скачать книгу бесплатно
“I don’t want you to leave your post.” You muscle-bound moron, she barely resisted adding. “You must tell the sheikh that Natalie needs help urgently. She sent him this.”
The guard looked at the ring as if it could bite. “Gifts should be sent to the palace.”
“It isn’t a gift, it’s a message. The sheikh knows the woman who sent it. She needs his help.”
The man’s determination wavered, but only for a second, before his jaw hardened and he gestured Simone back. “Take this to local security.”
A scattering of applause greeted the appearance of Sheikh Markaz, once again shadowed by his giant bodyguard. What would happen if she threw the ring to the sheikh and called out, “catch”? A vision of being tackled by the giant, her bones breaking under the impact, stopped her.
But she wasn’t defeated yet. She reached over the cordon and tugged at the guard’s sleeve. “You must give this to His Highness. A woman’s life is at stake.”
The guard roared a response in Arabic. “Persist and you will find yourself under arrest,” he said in English.
Having already considered the possibility, she felt chilled, but her determination notched higher. “The woman told me the sheikh’s life is in danger, as well.”
That got the guard’s attention, she saw, but his barked command also had his colleagues lifting their weapons. The ring glinted in the sunlight as she raised her hands instinctively. “I’m not the threat, but Natalie knows who is. You must find her.”
The ruckus she was causing was getting her noticed, she saw, feeling color surge into her face. Suddenly a sensation as if she was caught in the beam of a powerful light dragged her gaze past the guard and she found herself looking into the eyes of Sheikh Markaz himself.
His face appeared to be carved from the same living stone as the monuments around them. His eyes were as dark as the rest of his features, she noticed immediately. Not so much black as the green of a deep ocean cavern. The cavern impression was echoed in the hollows and hard planes of his cheeks, and a faintly cleft jaw that looked like stubbornness personified.
A flare of blatantly masculine interest suddenly lit his gaze, catching her unawares. She hadn’t reached her present age without attracting her share of male notice, and she was definitely attracting it now, she realized in amazement. Worse, it wasn’t one-sided. Her pulse was double-timing and all he’d done was look her way.
The extraordinary sensation of communion between them was over in an instant, then the sheikh’s attention was claimed by the giant. But she was left feeling thunderstruck. What on earth had just happened?
What had happened was he was moving on flanked by his goons, and she was still clutching the ring, she thought, cursing herself for her lapse. He was the richest and most powerful man in the country. That high-voltage look was probably part of his normal arsenal, hardly personal.
The royal party was heading for the luncheon laid on after the inspection, she noted. Access would be strictly controlled, but there must be some way she could get the ring to him, even if she had to slip it onto a tray of drinks being carried into the marquee.
Catching a movement out of the corner of her eye, she froze. A man in a business suit was making a beeline for her through the crowd.
As Markaz bin Kemal al Nazaari came down the steps of Al-Qasr’s main monument, he lifted his hand in the not-quite wave that acknowledged the crowd’s good wishes, but conserved his energy. The cheers gratified him. Not everyone in Nazaar felt kindly toward his government. The rebels were in a minority, but a troublesome one. And sometimes dangerous. Already today, he’d been informed of a bomb threat that had closed Raisa International Airport.
A commotion in the crowd had him bracing himself. Was the airport incident a diversion for an attempt on his life here? But his bodyguard Fayed remained relaxed as he leaned closer. “It seems you’ve caught the eye of a pretty tourist, Markaz,” he murmured for the sheikh’s ears alone.
Markaz felt his mouth curve. He and Fayed had grown up together, as close as brothers, and Markaz trusted the big man with his life. He sought out the source of the fuss, then felt something inside him catch. “I could do worse.”
“Indeed you could, my friend. She’s beautiful.”
Beautiful was too mundane a description, Markaz thought. Engaged in an altercation with a guard, the woman’s eyes flashed blue-green like the oasis at the sheikh’s desert lodge. Under a tinted sun visor, her short golden hair feathered around her animated face, her strong features and golden coloring also speaking of the desert. Who was she and where was she from, this exotic melding of east and west?
