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‘Who are you?’
For a moment she thought he hadn’t heard her question over the sound of the rain.
‘My name is Khalid. And yours?’
‘Maggie.’ She hugged the blanket closer, ‘Maggie Lewis.’ Thank goodness her teeth had stopped chattering.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Maggie.’ His voice was grave, almost formal. Suddenly she wondered how this man spent his time when he wasn’t visiting Australian horse studs or rescuing stranded women from deserted roads.
Khalid concentrated on the road as driving conditions deteriorated. He had to get her warm and dry quickly. She was in shock and might be on the verge of hypothermia.
Six kilometres and then how far to reach her destination? He couldn’t take that risk. Instead he’d drive her to Tallawanta till she recovered.
She was an enigma. There was no abandoned car and those weren’t work clothes beneath her oilskin. The glimpse of long slender legs below her coat had instantly caught his interest. And the high heels she’d dangled from her hand were for dancing the night away or seducing a man.
Was that what had happened? Had some man hurt her?
Despite her height, tall enough to top his shoulder, there was a fragile air about this woman. Her shadowed eyes were huge in that milky pale face. Her bowed neck as she’d hunched over in the road was long and slender and delicate.
She hadn’t been at tonight’s dinner of luminaries who’d turned out to meet the heir to the throne of Shajehar. Khalid would have noticed.
He flicked a glance at her, huddled beneath the tartan rug, her eyes closed and her head lolling against the seat. She looked weak and defenceless, but she must have a core of gritty strength to head out in this weather on foot. The woman was an intriguing mix that triggered his curiosity. That hadn’t happened in a long time.
He felt a spurt of satisfaction that tonight, for once, he was without his entourage of security aides and obsequious hosts. He could indulge his curiosity, follow his instincts. Given the tight perimeter security on the vast estate, he’d won the argument that he was safe alone within its boundaries. Perhaps his security chief had realised too that it would be wise to give him space.
For six weeks Khalid had dutifully toured his half-brother’s royal holdings in Europe, the Americas and Australia. But he didn’t share Faruq’s enjoyment of pomp and luxury. As heir to his terminally ill half-brother, Khalid had recently acquired a huge security retinue. Its size was due to Faruq’s love of ostentation rather than any threat. Plus he had a schedule full of social engagements.
Social engagements! His time would be better spent supervising his latest project, a fresh water pipeline from the mountains in remote Shajehar. At least that would bring tangible benefits to his people.
Lights shone ahead in the streaming darkness and the tension eased across his shoulders and arms. Once he got her inside, in the light and warmth, he could assess her injuries, call a doctor if need be.
He bypassed the garages and drove round to the private owner’s wing of the sprawling homestead.
‘Here we are.’ He leaned across to shake her awake. She was limp beneath his hand. Frowning, he paused only a moment before touching her pale cheek. It was icy.
‘Maggie! Wake up.’
That voice again. The crisp warm voice with its tantalising hint of a lilt. She smiled to herself as she pictured an exotic prince in flowing robes, a gleaming scimitar in his hand.
‘Maggie!’
She shrugged off a hand that threatened to interrupt her lovely dream. In her mind her prince smiled and tugged her to him. Eyes brighter than gems gleamed down at her and her breath caught. He slipped his hand beneath her legs and lifted her in his embrace, his arms like cushioned steel.
She’d never felt so safe, so secure, so full of anticipation. Those black eyes were shadowed with the promise of unknown delight, his narrow lips curving in a knowing, sensuous smile that made her long for his kiss.
The steady drum of his heartbeat pulsed against her and his arms rocked her close as he strode over the warm sand. Soon now they’d—
Maggie’s brows pleated as hard drops of water beat against her face. Did it rain in the desert?
Instinctively, she turned her head, snuggling closer to his warm, solid body, filling her nostrils with the evocative scent of man. But her frown grew as she discovered he was wet, his clothes sodden.
She opened her eyes and found herself in a man’s arms as he strode through a howling rainstorm. Her startled gasp was torn away by the wind.
Carriage lights shone along the veranda of a classic-style colonial homestead. Warm light gleamed through a massive fanlight window above the door. Suddenly everything clicked into place. Marcus, the long walk home, the exotic stranger. They were at Tallawanta House.
‘You can put me down.’ Maggie tried to lever herself up and out of his hold but she could get no purchase.
‘We’re almost there.’ He stepped under cover and the needling rain on her skin ceased abruptly.
Wordlessly he pushed open the front door, pulling her closer. Muffled against his chest, she was assailed again by that yearning. To stay here against him, his body warming hers. To discover more about the inexplicable excitement that shivered through her blood when he held her like this.
She squeezed her eyes shut. This was no fantasy. This was real. Yet she felt oddly relaxed, almost floating. A yawn seized her and her head lolled against his shoulder.
