds, of children and families shrieking, eating or simply running their way around the Wild Wadi Water Park.
“I don’t understand,” she said to Alex, clutching his arm for support as two ten-year-old boys whipped past her, dripping wet.
“We’re hiding in the crowd.”
“Why this crowd?”
“I thought you were a preschool teacher?”
“It’s a private preschool. I have eight students, and they wear uniforms.”
Alex grinned. “You don’t take them to the park or the zoo?”
“There’s a garden in the courtyard of the school.”
“Let me guess, where they all play dignified little games in their dignified little uniforms.”
Brittany compressed her lips. There was no point in engaging in that particular argument. If Alex thought children could only have fun by racing around like hooligans, that was his problem.
“Do you actually believe the police are following us?” she asked.
“I’m hoping they’re following Harrison’s money trail.” He extracted a credit card from his pocket and waved it in front of her face.
A family came by, two parents, three young children and a baby in arms, screaming its head off.
“Is there any particular reason we can’t spend his money somewhere else?”
Alex tugged her in the direction of a shop. “We’re here already. Let’s pick up some suits and try to have a good time.”
“I can assure you, that is not going to happen.”
“Not if you don’t yank that big ol’ stick out of your butt.”
Brittany refrained from stating the obvious.
“It’s a metaphor,” Alex offered helpfully.
“I know it’s a metaphor. And a rather crude one at that.”
“Don’t get all prissy on me.”
“I am not-” She stopped herself. Arguing with Alex was an exercise in futility. She’d already learned that, and she didn’t know why she let herself get drawn in time after time.
“Bathing suits,” said Alex, pointing to the display window. “I’ll buy you anything you want.”
“You mean Harrison will buy me anything I want.”
Alex shrugged as he held open the door. “I’m not a very literal guy. So shoot me.”
Brittany twitched a grin as she passed him.
“Made-you-laugh time.”
“I wasn’t laughing at your joke. I was wishing I could take shooting you literally.”
He followed her into the brightly lit store. “You were not.”
“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” she said.
He nabbed a bathing suit from the first rack they came to, turning to hold up a bright-green bikini with a halter tie and flirty, little, white bows at the hips. “Want me to tell you what you’re thinking?”
She stared at his mocking expression, then she took in the little bikini. It was about her size. Did she dare? It would serve him bloody well right.
He opened his mouth, but she scooped it from his hands. “Perfect. I’ll take it.”
She was rewarded with a drop of his jaw.
But he recovered quickly. “You’re bluffing.”
She spotted a matching cover-up and headed for the dressing room. Knew what she was thinking? Ha.
Well, in fact, he’d probably made a pretty decent guess at what she was thinking, which was “not with a gun to my head.” But sometimes a girl had to do the unexpected.
She stripped out of the simple, linen dress she’d purchased at the hotel this morning, removed her underwear, and slipped into the bright-green number. The hours spent at the spa’s tanning salon had turned her skin a light butternut. And the green and white went well with her blond hair, if she did say so herself.
A little shiver went through her when she thought about Alex’s reaction. It was satisfaction, she told herself, not sexual awareness. She shrugged into the sheer cover-up and decided her low-heeled white sandals would work.
Gathering up her clothes and her purse, she exited the dressing room. Alex wasn’t around, so she browsed through a rack of tote bags until she found one that coordinated with the outfit, then she packed her clothes into it.
“I’d have bet money against you wearing it,” came Alex’s deep voice.
Dressed in a pair of tan trunks and a short-sleeved, khaki cotton shirt, he walked around her.
She refused to flinch, even when he paused at the open cover-up, taking in her smooth, bare stomach. The suit bottom rode low, but not indecently so. And the top showed off her cleavage-after all, it was a bikini. And she knew when she took off the cover-up, he was going to see more of her hips than she normally flashed, but there was absolutely no way she was backing down now.
“Nice,” he said.
“You better be talking about the bathing suit.”
“Why?”
“I’m practically engaged.”
“He hasn’t asked you yet, sweetheart.”
Brittany wanted to disagree, but she realized Alex was technically right, and arguing the point would be wholly undignified.
He relieved her of the tote bag and headed for the cash register. “You bite your tongue a lot, don’t you?”
“Only around you.”
He tossed a grin over his shoulder. “Really?”
Brittany nodded, realizing how very true the statement was. She rarely argued with people. Well, more to the point, people rarely argued with her.
Which got her to thinking, as she handed the salesclerk the tags from the bikini, was Alex an anomaly, or had the men in her life treated her with kid gloves? Perhaps they hadn’t all agreed with her. Perhaps they had contrary opinions that they’d been too polite to share.
Now, there was a humbling thought.
Not Harrison, of course. She and Harrison saw eye to eye on most of the fundamental issues in life. They shared interests in music and art. They attended the same church, were in a similar spot on the political spectrum, had friends in common and enjoyed the same sports.
At least with Harrison, she knew he wasn’t putting up a front.
