The Sheikh's Last Gamble

by Trish Morey

  ‘What is this place?’ she asked, taking a step towards the cliff.

  ‘Palm Valley,’ he said, wrapping his arms around her from behind, nuzzling at her neck. ‘They say it has been here since the days of the dinosaurs. I think it was left here by the universe as a gift to you.’

  She sighed as he warmed her skin with his mouth, setting it to tingling, already feeling the drugging effects of his caresses.

  ‘And the tent and the pool?’

  ‘Ah. That, now, is a gift to you from me.’

  His hands flattened over her belly, one heading north to her breasts, cupping one in his fingers, his palm exquisite torture against one straining nipple, while the other headed south to cup the feminine mound at the apex of her thighs. She moaned softly as he pressed closer behind her, a reluctant protest, but knowing that there were things that must be said.

  ‘I have refreshments,’ he said. ‘Sweetmeats with champagne, or sweet, spiced tea if you prefer.’

  ‘No, nothing,’ she said, knowing she must tell him about Hana, even as his hands stirred her desires until she felt herself grow slick with need. ‘There’s something I must do first …’

  ‘I was hoping you’d feel that way,’ he growled as he swung her into his arms. ‘I can’t wait either.’

  She meant to stop him and make him put her down, but his mouth was already on hers and she was already too far gone, her senses buzzing, her body happily anticipating the pleasures to come. Besides, would it hurt to wait until after they’d made love to explain? He’d be more patient then, for a start, and most likely more receptive.

  And afterwards she would tell him what she had decided—that she would marry him.

  Maybe it was better to wait, she thought a few minutes later as his hot mouth blazed a trail up her inner thigh and his tongue flicked her there. Why spoil his fun when he was doing his best to persuade her?

  Bahir was a master of persuasion, she reflected some indeterminable time later as she lay panting in the pool waiting for him to return with the promised tea. Even if she had come here tonight determined to say no to his proposal, by now she would be utterly convinced of the merits of marriage.

  The bed he had laid her upon had just been the entrée. What he had dished up then had been a feast of sensual pleasure, a banquet designed to leave her giddy, knowing that it just didn’t get any better. She smiled to herself. She would be marrying a man who made making love an art form. How lucky could one woman get?

  And to make love to her like that—to worship her body so thoroughly—surely meant he must love her, she reasoned, even just a little. Otherwise she would make him love her. Once they were married.

  Marina sighed, lingering in the star-kissed water one blissful moment longer, knowing it was late and that she should move.

  Making love in a pool under the desert sky had been heaven but there was no putting off telling him about Hana any more. She would get dressed and tell him over tea and then, when he knew everything, if he still wanted to marry her, she would tell him yes. She groaned, feeling bone-weary after their night of sex, every muscle in her body protesting as she forced herself out of the pool and reached for one of the plush towels piled high on a side table.

  The pile slid from the table to the ground, knocking something else off the table too, a mat of some kind. Not a mat, she realised, but a brochure, a real estate brochure. Curious, she wrapped the towel around herself, reached for it and started to read.

  ‘You’re out of the pool?’

  She turned to see him bearing a tray with an ornate teapot, two tiny cups and a suspicious-looking box.

  She looked up at him. ‘I was in serious danger of falling asleep. Plus I needed to talk to you. I find I do that better when I’m not naked.’ Though the way he looked right now, with a fluffy white towel slung low around his hips accentuating his dark-golden skin and making the most of the taper from his shoulders to his hips … Maybe him looking naked would be less distracting. At least then she wouldn’t have to use her imagination or resort to memories to peel it off …

  She shook her head and held up the brochure, wondering if there would ever come a time when the mere sight of him didn’t distract her. ‘What’s this?’ she asked, holding it up so he could see. ‘It was near the towels.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, looking disappointed, pouring two cups of the sweetly scented brew, ‘I was saving that for the finale, after you had agreed to marry me.’

