Diamond in the Desert (11 page)

‘Relax, Britt. We’re the same people we were in Skavanga.’

Were they? Just hearing his voice in these surroundings seemed so surreal.

‘You’ve had a terrible ordeal,’ he pointed out. ‘Why don’t you make the most of this break?’

‘Your Majesty, I—’

‘Please—’ he stopped her with the hint of a smile ‘—call me Sharif.’ He paused, and then added, ‘Of course, if you prefer, you can call me Emir.’

The laughter in his eyes was quickly shuttered when she drew herself up. ‘There are many things I’d like to call you, but Emir isn’t one of them,’ she assured him. ‘This might not be the time to air grievances—after all, you did save my life—’

‘But you’re getting heated,’ he guessed.

‘I am curious to know why you found it necessary to deceive me.’

‘I conduct my business discreetly.’

‘Discretion’s one thing—deception’s another.’

‘I never deceived you, Britt.’

‘You didn’t explain fully, did you? I still don’t know why you left in such a hurry.’

‘Things moved faster than I expected, and I wasn’t in a position to explain them to you.’

‘The Black Sheikh is held back? By whom?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.’

‘Isn’t that taking loyalty too far?’

‘Loyalty can never be taken too far,’ Sharif assured her. ‘Just be satisfied that your sisters were not involved and that everything I’ve done has been for the sake of the company—’

‘And your deal.’

‘Obviously, the consortium is a consideration.’

‘I bet,’ she muttered. ‘I’m glad you find this amusing,’ she added, seeing his eyes glinting.

‘I don’t find it in the least amusing. When a company defaults on a payment risking the livelihoods of families who have worked for Skavanga Mining for generations, I did what I could to put things right as fast as I could, and while you were still in the air flying to Kareshi to see me.’

She knew this was true and blushed furiously beneath her veil. She was used to being on top of things—at work and with her sisters. She was also used to being told all the facts, and yet Sharif was holding something back for the sake of loyalty, he had implied—but loyalty to whom?

It hardly mattered. He wasn’t going to tell her, Britt realised with frustration. ‘Okay, I’m sorry. Maybe I did overreact, but it still doesn’t explain why you couldn’t have said something before you left the cabin.’

‘I’m not in the habit of explaining myself to anyone.’

‘You don’t say,’ she murmured.

‘It’s just how I am, Britt.’

‘Accountable to no one,’ she guessed.

The Black Sheikh dipped his head.

‘Well, whatever you’ve done, or haven’t done, thank you—’ She was on the point of thanking him again for saving her life, when Sharif held up his hands.

‘Enough, Britt. You don’t have to say it again.’ Glancing towards the curtained sleeping area, he added, ‘And you should take a rest.’

Her mind had been safely distracted from the sumptuous sleeping area up to now, and she stepped back, unconsciously putting some distance between herself and Sharif. She needed time to get her thoughts in order. Better do something mundane, she decided, drawing back the curtains. Task completed, she turned to face Sharif, who made her the traditional Kareshi greeting, touching his chest, his mouth and finally his brow.

‘It means peace,’ he said dryly. ‘And you really don’t have to stand in my presence, Britt.’

‘Maybe I prefer to—’

‘And maybe, as I suggested, you should take a rest.’

Now was not the time to argue, so she compromised, sitting primly on the very edge of one of the deep, silk-satin cushion. ‘I apologise for putting you to so much trouble,’ she said, gesturing around. ‘I had no idea a storm was coming, or that it would close in so quickly. I did do my research—’

‘But you couldn’t wait to come and see me a moment longer?’ he suggested dryly.

‘It wasn’t like that.’ It was like that, Britt admitted silently.

She watched warily as Sharif prowled around the sleeping area, his prayer beads clicking at his waist in a constant reminder that she was well out of her comfort zone here. She stiffened when he came to sit with her—on the opposite side of the cushions, true, but close enough to set her heart racing. And while she was dressed in this flimsy gown, a style that was so alien to her in every way, she couldn’t help feeling vulnerable.

‘The women gave me this gown to wear while they were washing my clothes,’ she felt bound to explain.

‘Very nice,’ he said.

