In the Sheikh's Service

by Susan Stephens

  Hadn’t she sworn off Cinderella?

  Anyone would make an exception for this gown, and she had no intention of offending the women of the village by refusing their kindness and generosity in lending it to her.

  At the first touch of the cool silk gliding over her naked body, Isla wondered if the gown might be the key to holding Shazim’s interest for longer than five minutes. There were things she wanted to talk to him about—improvements to the clinic, for instance.

  For a moment, she forgot about work. The gown was transforming, and she turned full circle to show it off to the women, laughing with them as she stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She doubted she would ever get the chance to wear a gown like this again.

  ‘You’re very generous. Thank you...’

  She went to each of the women in turn, smiling her thanks into their eyes. But they hadn’t finished with her yet. Her hair had to be polished, and then scented before they placed a dramatic and very beautiful veil on her head. They left her hair loose beneath the veil, and pinned it in place with tiny jewelled pins. Even her hands and feet had to be softened with fragranced cream, and then they persuaded her to slip her feet into dainty sandals.

  All good so far, but could she lose her tomboy strut?

  As she watched the village women flitting around the pavilion like so many beautiful, graceful scented moths, Isla felt like a clumsy oaf. Perhaps this was all a dream, and she’d wake up to find that she was snoozing beneath a pile of bandages, or a page of notes.

  When the women were finally satisfied with her appearance, they gathered around her so they could lead her to the celebration. She was thrilled, and also self-conscious. She’d done it once before, but that was just with Shazim at his palace. Could she pull off this new and very different identity in front of a crowd?

  She’d played roles before, Isla reminded herself sensibly. In fact, she’d played so many roles they must have made Shazim’s head spin. This was just one more.

  Thoughts of her mother reassured her as the women led her out of the pavilion. Her mother would have loved to see Isla dressed like this. She had always tried to get her to wear pretty dresses when she was a little girl, and would have laughed with sheer joy to see her ragtag daughter dressed like the princess she had always wanted her to be.

  She would hold her head up high and wring every drop of happiness out of each moment, Isla decided. It was a privilege to be here, and to be part of this celebration. That was the only way she knew to thank the women for all the trouble they’d gone to on her behalf, as they tried to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, though what Shazim would think of their handiwork remained to be seen. Her heart gave a bounce as she thought about him.

  A vast crowd had gathered in the centre of the village. The women led her forward towards the large bonfire in the centre that had been lit to ward off the chill of a desert night. Everyone was sitting cross-legged on cushions around Shazim, and every age group was represented. His audience was rapt, and she stopped walking for a moment to listen to him. She couldn’t understand the language, but the tone of his voice affected her, and she found herself imagining how it might feel to have Shazim talk to her in that same profoundly caring way.

  Nothing in her fantasies could compare with this, Isla decided as she looked around. There were camels instead of cars beneath the palm trees, and cicadas chirruped in the background as night owls swooped overhead. The air was warm and fragranced with wood smoke, while the fiery sky above her head was fading to magenta on its way to impenetrable inky black. She was beginning to understand what people meant when they talked about the magic of the desert. Q’Aqabi was a very special place, with special people, and a special man to rule over them. Shazim, she knew now, was both a force to be reckoned with, and a man to admire.

  He startled her by looking up and staring directly at her. All her confidence drained away when he beckoned to her, but the women took hold of her hands and drew her forward to sit with their Sheikh.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE CAMPFIRE SEEMED to blaze higher than ever as she approached. The hot light emphasised Shazim’s chiselled cheekbones and his regal profile. The women backed away respectfully, and, though there was a crowd of hundreds surrounding them, for a few moments Isla felt that she was alone with Shazim. His stare, so dark and commanding, pierced hers, drawing her towards him, until with a gesture he pointed her towards the cushions at his side. She had to remind herself that this regal figure was the same man she had met in London on a building site, but here he seemed so much more. Like her, Shazim was dressed in traditional robes. His were night-blue silk, and the soft folds pressed insistently against his powerful frame. He might as well have been naked. She could all too easily imagine him naked, and swallowed deep. To have that huge, muscular body looming over her—

  What was she thinking?

