She’d never been good at being controlled. Not by a person or by a thing—a wall, a lock, an instruction. Her grandfather had known that, her head of department had come to realize that, but it seemed the King of Gharb Havilah had yet to learn it.
Yes, she wanted, no needed to go into the desert, but not with him. She wanted to be alone, now, more than ever before, free of the shackles of ownership, of locked doors, and deadlines. And, not least, free from Zavian’s spell. Whenever she was near him, she wanted him, physically and emotionally, like a person emerging from the desert who’d survived only on meager rations. She was hungry and thirsty for him as if her life depended on it.
But it was no good. Despite all the lingering looks, theirs was a relationship with no future. Neither of them could deny their intense physical attraction to each other, nor their enjoyment in each other’s company. She loved to watch Zavian’s impassive face, noting the slight changes to indicate his humor, the slight contraction at the corner of his mouth when something amused him, and not least the heat in his eyes when he looked at her. But she had no choice but to resist the magnetic pull toward him. It could go nowhere because they were poles apart. And the thought of spending the next twenty-four hours—or longer—with him was enough to drive her crazy.
And she didn’t intend to be driven crazy. That was why she’d arranged for a taxi to collect her a good two hours before the appointed time and to take her into the desert—not to the desert castle—but to the place she’d grown up with her grandfather. It would be deserted, she knew, but she needed to see it again, needed the solace just being in her old home would bring. She’d do what was required of her, she reasoned. She didn’t need physical resources to put together the PR stories; it was all in her head and her laptop. She’d be working, keeping to the letter of her contract, just not quite in the way Zavian imagined. He might be king, but he wasn’t her king.
She packed her bag and arrived at the car early, handing her bag to the chauffeur, who stowed it away. She was about to get into it when a group of men burst out from the castle. She knew it was him before she saw him. Athletic, white-robed men talked into microphones and swept the empty courtyard with their gaze. Only one gaze was directed at her—the man at their center.
She jumped in the car. “Let’s go! Now!” she called to the driver. But the driver pretended not to hear and stepped to one side, allowing a clear view of Zavian striding out of the white marble foyer of the palace, flanked either side by security, his eyes focused on her beneath a frown.
She looked away, steeling herself for his response.
“Good morning, Dr. Taylor,” Zavian said, briefly gripping the top of the car and peering inside, looking over his dark glasses at her with eyes of obsidian. “It seems you anticipated we’d be making an early start.”
She swallowed hard, then turned to him. “We? No. I was leaving on my own.”
“And you were going to the desert castle?”
She shook her head and looked straight ahead. “I was going to my family home—my grandfather’s house.”
“To do what, exactly?”
“To work. As you wished me to do.”
“What I wish is for us to proceed to the desert castle. Now is not the time for a sentimental return to your childhood home.” He turned and issued a few short, sharp commands to his attendants, some of whom returned to the palace, while others jumped into cars which emerged at the wave of a hand. The sound of car doors slamming filled the courtyard. Zavian slid into the driver’s seat and grunted with satisfaction as he handled the steering wheel and gear stick. He was in control, just as he liked it.
“Gabrielle,” he said, not turning to look at her. “You should know I’m a man of my word. I said we’d go together, and that is what we’ll do.”
“And you have to drive, of course,” she said, as his men stepped away from the car, leaving only the two of them inside. The gates rolled open, and Zavian drove through them, closely followed by two other vehicles.
He glanced at her. “Of course.”
As they drove slowly through the old quarter and out toward the city boundary, she couldn’t help remembering.
He glanced at her. “Although I seem to remember a time when you insisted on driving us around the desert in your grandfather’s Jeep.”
She looked at him, startled. It was as if he’d been reading her mind. “It was ancient and required gentle handling.”
His glance set her pulse racing. Again, their minds were in sync. “And do you still think I don’t know how to handle things gently when required?”
She swallowed but refused to answer. She risked a glance at his profile. Dark glasses screened his eyes from the sun as they burst out of the city and onto the short plain, which would take them to the mountain road and then to the desert interior.