Very nice was an understatement. The gown was gloriously feminine and designed to seduce—which she could have done without right now. Her sisters would laugh if they could see her. Britt Skavanga backed into a corner, and now lost for words.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘I
AM
GLAD
you have been given everything you need,’ Sharif said, glancing round the sumptuous pavilion.

‘Everything except my clothes.’ Britt was becoming increasingly aware that the gown the women had dressed her in was almost sheer. ‘I believe my own clothes will soon be here.’ She had no idea when they were arriving, or even if they would ever arrive. She only knew that her body burned beneath Sharif’s stare as his lazy gaze roved over the diaphanous gown—she had never longed for a business suit more.

Sharif’s lips tugged a little at one corner as if he knew this.

Turning away, she ground her teeth with frustration at the position she found herself in. Of course she was grateful to Sharif for saving her, but being housed in the harem at the sheikh’s pleasure was hardly her recreation of choice—

She had to calm down and accept that a lot had happened in the past twenty-four hours and she was emotionally overwrought. The temptation to do exactly as Sharif suggested—relax and recline, as he was doing—was overwhelming, but with his familiar, intoxicating scent washing over her—amber, patchouli and sandalwood, combined with riding leather and clean, warm man—she couldn’t be answerable for her own actions if she did that. Business was her safest option. ‘If I’d seen a photograph of you before you came to Skavanga, I wouldn’t have mixed you up with Emir and maybe we could have avoided this mess, and then you wouldn’t have been forced to risk your life riding through the storm to find me.’

‘I don’t make a habit of issuing photographs with business letters. And as it happens, I did see a photograph of you, but it wasn’t a true representation.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

‘I mean the photograph showed one woman when you are clearly someone very different.’

‘In what way?’

Sharif smiled faintly. ‘You’re far more complex than your photograph suggests.’

She pulled a face beneath the veil, remembering the posed shot. She had been wearing a stiff suit and an even stiffer expression. She hated having her photograph taken, but had been forced to endure that one for the sake of the company journal.

‘Well, I haven’t seen a single photograph of you in the press,’ she countered.

‘Really?’ Sharif pretended concern. ‘I must remedy that situation immediately.’

‘And now you’re mocking me,’ she protested.

He shrugged. ‘I thought we agreed to call a truce. But if there’s nothing more you need—’

‘Nothing. Thank you,’ she said stiffly as he turned to go. Her body, of course, had other ideas. If she could just keep her attention fixed on something apart from Sharif’s massive shoulders beneath his flowing black robe, or those strong tanned hands that had given her so much pleasure—

‘I’ll leave you to rest,’ he said, getting up.

‘Thank you.’

And now she was disappointed?

He was leaving while her body was on fire for him.

Yes. And she should be glad, Britt told herself firmly. A heavy pulse might be throbbing between her legs, but this man was not Emir—and Emir had been dangerous enough—this man was a regal and unknowable stranger, who could pluck her heart from her chest and trample it underfoot while she was still in an erotic daze. She stood too and, lifting her chin, she directed a firm stare into his eyes. Even that was a mistake. Lust ripped through her, along with the desire to mean something to this man. For a few heady seconds she could think of nothing but being held by him, kissed by him, and then, thankfully, she pulled herself round.

‘This is wonderful accommodation and I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me. Your people are so very kind. They let me sleep, they tended to my wounds, they—’

‘They bathed you?’ Sharif supplied.

The way his mouth kicked up at one corner sent such a vivid flash of sensation ripping through her she almost forgot what she was going to say. ‘I...I had a bath,’ she admitted in a shaking voice that was not Britt Skavanga at all.

‘They spoiled you with soothing emollients, and that’s so bad?’

‘They did,’ she agreed, wishing he would look anywhere but into her eyes with that dark, mocking stare. And every time she nodded her head, tiny jewels tinkled in a most alluring way—she could do without that too!

‘The women have dressed you for their sheikh,’ Sharif observed.

And now she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Her chest was heaving with pent-up passion thanks to her desire deep down to be angry—to have a go.
He can’t talk to you like that!
She wasn’t a canapé to whet his appetite—a canapé carefully prepared and presented to the sheikh for him to sample, then either swallow or discard.

