Breaking the Sheikh's Rules

LINA turned and held out the dress with reverent hands. It was a tunic made in what looked like pure gold, with intricate embroidery around the hem in deep iridescent silver. When Lina brought it closer, the colour shimmered in the light, showing a whole range of different shades of gold running through it.

On the bed lay a couple of wisps of underwear, also gold in colour. Iseult felt sweaty, and fear prickled over her skin. ‘Lina, I can’t wear this… I’ll wear my jeans…’

But Lina whipped the towel off Iseult so fast that she yelped, and had no choice but to get into the underwear if she wanted to cover up. The bra looked minuscule, but it fitted like a glove. The pants were cut like French knickers. Lina handed her a pair of slim-fitting trousers in the same material as the dress and she put them on, followed by the dress.

It whispered down over her body and hips, cut with a daringly low V-neck, so that a tiny hint of lace from the bra could be seen in her shadowy cleavage.

‘It’s pure Indian silk, Miss Iseult.’

Lina sat her down and started to dry her hair, taking it back on one side and holding it in place with an ornate, antique-looking comb, leaving the rest to fall over her shoulder. Then she put some kohl on her eyes, and mascara, making Iseult look almost as mysterious as the women she’d seen in the streets that day she’d gone out with Jamilah to buy clothes. After a moment Lina stood back to admire her handiwork and said, ‘You are lovely, Miss Iseult.’

Iseult grimaced at her reflection. The truth was she almost didn’t recognise herself, and this whole experience was so close to a dream she’d buried deep within her that she wasn’t sure if she could stand without trembling all over.

Lina had disappeared, and now returned holding out a pair of kitten-heeled gold sandals. Iseult got up shakily and put them on, all fingers and thumbs on the delicate clasps until Lina bent down to help her.

Just then there was a knock on the outer door and Lina said, ‘That’ll be Hisham. He’ll escort you to Sheikh Nadim’s rooms.’

Iseult’s cheeks burned. Did absolutely everyone know what was going on? Lina all but pushed her out through the door, and Iseult followed the slightly wizened man who led the way.

By the time they’d reached Nadim’s room, which they’d climbed up another level to reach, Iseult’s heart was thumping and she was dry-mouthed with fear. All she could imagine was that either Nadim wouldn’t be there—it had all been some huge mistake—or that he’d take one look and laugh at her efforts to try and be…beautiful.

But Hisham was knocking, and the door was opening, and…there was Nadim. All Iseult’s doubts fled in a flood of heat. He was dressed formally in a white shirt and black trousers, shirt open at the neck. He’d obviously not long showered, as his hair was still damp and curling slightly.

He said something indecipherable to Hisham, who melted away, and then he was reaching out a hand for Iseult and drawing her into his rooms. With her hand in his, she could only gape at the sheer magnificence of his suite. Gold and cream brocade, abundant fresh flowers…doors open and leading out onto a private patio that overlooked the entire complex, and the lights of Merkazad glittering in the distance against the dusky sky.

He let her go briefly, but Iseult hardly noticed she was so mesmerised by the view. Eventually she turned around and saw Nadim pouring a honey-coloured sparkling drink into two crystal glasses. She walked back in and Nadim handed her a glass. ‘A toast,’ he said.

Iseult held her glass up to his and Nadim said throatily, ‘To you, Iseult. You are beautiful tonight.’

Immediately, despite his words, Iseult felt self-conscious and awkward. She blushed and took a sip of the sparkling liquid, nearly coughing when the bubbles fizzed effervescently down her throat. Nadim smiled and quirked a brow. ‘Have you had champagne before?’

A little of Iseult’s fire returned. ‘Of course. I’m not a complete hick.’ She smiled then too. ‘But I’d wager that the champagne I’ve tasted isn’t exactly of the same vintage as this.’

Nadim was transfixed by the smile curving Iseult’s generous mouth. In truth he’d been transfixed since he’d seen her at his door with Hisham. He’d expected her to be lovely in the gold dress he’d picked out…but she was so much more than that. The material skimmed her curves, clung to the lush line of her breasts, her small waist, the surprisingly womanly flare of her hips.

Her hair shone like a glowing red flame against the gold and, just as he’d suspected they would, her eyes looked even tawnier. She walked away now, to look at something, and Nadim heard her ask, ‘Is this your wife?’

Iseult knew she shouldn’t have asked as soon as the words came out of her mouth and tension came into the room. She looked from the framed picture to Nadim warily, and then back again. The dark woman was incredibly pretty, and she was gazing up at a younger, softer-looking Nadim so adoringly that Iseult felt a physical pain pierce her heart.

‘Yes,’ he said briefly, curtly. ‘That’s Sara. I’m sorry. I should have put it away.’

Iseult disguised the dart of hurt. Despite everything he’d said, he had to have had some feelings for his wife—or else why would he keep such a memento close by? She turned away from it and said, ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Nadim, she was your wife. It’d be strange if you didn’t have pictures around.’

He looked incredibly harsh in the luxuriant gold light of the many dim lamps, but he just said, ‘The only ridiculous thing is how far away you are from me. Come over here.’

Iseult firmly shut the door on the pain that seeing the picture of his wife had engendered and walked over, saying lightly, ‘You’re so bossy. Has anyone ever told you that?’

He smiled then, a genuine smile, as if something had relaxed inside him, and reached for her hand as soon as she

was close enough. ‘No. Only you have the sheer audacity to insult the Sheikh of Merkazad.’

‘Good thing, too, I’d say. It must be unbearable with all that bowing and scraping going on.’

They smiled at each other, and Iseult felt an alien lightness unfurling inside her. Just then a discreet knock sounded at the door, and Nadim emitted a brief instruction in Arabic.

In an instant the room seemed to be full of a stream of staff, entering carrying steaming plates of the most mouth-watering food. Nadim led her back out to the terrace, where a table had been set with candles flickering gently in the warm breeze.

With speed and economy of movement, plates and platters were laid out, and Hisham stood patiently by, asking if they needed anything else.