In the Sheikh's Service

by Susan Stephens

  Isla carefully avoided looking at him when the vice chancellor said this.

  ‘She has the highest marks ever recorded,’ the vice chancellor added in a conspiratorial stage whisper. ‘You couldn’t have anyone better on the team.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ he said mildly, raising his brow a fraction as he turned to look at Isla—who clearly wasn’t sure whether she should smile or remain expressionless beneath the barrage of praise, but at least she didn’t simper.

  ‘I won’t let you or the university down,’ she told them both with feeling.

  ‘I know you won’t, my dear. Your Majesty...’ Standing back to allow him to go first, the vice chancellor indicated that it was time for them to join the rest of the official party.

  ‘I’ll see you in Q’Aqabi, Ms Sinclair,’ he murmured.

  His senses stirred as Isla lowered her gaze. When she bit her lip, he wondered if she was reflecting on what exactly she had just talked herself into.

  * * *

  She was in trouble and sinking fast, Isla reflected later, swirling a sweetener into the coffee on her desk. Not that she had changed her mind about going to Q’Aqabi. She’d worked her socks off to even get a sniff at the prize. Shazim’s offer of a possible job after her visit to his country was like all her best dreams coming true at once. And she would prove herself, whatever it took. Her only question was, could she work with him? Could she see Shazim every day, and not be distracted by thoughts that had no connection with the project that meant so much to both of them?

  Look at it this way—you’re a newly qualified vet with grime beneath your fingernails, while Shazim is an all-powerful sheikh with more sex appeal than there are grains of sand in his desert.

  They weren’t just incompatible, they were quite literally worlds apart. Shazim hadn’t answered her question about whether he would be in the desert at the same time she was, but she doubted it somehow. He’d have many other things to do. Of course she wished he would be the one to show her the hidden secrets of the desert. She couldn’t ask for anything more than to see the dangerous wilderness through his eyes. But that sensual world of billowing Bedouin tents, and endless passion beneath the stars on the shores of some tranquil oasis with only the sound of the night hawk to disturb them, was just a fantasy, as he had reminded her, and had no bearing on what she was likely to see.

  But if she did see anything like that...and if she did spend some time alone in the desert with Shazim...

  That wasn’t going to happen, but if it did, and if by some incredible chance she learned to trust again and they had an affair, heartache in exchange for all of that didn’t seem too bad a deal—at least, not from this safe distance.

  * * *

  Isla’s arrival at Q’Aqabi International Airport on a commercial jet was a disappointment. Not because the airport was short of anything, but because it had too much of everything. It was the slickest, most efficient, most opulent and impressive airport terminal Isla had ever been through, when she had hoped for a little romance, and perhaps some mystery and magic.

  And there was no sign of Shazim.

  Of course there was no sign of Shazim. His Majesty had left London long before her, on his private jet the size of a super-airliner, according to the brief news feature she’d watched, detailing the Sheikh of Q’Aqabi’s benevolence towards the university. Did she expect the ruler of the country to roll out the red carpet for one newly qualified vet and her mound of unattractive-looking baggage?

  No, but maybe she had expected to detect the hint of sandalwood on the air, and perhaps a few grains of sand on the pristine white marble floor—

  And camels instead of cabs?

  Get real. This was twenty-first-century oil money, polished to the highest sheen. There was a lake of black gold beneath her feet, and a nature reserve somewhere deep in the desert, waiting for her to start work.

  ‘Welcome to Q’Aqabi, Ms Sinclair—’

  She whirled around to see a young woman around her own age with the friendliest dark, almond-shaped eyes.

  ‘His Majesty has asked me to meet you and show you to the palace...’

  The palace?

  ‘My name is Miriam, but my friends call me Millie,’ the girl explained.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Millie.’ The two girls smiled as they shook hands. ‘I thought I would be staying in a hotel?’

  ‘His Majesty thought that you, as the prize winner, should have the honour of staying at the royal palace.’

  Near Shazim? Her heart sank at the reality of being close to him. Dreams were one thing, but this was all too real.

