‘Landing holds no terrors for you?’ Kal asked and she turned to glance at him. A mistake. Groomed to perfection he was unforgettable, but after eight hours in the air, minus his tie, in need of a shave, he was everything a woman would hope to wake up to. Sexily rumpled, with eyes that weren’t so much come to bed, as let’s stay here for the rest of the day.
As if she’d know…
Quickly turning back to the window as they sank lower and the capital, Rumaillah, resolved from a mass of lights into individual streets, buildings, her attention was caught by a vast complex dominated by floodlit domes, protected by high walls, spread across the highest point of the city.
‘What is that?’ she asked.
Kal put a hand on the arm of her chair and leaned across so that he could see out of her window, but he must have dialled down the pheromone count, or maybe, like her, he was tired because, even this close, there was no whoosh of heat.
‘It’s the Emiri Palace,’ he told her.
‘But it’s huge.’
‘It’s not like Buckingham Palace,’ he said, ‘with everything under one roof. The Emir’s palace is not just one building. There are gardens, palaces for his wives, his children and their families. The Emiri offices are there too, and his Majlis where his people can go and see him, talk to him, ask for his help, or to intercede in disputes.’
‘I like the sound of that. The man at the top being approachable.’
‘I doubt it’s quite as basic as it was in the old days,’ he replied. There was an edge to his voice that made her forget about the exotic hilltop palace and look more closely at him. ‘We’ve come a long way from a tent in the desert.’
We.
He might be excluded but he still thought of himself as one of them. She resisted the urge to ask him. If he wanted her to know he would tell her.
But, fascinated, she pressed, ‘In theory, anyone can approach him?’
‘In theory.’
There was something in his voice, a tension, anger, that stopped her from saying more.
‘And you said “wives”. How many has he got?’
‘The Emir? Just one. The tradition of taking more than one wife began when a man would take the widows, children of brothers slain in battle into his family. Then it became a sign of wealth. It’s rare these days.’ Then, with a curl of his lip that could have been mistaken for a smile if you hadn’t seen the real thing, ‘My family are not typical.’
‘And even they take only one at a time,’ she replied, lifting her voice a little so that it was gently teasing.
‘Legally,’ he agreed. ‘In practice there tends to be some overlap.’
‘And you, Kal?’
‘How many wives do I have?’ And this time the smile was a little less forced. ‘None, but then I’m a late starter.’
That she doubted, but suddenly the runway lights were whizzing past and then they were down with barely a bump.
Before she left the aircraft she visited the cockpit-now that it was safely on the ground-to thank the crew for a wonderful flight and, by the time she stepped outside into the warm moist air of the Gulf, her luggage had already been transferred to the waiting helicopter.
‘Ready?’ Kal asked.
She swallowed, nodded.
She’d been bold enough when the reality of committing her safety to what seemed to be a very small, fragile thing beside the bulk of the jet had been a distant eight hours away.
Now she was afraid that if she opened her mouth her teeth would start chattering like a pair of castanets.
Apparently she wasn’t fooling Kal because he said, ‘That ready? It’s not too late to change your mind.’
She refused to be so pathetic and, shaking her head once in a
He said something to the pilot as he followed her-what, she couldn’t hear above the noise of the engine.
He didn’t bother to ask if she needed help with the straps, but took them from her and deftly fastened them as if it was something he’d been doing all his life. Maybe he had.
Then he gently lowered the earphones that would keep out the noise and allow the pilot to talk to them onto her head, settling them into place against her ears.
‘Okay?’ he said, not that she could hear, but she’d been sent on a lip-reading and signing course by the supermarket and had no problem understanding him.
She nodded and he swiftly dealt with his own straps and headset before turning in his seat so that he was facing her.
‘Hands,’ he said, and when she lifted them to look at them, not knowing what she was supposed to do with them, he took them in his and held them as the rotor speed built up.
She tried to smile but this was far worse than in a passenger aircraft. Everything-the tarmac, the controls, the reality of what was happening-was so close, so immediate, so in your face.
There was no possibility of pretence here.
No way you could tell yourself that you were on the number seven bus going to work and, as the helicopter lifted from the ground, leaving her stomach behind, she tightened her grip of his hands but, before the scream bubbling up in her throat could escape, Kal leaned forward and said, ‘Trust me, Rose.’
And then he kissed her.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was powerful, strong, demanding her total attention and the soaring lift as they rose into the air, leaving the earth far behind them, was echoed by a rush of pure exhilaration that flooded through her.
This was flying. This was living. And, without a thought for what would follow, she kissed him back.
Kal had seen Rose’s momentary loss of courage as she’d looked across the tarmac from the top of the aircraft steps to the waiting helicopter, followed by the lift of her chin, an unexpectedly stubborn look that no photographer had ever managed to capture, as she’d refused to back down, switch to the car.
It didn’t quite go with the picture Lucy had painted of the gentle, biddable girl-woman-who’d lovingly bowed to the dictates of her grandfather. Who was desperate for some quiet time while she fathomed out her future.
That was a chin that took no prisoners and, certain that once she was airborne she’d be fine, he hadn’t argued. Even so, her steps had faltered as they’d neared the helicopter and as they’d boarded he’d told the pilot to get a move on before she had time for second thoughts.
This was not a moment for the usual round of ‘Lady Rose’ politeness, handshakes, introductions. All that could wait until they arrived at Bab el Sama.
And he’d done his best to keep her distracted, busy, her eyes on him rather than the tarmac.
But as the engine note changed in the moment prior to take-off, her hands had gripped his so hard that her nails had dug into his palms and he thought that he’d completely misjudged the situation, that she was going to lose it.
Hysterics required more than a reassuring hand or smile, they needed direct action and there were just two options-a slap or a kiss.
No contest.
Apart from the fact that the idea of hitting anyone, let alone a frightened woman, was totally abhorrent to him, letting go of her hands wasn’t an option.
His ‘Trust me’ had been a waste of breath-she couldn’t hear him-but it had made him feel better as he went in for the kiss, hard and fast. This wasn’t seduction, this was survival and he wanted her total attention, every emotion, fixed on him, even if that emotion was outrage.
He didn’t get outrage.
For a moment there was nothing. Only a stunned stillness. Then something like an imperceptible sigh breathed against his mouth as her eyes closed, the tension left her body and her lips softened, yielded and clung to his for a moment, warm and sweet as a girl’s first kiss. Then parted, hot as a fallen angel tempting him to sin.