  A sizzle zipped down her spine.

  So that explained the box on the tray …

  Even though she had come here tonight knowing she would say yes to him, something about this latest surprise bothered her. Why was he thinking of buying such a place close to where she already lived in Tuscany, unless he wasn’t planning on living with her once they were married? What kind of marriage was he contemplating? ‘You are so sure that I would say yes?’

  He smiled, looking almost boyish, and she couldn’t help but see her son in his face. ‘Of course you would say yes.’

  She looked back at the brochure so she didn’t have to answer beyond the rising tide of colour in her cheeks. Why did nothing suddenly making any sense? ‘But I don’t understand. What do you want with a house near Pisa?’

  He moved to her shoulder and pointed to the pictures of the villa, the sprawling villa spread over several levels on fertile acreage, complete with infinity pool, tennis court and stables, all within fifteen minutes drive of Pisa. ‘It’s perfect, isn’t it?’

  Something about the way he said those words alerted her. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said cautiously. Non-committally.

  ‘And it’s all down to you.’ He put his arm around her shoulders, giving them a squeeze when she frowned up at him, not understanding. ‘You were the one who pointed out I didn’t even have a home to my name. Do you remember? And, given I have a son who needs a roof over his head, you were absolutely right.’

  He pointed to something in the small print, something she could barely make out in the low lighting, not sure she would make sense of it even if the lights were brighter. ‘Look where it is. I know you like the area, so I looked for something in the region, only closer to Pisa airport so that the commute between here and there doesn’t take so long. I figured we would be spending some time here in Jaqbar as well.’

  She held up one hand and shifted away. ‘Hang on. What do you mean about Chakir needing a roof over his head? He has a perfectly good roof over his head where he is now.’

  He shook his head dismissively. ‘No. That is out of the question. I will not have my son living in a house that belongs to that man.’

  ‘What man? Who do you mean?’

  ‘Hana’s father. I won’t have my son living there.’

  Something in her brain fused. She could not believe she had heard what she had just heard. ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘I said that my son will not live in a house owned by Hana’s father. I am his father. From now on I will put a roof over my son’s head. From now on, I will provide for him.’

  ‘Who told you we lived in Hana’s father’s house?’

  ‘Did you think I wouldn’t work it out? A “good friend”, you said. Who else could it be but a man only too happy to bury his mistake somewhere deep in the country where no one would ever find her?’

  She reeled at his words as if he’d struck her a physical blow. She had suspected he would think the worst when she had told him the house belonged to a friend, but never had she imagined that he might concoct an entire fantasy around a throwaway line and assume it to be true. And she had thought she would never again hear him utter a certain word in the context of her children. ‘I thought you knew better than to call either of my children a mistake.’

  ‘I note you don’t deny it is his house.’

  ‘Only because it is too ridiculous to be true! Maybe this might convince you.’ She slowed her delivery to one deliberate word at a time, hoping it might actually sink in. ‘It—is—not—Hana’s—father’s—hous
e. Satisfied?’

  He blinked, then gave a toss of his head as if it didn’t matter. ‘It is of no consequence, you won’t be needing it any more anyway.’ He waved the brochure in the air. ‘I will arrange to have everything packed and shipped before you leave the desert.’

  She put a hand to her forehead, wondering when she had slipped into some parallel universe where Bahir had assumed ownership of her life. Maybe when she had cried out his name in pleasure or when she had dozed in the pool. And, while it would be so easy to set him straight and tell him the truth, this was not the way she had planned to tell him about Hana.

  Besides, why should she have to explain at all? His attitude alone was enough to make her dig her heels in. ‘No, you will not do anything of the sort. Chakir has a home already. He is happy there. We all are. I’m sorry you went to all the trouble of buying a house when there is no need, but we have no intention of moving.’

  He snorted his disgust and strode, hands on hips, beyond the pool to where the cliff edge fell away into the deep palm-filled valley. ‘Why are you being so difficult about this?’

