Desert Affair

CHAPTER THREE

‘OH, WOW!’

Lydia didn’t even try to hide her amazement as she turned in a slow, stunned circle, staring unreservedly at everything around her.

‘This is just amazing! Is it really all yours?’

When Amir had spoken of his apartment, she had known from his clothes and the fact that he had been in the VIP lounge that he wouldn’t live in a small, shabby couple of rooms like those she had just left behind in Leicester. And the sight of his car and the waiting uniformed driver who had leapt from his seat to open the door for them had increased that certainty one hundredfold. But she had never anticipated anything like this.

The huge penthouse apartment would have swallowed up her small flat twenty times or more and still had room to spare. The high ceilings and huge windows gave an impression of air and space, and beyond the plate glass the brilliant night skyline of London glittered even through the raging snowstorm. Rich furnishings, heavy silk brocaded curtains and thick, thick carpets in all the tones of gold from the palest clotted cream to a deep dark bronze meant that the room appeared warm and welcoming in spite of the unpleasantness of the night. And to add to the sense of comfort, a bright fire burned in the wide hearth.

‘Actually it’s my father’s. His taste is rather more ornate than mine.’

The sweep of his hand indicated the enormous, brilliantly sparkling chandeliers, the marble fireplace.

‘But I have the use of it when I’m in London.’

‘And who is your father?’ Lydia was intrigued.

The sudden change in his face told her that once more she’d overstepped those invisible barriers, an unnerving glint in his dark eyes warning her to back off—fast.

Behind them, a small, discreet cough alerted them to the silent, stocky figure of the chauffeur standing just inside the doorway, still holding Lydia’s hand luggage, which he had carried up in the lift with them.

‘Oh, thank you!’ she said impulsively, moving to take it from him, but the man’s attention was fixed on Amir.

‘Will that be all, Highness?’ he asked. ‘Or is there anything more you will want tonight.’

‘Nothing.’ Amir’s tone was dismissive. ‘If the weather clears, I will need you to drive Miss Ashton back to the airport tomorrow, but I’ll let you know about that. You can take the rest of the night off.’

Lydia watched in bemused disbelief as Nabil swept a low bow before backing towards the door. He had almost reached it when she suddenly thought of something.

‘Oh, wait a moment, please…’

Hunting in her handbag, she pulled out her purse. But before she could open it, Amir’s hand, swift and firm, had clamped down hard on hers, stilling her movement.

‘You can leave, Nabil.’

Another bow and the man was gone. As the door swung to behind him, she turned to Amir, annoyance sparking in her sapphire eyes.

‘I wanted to give him a tip!’ she protested. ‘He drove us here safely in the most appalling conditions. And he carried my bag up…’

The impetuous words faded from her lips as she saw Amir’s dark, reproving frown, the obvious disapproval in his face.

‘It is not appropriate,’ he snapped, releasing her at last.

‘Not appropriate…But why? Highness!’ she recalled shakenly. ‘He called you Highness!’

It sounded even more unbelievable spoken aloud in her own voice.

‘And you…just who is your father? Who are you?’

Amir had moved to the opposite side of the room where an opened bottle of wine stood on a tray alongside a pair of the finest crystal wineglasses. Ignoring her questions, he poured a little into one of the goblets and tasted it carefully. Evidently it met with his approval because he swiftly filled both glasses and held one out to her, the ruby-coloured liquid glowing fiercely in the light of the fire.

‘Would you like a drink?’

‘What I’d like is an answer—preferably several!’

His irritated frown told her that her voice had been pitched too high. It had needed to be for her to hear it over the fearful pounding of her own heart. Her pulse was beating far too fast, making the blood sound like thunder inside her head.

‘I want an explanation. For a start, just who is your father?’

His shrug dismissed her question as a minor irritation, much as he might have flicked away an annoyingly buzzing fly.

‘My father’s identity is not relevant to this situation.’

‘Your father’s identity is supremely relevant!’ Lydia countered, her breath hissing in furiously through her teeth. ‘Because, Your Highness…’ she emphasised the word viciously ‘…if you don’t give me an explanation of exactly who you are and what is happening, then I am out of here—fast.’