Khalid. That was his name. She loved the sound of it. Her lips moved as she traced its syllables.
A moment later his grip changed, strong arms holding her flush against him as he lowered her legs. She slid down a hard torso till her feet reached the floor. Yet it was his unyielding embrace that kept her upright.
‘Now,’ murmured that seductively low voice, ‘it’s time to get your clothes off.’
‘What?’ Her eyes snapped open, instantly arresting him. In the bright light he found they were the colour of rich honey sprinkled with green fire. Mesmerising.
Unsteady hands shoved at his chest, fending him off.
Khalid’s lips firmed as he watched her battle to remain upright. Had someone taken advantage of her tonight? The idea sent heat roaring through his blood.
‘You need to get your wet clothes off.’
‘Not with you watching!’ Pink tinted her cheeks, fascinating him, highlighting a spattering of light freckles. A woman who still knew how to blush. When was the last time he’d come across one of that rare breed?
‘I simply want to make sure you don’t get hypothermia. I’m not interested in your body.’
The blush intensified to a deep rose hue and her gaze slanted swiftly away from his. Her teeth sank into her pale bottom lip. She was embarrassed.
‘I can look after myself. I don’t need your help,’ she mumbled.
Didn’t she? His curiosity was roused, and his concern. And, damn it, his time was his own, for tonight at least.
Khalid had always believed in two things. Following his instinct and his duty. Years ago, in the darkest days of grief after Shahina’s death, only duty had kept him going. Embracing his responsibility to his people had given him purpose and strength when he’d wanted to shun the world and mourn his wife, the only woman he’d ever love.
Now both instinct and duty dictated he remain.
And something else. Something about Maggie Lewis that reached out to him in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time. The realisation fascinated and appalled him.
‘So I should have left you out in the storm?’
‘I didn’t mean that. I appreciate the lift.’ Her widening gaze roved the massive bathroom as if she’d never seen marble tiles before. ‘It would have been easier to take me home.’
Her words were still slurred. But her eyes were clear and bright, the pupils normal. He guessed it was hypothermia, not drugs or drink, affecting her speech.
He released his hold slowly, looking to ensure she could stand alone. Then he shrugged out of his dinner jacket and draped it over the edge of the spa bath.
Maggie watched his swift, economical movements as he turned and took off his jacket. The frame of his spectacular shoulders, the impressive V of his torso, the classic male form of powerful chest and narrow waist. The wet shirt clung lovingly to every inch of his skin, and her mouth dried, absorbing all that physical perfection.
Fiery heat burned her face as embarrassment sizzled under her skin. Of course he wasn’t interested in seeing her naked! She’d always been gawky and unattractive. A wave of anger and humiliation broke over her, threatening to tug her down into a tide of self-pity.
Rapidly she blinked. She’d known for years she wasn’t the sort of girl men desired. Tonight had only just confirmed…no, she refused to go there. The memory was too raw, too mortifying.
There was a whoosh of water and she dragged her focus back to the present. He’d leaned in to turn on the shower. His black trousers were sodden, shaping long, powerful legs and a tightly curved backside.
Maggie’s eyes widened. Even Marcus, with his laughing blue eyes and his tall chunky build, couldn’t hold a candle to this man for sheer physical perfection.
‘Let me help you with your coat.’ He didn’t wait for an answer. Clearly he was used to being obeyed.
Wordlessly she stood while he deftly slipped it from her shoulders. It dropped in a puddle at her feet.
Maggie fixed her gaze on his black silk bow tie rather than on that vast expanse of wet male torso. But, perversely, the longer she stared, the greater her desire to reach out and tug the tie undone, to part the collar and see whether the flesh over his collarbone was the same burnished gold as his face.
Horrified at the wayward thought, she shut her eyes against temptation. She’d never felt quite so…abandoned. Had tonight short-circuited something in her brain?
She was shocked to realise she hadn’t felt anything like this for Marcus. She’d cared for him, respected him and believed intimacy was the next logical step in their relationship. But she’d never felt this charged awareness of him as a man.
Now she felt edgy, as if her skin had grown too tight.
Was this desire?
Her experience was so limited. She’d spent her life on the farm, isolated by her domineering father and long work hours. That was why her fledgling relationship with Marcus had seemed so precious.
‘Next your dress, then we’ll see if you can manage alone.’ Khalid’s voice was matter-of-fact. Yet he could have been reciting entries in the telephone directory and she’d have listened, enthralled, to his sexy smooth voice.
No! This had to stop. The sooner he left, the better. Then she’d become herself again: ordinary, pragmatic Maggie Lewis. No more flights of fantasy, no more…melting at the mere sound of a voice. This responsiveness to a complete stranger was due to shock and tiredness.
Maggie bit her lip on an instinctive protest as he reached round to the back of her dress. Her hands were so unsteady she knew she’d never manage the zip herself. So she complied, holding herself still as he tugged the zip.
