Reclaimed by the Powerful Sheikh

He gestured for her to put on the headset as he began flicking at buttons, checking the various monitors around the small cockpit, if it was even called a cockpit in a helicopter—Mason honestly had no idea. She automatically ducked slightly in her seat when the rotor blades started up above her.

Within minutes they were jerking up off the ground, up, up and up. With her stomach left about fifty feet below them, Mason’s hands gripped the armrests of the seat, her knuckles white. It took another ten minutes for her to begin to relax, unable and unwilling to speak to Danyl in case she distracted him. She could no longer tell if the air between them was vibrating with tension, frustration or just the engine of the helicopter.

Loosening the grip she had on the armrests, and prising her eyes open, she began to look out of the smooth curved windows. She couldn’t help the gasp that fell from her lips as she looked out across the night-covered country. Little dots of lights, gathered like sequinned silk, outlined small towns and villages. With the palace behind them, she could just make out the thick velvet blanket of the sea in the distance. No light penetrated there, and for a second she wondered if Danyl would just take them out there and keep going.

She was surprised to see a stretch of mountains far off to the left, and it reminded her of home. Her gaze stuck to them as if she could draw from them the peace that she usually only felt in the Hudson Valley, until she felt the little helicopter dip.

Beneath her Mason could see the lights of the helicopter pad, guiding Danyl down to a surprisingly gentle landing. She waited in the seat for Danyl to say something, but as soon as the chopper was switched off he ripped his headset off, got out and was at her door before she’d even moved to remove her own headset.

She expected him to pull open her door and yank her out of the seat, but instead he seemed to check himself, waiting for her to be ready. Mason took a breath and released the handle, his hand waiting, hovering mid-air to help her disembark. She took it with some trepidation, hating that she knew he would notice her trembling fingers.

She stepped down onto the tarmac and looked up into his eyes, seeing nothing of their surroundings. She saw pain, pushed deep down, but she saw it. Pain, yearning, and so much else that matched what she was feeling in her own heart. She wanted to raise her hand to his cheek, to soften it all somehow, but he turned away, leading her off the helipad and towards a set of stone stairs.

As she followed him down the stairway, she looked up and stopped in her tracks. It was a fairy-tale castle, hewn from the rocks on which it sat, as if it had been formed by them, rather than perched on them. There were several layers of gardens, and pathways, decreasing in size, leading up to the main body of the castle. It reminded her of a sentinel looking out to sea, keeping a constant vigil against incursion from the ocean. It was simply incredible.

‘What is this?’ she asked, a surprisingly warm wind whipping her words back and forth.

‘The Summer Palace,’ he replied, paused, just as she was, on the steps, as if taking it in for the first time. But still his gaze refused to meet hers.

Danyl pushed onwards, and soon they were walking through the large entrance foyer, just a few staff waiting to greet them. Orders were issued, people disappeared, and he pulled her onwards through the large stately rooms she didn’t have time to really look at, and out onto a balcony area, if you could call the broad expanse she found herself on a balcony. He’d finally let her hand drop and it was only when she was bereft of it that she realised the warmth his touch had provided.

* * *

Danyl watched Mason walk over to the stone balcony overlooking the Arabian Sea. It was a sight that stole his breath, but it wasn’t the ocean he was looking at. The lights from the large state room behind them picked out the crystals on Mason’s dress, purple shimmers cascading down her back and legs every time she moved, each one striking him like lightning.

He’d known it would come to this. Somewhere, deep down, he’d known. Perhaps that was why he’d fought so hard against Mason coming to the gala in the first place. But, for his mother, he’d done everything he possibly could to get her there, and now she was here. Here. Where he’d wanted to bring her all those years ago.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she said finally, turning to him.

‘Yes,’ he stated, not feeling the need to add anything further. Not yet anyway. ‘I wanted to bring you here to show you something.’

Confusion marred her delicate brow. But she, too, said nothing further. As if they each felt that words were too precious to waste.

He pulled his lips into what he hoped was an encouraging smile, rather than a grimace, and he held out his hand to hers. This time she would come of her own volition, he decided, refusing to drag her in his wake like a Neanderthal as he had done the moment they’d broken the kiss.

That kiss.

He’d had no control over himself. She had whipped up a spell that pulled him to her and he’d felt helpless to resist. And it was the first time in years that he’d felt peace. His hand stretched out between them, desperate to reform something of that connection, something of that peace. He would take what he could get right now, especially for where they were going.

Her hand, slightly cold in his, lay on his fingers, and he led her down the stairs at the end of the large balcony. He would have found their way to their destination, even without the small inbuilt solar-powered lights illuminating the path before them.

Over the years since they’d been in Manhattan he’d taken this route a thousand times. He’d never shared it with anyone else and only he had the key to the private garden. Not even his parents. It struck him now that they’d never asked him about it. It was his sanctuary, his privacy, and they’d allowed him that.

He led her to a circular wall of English-style red bricks, markedly different from the rest of the Moorish castle. Beside a small wooden door was an old stone bench, the seat and arms covered in a sweet-smelling herb.

Whether he was buying time before they entered

the garden, Danyl wasn’t quite sure. All he knew was that he needed a moment to gather his thoughts. To get them to the conversation they needed to have.

He sat heavily on the soft green herb-covered stone seat, looking up at Mason.

‘Take a seat?’

‘I...’ She paused, as if sitting beside him was a fate she’d rather avoid. ‘I’ll ruin the dress,’ she said with a shrug of her delicate shoulder. He’d have thought it was an excuse, if he didn’t know her well enough that she would think of damaging the expensive dress.

He shrugged out of his tux jacket, laid it beside him over the moss-green living seat and gently tugged her down beside him. Next to each other, they each looked out over the rest of the gardens surrounding the summer palace.

* * *