Alex finished the transaction.
Then they stowed their gear in a locker. Alex was all for trying the master blaster, but Brittany held out for one of the gentler slides.
On the climb up the stairs, Alex fell behind.
“Your legs okay?” he asked, catching up again.
“Are you actually inspecting my inner thighs?”
He grinned unrepentantly. “The saddle?”
“Yes. But they’re getting better.” She ordered herself not to feel self-conscious about the pink spots.
Alex dropped back again.
“Are you out of shape,” she called back to him. “Or are you checking out my butt?”
“What do you think?”
“Back up here, sailor.” But she couldn’t help hoping he liked what he saw. In fact, she hoped he craved and coveted what he saw, and he could wallow in the knowledge he’d never have it.
She realized she was being both conceited and churlish. But she didn’t care. If he was going to tease her at every turn, he deserved everything he got.
They made it to the top of the steps, and she gazed at the gush of water racing down the slide.
It was steeper than she’d expected, and she slowed to a stop. She wasn’t exactly afraid of heights, but she did have a healthy respect for their ability to cause catastrophic injury.
The slide was long.
And it was very steep.
And the squealing children jumping into the rings and sliding down it apparently had a death wish.
Alex came right up behind her, peering over her shoulder. “What?”
She shook her head.
“Are you scared?”
Heck, yes, she was scared. “Maybe.”
“Really?”
She shot him a look. She really didn’t need his attitude at the moment.
&nb
sp; “Then we’ll go together,” he offered with unexpected kindness. “You’re going to love this.”
A few others were going down in double tubes, mostly adults and small children.
Okay, small children were also hopping into rubber tubes by themselves and streaking down that flimsy, slippery, scary-
She tried to take a step back, but she bumped into the wall of Alex’s bare chest. The contact distracted her for a second. The man was definitely not out of shape.
“It’ll be fun,” he promised.
“Have you done this before?”
“Not here. But back home. As a kid.”
“Was that a dig?”
“Not at all. You can do it, Brittany.” He took her hand.
His grip was strong, and a funny feeling invaded her stomach. When she looked into his eyes, she wasn’t quite as frightened.
“If I die…” she warned him in a dire voice.
He grinned and urged her over to the edge, where an attendant held a double tube.
Not giving herself a chance to change her mind, she clambered into the front. Alex hopped in back.
She closed her eyes, and they pushed off. Cool water splashed them, and her stomach plummeted with the drop.
Alex gave a whoop of delight.
“Do you have your eyes open?” he laughed.
She shook her head.
He leaned forward and placed a wet hand on her shoulder. “Open your eyes,” he said more gently. “Come on.”
She opened one.
Water splashed over the bow, and she scrunched it shut again.
He shifted in the tube to put his cheek against hers. “You can do it.”
She focused on the strength of his hand, his arm, his body. She slowly squinted both eyes open.
They weren’t moving as fast as she’d feared. The sides of the ride seemed relatively high. And they were pretty much sticking to the middle of the channel.
“We’re halfway,” Alex informed her.
She glanced around at the palm trees, the foliage and the colorful people in the ponds and rides around them. Then she glanced down at herself. The combination of her bikini and her sprawled position in the tube was downright provocative. And then she realized Alex was staring over her shoulder and looking at exactly the same thing.
An unfamiliar, prickly flush came over her skin. She should want to move. She should care that he was staring. She should care about what he must be thinking.
But she didn’t. It gave her a heady sense of power that had nothing to do with revenge for his teasing.
Then they splashed into the palm-decorated pond at the end of the ride.
“You did great,” Alex rumbled, as an attendant slowed their tube.
Alex hopped out, then helped Brittany get to her feet in the shallow pond.
“You want to do that again?” he asked, without letting go of her hand.
Yes, she wanted to do it again.
She wanted very much to have Alex’s arm around her bare shoulders, his gaze on her body, his gravelly voice in her ear for another ride down the slide.
It was a little tacky, and probably foolish.
“Earth to Brittany.”
“Sure.”
“That a girl!”
They splashed their way down a number of the gentler slides. Then they attempted surfing in the flowriders pool. Alex succeeded, but Brittany failed miserably. So instead, they played in the wave pool on some of the tamer toys.
Finally, growing tired, they climbed into an inflatable ring for a lazy ride down the river that wound through the park. They drifted under bridges and beneath the shade of sprawling trees, gazing at the blue sky, and groups of people on shore, who looked worn-out at the end of the day.
“Did you have fun?” asked Alex as the current carried them around a curve, into a quiet, lushly forested area of the park.
“You know I did.”
She’d quickly turned into one of the squealing, grinning kamikaze riders.
“You get to do things like this back home?”
She shook her head. Back in London, there were fun days, of course. But there was also her job. And there were a lot of duty days in between. Her family was involved in numerous charities, so there were gallery openings, balls, luncheons, speaking engagements and planning, lots of planning.
