by Trish Morey
The middle of nowhere.
Never had the phrase been so apt. She gulped down a fortifying lungful of air.
Never had she felt so alone.
Khaled’s hand squeezed her shoulder, as if reassuring her. ‘Welcome to your new home,’ he said. She was halfway down the stairs and the moment gone before she realised what he’d said.
They transferred to the waiting limousine for the thirty-minute drive as day was beginning to fade. The heat of the day lingered, the warm air clean and dry under a sky that seemed to go on forever.
They said little for the first few minutes, Sapphy content to gaze out of the windows and drink in the view, finding even the passing dunes and rock formations fascinating, barely able to contain her excitement at the harsh beauty of the landscape. Even the presence of Khaled by her side wasn’t enough to quell her enthusiasm. Already she was brimming with ideas about colour, patterns and texture. The landscape was like a breath of fresh air.
‘What do you think of my country?’
‘It’s beautiful, just beautiful.’
‘Never take the desert for granted. It’s harsh and dangerous and unforgiving.’
She looked over to him, surprised by his words. ‘Of course, but isn’t the danger what gives it the edge over, say, a landscape of green hills and valleys? There the land is lush and fertile, beautiful in its own way, yet soft and safe. Whereas this place has colour and drama and magnificence that goes hand in hand with danger. Even more,’ she licked her lips, searching the view outside her window for the right words, ‘there’s almost a timeless quality about it. Almost like it’s waiting for something…’
She turned back to him, still struggling for the right way to finish her sentence, only to have the breath snag in her throat as a shudder rippled through her.
His eyes trapped her, ensnaring her in a blistering gaze that burned and sizzled her to the core. Whatever she had been going to say was incinerated in raw heat.
His heat.
He moved closer, reaching out a hand to cup her jaw. She flinched at his touch but his fingers held her firm, scorching the skin of her neck and chin. ‘Your eyes blaze when you talk of such things. They reflect the light like the facets of a well-cut stone. How appropriately they named you.’
She swallowed, a vain attempt to lubricate her ashen throat.
‘Such beautiful eyes. Tell me, is their beauty like your green landscape, lush and fertile, or is it a dangerous magnificence that shines within them? Which is it, I wonder?’
She shook her head, the little she was able, her tongue attempting to moisten her lips. ‘I don’t know.’ She raised a hand to his forearm. ‘I’ve never thought about it.’Maybe she could brush him away… Then her hand met his arm, the sheer strength of his limb clearly evident through the fine-knit fabric. His arm was like steel, sculptured tensile steel.
There was no brushing this man away.
His head tilted to one side, his lips turned up into a lazy grin, as if amused by her attempts to rescue herself from his grasp. His grip relaxed.
‘Yet your prose suggests you are very perceptive. You see qualities in the desert that others miss. I find it difficult to believe you would not have the same talent when applied to people.’
No question which type you fall into, she thought in a rush.Tall, dark and dangerous. ‘I really don’t see how this is relevant,’ she murmured on a breath, closing her eyes for a second and wondering if he could have heard her over the hammering in her veins. ‘And I’d prefer it if you didn’t touch me.’
He raised his eyebrows in a way that suggested he didn’t believe her, but still he shrugged and relaxed his grip on her jaw.
‘As you wish,’ he said.
Her chin kicked up in relief, but it was to be short-lived as his large hand didn’t pull completely away but continued to sweep slowly down the line of her throat, searing a trail of scorching sensation. His fingers spanned the open neck of her dress, skimming lightly under the cross-over neckline before his hand finally withdrew.
She sucked in a breath as naked sensation skittered through her, a charge so electric that her breasts tingled and firmed.
She didn’t want him to touch her, didn’t want him anywhere near her, so why did her senses continue to hum, her breasts continue to swell, when his hand was long gone? The view out of the window stared blankly back at her, offering no answers, but there was no way she’d risk looking anywhere but outside the car, at least not until her breathing and pulse were back under control. Once they were in the palace she would have to stay right away from Sheikh Khaled. He was far too unpredictable, far too compelling.
Far too dangerous.
Yet a good measure of that danger came from within herself. There was no way she could deny she was attracted to him. His physical presence was enough to rock her to her foundations.
His touch was something else.
She’d just have to stay right out of his reach.
Something ahead caught her interest. There were buildings appearing in the twilight, low flat dwellings at first and then higher-rise, with balconies and the muted shadows of palm trees swaying against their walls. Domes of mosques and minarets interrupted the otherwise predominantly horizontal skyline until the approaching city centre skyscrapers changed the aspect to vertical. And there were people, gathered along the road, the lights from cigarettes like tiny fireflies spinning in the gathering darkness.
She was just about to turn and ask Khaled if they were in Hebra when their world exploded.
