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Losing control with Saif had laid her bare, Antonia realised when she quietened. He might not have taken her fully yet, but she had given him something that could never be recaptured—her trust. Saif had taken a girl and made her a woman, and now there could be no turning back.
Forgetfulness was one of the most valuable commodities for men who could afford anything, and, briefly, Tuesday would provide that. She was resting, but not for long, he suspected. He anticipated a long and deeply satisfying night, but for now he was content to let Tuesday set the pace, especially with the news from the palace still nagging at the back of his mind. Why, with so many rooms to survey and create inventories for, had they rung him tonight of all nights with the news that the treasure room of his father’s concubine had been uncovered?
It certainly killed off Tuesday’s romantic notion of some rosy destiny for them. Did he need a reminder of the rapaciousness of women? Did he need a reminder of that other woman on a night like this?
He should forget the past, shut it out of his mind, but when he stared at Tuesday he thought he understood his father’s weakness perhaps for the first time. He understood, but could not excuse it. He was a very different man from his father, and had not pledged himself to a country and its people to be distracted by anyone. His father might have squandered his reputation, but, ma sha’a allah, there wasn’t the remotest possibility that Ra’id al Maktabi would do the same.
‘What are you doing?’ he demanded as Tuesday, having stretched languorously, came to kneel before him. He wanted her, but not like this—not like a king with his mistress on her knees in front of him, waiting to serve.
‘I wanted to repay you,’ she said innocently.
He frowned. ‘Explain …’
‘The pleasure? I would have thought you knew,’ she said, blushing.
He knew that she had never looked more beautiful, but the sight of her naked and proud and on her knees in front of him made his head pound. In that one innocent and provocative gesture, Tuesday had thrown him back into a world where sycophants knelt and equals stood at his side.
Springing up, he brought her in front of him. Embracing her, he kissed her hungrily, and by the time he released her she had forgotten the moment that could have gone so badly wrong for her. He knew then that she had been right to say this was more than a sexual encounter, but he would never admit it, because he had nothing to offer her.
But this was … sweet.
Holding Tuesday safe against his chest, he rested his face on her tangled hair and savoured the uncomplicated moment. This could be as straightforward as he wanted it to be, he reasoned. Taking hold of her hand, he kissed her palm, and, closing his eyes, he inhaled her innocent scent, as if the magic of the desert could make everything right.
Saif’s touch made her arch against him. Hot flesh on hot flesh inflamed her past reason. ‘Pleasure me,’ she demanded, drunk on sensation, rubbing herself against him. She was completely lost in the fantasy of the desert and the dark stranger she had always known she would find there. She trembled uncontrollably as the hardness of Saif’s muscle bore into her soft flesh, and she was impatient for him to move lower so he could satisfy her needs. ‘Oh, please,’ she begged him, bucking helplessly beneath his touch. ‘I can’t wait any longer.’
‘You must wait,’ he told her in a stern voice.
‘I can’t—’ Her voice wavered.
‘Tuesday,’ he instructed sharply. ‘You will wait.’
She held his gaze, and then he smiled at her as if he was pleased with her. She found his voice hypnotic and seductive, while his eyes carried the promise of pleasure and the certainty of danger. She exhaled shakily as he pressed her down into the cushions, and he held her there with little more than a compelling stare. She moaned in complaint when he held himself aloof, while all she could do was writhe helplessly in time to the insistent beat between her legs. ‘I need …’
‘I know what you need,’ Saif assured her, taking fierce possession of her mouth.
Sensation surged through her. She pressed against him, feeling stronger than she had ever felt. Saif’s desire empowered her, just as his planned delays infuriated her. Striking his back in frustration, she wondered how long she was supposed to wait. Her body was ready; he knew this and still he tormented her. But, as he kissed her, something happened. He kissed away the image of an experienced man and a much younger girl and replaced it with two lovers of equal standing, so that now there was only a man and a woman, and a desert moon shining over them like a beacon in the watchful sky.
He had awoken a whirlwind. He would never have believed it of the girl, though he should have known from the moment she boarded his boat that she was wilful, strong, and courageous in all areas—and that their first encounter had only hinted at the fires beneath. When it came to sex, she had stated her needs in the bluntest of language, and appeared utterly without self-consciousness. She had even tried to take hold of him, and, finding her tiny hand would barely encompass half of him, she had exclaimed with impatience and angled herself hungrily—and this before the last of the exquisite tremors had had a chance to subside after her first bout of pleasure at his hands.
