Her Royal Protector (a Johari Crown Novel) (Entangled Indulgence)

by Alexandra Sellers

  “You will have to be satisfied with having won your point over Dhikra,” the sheikh had said, and she’d seen the set of his mouth and understood that it was a choice between traveling with Arif al Najimi on his own sailing yacht, or going home empty-handed. Ignominiously deported, if it came to that. He had the power.

  “Every Cup Companion spends a month each year on the ground in his own field,” he had explained in the face of her utter disbelief at his ultimatum. “In the spirit of the great Haroun al Rashid, it is required of us to go anonymously into the heart of our domain, and observe. The turtle project was not my plan, but it is suitable to my purpose. And my own yacht can be sailed single-handedly. We need minimal crew. I usually sail with one couple and they will be enough.”

  “Who’s Haroun al Rashid?” Aly had asked.

  And Arif al Najimi laughed, white teeth flashing against his smoky skin and dark beard, the planes and angles of his face softening into a sculpted masculine beauty that, just for a moment, stopped her heart. As if the marble statue of a god had come to life.

  “Haroun al Rashid, he who was called the Just, died in the year eight hundred and nine A.D.,” he informed her. “He was a great ruler, whose habit it was to go before judges and other officials, disguised as an ordinary person seeking justice or perhaps mercy. He did this regularly, in order to discover whether his officials were honorable or corrupt. The tradition has been revived by Sultan Ashraf—who believes that not only does it keep petty officials in line, but also ourselves—we can delegate only eleven months of the year. For one month of the year, we must work ‘in the mines,’ as we call it. The Sultan believes that this keeps us relevant.”

  “And I’m to be your version of the coal face this year?” Aly supplied dryly.

  She couldn’t help liking him when he laughed. “Here in Bagestan we have jewel mines,” he said. “When we go into the mines, what we return with is precious.”

  “Well, I hope you’ll think turtle eggs match up to rubies,” Aly said.

  …

  “This is what we’ll be sailing on?” Aly couldn’t keep the lilt of joy from her voice. He was drawing up beside a soaringly beautiful sailing yacht. It was bigger than she had imagined when he said he sometimes sailed it alone, but it was too lovely a thing for complaint.

  “What a beauty of a boat.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Janahine,” she read the Roman letters under the flowing Arabic script on the stern. “Is that a woman’s name?” She bit her lip. Stupid to ask that, as if she might be interested in whether he was attached. “Sorry. Not my—”

  “It means Wings,” he said. “Catch hold, please.” But Aly had leapt up automatically and was already waiting. He reversed the engine and came in closer, and she reached up to grab on.

  A few minutes later he had moored. Immediately, he hefted a bundle and went lightly up the ladder. “Can you carry?”

  “Yes, Your Excellency, I can carry,” Aly said. “Who do you think loaded Oneira with all this stuff in the first place? I don’t turn weak just because there’s a man around.”

  “Stop calling me Your Excellency,” was all he said to that. “We are going to be sailing together for a long time. My name is Arif.”

  She smiled. “And mine is Aly.” She picked up her duffel bag and started up the steps after him.

  Her first impression had been spot on. The sloop was an elegant simplicity, workmanlike, with clean lines and no ostentation. A sailor’s boat. The deck covered in yards of bleached teak with varnished trim, a guest seating area amidships. Down a few steps into the main cabin. Teak everywhere.

  Arif showed her to a cabin, where she dumped her bag and then went back up to continue unloading. When everything was stowed and he had showed her around a little, they paused by the seating area, where a table, seats, and serving counter gleamed with varnish in the sun.

  “I will leave you now,” Arif said, “and join you tomorrow morning for an early departure. You will be here alone tonight.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “The couple who sail with us will be able to join us only in the morning. But I can arrange for a guard to sleep aboard if you prefer.”

  “I’ll be fine, Your…Arif.”

  “Lock the hatch tonight. If you have any trouble, the number of the harbor police is beside the phone, along with that of Fouad Mukhtar.”

  “Of course.”