“I grew up on horseback, remember,” he continued. “To get the best out of an animal, one needs to know how to treat it—when to be gentle, when to be firm.”
“But always to be in control,” she murmured, as they passed lush farms, the result of heavy irrigation.
“Of course. One cannot change one’s personality.”
“More’s the pity.”
There was silence, and she glanced back at Zavian. He had one arm over the back of the seat, his hand nearly, but not quite touching her shoulder as he angled towards her. He looked less like a king now, and more like the man with whom she’d fallen in love. There was a sense of excitement in his eyes and something more.
He didn’t need to stretch to extend his fingers to touch her shoulder if he desired. It seemed he didn’t desire, not yet. “You would not like it if I changed my personality.” A small smile played on his lips.
She shook her head and tried to suppress a smile. “You think you know me so well.”
“I do know you.” His finger now rested on her shoulder. “These past few days, I’ve watched you as you struggled to come to terms with the conditions at the palace, and yet you’ve enjoyed being back in Gharb Havilah.”
There it was again—that contradiction. Her body buzzed at the thought that he’d watched, that he’d noticed her enjoyment and her discomfort at being trapped in the palace with him. But then, she felt like a rabbit caught in the glare of a headlight, unable to escape, stunned by the brightness of the light.
“Maybe.” She focused studiously on the approaching line of mountains, which fringed the plain upon which the city sat.
His finger moved over her shoulder, and she closed her eyes against the sensation which was gentle, yet so powerful that it sent shivers snaking through her body to places where they really shouldn’t snake.
“Gabrielle.” His voice was hushed as if he, too, felt those same sensations. “You wanted to be free of the palace, and I am giving you this freedom.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. He truly believed he was giving her freedom. She could see it in his eyes. She shook her head, about to deny it, about to tell him that freedom couldn’t be given. If it was, it was yet another form of control. But before she could speak, the hand on her shoulder caressed her again, and all thoughts fled.
“At dinner last night, you asked me a question, and I didn’t answer.”
She shrugged, not wanting an answer to that question right at that moment.
“You’ve forgotten? Then let me remind you. You asked me why I’d brought you here. You suggested I wished to rekindle something before I marry. And I didn’t answer.”
She smiled. “You seldom do, not if you don’t want to.”
“Ah, but it’s not that I didn’t want to, it’s that I didn’t know the answer. But now I do.”
“What is it? What is the answer?”
“Later, I will show you later.”
Show you, he said. Show, not tell. Her mind refused to shift from imagining how he would show her.
“Now,” he continued, “tell me about the work you have been doing in Oxford.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. She’d imagined he would begin the inquisition over her involvement with the Qur’an immediately. Still, it seemed he was employing his self-described ability to tread gently to get results. Whatever, she was relieved.
The miles melted away as she talked about her work, on familiar ground once more. Her passion, her life’s work. It wasn’t until they were approaching the desert castle that he did more than merely prompt her with questions.
“You say this is your life’s work.” He gestured all around. “All of this. And yet you choose to live away from it.”
The ease vanished instantly. She’d got carried away talking about her work and had fallen into his trap. “My work is academic, theoretical.”
He glanced at her. “No, it’s not. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have done what you did.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know perfectly well what I mean. You refuse to tell me the truth. But you will.”
She bit her lip. “And how will you make me do that?”
She could feel his gaze rest on her briefly although she didn’t meet it. She resolutely stared out the window at the castle, growing larger with each passing minute.
“I’ll remind you of something.”
“Remind?” she grunted. “That sounds very subtle.”
“I can be. You, of all people, should know that.” He paused. “Be quite sure, Gabrielle, you will tell me everything.”
She swallowed. She did not doubt that he’d get his way in the end, but she was damned if she’d make it easy for him.
“Everything?” She drew in a deep, strengthening breath and turned in her seat to face him. She needed him to know that she wasn’t afraid of him. “Everything could take us some time. Don’t you have a country to run?”
