by Trish Morey
But there had been no time to talk to her then, no time to check the details or to question how it had come about, for suddenly it had seemed the entire village had come out to celebrate the good news. And if he had thought the coffee pot had been constantly refreshed before, this afternoon it hadn’t just been bottomless, it had been damn near eternal. Even if he’d wanted to get back to Shafar tonight, to make Kareef’s state banquet, it would have been nigh on impossible to leave the celebrations in time.
Which gave him the perfect excuse. Now there was no choice but to stop at the coastal encampment a second night.
Amazing that fate had played into his hands so conveniently. Now his task would be so much easier. Sera could not be surprised when he made his move. Now they had something to celebrate. Together.
But still he didn’t understand how this twist of fate had come about.
‘How did you make it happen?’ he asked again of the woman sitting alongside him in the back seat. Sera looked composed and serene, as always, but if he wasn’t mistaken another layer of that cloak of sadness was gone, he was sure, and the corners of her mouth were turned up just the slightest fraction, as if she were just the tiniest bit pleased with herself as she contemplated his question.
She gave a tiny shrug. ‘I liked meeting them. Strong women, determined to make a difference in their lives, working hard to achieve it.’
They had to be, Rafiq decided, for them to be doing what they were doing. But that still didn’t answer the question that was uppermost in his mind. ‘But Suleman said the women’s council would most likely take its time. How did you manage to get their agreement to go to contract today?’
And Sera almost smiled, the merest shadow of a smile, and it was more than just the sloping rays of the sun’s setting light playing upon her perfect features.
‘You made it easier, to start with, for the women were almost beside themselves with your offer,’ she told him. ‘The previous offer had seemed a dream come true for all of them, a validation of everything they had hoped for, but your offer to double it was like a gift from the gods. They would be doubly blessed, and Abizah’s pleas to wait seemed to have been vindicated.
‘Yet still,’ she continued softly, ‘some thought that perhaps they should seek a counter-offer from the other party, to see if they could increase the offer even more.’
He nodded. The fatted lamb. Hadn’t Suleman warned him of just such a likelihood? ‘But they decided not to go that route. What happened to change their minds?’
‘It was a close decision. The first vote was tied, and for a while all seemed to be at a stalemate. I guess they might have been waiting for me to offer more money, I don’t know, but I felt that was not my place as you had given me no such authority to do so. So instead we left behind the thoughts of contracts and we just talked, as women do, about the recent developments in the royal family: of Xavian’s—Zahir’s—unexpected abdication, and about Prince Kareef and the upcoming coronation.’
Rafiq battled to find an answer to his questions in what she was saying. If there was one to be found, it eluded him. But he did find satisfaction, and a grudging degree of respect, in the fact she hadn’t tried to increase his offer. It would have been easy enough for her to do so. After all, it wasn’t her money she’d be spending, and she knew how much he wanted the deal wrapped up. ‘And then what happened?’
And this time she did smile. Her hands crossed in her lap, and her eyes slanted ever so slightly towards him, as if sharing a secret joke. She was wearing an enigmatic smile that would have made the Mona Lisa proud. ‘I was thinking about that bolt of fabric sent to the palace and of what that meant to the people of Marrash.’
He scrambled to make sense of the connection. ‘And?’
Her smile broadened. ‘Because it’s one thing—a wonderful thing!—to be able to sell your goods to businesses that can afford them, wherever they are based in the world, but it seemed to me that there was a lingering disappointment in that room. Nothing would have been more important for the women of Marrash, nothing more satisfying while the eyes of the world were upon Qusay, than their fabrics being showcased during the coronation ceremony itself.’
‘But it’s too late to change that!’ Rafiq growled, raking one hand through his hair in frustration, turning his face to the window in disappointment mingled with disgust. The ceremony was just a few short days away. If Sera had offered the Marrashi fabrics a place in the coronation the contract would be unstuck before it could even be drawn up by the lawyers and he would be back where he started. Worse. He would have a disappointed and no doubt uncooperative business partner into the deal. ‘You can’t expect them to change the arrangements for the coronation at this short notice.’
‘I don’t!’ she came back, her reaction so vehement after all her meekness of before that he was suddenly reminded in one instant of how she once had been, years ago. Vibrant, and filled with life and laughter. And he swung his head back, the offence she’d taken at his words so plain on her features that he felt it like a slap to his own face.
She sat up, impossibly stiff and rigid against her seat, the smile he’d waited for and celebrated when it had finally arrived now vanquished. ‘It just seemed, from what was said while the women talked, that the women would really value their work being recognised and admired in their own country. They knew the collection would be sold to the highest bidder, and that made good economic sense to them, but they also needed to have their work showcased and celebrated by their own. The coronation seemed to them the perfect time that this might happen, while the eyes of the world were upon them. But, as you say, it is too late for that to happen now.’
‘So what did you suggest?’