Its downward slide took for ever. Blood pounded in her ears, blocking the sound of the shower. The sensation of the fastening lowering, centimetre by slow centimetre, drew her skin tight in goose flesh. He didn’t touch her but he stood close, arms encircling her, his heat enfolding her.
She swayed then, horrified, caught herself and stood straighter, her spine ramrod stiff.
‘There. Almost done.’ His voice was expressionless, his eyes on the dress as he peeled it gently down.
He might have been undressing a store dummy for all the interest he showed. And that, for some reason, was worse than anything that had gone before.
A shimmer of furious tears blurred Maggie’s vision.
Here she stood, naked but for her brand-new ultra-feminine underwear, and he didn’t even spare her a glance. It was as if she weren’t a flesh-and-blood woman. Not a real one, capable of snaring a man’s interest.
Who did she think she was kidding with her new clothes? Her body was too long, with too few curves. She had none of the sensuality other women took for granted.
The only time men noticed her was at work, for she was good at her job. In the stables she was one of the guys. Didn’t that say it all? Something deep inside shrivelled up. An ache cramped her belly and she hunched over.
‘Maggie? Are you in pain?’ Eyes of fathomless black met hers. His hard, callused hands bit into her shoulders.
‘No.’ It emerged as a desperate gasp. ‘But I need to be alone. Go. Please.’
His gaze raked hers. His mouth firmed into a grim line. Then slowly his fingers loosed their grip and his arms swung to his sides.
‘As you wish.’ Abruptly he was gone, leaving her in solitary possession of the magnificent bathroom.
For a bereft moment she wanted to call him back, ask him to hold her, to protect her from the hurt that welled up inside and the marrow-deep cold that gripped her body.
Then pride reasserted itself. He’d been only too thankful to escape. Besides, she was used to managing alone. That was the way it had always been.
She turned towards the shower, her steps as slow as an old woman’s. She didn’t bother to lock the door to ensure her privacy. There was no need.
Why did the knowledge hurt so much?
CHAPTER TWO
MAGGIE emerged from the bathroom swathed in soft white towelling, an oversized robe that swamped her. She hadn’t even noticed Khalid take her discarded dress. The plush robe was warm against her damp skin. She hiked up the collar and dug her hands into the deep pockets.
For a heartbeat she hesitated in the doorway, then swung round at the sound of his voice.
‘Feel better now?’ Khalid halted a few paces away, legs planted wide in a stance that was intrinsically male. He surveyed her from top to toe. Her pulse hammered hard and loud. ‘You look better. There’s colour in your cheeks.’
And no wonder! Maggie felt the heat sizzle under her skin. She was uncomfortable wearing his robe, but it was all she had to hide her nakedness.
Under his survey the brush of fabric against her bare flesh suddenly took on a new dimension. Tingles rayed out from her sensitive breasts, her stomach, thighs and buttocks as she shifted her weight uneasily.
Or maybe it was reaction to the sight of him, clad in black trousers and black shirt that emphasised his spare, powerful frame. Her glance dropped all the way down past his muscled thighs to his bare feet. Her breath stopped. He even had sexy feet. She hadn’t known that was possible.
Maggie snagged a desperate breath and jerked her gaze up to his, praying he hadn’t noticed her ogling him.
‘Thank you. I feel a lot better. Hot water works wonders, doesn’t it?’ Was she gabbling? For the first time since he found her, she felt truly nervous. She slicked her tongue over her bottom lip as her mouth dried.
‘Come.’ He held out his hand imperiously, and to her surprise, she reached out unhesitatingly. The hard heat of his palm and fingers enfolding hers was strangely comforting. If she could ignore the tendrils of shivery pleasure snaking up from their clasped hands.
He led her into a large sitting room. It should have been overpowering with its gilt-edged mirrors and elegant antique furniture. But it was lit by a fire in the grate and the mellow glow of lamps. The long sofa drawn up before the fire looked cosy with its many cushions and rich red throw rug.
‘Sit.’ He gestured to the sofa. ‘It will be a while before your clothes dry and we can get you home. In the meantime you need to keep warm.’
As she subsided into the soft luxurious cushions Maggie knew there wasn’t any danger of her growing cold. The hot shower, the fire, but most of all the way her blood heated at his touch, made her glow with warmth.
Wordlessly he covered her knees, then passed her a delicate glass in a filigree metal holder.
Maggie inhaled the steam rising from the glass. It smelt wonderful.
‘What is it?’
‘Sweet tea, Shajehani style. The perfect remedy for shock and exposure to the elements.’ He stood before her, his back to the fire. Maggie drank in the sight of him, his imposing frame, his obvious strength, the stance of a man utterly confident and in control. Something squeezed the pit of her stomach. Hurriedly she bent her head to drink.