“I do. And I will continue to run it from a distance while I find answers.”
“Answers? To what questions.”
Again a flick of those disdainful eyes. “You don’t know?”
She shrugged. “Maybe one of the ‘stories’ you hired me to create?”
He didn’t deign to respond to her suggestion, merely kept his eye on the road and, overtaking a car, sped off into the shimmering mirage of the desert road. He channeled all his frustration into the accelerator as they approached the castle gates, which opened to allow them to enter.
They drew up in a cloud of dust, far ahead of anyone else. The desert castle appeared deserted. Silence descended when he turned off the car’s ignition.
“I want you to tell me why you took my father’s money,” Zavian said.
She hadn’t expected him to be so direct. “I…”
“You what?” He sat forward. “Do you want to know why I think you took it?”
She shrugged stiffly. “I think that’s obvious. Why do people usually take money?” She gritted her teeth together to stop herself trembling.
“There are many reasons.” He jumped out of the car and walked around and opened the door for her. “The main reason is that they’re greedy,” he continued.
“Then that must be the reason here. Why wouldn’t it be? I had little to my name. A million dollars can change a life.”
He tilted his head to one side as if incredulous. “It can. But not yours.” He looked at her with an expression that took her breath away. “I remember that abaya from a year ago when I bought it for you. You were always hopeless with clothes, unaware of them. It was one of the first things that struck me about you—your lack of interest in outward show. And I’ve seen the clothes you wear beneath it. British high street stores, if I am not mistaken.”
She bridled with irritation. He’d always been such a snob. “And how would you know that? Do you shop there often yourself?”
He didn’t bother to respond. “So, I can only deduce that you didn’t want the money for designer fashions.”
The heat from the packed earth outside the umber colored stone of the desert palace rolled over her in waves. The smell of the desert scorched her lungs. She wanted to get out of the sun, into the shade and gardens that lay within. But she didn’t dare back down.
“Of course not.”
“Then what?”
“There are… there are plenty of other things in the world to buy besides clothes.”
“Name them. Because I know for a fact, you’ve been living in one room at an Oxford University college since you left Gharb Havilah. And that came with the job. A bedsit, I believe?”
“It’s convenient.”
“Believe me. A luxury penthouse with maids is far more convenient.”
“Maids,” she scoffed. “What would I do with maids?”
“Indeed. You were always uncomfortable with them around.” His face softened a little. “I recall you were always giving them days off.”
She couldn’t help but be seduced by the memory. “And I recall you were annoyed because they had work to do.”
He paused. “Only for a while. You soon made me forget them.”
The air thickened with memories, as the sunlight shimmered around them. Sweat beaded her forehead. He frowned.
Her chest tightened as her breathing came more rapidly. He seemed to be closer to her now. He cupped her cheek with the palm of his hand. It felt rough against her skin, prickling it and rousing it as he briefly caressed her cheek. She tried to shake her head, but he brought the other hand up to her other cheek, and she was trapped. And then she didn’t want to escape anymore. The world was hushed as if waiting for his next move. Like the world, her senses were heightened and fixed only on him. He shook his head, and for a horrible moment, she thought he might step away. Instead, he moved closer to her. Her world darkened to the rich, inviting pools of his eyes as his lips touched hers. It was barely a kiss, a mere soft brush, and yet it had the most devastating effect. Her body reacted as if by an elastic memory, knowing at some deep level that this was her man. And then, as quickly as it had happened, he dropped his hands by his sides, as the cavalcade of security cars swept into the compound.
“Come, we can continue this inside the castle.”
As his staff took themselves off to their quarters, she followed him inside the doors and into the cavernous main hall, which was the main reception room of the castle. She sat down on the nearest chair, and he closed the doors behind them. There were only the two of them in the ancient room—full of shadows and memories.