Cupping her chin, he made her look at him so he could be sure she knew what she was doing. Her eyes were still misty with desire and with passion, just as he had imagined them, but there was purpose there too. She had discovered physical love and was elemental in her need. Suddenly struck by a spear of jealousy, he demanded,
‘Would you do this with any other man?’
‘Are you mad?’ she demanded fiercely. ‘There could only ever be you.’
For her sake, he hoped that wasn’t true.
A cry of triumph escaped Antonia’s throat as Saif moved over her. This time he would take her. This time he would make her his. She had waited for this all her life, Antonia realised—this man, this moment. Whether Saif would admit it or not, he was part of her life now.
For a single night.
Could one night last a lifetime? It might have to, she accepted, seizing hold of his buttocks with fingers turned to steel. She drew her knees up and, with all the power of her sex, she urged him on.
Saif plundered her mouth while she sucked greedily on his tongue. He tasted ocean-fresh, pure, clean and strong, and with that all the spices of the east combined to seduce her senses. Every part of her was pressed against him and every part of her was keenly aware of him. That love-making came naturally to her was a revelation, and, feeling as safe as she did with Saif, made it perfect. She felt truly free for the first time in her life; free to be herself. There was only one jarring chord, which was the certainty that this level of harmony could only exist with one man.
He sank into hot, moist velvet. He was so much bigger than she was, he had intended to take it slowly, but she claimed him greedily, using her strong, young muscles to draw him in. He brushed her mouth and tasted her shock at this new sensation, and tasted her approval moments later. Withdrawing slowly, he plunged deeper still, while she sobbed her pleasure against his chest. ‘More? You want more?’ he prompted.
Her fingers closed around his buttocks. ‘I want it all,’ she assured him huskily.
Holding her wrists in a loose grip above her head, resting on the cushions, he made sure that was exactly what she got.
They made love all night and only drifted off to sleep in the quiet hours before dawn. She woke in time to see the waters of the Gulf glistening like a glass plate, with lilac fingers of light the only decoration. The waves were still, and seemed as content as she was, lying snug in Saif’s arms to wait for the start of a new day.
But she wasn’t content, because today everything must change, Antonia remembered. Today Saif might ask her name again and she must lie to him. She trusted him to take her back to the mainland, but when they arrived they would go their separate ways. Last night wasn’t real, last night was a fantasy. They didn’t know each other’s names, jobs, lives, or even where they were from; they had no future, and there would be no togetherness ever again. The pain she felt at the thought of it was acute, the irony unbearable. If this was normal life, they wouldn’t be facing the end, but the beginning; a beginning that might even lead to love. But as it was …
She could so easily fall in love with Saif, Antonia acknowledged, taking care not to wake him as she stirred, but loving each other wasn’t an option for them. She still had a job to do—a job she was determined to finish, and to finish well. She couldn’t settle for giving up now and going home. If anything, meeting Saif had only inspired her to do more, to achieve more.
‘You’re awake,’ he said, shifting his powerful frame in lazy contentment.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.’ Or to do anything to hasten the day, Antonia thought wistfully.
‘I want to be disturbed,’ Saif assured her, drawing her close.
She shivered with desire at his touch and didn’t have the heart to bring what must end soon to an abrupt finish now. ‘You’re dressed?’ she said, tracing the lines of the top he must have tugged on some time during the night. He was wearing shorts too, she noticed.
‘I had to go and check on the progress of the search,’ he reminded her.
‘Of course.’ She relaxed. But even as they entered into this most normal of conversations she knew the spell was broken. The look in Saif’s eyes had changed. He was already thinking about bringing the pirates to justice, which required a speedy return to the mainland.
He confirmed it, springing up and shrugging his massive shoulders. ‘No time to waste,’ he said, staring out to sea as if to assess the weather. ‘Things look good.’
She had been expecting this, Antonia told herself firmly, but it didn’t make the pain go away. It hurt to know the magic had vanished, only to be replaced by the cold chill of unease—something she must shake off when she had promised to help Saif in every way she could. ‘I’ll go below to freshen up and dress.’
She wondered if he even heard her as he began the process of preparing the yacht to sail.
Saif sailed with the total mastery with which he did everything else, and it would have been a pleasure watching him at the helm had Antonia not been dogged by the same dragging sense of dread. Of course things could never be the same again between them; she knew that. And of course she accepted the fact that everything must change when they reached the mainland. But the cloud hanging over her refused to budge. It was as if the same fate that had engineered their meeting now decreed that she must suffer for it.
She had been tested quite a few times on this trip and come through, she reasoned in an attempt to reassure herself.
But who knew if she could do it again?
Antonia looked at Saif, who obviously didn’t share her concern. If anything, he seemed to have gained new purpose. It was as if with every nautical mile they travelled he was slowly changing back into the man he must really be.