By tourist standards she was modestly dressed in an embroidered white peasant blouse gathered decorously at the neck and with long sleeves. The diaphanous fabric hinted at small, high breasts and a neat waist. He couldn’t see her legs beneath a flowing wine-colored skirt, but if they were as shapely as the rest of her…
Suddenly she looked straight into his eyes, fantasy made flesh. He felt the effect all the way to his groin, and his breath strangled. But she was more than sexy. She had fire. She reminded him of an Arab thoroughbred. Probably untamable, but an adventure to attempt.
Fayed chuckled. “This must be love. She’s come prepared with a ring.”
The flash of gold in her palm made Markaz blink. His people often tried to press gifts and flowers upon their sheikh, although not usually the tourists, and a ring was a novelty. A flick of his fingers brought Fayed’s head closer. “Find out what she wants.”
If he’d surprised his friend, Fayed was too disciplined to show it. “As you wish. Do you want her brought to you?”
Markaz’s power extended that far, but he shook his head. “Not in the way you’re thinking, my salacious friend. She looks troubled. Perhaps I can help.”
“And if it is love?”
“Then tell her diplomatically that my country has first claim on my heart.”
Fayed frowned. “No country can satisfy all of a man’s desires.”
This woman could. Markaz dismissed the thought as fast as it arose. Not so easily dismissed was the aching conviction that Fayed was right.
Chapter 2
Driven by a feeling of urgency she didn’t stop to question, Simone shoved the ring into her skirt pocket and plunged into the heart of the crowd, keeping her head down. The man looking for her was the same one who’d forced the American woman into her car, she was certain. Now he was after Simone.
Only when the crowd around her thinned out did Simone realize her pursuer had steered her away from the security of the throng toward a narrow alleyway. Footsteps pounding ever closer left her little choice but to head down the alley and hope it took her back to a more populous part of the ruins.
The buildings threw strange shadows and the unreadable inscriptions over the doors of the ancient houses made navigation challenging. She had no idea where the alley led and she couldn’t risk stopping to ask for directions.
The man was gaining on her as she ducked under an archway and across a courtyard into yet another alleyway on the opposite side. She was among the tombs now, she recognized from her earlier explorations. According to the guidebook, the houses had belonged to priests, embalmers and other workers in the funerary trade when most of Al-Qasr had functioned as a gigantic mausoleum for a long-dead civilization. No one had been buried here for millennia.
Hoping she wouldn’t be the exception, she plunged through a passage so narrow she could easily touch both sides. Then she emerged into an unrestored part of Al-Qasr, where fallen stones were piled haphazardly, although glimpses of intricate carving could still be seen. A notice in several languages warned her that this area was not open to visitors and was unsafe. Tell her something she didn’t know.
Chest heaving with exertion, she stopped long enough to see there was no refuge in sight. She needed to reach a more crowded area. And to spend a lot more time in the gym after she got home to Australia. If she got home.
Her parents had outwitted their enemies so the family could live without fear in another country. Simone wasn’t letting their sacrifice count for nothing by dying in Nazaar at the hands of some lowlife. She had no idea who her pursuer was or what he wanted, although it seemed likely he wanted to find out what Natalie had told her. Did the ring carry a message? Should Simone hide it or throw it away?
No time to do either. She saw the business-suited man appear in the unrestored area so she charged on, jamming her elbow against her side to relieve a stitch. Hearing the sounds of commerce somewhere to her right, she shot down yet another alleyway only to find herself facing a towering wall of sandstone.
A fissure like the eye of a needle opened to the left and she forced her way through it, hoping Business Suit was too bulky to follow. Popping out of the fissure, she looked wildly to right and left. Which way now? Then a hand grasped the back of her shirt and her feet dangled in air as she was lifted off the ground.