What had she just done? She’d shown him that she was his for the taking. She pushed her fingers through her hair, back from her face, focusing on taking calming breaths to quieten her raging body. Heat and moisture pulsed at the core of her, wanting him where he used to give her so much pleasure. She raised her palm to her cheek, where she could still feel that touch, not believing that her reactions could be so predictable.
He twisted around. “I apologize. I did not bring you here to kiss you.”
She shook her head. “Then why did you bring me here?” To her irritation, her voice was husky with desire, betraying her need.
He sucked in a long breath as if to counteract the effect her voice had on him. “Because I want to hear it from you.”
“Hear what?” What was he talking about? Hear that she was still attracted to him? That her body still sung to the tune he played? That much must surely have been obvious.
He gripped the back of the chair. “I want to hear from you why you took my father’s bribe. If it wasn’t for what the money could do for your lifestyle, then why take it?”
She’d almost forgotten what they’d been talking about. All thoughts swept away by his devastating touch. “Because I… Because it’s my business. Not yours.”
Her response swept away the last remnants of their kiss, and he tilted his head back, his eyes narrowed as they shot a different kind of heat at her. “Really, Gabrielle? Not my business? Is that the best you can come up with? I suppose it is, because anything else and you’d have to reveal the truth.”
“You seem to know so much. Perhaps you should tell me why I took the money.”
He nodded, and she instantly regretted her words. “Because you wanted me to believe you could be bribed to leave me. That way you knew that I wouldn’t come after you.”
She closed her eyes briefly under the onslaught of bare truth. She shouldn’t have done, because when she opened her eyes, she saw a light flash in his eyes as he realized his assertion was correct.
“Who’s being too complex now?” she asked, trying to backtrack, trying to regain some element of control he was intent on robbing her of. “Money is money. Everyone needs it to survive.”
“But not you, Gabrielle. You survive in that beautiful head of yours. Your material needs are minimal.
She bit her lip. “People change.”
“Not you. I can see it in your eyes.”
“I could have a manor house in the English countryside, for all you know.”
“You could. But you haven’t.”
“Don’t tell me, you’ve checked.”
“Of course.”
“Why would you bother investigating someone so disloyal, so easily bribed?”
“Because I didn’t believe it when my father told me then, and I certainly don’t believe it now. You wanted me to hate you, you wanted me not to follow you because you knew I would.”
“You can think what you like.”
“I do.”
“Although I can’t think why you imagine I would accept a bribe and then not spend the money.”
“Oh, I don’t think you haven’t spent it.” Electricity crackled in the air between them. “I know you have.”
He couldn’t. He might, for some reason, guess, but he couldn’t know. She’d done everything to cover her traces. If there was one thing she knew about it was objects and ownership.
She shook her head. “Why would you think such a thing?”
“It’s illegal for a foreign national to purchase an object of cultural interest in Gharb Havilah. But you know that, of course.”
She refused to be drawn into the conversation. “What is that to do with me?”
“You bought the Qur’an in a private deal. A week later, the object was brought to Gharb Havilah and presented to the museum.”
She shrugged. “Then I suggest you follow up with whoever brought it here.”
“You know full well, that a courier company delivered it. A company that had no knowledge of who had sent it.”
“Well, I fail to see why you believe I’m connected with this.”
“They had no knowledge, but I made it my job to find out.”
She’d had enough. She knew he’d never stop until he’d got what he wanted—her admission of guilt. He’d found out the truth somehow and was determined she should admit it. She swallowed. “How did you find out?”
The intensity had left his features as he sat back, now he’d got what he’d wanted. “I didn’t, Gabrielle. It was merely a guess. True, it was an educated guess. That is why I wanted you here—to find out for myself the truth. I needed to know for certain.”
“You tricked me.”
“I did what I had to do to uncover the truth. And, I rather think it was you trying to trick me. You took the money from my father because you believed him when he told you that you would be no good for me and the future of my country. Isn’t that so?”
She pursed her lips closed. He’d got what he wanted, and he wasn’t going to get any more.
“And you only used it when you discovered the piece was for sale. You bought it and donated it anonymously to the country. Didn’t you?”