  But it proved impossible to sit next to him without that idea flashing through her head.

  She had sat down awkwardly. There wasn’t much room and she was hampered by skirts. There was such a press of people around Shazim that she was pressed up hard against him. That was all it took for her to remember how it felt to be in his arms—though she had only been there by default—on his horse, and then when she’d tripped over. Imagining how it would feel to be in his arms, if it were planned, should not even make it into her wildest fantasy.

  But it did. And she felt her cheeks flame when Shazim turned his attention to her. It didn’t help when everyone fell silent to watch, and she could only be thankful that it was dark so her red cheeks were hidden from the villagers.

  ‘I was just telling the elders of the village what an asset you are to our project,’ Shazim explained.

  She drew a sharp breath in. His words were innocent, but his gaze had drifted to her lips. ‘I will do anything I can to help,’ she heard herself say, staring at Shazim’s mouth. She couldn’t help but remember his chaste kisses on each cheek, only now she was wondering if they’d been quite as chaste as she had imagined.

  ‘You are a very talented woman,’ he said, directing this comment to the crowd, and then translating for them into Q’Aqabian. ‘We want you to feel that you can spread your professional wings here—’

  At his mention of her professional wings she was able to relax.

  ‘Anything you need, I will see you have,’ he said.

  Again, his words were harmless on the surface, but there was something in Shazim’s eyes that spoke of different needs, and different rewards for her compliance, and she grew instantly tense again when he added, ‘Your every wish is my command, Ms Sinclair.’

  Try as she might, she could not subdue the pleasure pulses that his words alone could produce, and when Shazim smiled into her eyes it was as if the great Sheikh of Q’Aqabi could read her mind.

  Leaning towards her, he whispered so only she could hear, ‘Don’t look so worried. I’ll keep you safe.’

  Safe?

  There was nothing safe about Shazim. She would be naive to think so. He might look like a figure from a fable: remote, and too principled to take advantage of this situation, but underneath he was just a man...a man whose head was uncovered, and whose thick black hair was unruly as it always was, and slightly damp, as if he’d been swimming in the oasis. Luxuriant inky waves had caught on his sharp black stubble, and as he smiled faintly there was intimacy and promise in his eyes; she knew he wasn’t thinking of her veterinary skills.

  ‘I approve of your outfit,’ he said, lifting one brow. ‘It’s a great improvement on that ugly safari.’

  ‘Though this is not as practical for working in the clinic,’ she pointed out.

  ‘True,’ Shazim agreed with a dark look that made her senses soar. ‘And your legs—’

  ‘My legs?’ she queried, and had to remind herself not to speak so loudly, as everyone had quietened again to listen.

  ‘Are your legs recovered after your ride?’ Shazim asked smoothly, and in a few moments, realising the
re was nothing wrong, people started chattering amongst themselves again.

  ‘Like the rest of me, my legs are resilient,’ she said, which made him laugh.

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it. I intend to give them a lot of work while you’re here.’

  The look was back again, and she was still trying to fathom out how to handle Shazim in this mood when he turned to talk to the elder on his other side.

  ‘Don’t worry—’

  She started as Shazim swung around and interrupted her. ‘I’ve told everyone how much they can expect of you.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said as he turned away again. But what did Shazim expect of her?

  Thanks to the press of people, his thigh had remained pressed against hers, and the contact between them was having all sorts of powerful effects on her body. She felt his heat, and the brush of his arm on her breast when he leaned across her to find her some delicacy to try was just too intimate.

  She was about to get up, to see if there was somewhere else to sit, when he offered her a sweetmeat dripping with honey.

  ‘No more, please,’ she begged, not trusting herself to take it from his fingers.