She trailed her fingertips in the river water. “My job is only part-time. But I also represent the family.”
“Represent the family? That could mean anything.”
“We support a lot of charities. I plan parties, dress up, give speeches, write letters, travel.” For some reason, her life didn’t seem all that exciting at the moment.
“How do you cope,” he drawled.
“Are you trying to ruin a perfectly nice day?”
His expression turned completely serious. “Do you like it?”
“I…” Yes. She liked it. Did she love it was more to the point. She couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do. Then again, she’d never really done anything else.
“Sometimes it’s great,” she said to Alex. “Often it’s boring. Last week, I had lunch with the Royal Ornithological Society for a celebration of the yellow hooded oriole.”
Alex quirked a grin.
“They had slides, many, many slides on the various scientific theories of evolution and species habitat.”
“But you’re not an ornithologist.”
“I’m not an ornithologist.” Meaning a lot of it was less than thrilling from her perspective. “I’ve studied art, education, geography and politics,” she said.
“Training for the family job,” he guessed.
“Pretty much.”
“And the preschool thing?”
“I love children.”
“Really?” There was skepticism in his tone.
“You doubt me?”
“It sounds like training for a royal mother.”
She didn’t have the energy to lie. “I expected to get married and have children,” she admitted.
“To Harrison.”
She shifted in the floating tube, not wanting to open up that topic for Alex’s scrutiny. “Let’s talk about you.”
“You already know I’m a lawyer.”
“And a soldier, and a pilot. So what do you do for Harrison?”
“Honestly?” he laughed. “Mostly, I dress up, give speeches, write letters and travel.”
Brittany lifted her hands in mock amazement. “We have the same job.”
“Only, I suspect my speeches and letters are a lot nastier than yours.”
“That’s because you’re an inherently nastier person.”
“Where you’re good and kind and compassionate?”
“Exactly.”
“You are not.”
She matched his light tone. “Are you accusing me of lying, Mr. Lindley?”
He shifted closer. “You, Lady Livingston, are a seething, boiling, repressed cauldron of rebellion.”
“Against whom?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Your family-”
“I love my family.”
“The constraints of the upper class?”
“Those constraints come with a lot of perks.”
“Your duty?”
“I’ve never resented the obligations that come with privilege.”
“Then how about yourself?”
She stared at him in confusion.
“That’s it, isn’t it?”
“You can’t rebel against yourself.”
He nodded, straightening as they bobbed their way under another bridge. “That’s it. At the top of the first slide, you weren’t scared.”
“I was so.”
He shook his head. “There was something inappropriate and undignified about jumping into an inner tube and shrieking your messy way down a waterslide.”
“I was scared,” she insisted.
“You have a wall of propriety built up so high and so thick that you’re all but s
creaming to get out. But you won’t let yourself out.” He sat back with a self-satisfied smile. “You’re rebelling against you, Lady Livingston. And I really hope you win.”
“You have a psychology minor to go along with that law degree?”
“Common sense,” he replied.
“What you call a wall, I call etiquette.”
“You can’t practice good etiquette 24-7.”
“The world would be a better place if we did.”
His lids grew heavy and his eyes went soft. “Sometimes, Brittany, you gotta forget appearances and shriek your way down the waterslide.”
“I did.” She glanced away, trying hard not to react to the sensuality of that gaze. “There you go. I’m cured.”
Julia found herself reacting with amazement to the man who sat opposite her at the dinner table in the main house at Khandi Oasis. This friendly, open, accepting person couldn’t possibly be Nuri’s brother.
Ahmed had warmly welcomed them to his home, introduced his wife, Habeeba, and his three daughters.
While the outside of his house was plain and modest, bleached white like all of the buildings in the village, inside, Ahmed boasted all the amenities of the Western world. Led by the development in Dubai, he’d explained, the entire UAE was enjoying prosperity.
The colors were bright, the furnishings decidedly California in style, with light woods, rattan and many cushions, while a computer, DVD player and television were discreetly situated in one corner of the main room. The overall effect was cheerful and modern.
“No one has knowledge of the man with no nose,” said Ahmed, dipping his lamb kofta into a bowl of yogurt.
“He has a nose,” said Julia, and both men glanced at her. “It’s only the tip that’s missing.”
“They have no knowledge,” said Ahmed apologetically.
Julia glanced to Harrison, worried they’d mixed up the description.
“What about a phone?” asked Harrison. “It would be helpful to contact Alex Lindley.”
Ahmed said something in Arabic to his eldest daughter, and she slipped away from the table.
Harrison nodded his thanks.
“You say the police are involved?” asked Ahmed.
“Somebody designated Julia a person of significance.”
“So there are two parties looking for you,” said Ahmed.
“So it seems,” said Harrison.
Ahmed looked at Julia. “If you go to an airport, the border guards will stop you. If you run across the desert, the man with no nose might capture you.” He thoughtfully dipped another kofta in the yogurt. “I think…”
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