  ‘That’s very kind of His Majesty,’ she made herself say.

  ‘He is very kind. Our King is the best of men,’ Millie assured her, stirring Isla’s curiosity as to how Shazim’s countrymen saw him. ‘And you’ll soon be in the desert,’ Miriam added, sensing something of Isla’s disappointment that she wouldn’t be going straight to the reserve. ‘Though I expect you’re looking forward to the award ceremony tonight.’

  ‘Oh, I am,’ Isla enthused, deeply conscious of the honour. ‘Will His Majesty be accompanying our party to the desert?’ She hoped not, as the only thing in her head was Shazim, clad in flowing robes with the setting sun burning fiery red behind him, when she needed all her concentration on her work.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Millie said—guardedly, Isla thought. ‘His Majesty only travels into the desert when it is absolutely necessary.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  She didn’t see at all. The ruler of a desert kingdom who only went into the desert when it was necessary? How did Shazim oversee his nature reserve? How did he visit his people in outlying villages? There was some mystery here, and it was one she felt she must get to the bottom of, though for now she had to content herself with climbing into the sleek black limousine so she didn’t keep Millie waiting.

  Millie said goodbye and closed the door, leaving Isla sealed inside the luxurious interior. She had gained nothing more than a passing impression of snow-white skyscrapers silhouetted against the bluest of skies, before getting into the vehicle. Looking out of the window, she was fascinated by the lush green spaces and wide squares she could see; the view left her with a sense of order and purpose that she told herself could only have been created by Shazim. Everything he did was in honour of his late brother, she had read somewhere, and this immaculate city was certainly a wonderful tribute. It did make her wonder if Shazim was so shackled to duty he made no time for himself. For all his wealth and power, and even his occasional flashes of humour, he had struck her as a remote man.

  Her deepening feelings for him worried her. They couldn’t go anywhere. She was wasting her time. Worse, she was allowing herself to become distracted, when this trip was so vital to her future. She had to try and put Shazim out of her mind...though how she was going to do that, she had no idea.

  Her next concern wasn’t as pressing, but it was very real. As the limousine slowed before sweeping through a pair of enormous golden gates, she wished she had worn something more elegant than her practical travelling clothes.

  They had arrived at the palace. And, realistically, she didn’t think that any outfit would quite match up to it. Craning her neck, she stared out of the window.

  The palace was incredibly beautiful, like something out of a fairy tale, with turrets and domes and minarets. The stone—marble, she guessed—was sparkling white and veined in the palest pink. And the building was so vast that, even when she tried looking every which way out of the limousine, she couldn’t see all of it.

  The driver had stopped the vehicle in front of a wide sweep of marble steps, where a committee of men and women in flowing robes was waiting to greet her. There was no sign of Shazim, but as the driver opened her door and stood back a man dressed in a long white robe with the traditional headdress, which she had learned before she arrived was called a keffiyeh, stepped forward to greet her.

  ‘His Majesty welcomes you, and hopes you will find
your stay here pleasant.’

  When he bowed over her hand, rather than shaking it, Isla’s throat dried at the enormity of the task that lay ahead of her.

  ‘Please thank His Majesty, and tell him that I am delighted to be here.’

  She wasn’t used to such formality, and would have to rise to the occasion, Isla realised with mounting apprehension. It was just that everything around her was on such an incredible scale. Nothing could have prepared her for this. She was escorted past guards in jewel-coloured ceremonial robes, with sabres flashing at their sides, and then she was introduced to the personal maid who was to take her onto her suite of rooms.

  The splendour inside the palace as they walked deeper into its fragranced interior took her breath away. The exquisite marble, the gilding, the intricate marquetry, the jewels glinting in the doors, and the light, furnishings, space—ceilings stretching away to the heavens, and rooms the size of football pitches, corridors decorated with priceless objets d’art. There were shaded internal courtyards with orange trees and secret nooks where birds carolled as loudly as they would in any park. It was all quite incredible, and far beyond anything her feeble imagination might have conjured up. The talents of countless craftsmen must have been employed to create such a beautiful palace. And, yes, she acknowledged with a secret smile, the scent of sandalwood and spice was everywhere, just as she had always dreamed and hoped it would be.