  She couldn’t take much more of his sensual torture, and decided she must go to bed. She started to explain that she was tired after her journey, but Shazim’s frown stopped her. ‘The women have gone to so much trouble, and now you’re going to bed?’ he demanded.

  Put that way, he did make her sound rude. She sat down again. She could hardly admit to Shazim that it was the survival of her professional identity troubling her now, and that he was the cause of her concern. But then, some of the women who’d helped her to dress looked across and smiled encouragement, and she knew she had to stay for them.

  Experience burned in Shazim’s eyes every time he looked at her, and, while she could be sensible, her body refused point-blank.

  Entertainment after the banquet provided some distraction. This included horse riders performing incredible stunts, and there were fire-eaters, acrobats, and jugglers, as well as traditional dancers of both sexes. It was a wonderful evening and, in spite of all the troubling thoughts where Shazim was concerned, she could only thank her lucky stars that she was here.

  Her heart leapt with fear when Shazim was challenged to ride a dangerous race, in which the riders were expected to snatch a flag before their opponents could reach it. Shazim didn’t hesitate to join in, and called at once for his great stallion.

  Wishing him good luck hardly seemed enough. Shazim was a great horseman, but he would be given no quarter here, no allowances for being a king. Every man was equal in the race.

  She leapt to her feet and held her breath along with the rest of the crowd, as Shazim urged his mighty stallion forward. Just as the race was about to start a cloud covered the moon. A collective sigh went up, as if this was a portent of what was to come, and Isla’s heart thudded as the sky turned black as ink.

  Flambeaux were quickly lit to light the way, casting giant shadows across the sand. It was like watching a film, she thought as the cheers of the crowd became deafening. But this was all too real, and suddenly she was frightened for Shazim.

  The flag went down and horses plunged forward. Riders risked everything, and there were too many, too close. She needn’t have worried about Shazim, Isla saw with relief. Having taken an early lead, he was well ahead of the other riders, an advantage that allowed him to avoid the death-dealing jostle around the flag. A great cheer went up as he dipped low over the side of his horse to snatch the prize. Isla was weak with relief, though she was cheering with the rest when Shazim wheeled his stallion around so fast it reared up and, controlling it masterfully, he galloped back victorious, holding the flag on high.

  Closing her eyes briefly, she sent up thanks to all the fates for keeping him safe, and when she opened them again Shazim was in front of her on his mighty stallion, which snorted and stamped as it eyed her imperiously.

  * * *

  ‘Take it,’ he commanded, still high on the adrenaline of victory as he held out the flag.

  She grasped the pole still warm from his hand and, stretching as high as she could, she waved it above her head.

  When Shazim turned to acknowledge the cheers of the crowd, she was exultant for him. He was a rock to his people, and a force for good that she was only just beginning to understand.

  When the excitement had died down and they returned to their cushions, she felt that Shazim’s triumph, and her small part of it, had changed their relationship in some small, but significant way. It was as if, by handing her the flag, he had made a public declaration of her importance to him. She knew that was only in the field of veterinary sciences, but still...

  She was more aware of him than ever, and while Shazim appeared more interested in chatting to the man on his other side, his body seemed to be speaking to hers, and those messages didn’t need an interpreter. They were intimate, and on the rare occasions when he did look at her there was new heat in Shazim’s eyes.

  When the evening drew to a close, and people started heading off to bed, she waited until Shazim was free for a moment so she could say goodnight to him. So many people wanted to speak to him that she had to stand in line, but it gave her chance to smile and thank everyone for such a wonderful evening. And then it was her turn to speak to His Majesty, the Sheikh.

  ‘Thank you, Shazim. I can’t remember ever having such a wonderful night. I’ll never forget it. And you were great,’ she added with a cheeky twinkle. ‘Congratulations on your victory, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Did you doubt me?’ Shazim demanded. His stern face softened into a smile.

