‘You think so?’ he returned with mild surprise. ‘I think she looks exquisite. But then, I am smitten,’ he allowed. ‘It makes a difference as to how you perceive someone, don’t you think?’
A steward came to stand at his side then, thankfully relieving him from continuing such a discussion.
With a nod of understanding he sent the steward hurrying over to the side table where he and his assistants began deftly uncorking the bottles of champagne. Picking up a spoon, he gave a couple of taps against a wine glass to capture every one’s attention.
‘My apologies for interrupting your dinner,’ he said, ‘but in a few minutes our captain will sound the yacht’s siren. As you can see, the stewards are in the process of setting a glass of champagne before each of you. It is not compulsory that you actually drink it,’ he assured with a grin for those who never imbibed no matter what the occasion, ‘but as a courtesy, in the time-honoured tradition of any sailing vessel. I would be most honoured if you would stand and join me by raising your glass in a toast. For we are about to cross the Tropic of Cancer…’
With the perfect timing of a man who was adept at such things, the siren gave three short sharp hoots at the same moment that Hassan rose to his feet. On a ripple of surprise everyone rose up also. Some drank, some didn’t, but all raised their glasses. Then there was a mass exodus to the yacht’s rail, where everyone stood gazing out into the inky dark Red Sea as if they expected to see some physical phenomenon like a thick painted line to mark this special place.
Of course there was none. It did not seem to matter. Moving to place his hands on the rail either side of his wife, Hassan bent to place his lips to her petal-smooth cheek.
‘See anything?’ he questioned teasingly.
‘Oh, yes,’ she replied. ‘A signpost sticking out of the water. Did you miss it?’
His soft laugh was deep and soft and seductive. As she tilted back to look at him the back of her head met with his shoulder. She was smiling with her eyes. He wanted to drown in them. Kiss me, they were saying. An Arab did not kiss in front of guests, so a raised eyebrow ruefully refused the invitation. It was the witch in her that punished him for that refusal when one of her hands slid backwards and made a sensual sweep of one of his thighs.
Sensation spat hot pricks of awareness like needles deep into his flesh. She was right about the dishdasha, he conceded, it had to be one of the ancient reasons why his culture frowned upon close physical contact with the opposite sex whilst in the company of others.
‘I will pay you back for that later,’ he warned darkly.
‘I am most seriously worried, my lord Sheikh,’ she replied provokingly.
Then, in the way these things shifted, the private moment was broken when someone spoke to him. He straightened to answer Jibril Al-Mahmud who, since the meeting had spent every minute he could possibly snatch trying to squeeze himself back into Hassan’s good graces. Leona took a sip at her champagne. That dreadful intruder, Samir, claimed the rest of her attention. He was, Hassan recognised, just a little infatuated with Leona, which offered another good reason why he would be happy when their cruise ended tomorrow.
Jibril’s timid little wife came to join them. She smiled nervously at him and, because he felt rather sorry for her, Hassan sent her a pleasant smile back, then politely asked about her family. Raschid joined in. Evie and Imran went to join Leona and Samir. Abdul and Zafina were the last to join his own group but at least they did it, he acknowledged.
Tonight there was no splitting of the sexes. No lingering at the table for the men. They simply mingled, talked and lingered together. And, had it not been for one small but important detail, Hassan would have declared the evening—if not the whole cruise—a more than satisfactory success.
That small but important detail was Leona. Relaxed though she might appear, content though she might appear, he could see that the strain of the whole ordeal in general had begun to paint soft bruises around her eyes. He didn’t like to see them there, did not like to notice that every so often the palm of her hand would go to rest against the flat of her stomach, as if to soothe away an inner distress.
Nor had he forgotten that she had barely eaten a morsel of food all day. He frowned down at his champagne glass, still brimming with its contents. Tomorrow they reached Jeddah. Tomorrow he would take her to visit a doctor, he decided grimly. If there was one rule you were taught never to ignore when you lived in a hot country, it was the rule about heeding any signs of illness. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was all just down to stress. But maybe she had picked up something in the water when she fell in. Whatever—tomorrow he would make sure that they found out for definite.
It was a decision he found himself firmly repeating when they eventually retired to their stateroom and the first thing that Leona did was wilt.
‘You are ill,’ he said grimly.
‘Just tired,’ she insisted.
‘Don’t take me for a fool, Leona,’ he ground back. ‘You do not eat. You are clearly in some sort of discomfort. And you look ill.?
?
‘All right.’ She caved in. ‘So I think I have developed a stomach bug. If we have time when we reach Jeddah tomorrow I will get something for it.’
‘We will make time.’
‘Fine.’ She sighed.
He sighed. ‘Here, let me help you…’ She even looked too weary to undress herself.
So he did it for her—silently, soberly, a concentrated frown darkening his face. She smiled and kissed him. It really was too irresistible to hold the gesture in check. ‘Don’t turn into a minx just because I am indulging you,’ he scolded, and parted the tunic, then let it slide to her feet.
‘But I like it when you indulge me,’ she told him, her eyes lowered to watch him reach for the front clasp holding the two smooth satin cups of her cream bra together. As the back of his knuckles brushed against the tips of her breasts she drew back with a sharp gasp.
‘What?’ he demanded.
‘Sensitive.’ She frowned. He frowned. They both glanced down to see the tight distension of her nipples standing pink and proud and wilfully erect. A small smug smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. Leona actually blushed.