She fought back using moves she’d only practiced in her martial arts classes. It wasn’t supposed to matter that her captor was twice her size. It wasn’t Business Suit she saw, blinking to clear the sweat from her eyes. This attacker was bearded and wore a white dishdasha. An accomplice? Had she been herded into a trap?
Not waiting for an introduction, she brought her knee up to impact where it could do the most damage. The big man grunted in pain and doubled over, but he didn’t let go. One of the dinosaur types who took a while for messages to travel from their lumbering bodies to their tiny brains, she thought, aiming for his eyes with her stiffened fingers. He straightened and held her at arm’s length so her punches landed in air.
Muttering something in Arabic that didn’t sound repeatable, he flipped her around and slammed her against a wall, driving the air out of her body. Before she could regroup, her arms were yanked high up behind her back and her wrists cuffed in one beefy hand.
“Now will you be still?” he demanded in accented English.
“Go to hell,” she snarled, struggling.
“Whatever Sheikh Markaz saw in you, I hope it’s worth it,” the big man said, the statement sounding like a curse.
Confused, Simone stopped fighting. “You’re with the sheikh?”
“I am Fayed, his personal bodyguard. He sent me to find out what need was so pressing you’d risk arrest to reach him.”
She was still eating sandstone, and he hadn’t released his punishing grip on her arms. She’d been too busy resisting to recognize the giant who’d been glued to the sheikh’s side. “Let me go and I might tell you.”
“I want your word you will not attack me again or try to run away.”
“I’ll behave,” she said resignedly. A painful jerk on her arms told her this wasn’t good enough. “All right, I promise.”
The pressure on her abused shoulders eased as he released her. She grimaced and rubbed her upper arms with her crossed hands. “Did the sheikh tell you to rough me up?”
The massive man frowned. “He gave no such order. I only did so because you attacked me first.”
Her gaze acknowledged their relative sizes. “Your boss might find that hard to believe.”
“As do I,” Fayed said in his rumbling basso profundo voice. His pained expression and the careful way he moved made her think she’d damaged more than his pride.
Remembering her pursuer, she looked around nervously.
Fayed caught the look. “What is it?”
“There’s a man following me. I think he wants this.”
She fished in her pocket and pulled out the ring. Fayed’s eyes widened at the sight. “Where did you get that?”
“From a woman called Natalie. She asked me to give it to the sheikh.” Fayed reached for the ring, but Simone closed her fingers around it. “Uh-uh. If I give it to you now, you might abandon me to Business Suit.”
“Business Suit?”
“The man following me. He must have seen Natalie give me the ring.”
“Who are you?”
She had a feeling he didn’t want her life story. “Simone Hayes, from Australia.”
Fayed took her arm. “Come with me, Simone Hayes.”
“I’d rather take you to where I last saw Natalie.”
“My orders are to learn what you require. I am not leaving the sheikh alone any longer to go on a wild-goose chase on your behalf.”
“Even if the wild-goose chase is what I require?”
“We’ll let Sheikh Markaz be the judge.”
In the meantime, anything could be happening to Natalie. Held fast in the giant’s grip, Simone could only hope that she’d distracted Business Suit long enough to let the other woman get away.
Not sure if she should feel reassured to be in the company of a man built like a tank, or worried that he might be escorting her deeper into trouble, she had little choice but to trot at his side, taking two steps to every one of his.
They were almost back at the main monument where a group of officials, the sheikh an imposing figure in their midst, clustered beside the royal marquee. She must have been running in circles. “Do you know what the ring means?” she asked, gulping air.
Fayed wasn’t even breathing hard. “Sheikh Markaz will tell you what he wishes you to know.”
Remembering the electrifying look the sheikh had given her when their eyes met for the merest moment, she balked. He was the ruler of the whole country. She didn’t want to meet him looking as if she’d been dragged through a hedge. Not because of any feminine need to dazzle him, but because she didn’t want to give him a bad impression of Australian womanhood. Or so she told herself. “At least give me a few seconds to make myself presentable.”