They shared the rhythm of the sea beneath their feet and little else now, Antonia reflected. He didn’t need her help to sail the yacht, he’d told her, and so she was consigned to the role of passenger, a chance acquaintance who was being given a lift to port on a fabulous racing-yacht. ‘Is that Sinnebar?’ she said excitedly, catching sight of a coastline. She already knew it was. What she’d really wanted when she asked the question was for Saif to connect with her one last time.
‘Yes,’ he said briefly, but his focus was all on the coast.
They had sailed past the lighthouse guarding the entrance to the harbour before Saif spoke to her again. ‘You’ll have to get changed,’ he said. ‘And clean yourself up.’
In a phrase, Saif had turned her back into a much younger girl who needed his direction. ‘You can use the hose to get rid of the salt,’ he went on. ‘And you’ll find some robes under the bunk below. They’ll be too big for you,’ he added as he swung the wheel hard to line the giant yacht up with its berth, ‘But you can’t disembark in Sinnebar dressed like that.’
Like what? In a few words he had made her feel ashamed. What did he mean about the way she was dressed? She was dressed like someone who had escaped a pirate attack—the same way she had been dressed all the time they had been together. Had Saif even looked at her? Had he even realised what he’d said? He made her feel like a piece of flotsam that had washed up on his deck and now had to be swept away. She had hosed herself down with the fresh water, and she had tied her hair back. She’d done everything possible to make herself look respectable.
What Saif was actually saying, Antonia realised, was that she must never refer to what had happened on their desert island again. What they had shared had been great, but as far as Saif was concerned it was over now, and she was a potential embarrassment to him. ‘I’ll cover what I’m wearing with a blanket,’ she offered. ‘No one will expect me to be smartly dressed.’ She was willing to show her respect for tradition in Sinnebar, but had no intention of making a bigger fool of herself than necessary by stumbling over some over-large robe when she disembarked.
Saif acknowledged this briefly. ‘An ambulance will be waiting at the dock to take you straight to the Al Maktabi clinic for a check up,’ he informed her, swooping by to complete some other task.
‘Thank you,’ she called to his disappearing back. ‘I appreciate your concern,’ she told the empty space.
It was a marvel to discover she could hold in tears for so long. But who knew what she could do? Antonia mused as she leaned over the prow while the yacht came in to dock. She had a feeling she was going to have to dig a lot deeper yet.
She was on her way down the companionway to get the blanket when Saif asked if she would do him a favour. ‘Anything,’ she called back, knowing this was no more than the truth.
‘Take this down with you when you go, will you?’ He’d lashed the wheel, and, peeling off his top, tossed it to her. She was determined to keep her gaze firmly averted from the body she loved—the body that had loved her so expertly.
‘You’ll find a cream robe hanging in what to you would be the front of the boat,’ he told her.
‘And you want me to bring it to you?’ she asked. She caught the still-warm top he tossed to her, resisting the impulse to bring it to her face and drag in his scent.
‘If you wouldn’t mind?’
Then, like a spotlight on the star of a production, the sun caught him full on the chest and her mind went numb. She stared at Saif’s tattoo. It occurred to her then that she hadn’t seen him stripped to the waist in daylight—something that certainly put her moral code in question.
But right now her moral code wasn’t uppermost in her mind. She had done her homework before setting out for Sinnebar, and knew what the tattoo over Saif’s heart represented. The snarling lion with the sapphire tightly grasped between its paws was the ruling sheikh’s insignia. Anyone could see the symbol online, where it was emblazoned on everything from the royal standard to the coin of His Imperial Majesty’s realm. It was said that Sheikh Ra’id al Maktabi of Sinnebar—acknowledged as the most powerful ruler in the Gulf—had chosen the lion as his personal symbol to reflect the power he wielded. It was also rumoured in the wider world that the clarity of the cold, blue sapphire reflected Ra’id al Maktabi’s calculating mind and his love-proof heart. So now it seemed that the man she had dreamed of falling in love with, the man she had had so brief an affair with, either had serious connections with or was closely related to a royal family reputed to have no finer feelings beyond the call of duty, which they took very seriously indeed.
Or …
Antonia didn’t even dare to contemplate this last possibility.
‘Are you feeling ill?’ Saif demanded when she groaned.
She stared at him, wondering why she hadn’t seen it before—the regal poise, the air of command, the confidence of kings. ‘A little dizzy,’ she confessed, turning her back on him before she gave herself away. ‘Maybe I’m suffering from delayed sea-sickness.’ It was a lie, and a weak one at that, but it was all she had.