  That was rich, coming from him. She was tired, even disappointed, that much was true. ‘You think I’m the one being difficult?’

  ‘If the house is so special, there must be a reason. And, if it is not Hana’s father’s, then whose house is it?’ He looked over his shoulder at her, damnation in his eyes. ‘Yet another of your lovers?’

  Shock punched the air from her lungs. She, who’d been going to tell him tonight about Sarah and the arrangements she had put in place for her daughter, decided that she was glad she had said nothing before now. Because maybe she was getting a glimpse of the real Bahir, the man beneath the persuasive mask he’d been wearing all this week. ‘What lovers? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Come on, don’t play the innocent. There must have been lovers after me. A woman with your appetites.’

  ‘So what if there were? What about you? Have you had other lovers in the, oh, four years since we parted? Or have you nobly chosen to remain celibate in my honour? How touching! Then again, a man with your appetites?’ she said, throwing his words right back at him and shaking her head knowingly. ‘Somehow I very much doubt it.’

  ‘There have been lovers,’ he said, grinding the words out between his teeth. Of course there had been. Or, at least there had been sex. Nowhere near as much as she might think, and nowhere near as satisfying as it should have been, not that she needed to know either of those facts. ‘At least I am willing to admit it.’

  ‘What do you want, Bahir? A blow-by-blow description of my life after you threw me out? No! You abrogated all rights to the intimate details of my life when you told me to get out of your life and that you never wanted to see me again.’

  Then she seemed to wilt before him, the fire in her eyes extinguished. She put her hands to her face on a sigh. ‘And we know why you said that now, don’t we? We know why you banished me from your life that day.’

  She shook her head, looking up at him plaintively, her dark eyes almost too big for her face. ‘Oh God, what’s happening here, Bahir? Why are you doing this? Why are we arguing?’

  For a moment he didn’t know why and he knew even less how to answer. How had they got to this place? And what did he really want? A guarantee that if he gambled on this marriage, that he wouldn’t end up the loser? How could anyone give such a guarantee? When had he ever expected one of those?

  But he needed to know the odds.

  ‘I just want you to tell me the truth.’

  She gave a weak laugh. ‘The truth.’ She held out her arms by her side and dropped them again. ‘Now, there’s a concept. Okay, so maybe it’s time you heard the truth. Maybe this time you’ll be ready to believe it. I love you, Bahir, with all my heart and all my soul. There was never anyone else. There never has been.’

  The gears in his brain crunched to a standstill with all he knew and with all he had seen. ‘Is that what you told Hana’s father?’

  She didn’t answer. She just looked up at him with those damned eyes that made him almost hurt to look at them, as though she was the one who was wronged. And then she simply said, ‘I want to go home.’

  She wasn’t getting out of it that easily. ‘I saw you,’ he said. ‘A month after we split up I saw you in Monte Carlo. You were wearing that red dress that I’d bought you, the one I loved peeling off. And you were with a man …’

  She just closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘I want to go home.’

  He sighed wearily and looked upwards, seeing the sky and the stars sliding lower on the horizon, recognising that in a few short hours it would be dawn. Recognising that there was no time to fix this now. ‘Get dressed,’ he said gruffly, looking at the tray with the ring box still sitting there untouched, angry that the night that had started out with such promise had ended so badly. And all because he’d stupidly put the brochure somewhere she could find it. But why did she take offence every time he mentioned Hana’s father? Why did she try to pretend the affair had never happened?

  ‘I’ll take you back to the camp. We can talk about this later.’

  ‘No,’ she said, turning her body away from him, dragging on her clothes as quickly as she could. ‘I want to go home. I want to go anywhere that’s as far from you as I can possibly get.’

  He reached out and touched a hand to her shoulder to turn her. ‘Marina, don’t do this—’

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ She shrugged out of his grasp. ‘Don’t you ever lay a finger on me again.’

  ‘Marina!’

