Sunlounger - the Ultimate Beach Read (Sunlounger Stories Book 1)

by Belinda Jones

  Across from him, Ted Fitzsimmons broke off from where he was talking loudly about investment yields. ‘You okay there, buddy?’

  ‘Fine. I’m fine,’ Kareem replied distantly. His throat had gone dry, and he took a sip of water. ‘I’m so sorry. Please, continue.’

  Uncertainly, Fitzsimmons began speaking, but before long Kareem’s mind was wandering once again.

  He didn’t know how he would do it, but he needed to find this woman. He would find her, Insh’Allah. He was single-minded when he wanted something, driven and ambitious. How else was it possible to be so successful by the age of thirty-five?

  Kareem had been educated in the West: at boarding school in England, followed by an undergraduate degree at the LSE, before a move across the pond to complete his MBA at Wharton. Returning to Dubai, he’d quickly carved out a reputation as one of the most daring and astute businessmen in the region.

  Kareem saw himself as one of the new generation of Emirati – cosmopolitan, liberal, aspirational. He wasn’t like his younger brothers, who’d spent their share of their father’s inheritance on private yachts and wild parties. He worked hard, paid his zakat, and fielded questions from his mother about when he was going to get married. He did want to settle down, and there was no shortage of women throwing themselves at him – Kareem was a good-looking man, and along with his wealth it was a powerful combination. But so far, he just hadn’t met the right woman...

  ‘So do you think we have a shot?’

  Kareem looked up, realising he had no idea what Ted Fitzsimmons was referring to. The man was staring at him, clearly waiting for an answer.

  ‘I...’ Kareem began, steepling his fingers as he played for time. Then he stood up rapidly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised. ‘I’m not feeling well. Do you mind if we reschedule?’

  Fitzsimmons looked concerned. ‘Sure, but—’

  Kareem didn’t stop to explain any further. He strode towards the lift, where a uniformed concierge pressed the call button as Kareem waited impatiently. He needed to get out of the hotel, and he needed to get his car. And then he would find a way of locating the woman with the mesmerising blue eyes.

  *

  Cara stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in a thick, white towel as she padded through to the bedroom. It was early-afternoon, the hottest part of the day, and Cara was grateful for the air-conditioning that kept the room at a bearable temperature.

  She was staying at the Hilton Dubai Creek, and from her window she had a superb view over the river below. She watched as the wooden dhows ploughed their way downstream, whilst at the edge of the water, goods were being loaded onto boats by men wearing kanduras and shouting to each other in guttural Arabic.

  Inadvertently, Cara found herself thinking about the man she’d seen earlier, her cheeks growing hot as she remembered the way she’d reacted.

  She’d literally gasped as their eyes locked, her heart rate trebling. And then in the next instant he was gone. She wondered whether she would ever see him again. Would she even recognise him if she did? Even now, barely an hour or so later, Cara found it impossible to conjure up his face in her mind, recalling nothing but a brief flash of dark hair beneath a white ghutra, soft, chocolate eyes, and smooth, sun-kissed skin.

  There was part of her that wondered whether she’d imagined the whole thing. After all, it had been stiflingly hot, and she was still suffering the effects of jetlag. Perhaps her exotic surroundings, and the appearance of the strange old woman, had produced some kind of weird hallucination.

  But while the man’s image might have been a blur, the sensations he’d stirred within her were real enough. Even now, as Cara thought about the handsome stranger once again, her breath began to quicken, lust stabbing at her belly as her skin grew warm and—

  Cara’s mobile rang and she jumped, startled out of her daydreams. For a second, she had the crazy idea that it might be him – perhaps he’d managed to track her down somehow. But as she moved across the room and snatched up her phone from the desk, she saw Elizabeth Campbell-Jones’ name flashing on the caller display.

  ‘Elizabeth,’ Cara greeted her breathlessly, trying to regain her composure.

  ‘Cara, how are you? How are you getting on?’

  Cara smiled as she heard the familiar, imperious voice of her client. Elizabeth was straight to the point as usual, and had little time for niceties.