‘Well, take care as you go down the steps,’ Saif advised. ‘Sit down for a while. Put your head between your knees and take some deep breaths.’
It would take more than a few deep breaths to blank out what she’d seen.
But Saif couldn’t be the ruling sheikh, Antonia decided. Where were his bodyguards, his attendants, his warships off the coast? It was time to stop panicking and start thinking clearly. With that tattoo, he must have some connection with the court, so that was good news. She might have a chance to ask him about her mother before she disembarked.
Nursing this little bud of hope, she went below. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t excited by the chance to root around while Saif was busy up on deck. Who knew what she might find?
She found the cashmere blanket and not much else of interest. Saif’s personal quarters were bare to the point of austerity. She found the robe exactly where he had said it would be, but, far from being some fabulous luxury garment that a ruling sheikh might wear, it was a simple cream linen dishdash of the type that could be purchased on any market stall.
That imagination of hers would get her into trouble one day, Antonia warned herself, collecting up a pair of traditional thonged sandals. There wasn’t so much as a headdress, or a golden agal to hold that headdress in place, let alone a fancy robe. Saif was simply a patriot who chose to wear his leader’s insignia over his heart. The fearsome ruling sheikh of Sinnebar, known to the world as the Sword of Vengeance, he was most definitely not.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ANTONIA was standing at Saif’s side as he edged the giant yacht into its mooring at the marina in Sinnebar. She was covered from head to toe in the blanket. Her choice; her last defiant act. The ache in her chest at the thought of leaving him was so severe she felt physically sick. She hadn’t expected parting from him to hurt like this, though neither of them had ever been under any illusion that their time together was anything more than a fantasy that would end the moment they docked. So she only had herself to blame for feeling this way, Antonia reflected as Saif called to the men on the shore to catch the ropes. Saif was her fantasy; she had never been his.
Grow up, Antonia told herself fiercely, biting back tears. Was this the girl who had set out from Rome with such determination? So, dealing with life outside the cocoon was sometimes tricky and often tough—get over it. She had that one day to remember, didn’t she? And one day with Saif had turned out to be the best day of her life.
To avoid breaking down, she focused her mind on the stunning panorama beyond the harbour. Everything about Sinnebar gripped her. It was Saif’s homeland, and a place where her mother had lived. So many impressions hit her at once: perhaps most significantly of all, the desert—stretching vast and silent beyond this billionaires’ marina, as far as the eye could see.
The desert …
She felt a frisson of expectation just thinking about the desert. It had always been her dream to go beyond the silken veil and uncover the secrets there.
Well, she had the longed-for chance now, though it hardly seemed possible that she was staring up at jagged purple mountains, or the unfathomable desert. In the opposite direction were the gleaming white spires of an internationally renowned capital city. Immediately in front were low-lying white buildings. They lined the pristine dock, and all the paved areas were equally well maintained. Even the road was newly surfaced. There were colourful gardens and water displays, which she took to be a sure sign of wealth in the desert, and guessed that each entry point to Sinnebar would have similarly high standards so that the visitor’s first impression could only be good.
She was a little surprised to see the number of security guards on duty, but then reasoned that it must be quite an event when one of the multi-million-dollar yachts came home to roost. If you had never seen a man like Saif climbing the yard arm to secure a sail, you would definitely want to add that to your scrapbook of memories. Saif had not yet put on his robe, and was balancing on what looked to Antonia like a narrow pole suspended at a dizzying height above the deck. She worried about him; she couldn’t help herself. But he wasn’t hers to worry about, she reminded herself, and some other woman would share his life.
She turned her face away so Saif couldn’t see the distress in her eyes when he sprang down onto the deck. By the time he had taken the robe she was holding out for him and slipped it over his head, she was under control again. She wouldn’t break down now, not now, not so close to the end of this journey. She turned her attention instead to the waiting ambulance, and noticed there was a low-slung limousine parked next to it. She guessed that was waiting for Saif.
Impressive.
So he was a wealthy man who drove around with blacked-out windows—so what? He could have been the lowliest member of the crew and she wouldn’t have felt any different about him. Both vehicles were surrounded by security guards, but she’d be an important witness in the piracy trial, Antonia reasoned, so there would have to be precautions taken for her safety. She looked at Saif, who was greeting the paramedic. To her eyes Saif couldn’t have looked more magnificent if he had been wearing the silken robes of her imagination. Even in plain linen he had the bearing of a king. It wasn’t just that he was tall and imposing, or incredibly good-looking. He had such an easy manner—with everyone except her, she realised ruefully. She was apparently invisible now. In spite of everything she had so forcefully told herself, she yearned for a sign from Saif that said she meant something to him.