His smile was slow, mocking, filled with infuriating condescension.

‘And where, exactly, would you go?’ he drawled smoothly.

The truth was that she had no idea. She didn’t even really know where in London they were. She had caught a glimpse of the wide flow of the Thames, the huge arc of the London Eye, the Houses of Parliament on the opposite bank, but apart from that she was lost. But she wasn’t going to let him see that that worried her.

‘I don’t know and I don’t care! But I know one thing—I won’t stay here! Not unless you start telling me the truth.’

‘The truth?’

Amir sipped his wine, savouring it appreciatively before he swallowed.

‘The truth is simple. It’s just you and I—a man and a woman who find each other attractive and want to be together. That is all there is to it. Are you sure you wouldn’t like some of this wine? It really is excellent.’

Warily Lydia eyed the glass he held out to her again, a look of suspicion on her face.

‘What is this, Amir? You wouldn’t be trying to get me drunk, would you?’

The response she expected was that look of reproof once again, so she was thoroughly thrown off balance by the soft, warm sound of his laughter.

‘And why would I do that, my dear Lydia? So that I can have my wicked way with you? I hardly think so. For one thing, my tastes don’t run to a comatose partner, and for another, the way that you responded to me earlier, the fact that you are here with me now, would appear to indicate that I would not have to resort to such underhand methods to seduce you.’

‘You might have other things in mind.’

‘Such as?’

He looked deep into her stubbornly set face and his smile grew, that infuriatingly appealing chuckle sounding deep in his throat again.

‘Oh, please—not the white slave trade as well! Lydia, sweetheart, you really must not let your imagination run away with you! I assure you, I have nothing but your comfort at heart. You have had a long, frustrating day stuck in that airport lounge, waiting for a flight that never came. I brought you here so that you could unwind and get some rest.’

‘Fat chance of that…’ Lydia began, but he ignored her furious interjection and continued imperturbably.

‘I’m sure you must be hungry. Right now, my housekeeper will be preparing our meal. All you have to do is to have a drink and wait for it to be served.’

The mention of a housekeeper was unexpected and a relief. Simply knowing that she wasn’t alone with him in the apartment eased some of the tension that had held Lydia so tight. The stiffness of her spine relaxed, her shoulders dropping slightly, her whole body loosening up.

‘That’s better.’

Amir smiled his approval.

‘You no longer look as if you expect to be executed at any moment. Now, if you’ll just have a drink…’

With an impatient sound in her throat, Lydia snatched at the glass. Perhaps the wine would relax her a little. Even if she wasn’t as stiffly uptight as she had been before, her stomach was still twisting painfully.

‘It is delicious,’ she conceded ungraciously as she let a mouthful of the rich, mellow liquid slide down her disturbingly dry throat. ‘But you needn’t think I’m letting you get away with it. I still want some answers to my questions…’

Amir’s sigh was a masterpiece, a perfect blend of irritation and resignation.

‘And clearly you are not going to give me any peace until I answer them,’ he drawled, lowering himself elegantly into one of the huge, soft armchairs and leaning back against the cushions, his long legs stretched out in front of him. ‘All right, then, ask away—but at least make yourself comfortable first. You make me feel uneasy, hovering over me like an avenging angel.’

When Lydia was tempted to fling at him the comment that she didn’t give a damn how she made him feel, she hastily thought the better of it. For one thing, she seriously doubted that anything she did would make this man uncomfortable. And for another, the brief, worryingly dangerous mood that Amir had displayed just moments ago now seemed to have passed. She didn’t want to risk provoking him into letting it come to the surface again.

‘All right,’ she conceded grudgingly, coming to sit opposite him, on the other side of the fire.

The wine really was wonderful, she admitted to herself, taking another appreciative swallow. She had never tasted anything quite so delicious. It was clearly a million miles away from the sort of supermarket plonk that was all she could ever afford.

‘So,’ Amir prompted when, lulled by the alcohol and the warmth of the leaping flames in the deep hearth, she took her time about continuing the conversation, ‘what exactly is it that you want to know?’

‘You can start with explaining who your father is. He must be someone important. I mean, I’ve never met anyone at all who was given the title of “Highness”.’