She bit down on her lip, and looked out of her window for a second before swinging her head back. ‘I merely suggested that if—if—they accepted your offer, that one day, when you married, with the eyes of the world upon a royal wedding, you might wish your bride to wear a gown fashioned from the most glorious fabrics that the Marrashi women could provide.’
He blinked, slow and hard. ‘You promised what? A royal marriage? A wedding gown? But I have no plans for marriage—ever! Which means no bride for the women of Marrash to dress. What kind of position do you think that puts me in? What the hell were you thinking?’
She snapped her head around, her dark eyes flaring like coals. ‘I was thinking you wanted the deal closed today!’
‘But to promise them a wedding. My wedding!’
‘I could hardly promise them Prince Kareef’s! He will no doubt have to marry soon, to provide the kingdom with an heir, but I could hardly commit him to the same arrangement when the deal is purely to benefit you!’
She dragged in a breath as she cast her eyes downwards, and when she resumed her voice was softer, more controlled, reminding him of how she had sounded, so meek and docile, when they had started this journey. He hated how it sounded.
‘I did not say that a marriage would definitely take place, or when, but I thought you, at least, would understand my reasoning. It is important to the women that their fabrics and their expertise be recognised in their own land. And what else did you give me to negotiate with?’
‘I never gave you a wedding!’ But even as he said the words he realised how churlish he sounded. He growled in irritation and turned his head away, knowing the cliff at his side had more cracks and faults than her logic. She’d got the women’s agreement. She’d got the contract in the space of one not entirely short meeting.
And yet marriage…?
Sera had built into the negotiations an expectation from the women of the village that he would marry. The women would expect it now. The women would be waiting for any hint…
And his mind reeled back to the cheers and whoops that had met his impulsive reaction when Sera had emerged with the news.
He had kissed her.
Sera.
And the women had cheered and laughed and cried their blessings. Their laughter had made
him remember he wasn’t in Australia, that it wasn’t the usual thing to pick up any unmarried woman, even if a widow, and kiss her in public.
But still he’d thought they were merely celebrating the contract.
But they wouldn’t be delighted, would they? They’d normally be shocked at such bold behaviour.
Unless…
And suddenly the chains that had worked their way so tightly around his gut this day started tightening their grip around his neck. The women of Marrash expected that Sera would be his bride. Hadn’t Abizah already assumed that she was?
He turned to her. ‘The women think I’m going to marry you. It is our wedding they are contemplating. It is you they see wearing the bridal gown of Marrash.’
She was shaking her head, her eyes swirling with panic. Because she’d been caught out? ‘No, I’m sure they don’t think that.’
‘I kissed you.’
Still her head shook from side to side. Her cheeks flushed, as if the very idea was anathema to her too, and that only made him more annoyed. She should be so lucky!
‘You didn’t mean anything by it. You didn’t know. You weren’t to know. It meant nothing.’
And even he, who wanted it to mean nothing, who needed it to have meant nothing, had to question her words. Had it meant nothing? Then why had it felt as if he had poured everything into that kiss? His frustrations at waiting, at not being permitted to negotiate himself. His relief when Sera had emerged victorious from the meeting. All of it he had poured into one impulsive kiss as he had spun her around, the feel and taste of her lush lips giving him a thirst for more, a thirst he intended to slake tonight.
So maybe that kiss had meant something—a physical need, an itch that had never been scratched. But it still didn’t mean…
He leaned across the seat and put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close, murmuring in her ear so that those in the front seat could not hear, so close that in other circumstances his words might almost be interpreted as a lover’s caress. He touched the fingers of his other hand to her cheek, drinking in the softness with the pads of his fingers until she shuddered under his touch.
‘I won’t marry you, Sera. It doesn’t matter what the women of Marrash think. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. I won’t marry you. Ever. Because there is no way I could marry you after what you did.’
There was a pause. A slowing of the earth’s rotation while he heard her hitched intake of air, while he waited for her eyelids to open after they’d been jammed so firmly shut, before finally she acknowledged his words with a slow nod, her smile once again reappearing in a way that rubbed raw against him.
‘Don’t you think I know that?’ Her voice was hushed but the tone was rapier-sharp. ‘Don’t you think I’ve lived with the knowledge that you must surely hate me for what happened all those years ago? I realise that. I understand it. And what makes you imagine for a moment that I need another man in my life? What makes you think I need or want you? I came up with the idea of the wedding gown for your bride so that you might win the deal. Not because I was somehow trying to engineer a wedding between the two of us.’
And his barb of irritation grew sharper and more pointed, working its way deeper into his flesh. She was a widow and he was now a prince—a wealthy prince. He could give her everything she wanted: status, money and privilege. And now she was saying she didn’t want him.
She did. Of that he was sure.
So he didn’t let her go. Instead, he toyed with her hair with a playfulness he didn’t feel, weaving his fingers through its heavy silken curtain, trying hard not to pull it tight, trying hard not to pull her face against his. ‘That’s not how it looked to the Marrashis.’
She kicked up her chin, glared at him, resentment firing her eyes. ‘And whose fault is that?’
