the tenderness flare into passion, letting her mind and body blur into sensation as pleasure blissfully took over and they were one once more.
Later, as the moon sifted silver patterns on the floor, she lay on the bed, Khaled’s arm draped around her, sleepy and sated. She looked over at him; he’d fallen asleep, his lashes brushing his cheeks, thick, dark and impossibly long.
She smiled, for he looked so peaceful and yet so vulnerable. There was no hardness, no grimness in his eyes, in the taut muscle of his jaw. He was relaxed and rested. She wanted him to stay that way; she wished he could. Wished she could help him.
Could she? She couldn’t restore his knee or his rugby career, but perhaps she could heal something much more important: his heart.
What business do you have with his heart? He doesn’t love you. He might not even stay…
The inner voice of her secret fear was like an icy whisper that echoed around the room and in Lucy’s heart.
Fear was so insidious. A few moments ago, lying in Khaled’s arms, wrapped in the hazy afterglow of desire and love, she’d thought she’d banished it for ever. Yet now it crept back in with a sly, self-satisfied smile and crouched like a hungry cat in a corner of her heart.
How long was Khaled hers, if he really was hers at all? This was a sensible, convenient marriage; there was no love binding them together. Just lust…and Sam.
How long until he found another excuse to leave, just as her father had, just as all men seemed to?
Lucy closed her eyes. She wouldn’t think of it; she wouldn’t give the fear a foothold. And she wouldn’t delude herself with silly daydreams of healing and love. Khaled wanted a marriage of convenience, and that was what they’d have. She’d guard her heart and keep herself from loving Khaled, from allowing him to hurt her.
She’d take what she was given and be happy, content with that, for God knew it was more than most people had.
She wouldn’t live her life in fear. She would be strong.
She curled her body round Khaled’s, drawing his warmth, wanting his comfort. There might not be love there, but neither was there fear. She clung to that truth as sleep slowly claimed her.
Lucy awoke to bright sunlight, and with Khaled gone from the bed. Her heart lurched with alarm and she bolted upright, searching the room as if she might find him crouching in a corner.
He wasn’t there. She could tell, she could feel the emptiness. She drew her knees up against her chest, wrapping the sheet around her. She shouldn’t feel this bereft; it was stupid and senseless.
Yet she couldn’t keep it from swamping her soul anyway.
The door opened, and Khaled came in with a tray of coffee and rolls. He smiled. ‘I didn’t want a servant to disturb us.’
The relief that washed through her was just as alarming as the fear had been. Lucy smiled back. ‘I’m starving.’
‘So am I.’ Khaled set the tray on the table next to the bed and began pouring coffee. ‘Eat up. We leave for our honeymoon in an hour.’
‘An hour! That’s no time!’
‘Your bags have been packed, and Sam is content with your mother. There is no reason to delay.’
Lucy accepted a cup of coffee and took a fortifying sip. ‘Where are we going?’
Khaled’s eyes glinted with humour. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’
She didn’t like surprises, Lucy reflected as they boarded the royal jet amidst another storm of paparazzi. She liked to be prepared, in control, even over little things.
Yet she knew Khaled was planning a nice surprise for her, and the gesture touched her. Even if she didn’t like it.
It was the fear again, she knew. The agony of doubt, the pain of uncertainty. She’d trusted Khaled once—he was the only man she’d ever trusted. No one else had claimed her heart the way he had. She wasn’t about it to give it to him again, yet, even so, she still felt nervous. Afraid.
Would the fear ever be banished? Could she ever trust Khaled, trust herself?
Glancing over at him, his head bent, lost in thought, she couldn’t answer that question. Last night had been good. No, she admitted honestly, it had been wonderful. But a few moments in bed didn’t change who they were, what they were capable of, how much they could give.
Did it?
How long until he leaves? Until he’s tired of you?
The jet took off into the sky, leaving the island of Biryal far behind until there was nothing in every direction but glittering blue, endless ocean. And no answers.
It was late afternoon when the jet arrived at Dubai International Airport.
‘Dubai?’ Lucy questioned, for she’d never been there and didn’t even know much about it.
‘Wait and see,’ Khaled assured her. ‘You will be treated like a queen.’
A throng of paparazzi greeted them, and Khaled navigated easily through the crowd, his hand clasped with Lucy’s, ignoring most questions and fielding a few necessary ones.
‘We are very happy. And, since this is our honeymoon, we’d like to be alone!’ He spoke good-naturedly, and the journalists responded, allowing him an easy passage to the waiting Rolls Royce.
Lucy slipped into the luxurious leather seat and within minutes the car was pulling smoothly away. They left the airport and desert for the glittering lights of Dubai, a mass of needle-like skyscrapers straight down to the sea.
‘Where are we staying?’ Lucy asked.
‘The best,’ Khaled said simply. ‘The Burj Al Arab.’
Lucy had never heard of it, but then there was no reason why she would have. This was Khaled’s world, the sports star and the reigning prince who was used to luxurious hotels and servants leaping to do his bidding.
She’d let herself forget that the sunlit days in Biryal when it had just been her, Khaled and Sam, swimming and spending time among Biryal’s far simpler pleasures.
Now the memories of Khaled as he was in London—fun loving, pleasure seeking, untrustworthy—came back full force as the Rolls swept up to the front of a huge skyscraper shaped like a billowing sail on its own artificial island right on the water.
Liveried attendants opened the car door and escorted them through the sumptuous atrium that soared a dizzying six hundred feet upwards, making Lucy feel faint and small. There was no need for Khaled to check in; everyone knew who he was. An attendant led them to a private elevator which went straight to the top of the towering building, and doors opened onto the most oppressively opulent suite Lucy had ever seen.
A gold and marble staircase, more impressive even than the one in the Biryali palace, led up to the suite itself. Lucy followed Khaled and the attendant, her footsteps clicking faintly on the carrara marble.
Upstairs
