Woman in a Sheikh's World

Her eyes lifted to his and for one unguarded moment he saw something there he’d never seen before. Not pain. It was so much more than pain. Misery? Heartbreak? Fear? Even as he was struggling to name what he saw, it was gone—as if someone had closed a blind on a window, leaving him wondering if he’d imagined that brief glimpse into someone’s strictly guarded privacy.

She was the one who looked away first. ‘Fine, you drive if it bothers you so much.’ There were many shades of emotion in her voice, but not the one he was looking for. He heard bored. He heard amused. He didn’t hear heartbreak or pain and he assumed he’d conjured that from his own brain.

‘Avery—’

Ignoring him, she strode round to the passenger side and dragged open the door. ‘If you need to reinforce your masculinity behind the wheel, you go right ahead. Maybe you can spear us an antelope for lunch, or strangle us a rattlesnake with your bare hands. Whisk us up a tasty scorpion soup?’ She sprang inside, lithe and a

thletic, the plait of her hair swinging across her back like a shiny golden rope. ‘But drive at a decent pace, will you? Nothing makes me madder than tentative male drivers and you don’t want to be trapped with me when I’m mad.’

Mal ground his teeth.

He didn’t want to be trapped with her at all. It was already driving him mad.

Only the knowledge that she’d be useful once they found Kalila prevented him from making the decision to leave her behind.

He slid into the driver’s seat. ‘We will check the desert camp first. We should arrive there tomorrow morning.’

If she was unsettled at the thought of a night in the desert with him then she didn’t let it show. ‘You could just fly there in your helicopter.’

‘Which would alert everyone to the fact that my bride has run away.’ He snapped on his seat belt and eased the vehicle onto the dusty road. ‘For obvious reasons I’m trying to avoid that. I’m trying to protect Kalila. If possible, I don’t want her father to find out. Since my helicopter is emblazoned with the colours of the Royal Flight, using it would hardly help me stay under the radar.’

‘Yes, it’s not great publicity, I can see that. The Prince and his Runaway Bride isn’t the best headline. Your PR team are going to have fun spinning that one.’ As the vehicle hit a bump she gripped her seat. ‘Any time you want me to drive, just let me know.’

‘We have barely been moving for five minutes. You are a terrible passenger.’

‘I like to be the one in control. If I’m going to die, I want to choose when and where. And generally, who with, but beggars can’t be choosers.’

His mouth twitched. ‘I’m an exceptionally good driver.’

‘To be exceptionally good at something requires practice and you were virtually born in a chauffeur-driven armoured limousine.’

‘I frequently drive myself unless I have work to do. I fly myself, too. And you know it.’ He gave her a sideways glance and met her glare.

‘Keep your eyes on the road. You need to be in one piece when you meet up with your little virgin princess.’

‘As a matter of interest, is your objection to the fact she is a virgin or a princess?’

‘I don’t have any objections. It was just a descriptive phrase.’

‘Interesting choice of words. You don’t like Kalila?’

‘I like her very much.’ She leaned forward and fished in her bag for a pair of sunglasses. She slid them on, protecting her eyes from the harsh glare of the desert sun. ‘I happen to think she’s perfect for you.’

‘Meaning?’

‘She won’t ever disagree with you. Whatever you do or say, you’ll always be the one in charge and sweet Kalila will admire you and never question whether you’re right or not because it wouldn’t enter her head that you wouldn’t be.’

‘That could be because I am right.’ He saw the smile curve her soft lips and felt a rush of irritation. ‘Kalila is a sweet-natured, compliant young woman.’

‘As I said—’ she adjusted her glasses with a perfectly manicured finger ‘—perfect for you. Oh look! Are those gazelle?’

Dragging his eyes from those slim fingers, he followed the direction of her gaze and watched as a small herd of slender gazelle sprinted away. From this distance they appeared to be floating on the sand. ‘Yes. You think I am afraid to be challenged?’

‘You hate to be challenged, Mal. And it happens so rarely you’re unlikely to have the opportunity to get used to it. Which is why you always assume you’re right. Isn’t it unusual to see herds of gazelle here? What type are they?’ She reached into her bag for her phone so that she could take a photograph. ‘They’re gorgeous. So graceful.’

‘They are sand gazelle—the word gazelle comes from the Arabic ?az?l. We support numerous conservation projects. Protecting wildlife and preserving their natural habitat is important to us. Killing and capture of all wildlife is illegal in Zubran. And you should stop changing the subject.’

‘I love the colour of their coats. So pale.’