  “Good, then.”

  He paused, and they stood looking at each other while a heavy silence filled the space between them, as if he did not want to go but could think of no reason to stay. The blue eyes were grave on her, and Aly sensed danger. What had she done, agreeing to go to sea for six weeks of close confinement with this man?

  I’ll get terrible hots for him and humiliate myself totally. I’m already imagining he doesn’t want to leave me. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

  She opened her mouth to say—what? That she had changed her mind, that she couldn’t do this after all? But whatever she would have said came too late.

  “In the morning,” Arif said, turned, and went down the sea ladder. A moment later she heard his engine roar to life.

  …

  “Six weeks.” Fouad Mukhtar stared at him. “You will be sailing for six weeks?”

  “The length of the nesting season, apparently, Fouad.”

  “Excellency, your away month is already fully arranged. As Jafar Hamrahi, you are due to begin work next week at—”

  “Yes,” Arif agreed. It was what had given him the idea. “It makes things simple. You will need to re-arrange my schedule only for this week, Fouad. And for another week at the end of the month, of course.”

  Fouad was wide-eyed with horror. “Excellency, can we not find someone else to sail with the turtle scientist? Reflect that there may be danger. Why must it be yourself?”

  Arif wasn’t sure. Aly Percy aroused his curiosity. On several levels. But where came this inner conviction that he and only he could get to the root of the mystery? Or even, that he and only he could protect her on this voyage?

  “And what crew will you take? How will we find someone with the right security clearance to sail with you, on such short notice, for such a period?”

  “Farhad and Jamila will crew for me, as usual when I do not sail alone.”

  “You will need a backup pair to cover when they have time off. How are we to find such so quickly?”

  “When Farhad and Jamila take time off, the scientist and I will manage alone.”

  “Alone.” With the rights of an older man and a trusted advisor, Fouad frowned blackly. “This sounds like madness, Excellency. Are you besotted with the woman so quickly? One so plain and undistinguished? Recollect that if she is attempting to attract you, it may be because…”

  Arif lowered his chin to look at the older man. “Olivia Percy is a scientist who has devoted her professional life to understanding a creature that is of great importance to our country, not to her own,” he said softly. “We have reason to be grateful to her, Fouad. She deserves more respect from you.”

  Fouad’s mouth tightened and he bowed his head at the rebuke. “Forgive me, Excellency. But this sudden interest in—”

  “I am interested in her scientific work with the turtles. Rid yourself of the idea that it goes further than that.” As soon as he said it his gut called him on the lie. But Fouad would sleep more comfortably if he didn’t qualify that.

  Fouad’s brow was now deeply furrowed. “Excellency, I beg you, at least let me make arrangements for some additional crew. If you sail alone with this woman you put yourself into her power—she can afterwards accuse you of anything, and what defense will you have? It might cost millions to keep it out of court. And nothing would keep it out of the western tabloids. Your name would be—”

  “She is not the sort for that.”

  Fouad abandoned the argument and chose a new tack.

  “And what of Jafar Hamrahi, who is expected to begin work at
Anglo-Bagestan Oil on Saturday, in their so-called Environment Protection Project—which you fear is a lip service program? Do you still intend to carry out that plan? Should Jafar Hamrahi ask for a delay of six weeks? Or do you abandon all—”

  “You are right to remind me,” Arif said with a nod. “The opportunity at Anglo-Bagestan must not be missed. Jafar Hamrahi should certainly turn up for work on the day. I shall speak to my cousin Nadim ad-Durrani, who would benefit from a visit into the mines. It will be an early education of what he can expect if in future he is appointed Cup Companion himself.”

  “Excellency, may I beg to point out that the identification for Jafar Hamrahi has your own photograph on it. Suppose you were instead to ask Nadim ad-Durrani to go with—”

  Arif stood up behind his desk. “And you have a week to produce identification with Nadim’s photograph on it.”