His fingers curled and flexed with aggravation before they would relax enough for him to be able to stroke her neck, and he felt the tremor under her skin even as she tried to suppress it. ‘I’m not the one who put the wedding idea into their heads.’
‘And I’m not the one who kissed you!’
His eyes dropped to her lips, slightly parted. Her breathing was fast, her chest rising and falling with the motion.
Maybe not, he thought, but she hadn’t been an unwilling party. He remembered the feel of her mouth under his own, her delight at her success right there to be tasted on her lips, and the way she had so easily melted into his kiss. Neither would she be an unwilling party now—he’d bet on it.
All it would take would be to curl that hand around her neck and draw her closer.
He breathed deep, looking for strength but instead filling himself with her beguiling scent, the herbs that she used to rinse her black hair, the soap she used against her satin skin.
Twice now he’d kissed her—impulsive, unplanned kisses that had ended abruptly, leading nowhere but to frustration—kisses that had been doomed to come to nothing from the very beginning because they had not been alone.
But still those kisses had given him something. Two things. A taste for more, and the knowledge that she wanted him. She might say she didn’t want to marry him, but she wanted him. He’d as good as read her confession in the tremors that plagued her skin when he touched her—he’d read it in the way her mouth opened under his. Her melting bones had told him. She wanted him. Of that he was sure.
And right now that was the only truth that mattered.
He smiled at her, finally tearing his eyes from her lips to see her looking uncertain, bewildered, almost as if she had expected he was going to kiss her again, almost as if she had anticipated the press of his lips against hers.
And his smile widened.
‘Don’t be disappointed,’ he whispered, so close to her ear that he could feel the soft down of her earlobe, his lips tickled by the cool gold of the hoop that circled through it. ‘I will kiss you again. But not now. Not yet. For the next time I kiss you it will be somewhere we cannot be interrupted.’
And this time she trembled in his embrace, her dark eyes conveying surprise. More than surprise, he noticed. For there was the smoke of desire there too, turning them cloudy and filled with need.
He breathed deep, dragging in more of the air flavoured with her signature scent, letting it feed his senses. For now, in the back seat of a car, descending a mountain track, it would have to be enough.
He squeezed her shoulder one last time before sliding his arm out from behind her, stretching back into his own seat, for the first time noticing the sunset that blazed red and gold in the distance as the vehicle wound its way down the switchback road. Soon it would be night, and they would stay once more at the encampment by the sea. Which meant that soon he would have her.
He took another desperate gulp of air, suddenly needing the oxygen, needing to shift in his seat to accommodate his growing tightness. Maybe he should concentrate on the sunset for now, instead of what might come after. But knowing that made no difference. For it was near impossible to drag his mind away from thoughts of Sera in his arms, her long limbs naked and wound around him as he plunged into her silken depths.
How long had he dreamed about this night? How long had those visions plagued him? Tonight, though, the dreams would become reality. Tonight she would be his.
He growled on an exhale, trying to dispel some of his burgeoning need. Admiring the sunset would be safer. For it was a stunning sunset: the sun a fireball sinking lower, the sky awash with colour.
Colour.
Which reminded him of the package he’d brought with him—the only purchase Suleman had permitted him to negotiate himself. He reached behind the seat for it, but stopped when he saw Sera huddled alongside, pressed tight against the door, her eyes lost, her expression bleak as her hands twisted first at her necklace and then in her lap.
And something shifted in his gut: guilt, emerging in an unfamiliar bubble. What had caused her sudden misery when so recently she had been warm for him? Had he provoked this slide into desolat
ion?
He almost reached out to her. Almost lifted a hand to touch her. To reassure her.
But just as quickly he snatched his hand back, snuffing out the notion. Because that would mean he cared. And he didn’t care. Not really. He wanted her—there was no doubting that. But caring? He had long since given up caring about Sera.
Besides, he thought, shrugging off the unfamiliar sense of guilt, what evidence did he have that he had upset her? For all he knew she could be thinking about Hussein and wishing he were still here.
He swung his head away, disgusted with himself. That thought was no consolation. Hussein might have been her husband for a decade, but he did not want her so much as thinking about the man.
Not that it would last. Tonight he would drive every memory of Hussein from her thoughts.
Tonight she would discover what she had missed.
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS impossible. Sera shrank further back into the leather of her seat, not understanding what had just transpired. There had been brief moments today when Rafiq had seemed different, when they had seemed to be able to share the same planet without sniping at each other. But they had gone from discussing the day’s success to suddenly being at each other’s throats—before the atmosphere had changed again and suddenly become more charged. More intense.
More dangerous.
She fingered the emerald choker at her neck as she stared out of her window, remembering the feel of Rafiq’s fingers as he had secured it around her neck—more a lover’s caress than that of a man who abhorred her. She despaired of the inconsistency, wishing she could focus on the glorious sunset instead of having these thoughts constantly thrashing through her mind. Wishing even more that she could control her own wayward emotions. But there was no focus. No control.