His sigh was less good-tempered this time. Clearly his patience was wearing thin again.

‘Since you are so determined not to let the subject drop—my father’s name is Sheikh Khalid bin Hamad Al Zaman, King of Kuimar.’

For once, something had shut her up, he thought wryly, watching the way her soft mouth fell slightly open on a gasp of surprise. She looked totally dumbfounded at the news, which was hardly surprising. He had had much the same response himself when he had first learned the truth. Though, being only eleven at the time, he had expressed his disbelief rather more forcefully.

‘You’re joking!’

‘I’m totally serious, I assure you.’

‘You’re really the son of a sheikh?’

‘Only just,’ Amir returned obscurely.

‘Oh!’

It was about all Lydia could manage. She was remembering how she had imagined him dressed in the dramatic robes of a desert warrior. The thought had her burying her nose in her wineglass and taking a hasty sip.

‘So, should I be curtseying to you—calling you Highness, too?’

‘Lydia!’ Amir groaned reproachfully. ‘That’s not what I want from you.’

‘What do you want?’ The question wouldn’t be held back.

The look he shot her from under hooded eyelids held a distinctly sexual challenge in it, polished ebony eyes gleaming behind luxuriantly curling lashes.

‘You have to ask? I thought it was patently obvious. I thought we both understood where we stand…’

Lydia shifted uncomfortably under that wickedly taunting scrutiny, his gaze seeming to strip away a protective layer of skin, leaving her painfully vulnerable and exposed.

‘I thought so too—at first.’

‘So what has changed?’

Amir sipped at his wine again, his intent stare not moving from her flushed face.

‘You don’t need me to tell you that!’ she protested furiously. ‘You know what’s changed! You’ve changed! Your father is a sheikh. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t that make you one too?’

The way that Amir’s sensual mouth twisted sharply told her she had displeased him. For the space of an uncomfortable couple of heartbeats she was sure that he wasn’t going to answer, but then abruptly he inclined his head in brusque agreement.

‘If you want my full name it’s Amir bin Khalid Al Zaman. Sheikh Amir bin Khalid Al Zaman,’ he reiterated with an impenetrable intonation on the words. ‘My father named me Crown Prince on my thirtieth birthday.’

‘You see!’ Lydia exclaimed. ‘This changes everything. You’re royalty! And I’m just a very ordinary girl who—’

She broke off sharply as, with a muttered curse, Amir suddenly slammed his glass down onto the table with such a distinct crash that she fully expected to see the delicate crystal shatter into a thousand glistening pieces. The next moment he was on his feet, covering the space between their chairs in two long, forceful strides.

‘It doesn’t matter!’ he declared, his tone rough and hard. ‘Can’t you see? It doesn’t matter a damn!’

Before Lydia could quite register what was happening, he had clamped hard fingers around the tops of her arms and hauled her up out of the chair with such force that she fell against him, her own hands going out frantically, desperately seeking support. Beneath her clutching fingers she felt the hard muscles bunch and tense as Amir took her weight.

‘Who I am, or what I am, has no bearing on this situation.’

‘No bearing…’

It was difficult to speak. Almost impossible to think. The strength of his arms was all that held her upright. The heat of his body seemed to reach out and enclose her, enfolding her in sensual warmth. And the clean, spicy scent of his skin coiled around her senses, tantalising her nostrils, reminding her of the burning kisses they had shared until she could almost taste him again on her tongue.

‘But it has to! It has to change so much!’

‘Lydia, listen to me.’

Amir gave her a small shake, not rough but just hard enough to break through the buzzing haze of response inside her head and draw her eyes to his face. The fierce emotions that she saw there transfixed her, holding her unable to look away, every ounce of her concentration centred on him.

‘When I’m with you, there is just you and me. Nothing else matters a damn. When I’m with you I’m just a man—as you are just a woman. We are simply male and female, Amir and Lydia. Money, position, our place in life, all become totally irrelevant. I don’t think differently because I am the son of a sheikh. I don’t act differently. I am just like any other man. When I do this…’

He bent his proud head and took her lips in a long, deep kiss that made her senses reel. The blood burned in her veins, melting away all resistance until she was pliant against him, every muscle weakening, her bones seeming to melt.