“You will not cause any more trouble.” It wasn’t a question.
“Considering that my options comprise going with you, or dealing with Natalie’s attacker, I don’t have much choice.”
“Good.”
Crazy though it seemed, she was warming to this mountain of a man. His voice might sound like the earth itself opening up, and he had strange ideas of how to treat a lady, but his devotion to the sheikh was encouraging. Fayed would keep her safe for as long as his boss wished it.
The bodyguard steered her into a shaded area between two columns, but didn’t take his eyes off her as she brushed sand off her clothing and tucked her blouse back into her skirt. The sun visor was lost among the ruins, but she carried her shoulder bag slung across her body, so her purse had survived the ordeal.
Retrieving a comb and compact, she did what she could to tidy her hair, and blotted her streaming face. “Right, let’s meet His Highness,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.
Fayed appropriated her arm again. “You will not make any untoward moves, and you will speak only when the sheikh speaks to you.”
She could imagine the outcome if she made any move Fayed interpreted as threatening to his boss. “Count on it.”
The moment’s respite had allowed her to catch her breath so she wasn’t panting too obviously when Fayed led her to where the sheikh was holding court. She’d hate him to think she was breathing heavily on his account.
Fayed carved his way through the group until he reached the sheikh’s side where he made a salaam, the graceful hand gesture encompassing head and heart accompanied by a bow from the neck. “Your Highness, this is Simone Hayes, from Australia. I think you will be interested in what she has to say.”
He bent and whispered a few words in the sheikh’s ear, too low for Simone to hear. It was enough to bring a look of anger to the sheikh’s face, and he snapped out what sounded like an instruction in return. She saw Fayed nod then approach a pair of the sheikh’s soldiers and speak to them in turn.
The moment Fayed brought Simone Hayes to Markaz, he had the renewed sense of electricity arcing between them, as if she were more than an overexcited tourist who’d disrupted his inspection. He told himself he’d had a long morning dealing with his normal duties, the bomb threat at the airport, and now this visit. He was tired. He should have left Simone to the guards instead of sending Fayed after her.
But he owed the man his life a couple of times over, and trusted his judgment. What Fayed had already told the sheikh had shaken him. If his friend believed Simone’s story was worth hearing, then it was.
“Excuse us for a few moments,” he said now to the director of Al-Qasr, who’d been telling him more about the restoration work. The man regarded her curiously, but salaamed and moved away to join another group, leaving the sheikh and Simone in a small island of clear space.
Markaz was aware of Fayed returning to his side. “Would you get Miss Hayes a drink?” the sheikh asked him. “Coffee or something cold?”
Simone brushed a hand across her brow. “Cold, thank you.”
Fayed gestured to a passing waiter, who presented a tray of ice-frosted glasses to her with alacrity. The young woman accepted some sparkling water and drank half of it right away. Markaz felt a flash of envy for the straw between her parted lips. Such beautiful lips, sensuously full and rosy without any sign of artificial enhancement.
In an effort to stop staring at her mouth, he drained the bitter coffee in his thimble-sized cup, passing his hand over it to stop the waiter refilling it. He’d already drunk two cups out of politeness.
The woman lifted her head and smiled at him, her sea-foam eyes brilliant. “Thank you, Your Highness, I was thirsty,” she said, earning a frown from Fayed.
Sometimes his bodyguard was more of a stickler for protocol than Markaz himself, he thought. “Even at this time of year, the heat can be challenging if you’re not accustomed to it.”
She nodded. “Coming from Australia I should be, but I hadn’t planned on being chased all over Al-Qasr.”
The sheikh’s surprised look went to his bodyguard. His orders hadn’t extended to hounding her. “By Fayed?”
“No, by another man. Fayed rescued me from him.”
The gingerly way his friend was moving suggested there was more to the story, but now wasn’t the time to go into details. He would get them from Fayed later. “Who was chasing you?”
She cast a nervous glance around as if her pursuer might still be in the vicinity. “The man I saw abducting Natalie.”
