Master of the Desert

Unwinding the black howlis from his face, he shrugged off his robe and dived into a pool turned frigid by snow-melt from the mountains. His last image before he sank deep was not that of a young girl sighing with passion in his arms but of an aircraft soaring into the flawless Arabian sky, as it carried Antonia and her foolish fantasies back to Rome.

By the time dawn peeped through the shutters, Antonia had drawn up a plan. She would use her own money to convert the citadel she had inherited without having to take anything from the charity’s resources. She could only hope Ra’id might want to contribute his expertise and that of others around him to the project. Without their help, it could just be her best stab at an Arabian retreat, and she wanted it to be authentic down to the last detail. But before she could do any of that she must persuade Ra’id to give her the precious water supply.

She would have to appeal to his better nature and hope he had one, Antonia concluded, drying her hair after her shower. Startled by the sound of approaching hooves, she put down her brush and crossed to the window. Her apartment was on one of the highest floors of the palace, and she could see Ra’id returning to the stables. She knew it was him before she even focused on the man springing down from the ferocious-looking stallion. Even severe black robes only added to Ra’id’s glittering majesty, but it was his barbaric vigour that had called to her before she saw him.

She shrank back. He stared directly at her. Could he feel her too? It was as if he knew she was looking at him as surely as if she had called to him.

Pulling further back inside the room, she grabbed a steadying breath. She was right to think there was some invisible link between them, and wrong to believe it was fading when it had grown.

CHAPTER TWELVE

SO NEITHER of them had slept, Ra’id noted, carrying the image of Antonia’s unusually pale face with him into his private quarters. There had been dark circles under her eyes and her face had been tense. Had she finally accepted there was no point in her staying on in Sinnebar? Would she return home without a fuss? And, if she did, how would that make him feel?

He showered fast before dressing in workmanlike robes, prior to striding at a brisk pace to the breakfast room where he had arranged to meet her. She was standing by the buffet table dressed in a safari suit, seeming uncertain while a manservant was doing his job well, trying to tempt her with morsels of food from the wide selection.

Everyone stood and bowed to him. Antonia looked troubled when she turned. ‘Ra’id,’ she said, causing a murmur of surprise by using his first name.

No one addressed him that way. In time he might have forgotten what his first name was, if it weren’t for Antonia and his brother, he reflected wryly.

Desire for her swept over him as their gazes met and held. But he had closed his heart to her, he reminded himself sternly, to protect her from a ruthless king.

‘You had a good night, I trust?’ he said, taking the plate out of her hands and choosing some delicacies for her himself.

‘No. Did you?’

Would he ever get used to her bluntness? He saw hurt and disappointment mixed with the defiance in her eyes. She had expected him to come to her, he realised. However deep the rift between them, she thought they could get over it and pick up where they had left off. ‘I rode out,’ he said briskly. ‘Is there anything else you want from here?’ He scanned the buffet.

‘No, thank you. Did you ride all night?’ she asked innocently. ‘Did you have things on your mind, Ra’id?’ The look she gave him was fast and accusatory.

‘No. Should I?’

She raised a faint smile. ‘I guess not.’

Now her cheeks were flushed and her breath was coming faster, as if her heart couldn’t keep pace with her emotions. He turned away, effectively dismissing her, but he carried with him her fresh, clean scent and innocent appearance. That and the appeal in her eyes had almost melted him, he realised, but thankfully he was ruled by his head and not his heart, so it was easy for him to walk away.

He had almost reached the door when he realised she was at his elbow. He glanced down. ‘Yes?’

‘I can’t wait to see the citadel,’ she said, as if this was a holiday for her and he was her tour guide.

He made a brief hum of acknowledgement, before sweeping on his way.

‘What about your breakfast?’ she demanded catching hold of his sleeve.

He looked down at her incredulously, ignoring the collective gasp.

She seemed unaware of it. ‘Aren’t you going to eat anything, Ra’id?’

His look hardened. ‘I have more important things on my mind.’

‘So you don’t feel like eating either?’ she said, actually tightening her fingers on his sleeve so the fabric was crushed.