‘They have prepared you well,’ Sharif said, showing not the slightest flicker of remorse for this outrageous statement. ‘Would you rather they had brought you something ugly to wear?’ he demanded when her body language gave away her indignation. ‘Moral outrage doesn’t suit you, Britt,’ he went on in the same mocking drawl. ‘It’s far too late for that. But I must say the gown suits you. That shade of blue is very good with your eyes...’

So why wasn’t he looking into her eyes?

Straightening up, she wished her jeans and top were dry so she could bring an end to this nonsense.

And yet...

And yet she was secretly glad that Sharif’s gaze was so appreciative. Why else would she stand so straight? Why were her lips parted, and why was she licking them with the tip of her tongue? And why, for all that was logical, was she thrusting her breasts out when her nipples were so painfully erect?

‘It’s a very pretty dress,’ she agreed coolly.

‘Our desert fashions suit you,’ Sharif agreed.

She shivered involuntarily as he reached out to run the tip of his forefinger down the very edge of her veil. There was still a good distance between them, but no distance could be enough.

And now her thoughts were all erotic. Perhaps Sharif saving her life had added a primitive edge to her feelings towards him. The desire to thank him fully, and in the most obvious way, was growing like a madness inside her. Thank goodness for the veil.

‘I’ll call back later—when you’ve had a rest,’ he said.

She watched without saying anything as Sharif drew the gauzy curtains around the sleeping area. She reminded herself firmly that she might be dressed like the sugar plum fairy, but she had no intention of dancing to his tune. She was here for business, and business alone. She had to be wary of this man. Sharif had spoken to her sisters without telling her. He had taken mineral samples from the mine, and yet he hadn’t had the courtesy to share the results of the tests with her. This might be a seductive setting, she reasoned angrily as the curtains around the sleeping area blew in the warm, early evening breeze, and Sharif was certainly the most seductive of men, but, grateful or not, she still wanted answers, and he had a lot of explaining to do.

He was back? She tried not to care—not to show she cared. She must have failed miserably as breath shot out of her when he dragged her close. This was not even the civilised businessman—this was the master of the desert. There was no conversation between them, no debate. And there was quite definitely no thought of business in Sharif’s eyes. There was just the determination to master her and share her pleasure.

‘Well, Britt?’ Sharif demanded, holding her in front of him. ‘You had enough to say for yourself in Skavanga. You must have something to say to me now. Why did you really come to Kareshi when you could have wired your test results and I could have done the same? When you could have laid out your complaints against me in an email message without making this trip?’

Why had she listened to Eva? Eva was hot-headed and impetuous, and was always getting herself into some sort of trouble, while Britt was cool and meticulous, and never allowed emotion to get in the way.

How had this happened?

‘Why are you really here?’ Sharif pressed mercilessly, smiling grimly down into her eyes. ‘What do you need from me?’

He knew very well what she needed from him. She needed his hands on her body, and his eyes staring deep into hers. She needed his scent and heat to invade her senses, and his body to master hers—

* * *

His senses raged as Britt pressed her body against his. This was his woman. This was the woman he remembered and desired. This was the fierce, driven woman he had first met in Skavanga, the woman who took what she wanted and rarely thought about it afterwards.

‘Sharif?’

Could it be possible that he didn’t want that part of her? he marvelled as Britt spoke his name. Did that wildcat bring out the worst in him? Loosening his grip on her arms, he let her go. When he had first entered the pavilion he had seen the tender heart of a woman he had started to know in Skavanga—the vulnerable woman inside the brittle shell—the woman he had walked away from before he could cause her any hurt.

‘Sharif, what is it?’

He stared down and saw the disappointment in her eyes. And why shouldn’t Britt expect the worst when he had walked out on her before?

Everything had been so cut and dried in the past. He’d fed his urges and moved on, but he had never met a woman like this before. He had never realised a woman could come to mean so much to him. The feelings raging inside him when he had found Britt alive were impossible to describe. All he could think was: she was still in the world, and thank God for it. But he had a country to rule and endless responsibilities. Did he make love to her now, as he so badly wanted to do, or did he save her by turning and walking away?