CHAPTER FOUR
THEcar rocked with the noise and the force of the explosion as dazzling red and white light turned the interior of the car into a crazy frozen snapshot. She shrieked and jumped across the divide between them, throwing herself into Khaled’s arms and burying her head in his chest as a barrage of noise rained down on them.
His heartbeat sounded calm and steady in her ear; already she felt safer with his arms wrapped tightly around her, protecting her, keeping her safe.
More colours lit the sky, green, blue, as cheers from the onlookers filled the spaces between the blasts. Children squealed, not in terror, but in delight.
Fireworks,she realised the instant after she’d plastered herself to his chest; she was getting scared witless over a few fireworks.
And look where it had got her! She was practically sitting in his lap.
She wrenched back her head, away from the comforting rhythm of his heart, the rock-steady safety of his chest, trying to peel herself away without further touching him. If only he’d relax his arms!
‘You make it difficult for me not to touch you,’ he said with a kernel of humour that had been noticeably absent in his voice until now, ‘if you insist on throwing yourself at me like that.’
‘I thought…I mean…’ It would sound so stupid that she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. She pushed back against the circle of his arms, still painfully aware that fabric didn’t count for much when your thighs were pressed this close to his. ‘Please, you can let me go now.’
‘And have you get frightened again? Maybe you should relax,’ he suggested. ‘Enjoy the fireworks.’
She looked up at him, the strong planes of his face thrown into sharp relief by the crazy colours exploding in the sky. ‘What’s going on?’
‘My people are welcoming back their sheikh.’
‘You’re kidding. They do this every time you come back?’
He laughed, rich and soft, a sound that reminded her of the smoothest coffee and cream. ‘My people are very excited about the wedding and their new queen. This is the start of a month-long celebration in Jebbai.’
‘Then I suggest,’ she said, levering herself further away from him, ‘that it’s not such a great idea for your people to see you like this with your bride’s dress designer.’
‘I wouldn’t worry too much,’ he said, releasing her all the same so she could scramble back to the opposite side of the wide leather seat. ‘My people are under n
o misapprehension as to who you are.’
She looked at him sharply. He was speaking in riddles again and she didn’t want to play his game. She stayed silent as they continued through the city, amazed at the contrast of the old and the new; the ancient-looking mosques, timeless and elegant, the piercing skyscrapers, modern architectural master-pieces—Hebra had it all.
Eventually the car slowed to a crawl outside a pair of massive timber and iron gates swinging slowly open, which thudded resoundingly shut behind them as the car pulled into a large courtyard. A small welcoming party stood waiting.
He took her hand and squeezed it gently. ‘Welcome to my home,’ he said before the doors both sides were pulled open and he dropped her hand to alight.
She stepped out onto the ancient cobbled courtyard before the tall palace that was to be her home for the next four weeks. It was magnificent even in the dark of night with spotlights strategically placed to illuminate the walls and the towers. In the light of day it would be spectacular, its creamy walls studded with mother-of-pearl and tortoiseshell, giving a sumptuous appearance and texture.
Khaled’s hand pressed against the small of her back, and she let him guide her to meet the small group waiting for them. A tall man in traditional dress, his face lean and hollow, his beard greying and neatly trimmed and his eyes bearing a strong resemblance to Khaled’s, stepped down to greet them.
‘Saleem,’ said Khaled, embracing the man, ‘let me introduce you to the famous designer, Sapphire Clemenger, from the House of Bacelli in Milan. Sapphy, this is my cousin, Saleem.’
Saleem took her hand, bowing over it graciously before he raised his head and looked up at her, the sudden glint in his eyes sending ice-cold spiders crawling down her spine. ‘Welcome to Jebbai,’ he said, his mouth curved into what she supposed was intended to pass as a smile.
She’d never experienced anything less welcoming, but managed somehow to crack the layer of ice he’d submerged her under enough to dredge up a smile of her own and murmur her thanks before the rest of the party was briefly introduced. Finally a shy-looking young woman was presented to her.
‘This is Azizah,’ Khaled told her as the girl bowed. ‘She will be your maid.’
She smiled again, much more genuinely this time, and took the girl’s hand. ‘So you are to help me with the dressmaking?’
‘No,’ interrupted Khaled, before the girl could respond. ‘You will have a staff of ten to help you construct the dress. They will be here first thing in the morning for your instruction. Azizah is your personal maid. She will do whatever you ask.’
‘That’s hardly necessary,’ she protested. ‘I won’t need an entire staff to make one dress.’
‘You have only four weeks and you were the one who thought that was not enough time—remember? So, you have staff. Now, let me show you to your accommodation.’ His hand at her back, he urged her up the wide steps to the large keyhole-style opening leading inside.