  Once she was installed in her lavish suite of rooms, Isla’s major concern turned to what she was wearing for the ceremony. She didn’t have any money to spare for new clothes, and had cobbled together an outfit with Chrissie’s help. The outfit consisted of the plain grey suit she wore when she was working in the library, with the addition of a cheap lace blouse. She had chosen a pair of sensible low-heeled shoes, and tied her hair back neatly in a low ponytail. The modest outfit had seemed appropriate in England, but here it just looked cheap.

  She felt even more uncomfortable when she finally left the relative sanctuary of her suite, accompanied by the group that had been sent to fetch her. They were all decked out in the smartest of uniforms, or robes and silken gowns. She felt like a dowdy sparrow in an aviary packed with birds of paradise.

  She told herself firmly that it was time to pull herself together. She wasn’t a little girl now, standing outside the kitchen door at Lord and Lady Anconner’s house, where her mother had used to work. She was here because she had worked hard to be here, and her life wasn’t one of luxury and privilege. She’d be heading out to the desert soon, and that was where the real work would begin.

  Her little group stopped at the grand double doors of the hall in which the ceremony was to be held. The doors were entirely made of gold. They stole her breath away, but her big adventure had only just begun. The walls inside the ceremonial chamber were gold, and the floor was marble inlaid with gold. There was a throne at the far end of the room, and that was also gold. A plush red carpet led up the steps to the front of the throne. A shiver of awareness coursed through her, for there, already seated waiting for her in imperial splendour, dressed in flowing robes of unrelieved black, was His Serene Majesty, Sheikh Shazim bin Khalifa al Q’Aqabi.

  As her attendants dropped back, trumpeters sounded a fanfare, and she set out on the longest walk of her life.

  * * *

  He rammed his body back against the throne. Seeing Isla again shook him to the core. Frustration was eating him alive. He was used to satisfying his smallest whim at once, not putting it on hold like this. She looked more beautiful than ever. Her sombre suit was so appropriate for the occasion. His project wasn’t flippant in any way, but vitally important, and it deserved the serious approach she had taken. In his view, she couldn’t have pitched her appearance any better, and he appreciated the concern she’d shown.

  She walked steadily towards him, her gaze fixed on his face. He stood as she mounted the steps, and inhaled deeply when she came to a halt in front of him. He could smell her familiar wildflower scent, and the soap she had used in the shower. She was beautiful. She was special. She was Isla.

  ‘Congratulations,’ he said formally, holding out the scroll due to the prize winner. ‘I look forward to you bringing new ideas to our work.’

  ‘That is all I want,’ she said steadily, staring him straight in the eyes.

  ‘That, and dinner, I imagine?’ he prompted in a low voice.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ she murmured so that only he could hear.

  ‘Dinner,’ he repeated in the same low tone. ‘You do remember your promise back in England—to have dinner with me when we have something to discuss? I think your upcoming journey to the desert merits that, don’t you? I imagine you have been studying and planning, and I certainly have a lot of worthwhile topics to discuss with you.’

  Something flashed in her eyes as he reminded Isla of the phrase she had used at the university as an excuse not to have dinner with him right away, but she quickly masked her feelings. She was too shrewd to throw away her opportunity on a point of pride.

  ‘How gracious of Your Majesty to invite me to eat with you, and give me the opportunity to discuss the nature reserve with you,’ she said, bowing her head. ‘I would be delighted and honoured to have dinner with you.’

  She had brightened and looked more confident. Dinner was harmless, especially when she had no doubt heard of the official banquet tonight, when there would be other notable achievers present. She couldn’t know that he had something different in mind.

  ‘I will send for you,’ he said.

  ‘At what time?’

  He drew a breath. Being questioned wasn’t usual for him. He gave an order and it was carried out. ‘At nine,’ he said abruptly.

