Liz Fielding: Her Desert Dream

‘You said he was the clever one.’

She thought that Kal was a lot more like his great-uncle, with his work ethic and philanthropy, than the grandfather he adored.

‘Well, you and your cousin have something in common. Isn’t that a starting place?’

‘I help Lucy out when she needs to move disaster relief supplies. Zahir al-Khatib suggested I was taking advantage of her and offered to carry anything she needed so that she wouldn’t have to turn to me for help.’

‘Oh…’

And then, just when she was feeling desperately sorry for him, he gave her one of those slow smiles calculated to send her hormones into a dizzy spin.

‘She probably shouldn’t have told him that I had more aircraft, fewer family commitments. That I could afford to bear the cost more easily. His airline is very new,’ he explained. ‘But she wanted him to understand that my participation wasn’t a matter for discussion.’

‘Honestly,’ she declared, ‘I was just about to open up my heart and bleed for you.’

‘I know.’ And he touched the spot just by her mouth where she had pointed out his own giveaway muscle. ‘You probably shouldn’t ever play poker unless you’re wearing a full face mask, Lydia,’ he said softly. Then, as if nothing had happened, ‘Gold next, I think.’

She followed him on rubbery legs to the glittering gold souk where the metal shone out of tiny shop windows and the air itself seemed to take on a golden glow.

It was a stunning spectacle and she could have spent hours there, but she quickly chose a pair of earrings, a waterfall of gold and seed pearls for her mother-who wore her hair up and adored dangly earrings-and a brooch set with turquoise for Jennie for looking after her.

‘You will not choose something for yourself?’

He lifted the heavy rose pendant she was wearing at her throat. ‘I imagine you’ll have to give this back?’

‘You imagine right.’ But she could read him too, and she shook her head. ‘Don’t!’ Then, ‘Please, don’t even think it…’ she said, and walked quickly away in the direction of the harbour and the launch that had brought them across the creek, knowing that he had no choice but follow.

But later that afternoon four bolts of cloth were delivered to her room. And when she asked about paying for them Dena simply shrugged and suggest that she ask ‘bin Zaki.’

Lydia didn’t know much about the protocol in these things, but she was fairly certain that a man on the lookout for a bride was not supposed to buy another woman anything, let alone something as personal as cloth she would wear next to her skin.

Easy to see, in retrospect, that the spark that flared between them had been lit in the first moment they had set eyes on one another and for a moment it had burned so intense that, even while he was single-mindedly focused on his future, he had still come close to losing control.

There could be nothing ‘little’ between them and she was holding herself together with nothing but willpower.

LYDIA wanted this over. Was desperate for Princess Sabirah to pay her call and the week to be over so that she could just stop pretending and go home.

Stop pretending to be Rose. Stop pretending that she felt nothing for Kalil. Not that that worked. He’d only had to call in the darkness. She only had to hear his voice. If she hadn’t cared she would have hung up, not stood there with her phone pressed to her ear, imagining she could hear him breathe while that huge moon rose above them.

Why had he done that?

He was the one who’d stepped back from the brink, broken the most intense, the most intimate connection there could ever be between a man and a woman even when it was obvious he’d wanted her as much as she’d wanted him.

Trapped, like her, committed to a course from which there was no escape but unable to stop himself from touching her. Calling her. Making love to her with words.

Breaking her heart.

She had taken lunch alone, keeping her nose firmly in a book until the words all ran together in a smeary blur, swam fifty lengths of the pool just to stop herself from thinking about him.

Except that when she emerged, slightly dizzy with the effort, he was waiting to wrap a towel around her.

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she said.

‘I am your bodyguard. It is my duty.’

‘I’m not in any danger.’

Only from falling in love with a man who didn’t believe in love. Who thought marriage was no more than a convenient contract arranged by two families for their advantage. Maybe the girls did have some say, but the pressure had to be intense to make a ‘good’ marriage. Scarcely any different from the way that medieval barons gave their daughters to men whose land marched with theirs, or who could bring them closer to the King.

‘Please…’ She grabbed the towel and ran from the poolside to her room. Sat with it pressed to her face.

‘Be strong, Lydie. You have to be strong…’

But, no matter how she ignored him, Kal’s presence permeated the house.

Everywhere she went, she was sure he’d been there a second before. She couldn’t escape the woody scent that clung to him, the swish of freshly laundered robes, the gentle flapping sound of leather thongs against marble floors.

The thrumming beat of hooves against sand.

It was all in her head, she knew, but she retreated to her room, allowing Yatimah to pamper her with facials, massage the tension out of her shoulders, paint more ornate patterns on her hands and feet with henna.

She caught sight of them as she reached for the phone, hoped they would wear off before she went back to work or they’d cause a few comments from the regulars as she swished their weekly shop over the scanner.

She checked the caller ID and, when she saw it was Kal, considered not answering. But then he’d come looking for her.

She took a deep breath, composed herself.

‘Kal?’ she queried, ice-cool.

‘Just checking. I haven’t seen you all day. Are you hiding from me?’

Reckless, bold, dangerous Bagheera, whose skin shimmered like watered silk, whose mouth tasted like wild honey-only a fool wouldn’t hide .

‘Just putting my feet up, taking it easy while I plan my future,’ she said.

‘Oh? What did you have in mind?’

‘Well,’ she said, her fingers lingering on the bolt of cream silk on the table beside her, ‘now I’m giving up the lookalike business I thought I might set myself up in the rag trade,’ she said. ‘Costing is tricky, though. I need to know how much to budget for material.’

‘Oh, I see. This is about the silk…’

‘I can’t wear it all myself,’ she pointed out. Not unless she made a wedding dress with a thirty foot train. ‘I need to know how much it cost.’

‘You must ask Dena. She dealt with the merchant.’

‘She told me to ask you.’

‘Then it’s a mystery,’ he said with an infuriating hint of laughter in his voice that undid all her good intentions, all her cool.

‘Kal!’ she exploded. ‘I just wanted a few metres for a suit or dress. I can’t take all that home with me.’

‘No problem.’ Now he was enjoying himself. ‘I’ll deliver.’

‘Deliver them to your bride,’ she snapped. ‘Yatimah was telling me that’s what a groom is supposed to do. Send jewels, cloth, carpets, the biggest flat screen television you can afford.’

‘Yatimah has altogether too much to say for herself,’ he snapped back and she rejoiced in having rattled him out of his teasing. He had no right to tease her. No right to call her and make her want him…For a moment neither of them spoke and the only sound was of raised breathing. Then, after a moment, his voice expressionless, his manner formal, Kal said, ‘Lucy phoned to check up on how well I’ve been looking after you, sitti .’