  ‘Very well, thank you,’ Cara replied succinctly. ‘I’ve found some great pieces that I think you’ll love. I can email the photos over if you’d like?’

  ‘Yes, perhaps later.’ Elizabeth’s tone was dismissive. ‘Listen, what are you doing at the moment? It’s about two o’clock over there, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right. I’ve spent the morning at the souk, and I thought I might head to the museum shortly,’ Cara explained, watching from her window as an abra, a water taxi, began its progress towards Bur Dubai on the other side of the Creek.

  ‘No, there’s no time for that. Sheikh Al-Shakrani is an old business contact of my husband’s, and he’s agreed to let his housekeeper give you a guided tour of his home. It’s a wonderful opportunity – very prestigious – and it should be extremely beneficial for you, to see a real Emirati residence.’

  ‘It sounds wonderful,’ Cara told her honestly.

  ‘I’m sure it will be. I’ll arrange to have a driver sent to you. He’ll be at your hotel within fifteen minutes,’ Elizabeth explained, before ringing off.

  No rest for the wicked, Cara thought wryly, drying herself hastily then pulling on a brightly-coloured maxi-dress. She threw a loose, white tunic over the top, cinching it at the waist with a tan belt. Then she grabbed her bag, throwing in the essentials, before hurrying out of her room and taking the elevator down to the lobby.

  The searing heat hit her as she left the air-conditioned building, almost stopping her in her tracks. Looking round for her driver, she heard the roar of a powerful engine and turned to see a sleek, black sports car pull up outside the entrance. Cara didn’t know much about cars, but this one was clearly something special, already drawing a crowd as a handful of tourists flocked round it, some taking photos on their camera phones as they posed beside it.

  Cara caught sight of a flash of white robes as the driver stepped out, his face obscured by the group surrounding him.

  What a poser, she thought with a smile, pulling her sunglasses from her bag and slipping them on against the brilliant glare.

  ‘Ms Williams?’

  Startled, Cara turned to see who had spoken to her.

  ‘I’m Masoud, and I’ll be your driver for today. If you’d like to follow me, the car is right this way.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Cara smiled, forgetting all about the new arrival as she climbed elegantly into the back of the Mercedes. Masoud closed the door behind her, starting up the engine and whisking her smoothly away.

  *

  Kareem leapt out of his Bugatti Veyron, handing the keys to the valet and racing into the lobby of the Hilton. He strode towards the reception desk, impatiently joining the queue of guests who were waiting there.

  After blowing off his meeting with Ted Fitzsimmons, Kareem had rushed back to the Deira souk, parking his car as close as he could then sprinting through the alleyways until he found the small clothing shop where he’d last seen the woman.

  His heart pounding, both from the exercise and the anticipation, he found himself hoping wildly that she was still in the store. A quick glance around told him he was out of luck. There was no one but the old woman, sat on a stool in the corner. She smiled as she saw him; if Kareem hadn’t known better, he could have sworn she was expecting him.

  She listened in silence as he blurted out the reason he was there. At first, the elderly woman was uncooperative, insisting that she had no idea what he was talking about, that no such person had been into her shop.

  But as Kareem pleaded and cajoled, finally offering a significant financial incentive to jog her memory, the old woman became
more amenable.

  ‘She ordered an abaya to be customised and sent to her hotel,’ the woman admitted.

  ‘Which hotel?’

  ‘The Hilton. The one by the Creek.’

  ‘And her name?’ Kareem asked desperately.

  The woman hesitated. ‘Cara,’ she said eventually, showing him the pad of paper where she’d scrawled it down. ‘Cara Williams.’

  Kareem was out of the door in an instant, flooring the Bugatti as he sped over to the Hilton. As the overweight American family in front of him finished checking in, Kareem spoke urgently to the receptionist.

  ‘I need to contact to Cara Williams. Could you try her room for me?’

  The young woman behind the desk regarded him uncertainly. Kareem checked himself, realising he needed to calm down. ‘Please,’ he added more gently, flashing an irresistible smile.

