Caroline Burnes - Familiar Oasis

“Or daughter, in the case of my people.” Harad refilled her wineglass. “With my people, the gift of prophecy was passed from mother to daughter. A female child was the greatest blessing of the gods.” He gave a wry smile. “I suppose you could say that I’ve grown up in a reverse culture.”

“That would be fascinating to experience,” Amelia said. “But you didn’t answer my question. It was a good dodge, but not good enough.”

Harad laughed out loud, and Amelia found that she took great pleasure in his laughter. It had been a long, long time since she’d spent such an enjoyable evening.

“I wanted something other than the desert life. Omar loves the horses. He enjoys the sun and the restless nature of a nomadic tribe. He is also the keeper of the faith, and I’m not mocking him when I say that. Tradition, to him, is vital. To me, it is a hindrance. Once we both received our education in Paris I knew I would never return to the old way of life. I wanted to live in the city, to enjoy the luxuries that I could earn. He was the exact opposite. So I stepped aside and let the man best suited to rule take over. Instead of a desert leader, I studied architecture and then put together my own development company.”

Amelia played with the remains of her fish as Harad talked, but she was watching him closely. Though he was adept at casual talk, he didn’t back away from revealing personal truths. In many ways, he was far more open about his feelings than anyone she’d met in ages. He was a fascinating and compelling man.

“You seem lost in thought, Ms. Corbet,” he said, teasing her gently. “Are you envisioning me astride a camel in the middle of sand?”

Amelia shook her head. “Quite the contrary. I can more easily see you on a Paris street or at an Austrian business table. If I were staying longer, I’d like to see some of the buildings you’ve developed.”

“My secretary did check on a flight to Paris for you,” Harad said, reaching into his coat pocket to bring out the information. “The first flight is at ten in the morning. I took the liberty of booking a ticket for you. You’ll arrive in Paris in the evening. A car will be waiting for you there.”

Amelia arched her eyebrows. Everything had been going perfectly fine, until this. Harad had presumed too much. The one thing she simply couldn’t abide was being treated as if she was six years old. “Since I’m so close to Beth, I want to see her, even if I miss the wedding. I want to meet Omar.” She didn’t try to hide the implication of her last sentence. She wasn’t leaving until she’d met Beth’s husband.

Harad’s features froze, then he recovered quickly. “Beth and Omar are deep in the desert by now. It would be a long and arduous journey. You would do better to return for a real visit in a few months.”

“You could find a guide for me. Someone who could take me to them.” She found that his resistance to the idea only made her more determined.

“I’m not sure that’s a wise decision.”

“But it is my decision.”

Harad folded his napkin and placed it carefully on the table. He slipped several banknotes from his wallet and left them in the leather case that contained the bill. “I highly recommend you reconsider.”

Amelia folded her napkin and stood also. The black cat, who’d been busy eating until then, looked from one to the other.

“Meow.”

“Will you provide me with a guide?” she asked.

“It would be difficult to find a seasoned guide for such a long journey on such short notice. Ms. Corbet, you must plan on being in the desert for at least two weeks. Such a trip requires tremendous preparation.”

“I’m sure the concierge can help me arrange it,” Amelia said. A deep flush had darkened Harad’s cheeks, and his brown eyes were flecked with golden chips of anger. For a split second, Amelia regretted her rashness. She wasn’t at all certain the concierge could arrange anything.

“Ms. Corbet, you’re on your own. I’m afraid I can’t help you. I can only wish you good luck.” He bowed with a quick, efficient motion and walked away from her.

How is it possible that someone who looks as if she was dropped straight from heaven can spoil one of the finest meals I’ve eaten in months? That delicious sea bass, which Harad ordered with only a tiny hint of prodding on my part, is rumbling around in my stomach now because Madame Taurus has given me indigestion. I’m going to call her Madame Taurus because she must have been born under the sign of the bull.

Amelia Corbet, for all of her blond hair and blue eyes, can curdle cream. That woman is so stubborn, if she drowned they’d have to search for her upstream. And I can see the look in her eyes. She’s going to insist on going into the desert. She’s going to hire a guide and take off across the sand like it’s some kind of picnic.

The more Harad argues with her, the more determined she’s going to become. He finally caught on to that—he just zipped his lip and walked away. Washed his hands of the whole situation, I dare say.

So that leaves me to look out for Madame Taurus. Boy, I’ve worked with some strong women in my time, but I don’t think a single one of them could hold a candle to Amelia Corbet. Darth Vader would consider backing up from her.

All of this might be amusing, except I see a terrible picture in my future. It involves a horse, sand, sun, thirst and a lot of other unpleasant things. Most of the time, I feel my black suit is the purrfect attire for any occasion. There is one place, though, for which I am not properly dressed, and that is the dang-blasted desert.

I have no choice but to go. Eleanor and Peter are going to be fried at me. They’ve warned me that they won’t wait for me. I know that isn’t true, but I’m also a realist. How long can they wait? Harad said a two-week excursion. Something tells me I’d better get my name and address sewn into my underfur. I’m going to be on my own.

Thanks to all this tension, my tummy feels like World War II is being replayed inside. I need an Alka-Seltzer. Oh, this is not my idea of fun, and I’m not even getting paid for all this worry.

Time to get moving. Amelia is headed up to her room, and I’d better keep an eye on her. She’s trouble on two very lovely legs. This is going to be a long, long night.

THE EVENING had turned slightly cool, and Harad was thankful for the sea breeze against his heated face. He’d been so angry at Amelia that he had walked away before he said something he would regret. There were plenty of things he’d wanted to say—things about her stupidity and arrogance and stubbornness. But those were things best left unvoiced. For all her tough business experience, Amelia was a pampered American. It would take only a day or two in the desert to make her change her mind.

At the thought of her tired and sore from the rolling git of a camel, he found a glimmer of satisfaction. A bit of hardship might soften her tough attitude. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to see that Amelia Corbet was a woman used to the finer things in life.

She’d been so perfectly turned out at dinner. The coral of the dress was matched by her lipstick and nail polish. The hint of eye shadow had brightened the crystal blue of her eyes. That moment, when she’d leaned forward, caught up in his story, he’d caught a glimpse of cleavage, and the ivory sheen of her skin had made him want to press his lips there. He could still smell the delicate perfume she wore, warmed by her body heat. Even the memory of it was powerful enough to make him close his eyes for a moment.

At the thought of kissing her, his blood grew more heated, and he forced himself to walk. The last thing he needed was to stand around on a street corner and fantasize about a spoiled American woman who was girding her loins to make his next two weeks a living misery.