  ‘Not for a moment,’ Isla said honestly. ‘You had the best horse,’ she added with another cheeky look.

  Throwing back his head, Shazim laughed. ‘Trust you to pop my pompous balloon.’

  ‘You’re not pompous—you just take yourself a little too seriously at times.’

  The look he gave her this time made her heart race.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve enjoyed yourself, Ms Sinclair.’

  Shazim’s voice was dark and husky, and his tone was tinged with the humour that could always make her toes curl, if only because it was so rare, and seemed to be reserved for her, as if everything else in Shazim’s life were deadly serious.

  ‘I will escort you back to the pavilion,’ he said.

  ‘I’m fine. I know my way,’ she said, brushing off Shazim’s offer as politely as she could. She knew where her boundaries lay, and while sitting next to him at the celebration was one thing, having Shazim accompany her to the isolated pavilion was very different.

  ‘I insist,’ he commanded, indicating she should go ahead of him.

  She couldn’t cause a scene in front of hundreds of Shazim’s loyal subjects.

  ‘The desert has more dangers than you know,’ he added, sending shock waves down her arm as he began to guide her through the crowd. ‘Landmarks can be deceiving. The weather is unpredictable. Everything can change in seconds.’

  ‘Between here and the pavilion?’ she queried in her usual down-to-earth way.

  Thinking to put some sensible distance between them, she now only succeeded in having Shazim place his hand in the small of her back to keep her on track.

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ he said, urging her on with fingers slightly spread. ‘There are rumours of a sandstorm on the way.’

  At this, she shook the random thoughts of pleasure out of her head and paid attention. ‘Surely, we would have heard something—some warning on the radio?’

  ‘There are signs that only those who are familiar with the desert can interpret.’

  ‘For instance?’ she pressed, trying to concentrate with sensation streaming from Shazim’s hand to her core.

  ‘That unexplained gust of wind tonight that blew off your scarf? That warned me to be vigilant,’ he explained.

  A lot of people were leaving at the same time, and the crowd had become a jostling mass. Putting his other hand on her shoulde
r, Shazim guided her safely through. Everyone fell back for him, she noticed.

  ‘Storms can creep up slowly,’ he said, his grip sliding slowly down her arm, ‘or they can roar in on a following wind—’

  She gasped as he pulled her close when she almost drifted into a camel.

  ‘If you should stray out of the village, even by chance, during one of these turbulent episodes, I might never find you again.’

  ‘Would you care?’

  ‘Of course.’ There was humour in his voice. ‘How would I ever explain that to the university?’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said drily. ‘But wouldn’t a tracker solve the problem?’

  ‘I wish you luck with your tracker in a sandstorm.’

  ‘All right,’ she conceded as they turned onto the quieter path leading to the pavilion. ‘You can rest assured that I won’t inconvenience you tonight by leaving the pavilion. I promise I’ll stay there all night. And now, as it’s such a short walk from here—’

  ‘I will come with you.’

  Shazim had stepped in front of her. A few remaining villagers turned to look. She did the only thing she could. She bid them goodnight with a smile, and allowed their Sheikh to lead her on. She would deal with Shazim when they reached the pavilion and were alone.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SHE WAS TENSE, but needn’t have worried. Her overactive imagination was destined to be confounded at every twist and turn. Far from following her into the pavilion, and seducing her at great length and pleasure on the silken cushions, Shazim left her at the entrance with the sketch of a mocking bow, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, and her naivety amused him.

  Which only made her feel more frustrated than ever, fool that she was! Why was she having so much difficulty controlling her fantasies? Since the assault she’d not been able to think about such things, as the thought made her stomach knot, so the effect Shazim was having on her was altogether confusing!

  Allowing the tent flap to fall back, she closed her eyes in disappointment. Any thoughts of fending him off resided solely in her mind, where they had to stay. And what a joke, when Shazim wasn’t even interested.