She would wait a long time for that, Antonia concluded as Saif brought the paramedic over to meet her. ‘Take good care of the patient,’ he said. ‘She’s had a rough time.’
As he spoke Saif didn’t even glance at her, though the paramedic, a much older man, gave her a kindly smile, which she returned before bracing herself to disembark.
‘Kum shams ilha maghrib,’ Saif murmured as she passed within earshot.
‘I’m sorry?’ She didn’t understand and turned to look at him for an explanation.
‘Every sun has its sunset,’ Saif translated, and for the briefest moment she thought she saw regret in his eyes.
That was his gift to her. Saif wanted her to know it had been a special time for him. It was the only gift she could ever want from him, just as leaving him without making a fuss would be her gift to him. ‘You’re right,’ she said so that only Saif could hear. ‘All good things must come to an end.’
And then, conscious that the paramedic was waiting for her, she left the yacht with her head held high.
As the limousine swept up to the steps of the palace he felt the return to reality more keenly than usual, but it altered nothing. The moment he stepped out of the limousine, he was changed. That was how it had to be. This was work. This was duty. This was his life.
The palace was set like a rose-pink moonstone on the golden shores of an aquamarine Gulf. It was an elegant marble paradise, where every luxury man could devise awaited him, and a fleet of servants was devoted to his every whim. He had never troubled to count the bedrooms, and doubted anyone ever had. Soon he would be making a gift of this towering edifice to his people, but until that time he called it home.
He strode inside, greeting people by name as they bowed to him, lifting them to their feet when they knelt in front of him. He loathed the deference some of his fellow sheikhs actively courted, and lived austerely considering his fabulous wealth. He valued all the treasures history had granted him, but he valued his people more.
He bathed and then clothed himself in the costume of power, adopting the shackles of responsibility with each new item. The heavy silk robe reminded him of the weight of duty, while the headdress spoke of the respect in which he held his country and its people. The golden agal holding that headdress in place was his badge of office, like the jewelled sash he wore at his waist. The sash carried his emblem, which he had personally designed as a representation of his pledge to Sinnebar. The rampant lion picked out in flashing jewels was a warning to anyone who threatened his land, and the cold, blue sapphire clutched in its claws was the heart he had given to his country and his people. On the day of his coronation, he had vowed that nothing would alter the pledge of that heart, or disturb the order he had returned to Sinnebar following his father’s chaotic rule. That history had come back to haunt him in the form of a woman long dead, his despised stepmother Helena, something he intended to deal with without delay.
While he was away it appeared a letter had been found in Helena’s room. Written before her death to an elderly maidservant, it contained a photograph of Helena holding a tiny baby girl in her arms. That was why they had called him back so urgently. Trusted advisors could be relied upon to keep this revelation under wraps, but not for long in a palace so heavily populated it was almost like a city in its own right.
The baby wasn’t even his father’s child, but the Italian Ruggiero’s, and should have had no entitlement to land in Sinnebar. But when Helena had died the land had passed in equal part to her children. His father had paid her off, because Helena was the mother of his son. Razi ruled his own country and had returned the land to Sinnebar. Helena’s daughter had not. It enraged him beyond belief to think that a woman long dead, a woman who had brought so much grief to his family while she was alive, could reach out even now from the grave to threaten his land.
He shouldn’t be surprised to find his father had left him one last problem to overcome, Ra’id reflected grimly, checking his royal regalia before leaving the room. They had never seen eye to eye on matters of duty versus the heart.
He left the robing room with a purposeful stride, mentally preparing for the task ahead of him. The prospect of encountering anything connected to Helena was distasteful to him. It was an excursion into a world he had no wish to go to. Helena’s heir should be clearing out her belongings, but the identity of the baby in the photograph had not yet been established. He would read through the documents and see what he could glean. At least it should prove a distraction, he conceded grimly, for a man tormented by the memory of a dancing girl invoking the moon, as he listened in vain for the sound of her voice.
He would never forget his desert-island castaway, Ra’id realised as he paused to admire the elegance of one of the inner courtyards. With its mellow fountains and counterpoint of singing birds, it was possible to hope that there were enough distractions here in Sinnebar, so that in time her voice would fade and her face would slip out of focus, until one day she would be just The Girl—a memory consigned to history along with all the rest. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, breathing in the heavy perfumes of the East, waiting for them to blank out the girl’s fresh, clean scent. When that didn’t happen, he frowned and turned away. The courtyard, with its fretwork screens and carved stone palisades, was made for the type of romance he had no time for. He didn’t even know why he’d stopped here.