‘I am a man kissing a woman—my woman. The woman I want to possess so much that I ache with it! The woman who has stolen my soul from me—my mind, leaving me incapable of thinking of anything beyond her.’

She was crushed even closer, pressed so hard up against him that she felt the burn of the swollen evidence of his desire and shivered in response. This Amir was no longer the civilised, controlled man she had met just hours before but a fierce, arrogant, Bedouin warrior, with the heat of the desert in his veins, the burn of the sun in his eyes.

‘I shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t be here. I…’

Abruptly he broke off as a light tap came at the door. Amir froze, muttered something roughly, then looked down into Lydia’s stunned face, probing her eyes searchingly.

Apparently what he saw there satisfied whatever question was in his mind because he gave a swift, brusque nod and turned his head towards the door.

‘Come!’

It was all command, pure autocrat, giving Lydia a swift insight into the other Amir, Sheikh Amir Al Zaman.

The middle-aged, dark-haired woman who came halfway across the threshold then paused, bobbing a hasty bow, clearly knew that man only too well. She kept her head bent, her eyes on the ground as Amir fired a question at her in a language Lydia could not understand. She answered in the same language, receiving a nod of approval for her pains, and was clearly thankful to be dismissed, almost scuttling away in her haste to be gone.

‘Did you have to speak to her like that?’ Lydia protested indignantly when they were alone again.

‘Like what, precisely?’ Amir enquired, looking down his long, straight nose at her.

‘Ordering her about that way! She clearly couldn’t wait to get out of here.’

‘So you speak Arabic—and the Kuimar dialect?’

His mocking tone set her teeth on edge. He didn’t have to tell her she had got things wrong. It was there in every inflexion, every word. Deciding discretion was the best policy, Lydia refused to let herself be provoked into rash speak and waited instead for him to explain, as she had no doubt that he was going to do.

‘Jamila had come to tell us that the meal she has prepared is ready. Naturally, she was embarrassed at intruding on what she felt was a very private moment. I assured her that she was not to blame if my lady friend did not understand the conventions…’

Did he know how ambiguous he had made that ‘lady friend’ sound? Lydia wondered, irritation stinging sharply. She very much suspected that he did—and that it had been quite deliberate. Her teeth snapped shut as she bit off the angry retort she was tempted to make.

‘I understand the conventions only too well,’ she managed with a stiffly clenched jaw. The irony of the situation only added to her annoyance, Jonathon’s accusation of being a stick-in-the-mud sounding sharply in her head.

‘But not as Jamila sees them. In Kuimar, no respectable woman would be seen alone with a man in his home at night.’

‘No respectable woman!’ He was really intent on compounding the insulting effect of that ‘lady friend.’

‘We are not in Kuimar now.’

‘No, we’re not.’

The hint of a curl at the corners of Amir’s carved mouth seemed to indicate that he was only too aware of the struggle she was having to keep her voice reasonable and that, infuriatingly, he found that distinctly amusing.

‘Which is what I told Jamila before I gave her the rest of the night off. Are you hungry?’

‘Am I…?’

Lydia found the question difficult to consider, and not just because of the speed with which Amir had jumped from one topic to another. The realisation that the housekeeper, whose presence had seemed such a comfort only a few minutes ago, had now been dismissed for the night put her into a distinctly uncomfortable state of mind. She would be alone with Amir after all, and alone with him in a way that ‘no respectable woman’ should ever be.

Shouldn’t that be her cue to say that she’d changed her mind? That she couldn’t stay here after all. That she found she actually preferred the thought of the hotel room so would he please send for Nabil, or a taxi, and she’d head straight back to the airport?

Except that, as she had just said, they weren’t in Kuimar. And the truth was that, even if it was safer, more respectable—more sensible—she didn’t want to go.

Jonathon would never recognise her in the woman who knew she wanted to throw caution to the winds and stay here, ignoring every warning, every scream of self-preservation from the cautious ‘stick-in-the-mud’ part of her.

‘Hungry? Yes, I’m starving!’