‘It’s not like you to hesitate,’ she murmured.

‘And it’s not like you to be so meek and mild,’ he countered with an ironic smile. ‘What shall we do about this role reversal?’

‘You’re asking me?’ she queried, starting to smile.

He closed his eyes, allowing her scent and warmth and strength to curl around his core, clearing his mind. He prided himself on his self-control, but there was will power and then there was denial, and he wasn’t in the mood to deny either of them tonight. He wanted Britt. She wanted him. It was that simple. Above all, he was a sensualist who never ate merely because he was hungry, but only when the food was at its best. Britt thought she knew everything about men and sex and satisfaction, but it would be his pleasure to teach her just how wrong she was.

‘What are you doing?’ she said as he led her back through the billowing curtains.

Settling himself on the silken cushions, he raised a hand and beckoned to her.

‘What the hell do you think this is?’ she said.

‘This is a harem,’ he said with a shrug. ‘And if you don’t like that idea you might want to step out of the light.’

‘I’ll stand where I like,’ she fired back.

His shrugged again as if to say that was okay with him. It was. There wasn’t one inch of Britt that wasn’t beautifully displayed or made even more enticing by the fact that she was wearing such an ethereal gown and standing in front of the light. He let the silence hang for a while, and then, almost as if it were an afterthought, he said, ‘When the women brought that gown, didn’t they bring you any underwear?’

Her gasp of outrage must have been heard clearly in Skavanga.

‘You are totally unscrupulous,’ she exclaimed, wrapping the flimsy folds around her.

‘I meant no offence,’ he said, having difficulty hiding his grin as he eased back on the cushions. ‘I was merely admiring you—’

‘Well, you can stop admiring me right now.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Yes, I’m sure. I feel ridiculous—’

‘You look lovely. Now, come over here.’

‘You must be joking.’

‘So stand there all night.’

‘I won’t have to,’ she said confidently, ‘because at some point you’ll leave. At which time I will settle down to sleep on
my
bed.’

Britt looked magnificent when she was angry. Proud and strong, and finely bred, she reminded him of one of his prized Arabian ponies. And this was quite a compliment coming from him. Plus, a little teasing was in order. Hadn’t she put him through trials by fire and ice in Skavanga? Britt had done everything she could think of to unsettle him while he was on her territory, but now the tables were turned she didn’t like it. ‘Come on,’ he coaxed. ‘You know you want to—’

‘I know I don’t,’ she flashed. ‘Just because you saved my life doesn’t give you droit de seigneur!’

‘Ah, so you’re a virgin,’ he said as if this were news to him. ‘When did that happen?’

Her look would have felled most men. It suggested she would like to bring the curtains and even the roof down on his head. She was so sure he had styled himself on some sheikh of old, she couldn’t imagine that beneath his robes he was the same man she had met in Skavanga. He should get on with proving that he was that man, but he was rather enjoying teasing her. Helping himself to some juice and a few grapes, he left Britt to draw back a curtain to scan the tent, no doubt searching for another seating area. She wouldn’t find one, and he had no intention of going anywhere.

‘There’s nowhere else to sit,’ she complained. ‘Until you go,’ she added pointedly.

He shrugged and carried on eating his grapes. ‘Formal chairs are not required in the harem—so there is just this all-purpose sleeping, lounging, pleasuring area, where I’m currently reclining.’

‘Don’t remind me! I don’t know what game you’re playing, Sharif, but I’d like you to leave right now.’

‘I’m not going anywhere. This is my camp, my pavilion, my country—and you,’ he added with particular charm, ‘are my guest.’

‘I treated you better than this when you were my guest.’

He only had to raise a brow to remind Britt that she had treated him like a fool, and was surprised when he had turned the tables on her at the lake.

‘I came to do business with you,’ she protested, shifting her weight from foot to foot—doing anything rather than sit with him. ‘If you had stuck around long enough for us to have a proper discussion in Skavanga, I wouldn’t even be here at all.’

‘So that’s what this is about,’ he said. ‘It still hurts.’