  He saw her soften instantly, as she tapped into the computer then reached for the phone.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. There’s no reply,’ she told him after a few moments, looking genuinely apologetic as she replaced the receiver.

  ‘Cara Williams?’ Another receptionist leaned across, looking at the name on the computer screen. Like her colleague, she was immaculately put together, in a smart uniform with impeccable make-up. ‘I think I just saw her leave.’

  ‘Leave?’ Kareem looked distraught. ‘Did she say where she was going? How long for?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, sir,’ she replied, wishing she could give him the information he wanted. He was extremely good-looking, and she wished he would stay there and speak to her a little longer. Not to mention the fact that he was obviously loaded – the discreet Rolex on his wrist was clearly no fake.

  But Kareem had found out all he needed to know. ‘Thank you,’ he replied, with a brisk nod of the head as he walked smartly away. Pulling out his mobile, he sat down on one of the lobby sofas and dialled his PA, instructing her to cancel all of his appointments for this afternoon. There was only one thing for it – he would just have to wait here until Cara returned.

  *

  Cara stared out through the tinted windows of the Mercedes as they left the city behind. They were driving east towards Jebel Ali on the E11, a colossal five-lane motorway that sliced through the desert, running parallel to the Persian Gulf. Overhead were exit signs for the port and the free zone, and everywhere Cara looked, lofty yellow cranes dominated the skyline, the landscape decidedly more industrial than the futuristic city centre.

  The car continued to eat up the miles as they turned off the main road, and before long there was nothing surrounding them but barren desert. The driver said little, leaving Cara free to stare in wonder at the alien landscape. It was like nothing she’d ever seen before – bare and bleak, yet romantic and evocative all at the same time.

  They’d been travelling for almost an hour when the car took an unmarked turning from the largely empty road. In the distance, Cara could see an enormous building surrounded by high white walls, rising up out of the sand. She sat forward in her seat, squinting to get a better look.

  ‘Is that where we’re going?’ she asked excitedly.

  ‘Yes, madam. The home of Sheikh Al-Shakrani.’

  Masoud pulled up at the entrance and spoke into an intercom. Moments later, the electronic gates slowly swung open, revealing the house beyond. As the Mercedes crunched forward over the gravel, negotiating its way around an enormous stone fountain in the centre of the driveway, Cara gasped. The compound was incredible – quite literally an oasis in the desert, surrounded by lush, manicured lawns and verdant greenery. Palm trees were dotted throughout the grounds, the air out here so still that no breeze disturbed their leaves.

  The house itself was stunning; three stories high, but spread over a wide area and built from coral stone in a traditional Middle Eastern style, all grand pillars and sweeping arches. Part of the building was comprised of a tall, square-sided tower, which gave the property an almost fort-like appearance, whilst the cornices below the gently-sloping tiled roof were exquisitely carved.

  Surrounding the main entrance was a large, beautifully decorated archway, through which the middle-aged housekeeper now emerged.

  ‘You must be Cara,’ she smiled, as they shook hands. ‘Welcome. My name is Maryam.’

  She led her up the short flight of steps and through the front door, into a stunning entrance hall with a domed, stained-glass ceiling.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Cara breathed, craning her neck upwards to look.

  ‘His Highness is very proud of the house,’ Maryam smiled. ‘But please, feel free to ask questions or to take photographs. Mrs Campbell-Jones said that this is a research trip for you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Cara nodded, removing her camera from her bag as she followed Maryam through to a large reception room, with a stunning mosaic-tiled floor. ‘I’ve been told it’s a real privilege to be invited here.’

  ‘His Highness is very private,’ Maryam confirmed. ‘He works extremely hard, and this house is something of a sanctuary for him.’

  Fascinated, Cara followed Maryam as she led her through the enormous property, each room seeming larger and more impressive than the last. The study was especially extraordinary, with row upon row of leather-bound books and a hanging tapestry that was clearly an antique. It depicted a desert scene, a gathering of nomads with their camels. Cara stepped back and took a photograph, thinking what a good idea it had been for Elizabeth to send her here. The house was incredibly inspiring, and the owner clearly had excellent taste. It was far from the garish display of wealth she’d been expecting.