  Fouad’s voice now betrayed desperation. “If I may suggest one more thing, Excellency. If you would delay the start of this trip for the one week only, it would be most convenient. Tomorrow, for example, you have meetings with…”

  Arif circled his desk, and headed for the door. “I have it on the best authority that no delay is possible. The turtle females wait for no man. Abandon your opposition, Fouad, you will not convince me,” he ordered, and strode out.

  …

  “Arif al Najimi is going with you? The sheikh himself?” Richard’s voice cracked with disbelief.

  “On his personal yacht. He insisted, and what could I do? Next on his list was deporting me, or sinking the Oneira, or both. I could see it in his eyes.”

  “Why didn’t he just find you a competent skipper and crew? That’s what I suggested to his PA. It’s all that’s needed.”

  “I asked. He says Oneira is unseaworthy and there’s no other….”

  “It’s hardly that,” Richard interrupted, his masculine pride bristling. “I wasn’t happy to think of your going by yourself, Aly, that’s why I called his PA. But the boat itself is fit for purpose. I do wish you could have turned this down. Was there no—”

  “I had two choices,” Aly said bluntly. “Go with him or go home.”

  He grunted. “Fast workers, these Cup Companions.”

  Electricity zinged through every cell of her being. Then Aly laughed, because of course he didn’t mean what that sounded like. “What do you mean?”

  “Did he or did he not meet you for the first time at the banquet, Aly? That’s what I mean.”

  “Are you—?” Her throat closed tight. Aly coughed. “For God’s sake, Richard! Me?” She stopped and breathed deep. Richard never, but never, mocked her like this.

  “Why not you? Women are often the last to know,” Richard added. “Just watch your step, Aly. I know Ellen would say the same.”

  Aly got a grip on herself. The last thing she needed was to start imagining that Arif al Najimi had designs on her. “No. Trust me. No. It’s the painkillers frying your brain, Richard.” She laughed.

  Richard didn’t laugh. “Then I wonder what it is he wants to protect.”

  A chill replaced the heat that had been building in her. “Richard, what are you thinking?”

  “We are as certain as we can be without documented physical proof that human agency is behind the turtle decline, Aly. Aren’t we? Someone is deliberately sabotaging the nests.”

  Her flesh crawled with horror for what she was about to hear. “Yee—ess.”

  “What we don’t know is, which humans, and exactly why.”

  “Are you suggesting that a Cup Companion could be bribed to…”

  “If we’ve learned anything about people in authority these past few years of corruption and scandal, Aly, we’ve learned that anyone can be bribed. What was it the man said—’politicians negotiating the highest price for their core values.’ Am I right? Corruption is a rot that can strike at the heart of any organization.”

  Including police and journalists and bankers…and neither last nor least, her father. Aly couldn’t deny it.

  “Arif al Najimi can’t be like that,” she murmured, a vision of his firmly-sculpted face, his direct gaze, his arrogant noblesserising in her mind. But of course he could be. Anyone could be. When her father had been exposed she had learned a never-to-be-forgotten lesson, and was she going to ignore it just because Arif al Najimi made her knees weak?

  “We can’t afford to take the risk, Aly. He’s after something, without a doubt. You’re certain it’s not you. If you’re right about that, it’s something else.” He paused. “You’re going to have to find a way to false mark those nests without Arif al Najimi’s knowledge.”

  “Oh, God, do you think so?” she whispered.

  “Don’t tell him about that part of the operation. He can’t be with you every minute—he surely won’t even want to be. But if he does happen to be with you as you mark nests, then do not false mark. Save the false marking for when you can do it entirely unobserved.”

  “Treat him like the enemy, in short,” Aly said unhappily. She didn’t like this at all. But Richard was right. Arif must have some reason for coming with her. And while she might burn up just looking at him, she had no illusions that the sheikh returned the favor. “Oh, Richard, what a mess. But I can’t back out now.”

  “Certainly not. This may even be an opportunity to learn something. Keep your eyes and ears open, Aly.”

