'Don't look back,' he warned as she hesitated, momentarily dug in her heels. 'Always look ahead, keep your eyes on where you're going.'
'If only I knew where that was.'
She looked up at him, and then, because he wanted to reassure her, he bent and kissed her.
It had been an impulse. An attempt to distract her. Distract himself, maybe. But the softness of her lips, clinging to his, seemed to light a fire that had been smouldering within him since the moment he had first set eyes on her.
A recognition.
'Wherever it is,' he said, 'I will be with you. For as long as you need me.'
CHAPTER FIVE
Violet felt numb. As they sped towards the airport, enfolded in the luxurious leather of his car, the only warmth came from Sheikh Fayad's hand, holding hers as if he would never let it go.
Her hand. And her mouth.
She knew why he'd kissed her. He'd seen how hard it was to walk away from her home when they both knew that she'd never be going back. It had been no more than a distraction. He'd wanted to divert her, get her over the step, down the path, through the gate and into his car. To keep her from looking back.
And it had worked.
While her lips had clung to his, she'd had the feeling that there was nothing in the world that could hurt her. That there was no past, only a future. That with him she was safe.
She hoped it was true, because she'd put herself entirely in his hands. Good hands. Strong, gentle, she thought, looking at her own wrapped in his long fingers as he continued to hold on, never once letting go, despite the constant stream of calls he took on his cellphone.
Even when they arrived at the airport and a member of the VIP ground staff would have whisked her away, as if that were the norm, he just tightened his grip and said, 'Leave her. She stays with me.'
Only when they were in the air and he'd escorted her to an unbelievably luxurious sitting room did he finally release her hand, delivering her into the care of the young woman waiting there.
'Rest now. Leila will be your companion. She will take care of you,' he said. 'No one will disturb you.'
Too late. She was disturbed beyond repair. But she managed a hoarse, 'Thank you.'
He responded with a frown. 'Why do you thank me? You have given me all you have while I have brought nothing but trouble to you and your friends.'
'I returned what is rightfully yours. As for the rest-you told Sarah that it was not her fault. Well, it's not yours, either.' Then, because he seemed lost for an answer, 'They will be safe?'
This morning she'd been so arrogant in her dismissal of danger. How could she have been so stupid? If anything happened to them…
'They will come to no harm,
And then he was gone, leaving her to the pampering of Leila.
'Come. Bathe, sleep,' she said. 'You will feel better.'
She'd certainly look better. Forget her face. She'd thrown on the first things that had come to hand that morning when she'd dashed off to fetch Molly from playgroup. An old T-shirt on which she'd experimented with a design that not even her best friend would wear-let alone buy-and a pair of jeans that she'd bought in the market.
'So much for being a princess,' she said. 'I don't exactly look the part, do I?'
'I'm so sorry,
Oh, good grief, the poor girl thought she was offended. 'I'm a mess, Leila. Honestly, you don't have to be polite.'
'Oh.' Then, indicating her suitcases, which had not been placed in the hold but in the bedroom-this was travelling, but not as she knew it-'I'll find something for you to wear.'
Violet's first response was to explain that she was perfectly capable of looking through a suitcase, but she choked back the words as she realised that Leila would be hurt, feel rejected.
'Thank you.' Then, 'Maybe you can help me choose something that would make me look a little more…?'
'The part?' she offered, repeating the word with a tentative smile.
Which was what?
Sheikh Fayad called her Princess.
Never in a million years, she thought.
Presentable was about as much as she could hope for. Less of a wimpy embarrassment.
''The part' will do nicely,' she said, managing a smile of her own, and leaving Leila, considerably happier, to sort through her clothes, while she wallowed in the luxury of the bathroom. Soaking the hideous night, the unbelievably worse day, out of her bones.
What was it Sarah had said about needing a little excitement in her life?
How about flying in a wide-bodied jet that would make anything in the Queen's Flight look like economy. Flying at thirty thousand feet, up to her neck in scented bubbles. Being flown away on a metaphorical magic carpet to some strange and exotic country by a man who would light up any woman's dreams.
She lifted wet fingers to her lips and smiled. A man whose chosen method of distracting a woman in distress was to kiss her. How much better could it get?
No. She definitely wasn't going there…
It had been no more than his way of preventing her from descending into hysteria, she knew. But for a moment, as his lips had claimed hers, held them for what had seemed like endless moments, it had felt like… She grinned. It had felt like skiing down Everest.
When she emerged from the bathroom, this time in a soft snowy white bathrobe, her hair wrapped in one of those fancy towels that soaked up the water, Leila was waiting, and had her hair dry and glossily straight in no time flat. Clearly she wasn't the standard cabin crew member; her duties extended well beyond providing peanuts and mineral water.
'You will rest now,' she said, turning back the bed. 'I will iron your clothes and repack them properly.'
'No…'
Leila frowned.
'No, really-I can't expect you to do that.'
'It is my pleasure,' she said, gathering up her bags and, leaving her with nothing but a pair of clean but
crumpled cotton PJs, which she'd laid out as carefully as if they were made of silk, she headed for the door.
Fayad had to force himself to concentrate. Apart from the speculation that cutting short his visit to London was bound to provoke, stirring up more rumours about his grandfather's health, it meant a great deal of work for his staff as they cancelled meetings, lunches, receptions.
He made some calls himself, offering apologies for his abrupt change of plan, discussing alternative dates, leaving his diary secretary to confirm the details. But all the time, at the back of his mind, was Violet.
She had brushed aside the first attempt to steal the knife as if it had been nothing. But the wanton destruction of her home was an act of terrifying violence, rage, even, impossible to dismiss with the same casual courage. He understood why, instead of calling her closest friend, or even the police, she had called the only person she knew who would understand. Who wouldn't torment her with questions but would simply act.
It wasn't her safety that bothered him now. No one would harm her while she was in his care. But there was another problem.
In dropping everything and going to her aid he'd broken just about every protocol, crashed through every barrier that existed within his society between a man and a woman who was not his wife.
He could have done no less.