  She pulled her robe over her head, lifting out the curtain of her long black hair as she swung around. ‘And you know the funny thing in all this? The thing that really cracks me up?’

  When it came, his voice was as dry as the desert sands. ‘Tell me, if you must.’

  She swiped up one sandal from the floor and shoved it on her foot. ‘I never even met Hana’s father. How’s that for a laugh?’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘You work it out, Bahir,’ she said, searching for her other sandal. ‘You, who thinks he knows so much about who I sleep with and how often.’

  ‘Marina—’

  ‘Oh, and the really funny one? You’ll get a good belly laugh out of this one, I promise you: Hana owns the house. Not her father or some other mythical lover from that long list you seem to want to attribute to me, but Hana.’ She gave a mock frown. ‘But you’re not laughing, Bahir. Don’t you think it’s funny?’

  She wasn’t making any sense. ‘How can Hana own a house?’

  ‘Simple. Her mother left it to her. Now, get me out of this hellhole desert fantasy of yours and then get us to Souza. I’m taking my children home.’

  He wasn’t laughing. Instead, as he drove back to camp with Marina staring blankly out of the passenger window feigning interest in the inky darkness, he felt like the world as he knew it was coming apart at the seams.

  And, battle as he might, he could not get the pieces to fit back together again. Not in any way that fitted with what he knew.

  Because she had professed her love to him in one breath and fallen into someone else’s arms the next.

  Hadn’t she?

  She had borne his child and gone on to have another’s in the blink of an eye.

  Hadn’t she?

  She had been living all this time in the house of her sometime lover.

  But then she had said it was Hana’s house.

  Oh God. These assumptions were the very foundation of his treatment of her all along. These formed the cornerstones of his resentment. How he had resented the way she had moved on so quickly—how that belief had poisoned his mind and turned this night toxic.

  And if those assumptions were wrong …

  Her words jumbled in his head. Hana’s house. Her mother. A father Marina had never met. How could any of it make sense? The four-wheel drive tore over the rocky desert track just as realisation sliced through his senses like a scythe.

&
nbsp; Unless Hana was someone else’s child.

  There was no other explanation. Why had he been so blind all this time? Because, apart from her dark hair, she didn’t even look like Marina.

  Except he knew why he had been blind all this time—because it had been what he had wanted to believe. To prove he hadn’t made a mistake all those years ago. To put a lid on his feelings for her and label them with a very different emotion. To protect himself from life’s greatest gamble.

  Except now he had lost everything.

  He had lost her.

  There was nothing to see in the inky darkness on the way back to the camp except for the eerie glow from the eyes of a night creature caught in the spotlights before slinking away. There was nothing to say, and if Bahir was curious he didn’t let on—which was good, because Marina wasn’t inclined to fill him in on the details of how Hana had come to own their villa in Tuscany. He could construct his own explanation. He was a master at that.

  Besides, she felt too gutted to speak. There was nothing inside her but a yawning pit into which all her stupid, pointless hopes and dreams had fallen, smashing to dust when they hit rock bottom. Instead she fixed her gaze out of the passenger window and watched the night sky peel away, layer by layer, preparing for the coming dawn, and felt the first stirrings of maternal unease.

  What had she been thinking? All those pointless, fruitless hours she had spent with him, thinking this was the night, allowing herself to be seduced, imagining it could possibly end in happiness.

  What a fool she’d been.

  What a damned, stupid fool.

  They topped the last rise and a blaze of lights shone in the distance, bright where surely there should be no more than a lamp or two.

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked, that curling ribbon of unease snaking and twisting inside her.

  ‘The camp,’ he said, putting his foot down on the accelerator, and the feeling of unease in her stomach became a full-blown fear.

  She should never have left.

  They pulled up in a flurry of dust and stones only to be greeted by the tear-streaked face of Catriona, Chakir clutched tightly in her arms, his dark eyes looking bewildered at the fuss.