  ‘But the banquet’s at eight—’ She stopped, and he saw understanding flare in her eyes. ‘Your Majesty?’ she queried.

  ‘Nine o’clock,’ he repeated as the trumpeters delivered a closing fanfare, signalling that the ceremony was over, and Ms Sinclair must return to her suite of rooms to ready herself for dinner with the Sheikh.

  CHAPTER SIX

  HE ORDERED A lavish buffet to be laid out on the balcony overlooking the oasis. With the help of his head gardener, he had personally selected the flowers from his temperature-controlled orangery. There were white roses, blue sapphire-like agapanthus, luxury soft, pink sweet avalanche roses, with peachy spray roses and pink veronica—all the colours of the sunset. Standing back, he took pleasure in the finished effect. The long table was laid with snowy-white linen. Candles glowed in silver sconces, while the finest crystal glittered in the moonlight. They would sit on cushions, as was the custom in his country. Traditional musicians, sitting in a group some distance away, would play softly to an accompaniment of desert cicadas, and the occasional hooting call of an eagle owl. As bats flittered overhead, even he, the most unromantic of men, had to admit that what his team had created for him was breathtaking. He had never gone to so much trouble for anyone before.

  ‘The prize winner must have the best,’ he told his chamberlain as the old man bowed his way out of Shazim’s presence, taking everyone with him, having checked that everything had been completed to His Majesty’s satisfaction. ‘Every person who comes here to help Q’Aqabi and the nature reserve must be shown every possible courtesy and gratitude.’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ his elderly advisor agreed in his gently modulated voice. ‘I’m sure Ms Sinclair will be most grateful.’

  He didn’t want her to be grateful. He wanted her to be happy.

  One of them should be.

  But, would she come?

  Why shouldn’t she have doubts? He wasn’t being completely honest about this dinner à deux. Yes. This special night was a gift from him, and from his country, but would he have gone to this trouble for anyone else? There was an official banquet to honour the high achievers, but he had not even stayed at that long enough to eat, and had returned here to be with Isla.

  And he couldn’t even be sure of her, when any other woman w
ould have rushed to have dinner with His Majesty, the Sheikh.

  Old habits died hard, he discovered, as, rather than glancing at his functional, top-end wristwatch, he stared up at the stars, the moon, and their relative positions in the sky. He had shunned desert lore for too long, because that subject, at least contained within a book, had been his brother’s preserve. Shazim believed his right to use those skills had died with his brother on the night of the tragedy, but now the ability was back, and the sky was once again his timepiece.

  It was nine o’clock. So, where the hell was she?

  * * *

  Luxuriating in an unusual abundance of spare time, Isla was bathing in a scented bath. The bath had been run for her by the same smiling maid who had escorted her to her suite of rooms. There was everything she had ever dreamed of for her comfort. Even the big fluffy towels were softer and warmer, while crystal flacons filled with perfumed oils and emollient milks were things of beauty, rather than functional, like the plastic tubs she was used to. The walls of her bathing chamber—she couldn’t even begin to think of it as a bathroom—were lined with lapis lazuli in a rich shade of blue that reminded her of the night sky. Even the taps gleamed silver like the stars. The maid had insisted on lighting hundreds of tiny candles to make the whole process a stunning experience. And now, she discovered, that same maid had laid out several silk chiffon gowns for her to choose from.

  ‘For the heat,’ the maid explained in broken English, with a smile so open and warm Isla couldn’t find it in her to refuse.

  She had never been treated so well. Her only experience of wealth and privilege had been with her mother’s employers, but Lord and Lady Anconner had treated them both like machines—people without feelings, and not worthy of their care.

  This was the starkest contrast possible, Isla concluded as she stared with bewilderment at the selection of gowns.

  ‘I’m hopeless at this. I don’t have a clue which one to wear—can you help?’ she asked the maid, miming her request at the same time. She only owned one dress, and that was the plain grey one she had worn for her graduation. These gowns were in rainbow shades, and she didn’t know where to start.