‘Surely the girl can show her to her quarters,’ Saleem’s heavily accented English broke in. ‘There are matters of state to discuss.’
Khaled wheeled and turned on his cousin. ‘Five minutes will make no difference. I will show Miss Clemenger to her quarters.Then I will meet you in the library.’
She shuddered as he directed her inside the palace. ‘Are you cold?’ he asked, surprising her by even noticing.
‘No.’ The palace interior’s temperature was even and comfortable, the air sweet with the faint hint of incense. No doubt thick walls would keep the interior bearable on even the hottest day.
‘Then what’s wrong?
‘Tell me,’ he insisted, when still she hadn’t answered. ‘You’re my responsibility now.’
‘It’s probably nothing—it’s just your cousin, Saleem; I get the impression he doesn’t like me.’
‘He will have to get used to you.’
‘Do you think so? In just four weeks?’ Khaled glared sharply down at her as he led her through a wide marble pillared reception hall.
‘Well, if he doesn’t like me now, I’m not sure what I can do to change things in barely a month.’
‘It will pay you not to upset Saleem. He is family. Things are different here to how they are done in Milan or even in Australia.’
Sapphy opened her mouth to protest that Saleem already seemed upset enough with her without her doing a thing, but then snapped it shut before uttering a word. What was the point? He was right. Things were bound to be different here. It would just be easier if she didn’t feel such an intruder—Saleem had made it crystal clear that he didn’t welcome her presence.
But it was only for four weeks after all, maybe less if she could complete the dress early. So the sooner she got stuck into making the wedding dress, the sooner she could return to Milan.
After walking along passageway after passageway, Khaled finally showed her into a reception-cum-sitting room, large and spacious. ‘This is your study,’ he said, waving his arm over the luxurious lounge suite and the substantial desk, complete with paper and writing tools. ‘And this,’ he said showing her through into an adjoining room, ‘is your workshop. I trust you have everything you need. If not, just ask.’
Sapphy’s eyes opened in wonder as she followed him. The room was enormous, at least twice the size of her apartment in Milan and then some. Worktables were arranged at intervals, many topped with sewing machines, all serious industrial models, she noticed as she wandered between them, not simple home dressmaking machines. Bolts of fabric lined the walls—silk, satin, brocade and laces in every bridal colour and tone imaginable. Tubs of beads and sequins, pearls and buttons were stacked on a bench. She’d seen fabric shops with less stock.
‘It’s incredible. How did you know?’ she asked, her eyes still wide with wonder as she attempted to take it all in.
‘Gianfranco told me what you might need. It was then a simple matter to have it delivered.’
‘No,’ she said, turning her eyes up to his. ‘How did you know I would come? You couldn’t be sure I would agree until today.’
Something fused, deep in his eyes, as he eliminated the distance between them with three quick-fire steps. All at once she was craning her neck up to where he stood before her. A muscle worked in his jaw as he reached out a hand. For a moment she flinched, not wanting him to grab hold of her as he’d done earlier in the car, but this time his touch was feather light as he traced a slow line from her forehead to her jaw with just the pads of his long fingers.
‘Iwas sure. I knew you would come.’
His voice was low with a husky new quality that sent tremors through her, compounding the sensations he’d stirred in her skin. She sucked in a breath that was too light on oxygen, too heavy on raw male sexuality. The pad of his thumb brushed over her lips and she tasted him, his salty heat further stirring her senses into disarray.
Her mind was a mess. Thoughts came and collided with no hint of logic or resolution. How could he have known she would come to Jebbai when she hadn’t even known herself? How could he have been so certain?
And why did just one look from his dark eyes make her feel so liquid?
His fingers tilted her chin, so there was no way she could avoid his searing gaze, no way she couldn’t notice his wide lips, slightly parted, no way she couldn’t imagine what they would feel like on hers.
Anticipate them on hers.
‘What I didn’t know,’ he said, his breath curling around her in the space between them, warm and hypnotic, ‘was just how perfect you would be.’
She read his last words on her lips as his mouth descended over hers, warm and gentling, and the contrast in the man struck her. He appeared so strong and hard, upright and defiant, he looked every part the ruler of his kingdom, and yet his kiss was so tender, so sweet, it seemed to squeeze something from her even as it rocked her to her soul. The power was there, lurking just below the surface, but there was so much more besides, so many nuances, so many textures to experience—the softness of his lips,
the nip of his teeth, the rasp of his shadowed chin…
She felt her internal thermostat reset itself to slow burn as his mouth gently plundered her own, exploring, manipulating.
She felt his hands at her shoulders, behind her neck, down her back, their gathering touch strangely compelling. They invited her closer and she complied, leaning into the kiss and feeling the press of his firm chest against her own tight breasts.