  Maryam, too, was well-informed and extremely knowledgeable; her affection for her employer was clear to see.

  ‘He is a very good man,’ she said, nodding seriously. ‘He takes excellent care of me and my family.’

  They made their way down a spiral staircase and along a corridor, finding themselves in a large kitchen where Maryam prepared a glass of fresh iced lemonade for Cara. She took it gratefully, enjoying the cool, crisp tang.

  ‘Would you like to see the garden?’ Maryam asked.

  ‘I’d love to,’ Cara replied genuinely.

  Outside, the sun was starting to sink, but the day had lost none of its heat. Cara pulled down her sunglasses and followed Maryam’s lead, exclaiming in delight when she saw the perfect, courtyard-style garden.

  ‘Gardens are very important in Islam,’ Maryam explained, as they strolled beside a long, rectangular pool, finally coming to sit down on a low stone bench at the far end. ‘We believe they represent an earthy paradise, and it reminds us of the life in paradise we will lead once we have departed this world.’

  ‘It really is like paradise,’ Cara agreed, closing her eyes and turning her face up to the sky, the warm air bathing her skin. It was so peaceful out here; no sounds except the gentle tinkling of the water, flowing over the rocks and into the pool in front them.

  As her mind wandered, Cara found herself wondering about the man who owned this house – a man who worked hard and looked after his staff, who had impeccable taste in interiors, and had created a wonderful retreat, far from the pressures of the city, for him to escape to...

  ‘Come.’ Maryam’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘I have kept you here long enough. You will want to return to the city before it is dark.’

  Cara stood up reluctantly, feeling the stress ease from her limbs. She’d been at the house for most of the afternoon, and could hardly believe how the hours had flown by.

  The two women made their way to the front of the building, saying their goodbyes on the steps. As Cara moved towards the waiting Mercedes, a movement in the distance caught her attention. The huge gates were slowly opening, and she heard the roar of an engine, a sleek, black sports car making its way down the driveway.

  ‘That will be His Highness now,’ Maryam exclaimed delightedly. ‘You must stay and meet him.’

  As the Bugatti drew to a halt in front of her, Cara frowned, wondering why it looked so famil
iar. She could have sworn she’d seen it before.

  And then Sheikh Kareem Al-Shakrani stepped out of the car and everything fell into place.

  Cara’s heart leapt into her throat, and she let out an involuntary cry.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Kareem asked in concern, sprinting up the steps towards her.

  ‘Fine, thank you...’ Cara murmured, trying to collect her thoughts. He clearly didn’t recognise her, but she was positive it was the same man she’d seen earlier in the souk. How could she explain that to him? He would think she was crazy.

  ‘Do you need to sit down?’

  Before Cara could even respond, he was leading her back inside, sitting her down on the antique wooden bench in the entrance hall.

  ‘Maryam – a glass of water,’ he requested urgently, noticing the way Cara’s skin had paled.

  ‘Thank you,’ she responded gratefully.

  Inside the house it was cool and dark. Weakly, Cara pushed her sunglasses back onto her head, but as she did so Kareem let out an exclamation of surprise. Cara glanced up at him and saw the look of recognition on his face. Their eyes locked once more, and this time there was no denying the chemistry. The very air around them seemed to crackle, the electricity between them so strong it was almost tangible.

  Cara’s heart was beating fiercely, and for a moment all they could do was gaze at one another in wonder, hardly daring to believe that they’d found each other again.

  ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ Cara whispered, finally breaking the silence. ‘In the souk, this morning.’

  Kareem nodded, nervously reaching for her hand. Cara shivered in delight as his skin touched hers.

  ‘I’ve spent all afternoon waiting for you at your hotel. I left a message—’

  ‘My hotel? But how did you…?’ Cara began, then trailed off realising that it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. A look passed between them, expressing everything they wanted to say far more eloquently than words ever could. Both of them knew with utter certainty that they’d found what they’d been searching for. Both of them had known it at first sight.