  …

  Arif arrived early in the morning with Farhad and Jamila, the deckhand and cook. They spoke no English and her Arabic was so pitifully inadequate she didn’t even try it. Aly tried not to let the fact make her nervous. A couple in their forties, they went straight to their cabin with their bags, so clearly they were well used to the boat. Farhad returned immediately to the deck.

  When the car was unloaded and the chauffeur had driven away, they cast off, with Arif at the wheel. Aly sat watching him as he motored carefully between the jetties and headed out into the gulf. It was a beautiful, clear, fresh morning, but there was a scent in the air that promised it would be hot later.

  Arif was dressed like any serious sailor, in loose cargo shorts and a short-sleeve polo shirt that hugged and revealed his firm-muscled chest. Plain navy and white, which, she noted unhappily, also made his skin seem very bronzed and turned his eyes to sapphires. He was barefoot. What was it about barefoot men that made them so bloody sexy?

  She could tell from the way he handled the boat that he was an experienced sailor. His body was comfortable, his actions fluid, powered by an innate masculine authority that was there in everything he did. His glances at compass and GPS and his adjustments to his course were so integrated that he seemed at one with the boat, the boat an extension of his body.

  The morning sun was making her dizzy. She should go below and get her hat, but she couldn’t unhook her eyes from Arif. Once he looked at her, a flashing glance that went through her like blue fire as he pulled his sunglasses down over his eyes. Aly had to turn away to breathe. The day felt hotter already.

  Then he reached out to release the mainsail, and as those strong fingers curled over the toggle, she felt the touch as if his hands were on her body. With a noisy flapping the sail shimmied out and snapped into life above their heads, and heat flowered in her abdomen and she grunted in shock.

  As he shut down the engine, the wind caught and lifted the yacht into soaring motion, and Aly finally recognized the yearning in herself with horrible, sinking dismay. What had possessed her? What insanity had made her think she could sail around these magical waters with a man as physically beautiful, as ferociously masculine as Sheikh Arif al Najimi and not develop a hunger for his touch? Of course she would. Any woman would.

  He was bound to guess. And whether his rejection were contemptuous or understanding—because for sure he must be used to getting a reaction from plain, love-starved women everywhere he went—she would be exposed, and there would be no option but to carry on sailing with him till this project was complete.

  She must have been out of h
er mind. With every fiber of her being Aly now longed to be aboard the little Oneira, sailing alone and safer than she now was, however dangerous these waters might be. Oh, why hadn’t she done a moonlit flit last night?

  “Look at the horizon.”

  The voice broke into her thoughts and she roused herself and found Arif’s gaze on her.

  “What?”

  “If you are feeling seasick, choose a distant point and gaze at it. If you stare at me, that will make it worse.”

  You’re telling me.

  “I’m not seasick,” she said, without indignation, shaking her head. But it was good advice, and she obeyed it. Staring at the man would only make her incipient malady worse.

  Please God he would never learn what that malady was.

  Chapter Six

  Late in the morning, they dropped anchor in an idyllic bay, broad and blue and bordered by matchless white sand fringed with a forest of palm. Aly pulled on her sunhat, then picked up the backpack she had stocked with a measuring tape, notebook, pencil, and other necessary tools of her trade.

  Arif meanwhile bent to haul the dinghy close to the swimming ladder, and held it tight as she went down and clambered aboard. He followed her down, started the outboard, and steered in the direction of her pointing finger to one end of the bay. A minute later Aly slipped out into deliciously cool turquoise water. Her feet caressed the ridges of hard white sand underfoot. Heaven.

  She set the walkie-talkie on the seat.

  “It’ll take me awhile, depending on what nests I find,” she said. “I’ll call for pickup when I get to the far end of the bay.” A deserted beach, like this one, gave her the best opportunity to false mark the nests.

  Arif cut the motor. “I’ll walk with you.”

  She bit her lip. This was no good. “What’s the point of that? There’s nothing for you to do, and it’ll mean we have to walk all the way back here when I’ve finished.”

  “It’s a pleasant walk,” he said with a smile in his eyes that made her toes curl, stirring up the white sand into little giveaway clouds in the water.