His words filled the cavernous room, seeming to hang accusingly in the air. It seemed he wasn’t going to relent until she’d given him an answer. “Yes.”
He changed visibly before her eyes. It was as if a weight had been released from every muscle and sinew in his body. It was only then that she realized how much this meant to him. But it changed nothing. She’d simply have to find another way to show him that they had no future together.
He nodded and stopped pacing and sat on a chair opposite her. “So that leads us to another puzzle. Why would you spend a small fortune on a heritage collection which belongs to a foreign country?”
“Why, because it’s important.”
“For us, maybe. But for you? You’re not one of us, are you?”
It was as if she’d been struck. He was right. She wasn’t one of his people, she wasn’t of this country, but she felt like one. He leaned forward, with passion. They were close to each other.
“I ask you again, Gabrielle, why did you take my father’s money and spend it on this object if you are not one of us? If you’d simply wanted to rid yourself of the money you could have donated it to any number of charities, but you didn’t. You spent it on an object of national significance to the country.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged. He was asking too much of her; he was asking her questions that she’d never dared ask herself.
“You’re right. It was stupid of me.”
He sat back, defeated. “You’re not stupid.”
“Then what am I?”
“Misguided. Ignorant of the fact that you belong to this country as much as anyone. You are one of us, whether you like it, or believe it, or not.” He sighed and looked at the floor for a few moments, and when he looked back up at her, his eyes had lost their autocratic air. It was like a shell had been cracked, revealing their inner liquid warmth.
She shook her head. “You of all people should know I’m not one of you.”
“Do not tell me what I know or don’t know.” He sat back, his eyes never leaving hers. “You are one of us. What puzzles me is why you refuse to see it.”
She shrugged facetiously. “Maybe because my father was English, my mother and grandfather, French. I think that probably explains why I’m not one of your people.”
He rose and came closer to her. “You know it is nothing to do with genetics.” He took her hand and slapped it against her heart. “It is here where your identity lies, it is here, in your heart, that dictates your nationality, your people, where you belong, your home. And I won’t stop until you know this, too.”
She tugged her hand away and stumbled back. “Why are you torturing me? Why are you doing this? Trying to punish me for rejecting you, hey?” She stepped back further.
He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “What makes you run from happiness, habibti? But why do I ask, when I doubt you know.”
“Don’t play games with me, Zavian!” she warned, walking quickly toward the door.
“I’m going to do whatever it takes to make you see.”
She paused with her hand on the door handle. “What if I don’t want to see?”
“You are afraid. That, I had not imagined.”
She shook her head and opened the door. “You can play your games if you like, Zavian. But the end result will be the same. You need to marry someone who your countrymen approve of. Without that, you won’t have a country.”
She slipped out the door without waiting for an answer. She knew where her bags would have been taken and quickly ran up the back stairs to the guest wing, only stopping when she knew she wasn’t being followed.
She flung the windows open wide and gulped in the hot, fragrant air. Far overhead, a falcon cried out. She looked up to see the bird call again as it flew past. The light was harsh, the landscape stunning, and she felt her connection to it at a vital level.
She had a vivid recollection of when Zavian’s father had offered her the money to leave, a chance to run from commitment, and she’d taken it. At first she’d believed that she was doing it for him and the country. It was only later that she realized that there was something else—something deep-seated within her, a scared child at her center who was terrified of committing to a person who had never spoken of love. From an early age, her grandfather had ingrained on her how love was the only thing to be trusted in this world. Everything else was ephemeral—here one moment, and the next, turned to dust. Only love continued, and there was no substitute, no second best. There hadn’t been for him—he’d loved her grandmother until her premature death—and there wouldn’t be for her, either.
A shiver ran through her, but it had nothing to do with the breeze that came from the open window. Zavian was right. She was afraid. She was scared of falling for Zavian’s magnetism again and then being cast adrift after he’d tired of her—either before or after he made an arranged marriage. And she was worth more—her grandfather had shown her that.