To her consternation, Amir met her response with a faint frown. One long finger touched her cheek as his beautiful mouth tightened disturbingly.

‘Not the right answer, my dear Lydia.’

The thought of what the right answer should have been made her toes curl tightly inside her shoes.

‘Not the right one, maybe.’ She tried for laughter only to find that it broke revealingly in the middle. ‘But an honest one!’

Amir’s thoughtful pause made her heart jolt uncomfortably as she waited for his reply.

‘It was not the answer I hoped I’d hear,’ he murmured silkily. ‘But you are lucky that I am in an indulgent mood. Shall we go through to the dining room?’

He held out his hand and Lydia had no choice but to put hers into it.

If this was Amir in an indulgent mood, she couldn’t help thinking, then she really didn’t think she wanted to meet him in a less tolerant frame of mind. Just the thought of it made her nerves twist so much that she had to pray her trembling fingers didn’t give away her feelings to the man at her side.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘HAVE you had enough?’

There was no mistaking the ironical note in Amir’s voice, and frankly Lydia was not at all surprised to hear it there.

‘I’m—not hungry any more.’

The truth was that she hadn’t been hungry from the moment she had sat down at the table. Her appetite had totally deserted her when Amir had slid into the chair directly opposite her, elbows resting on the fine white linen cloth, tanned hands linked, his chin resting on the top of them, deep-set eyes fixed intently on her face.

‘Help yourself,’ he’d told her softly.

He had watched everything she’d done. That dark gaze had followed each movement of her hands, flicking backwards and forwards as she’d taken a little from each serving dish, spooning it onto her plate, until she’d found herself shivering faintly under that eagle-eyed scrutiny.

‘Don’t you want anything?’ she had managed unevenly as a result of the ragged beating of her heart.

Amir had shaken his dark head.

‘Not hungry,’ he’d murmured. ‘At least, not for food.’

She knew exactly what he meant. It was there in the burn of his brilliant eyes, the undisguised sensuality of that searching gaze. Lydia risked a hasty glance into his stunning face and immediately regretted it as her heart lurched high up into her throat and the hand that held the knife shook betrayingly.

‘It—it’s very good. This chicken is delicious.’

‘Jamila is an excellent cook.’

He couldn’t have sounded less interested.

But he didn’t rush her. Instead he seemed content to wait and watch as she picked at the food, trying vainly to make some pretence of enthusiasm, struggling to swallow with a throat that had dried in the heat of her response.

In the end she pushed away her plate, unable to cope any longer.

‘You’ve barely eaten a thing.’

‘I wasn’t as hungry as I thought.’

He must know what he did to her. Must know that that fierce, unblinking gaze was tying her nerves into knots, making her heart race in double-quick time.

‘Not even some fruit?’

She looked like a startled deer, Amir reflected inwardly. Not scared exactly, just wary and uncertain. If he made one false move she could be up and gone. But he wasn’t going to make that mistake. He wasn’t going to rush things. In the airport he had thought that he’d only had minutes to win her over, make his mark on her consciousness; now it seemed that he had all night.

He could wait.

He reckoned she’d be well worth waiting for.

‘What about some of this?’

He reached out slowly, took a perfect peach from the large glass bowl. The contrast between the hard strength of his tanned hands and the velvety skin of the fruit was devastatingly sensual. She couldn’t drag her gaze away from the long, strong fingers as they curved around the ripe fruit, smoothing it softly.

In just that way would he touch her, she found herself thinking on a shiver. She could imagine how the caress would feel, the strong yet delicate tips of his hands trailing over sensitive nerves, awakening a stinging desire.

He didn’t even have to touch her! She could feel that reaction already. Her blood sang in her veins, her flesh so sensitised that even the soft brush of her clothes over it was a delicate agony. She knew what was in his mind. They both knew exactly where his thoughts were heading.

So why didn’t he say something? Why didn’t he act?

‘Try it…’

He had sliced off a thin sliver of the fruit and now he held it out to her, leaning forward to hold it level with her mouth so that all she had to do was open her lips. Like a child she did so and Amir dropped the juicy morsel onto her tongue. It was so ripe that it hardly needed to be chewed but slid down her throat so easily.