path around their cupid’s bow. And suddenly all he could think about was the exquisite gleam of those lips.
‘You can’t think of any alternative solution to my dilemma?’ she questioned softly.
For a moment he thought of entering eagerly into the madness which was nudging at the edges of his mind. Of telling her that the two of them would fly away and he would spend the rest of his life protecting her and making love to her. That they would create a future together with children of their own. And they would build the kind of home that neither of them had ever known.
He shook his head, as if emerging from an unexpected dream.
‘The solution to your dilemma,’ he said coldly, ‘is to shake off your feelings of self-pity—and start counting your blessings instead. Be grateful that you will soon be the wife of His Imperial Majesty. And now, let us join the caravan and begin our journey—for the Sultan grows impatient. You will take the second camel in the train.’
‘I will not,’ she said.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard—and glaring at me like that won’t make any difference, Suleiman,’ she said. ‘I want to ride one of those beautiful horses.’
‘You will not be riding anywhere.’
‘Oh, but I will,’ she argued stubbornly. ‘Because either you let me have my own mount, or I’ll refuse to get on one of the camels—and I’d like to see any of you trying to get a woman on top of a camel if she doesn’t want to go. Apart from the glaring problem of propriety—I have a very healthy pair of lungs and I doubt whether screaming is considered appropriate behaviour for a princess. You know how much the servants gossip.’
Suleiman could feel a growing frustration as he acknowledged the fierce look on her face. ‘Are you calling my bluff?’ he demanded.
‘No. I’m just telling you that I don’t intend to spend the next three days sitting on a camel. I get travel-sick on camels—you know that!’
‘You have been allocated the strongest and yet most docile beast in the caravan,’ he defended.
‘I don’t care if he’s fluent in seven languages—I’m not getting on him. Please, Suleiman,’ she coaxed. ‘Let me ride. I’ve got my eye on that sweet-looking palomino over there.’
‘But you told me you haven’t been on a horse for years,’ he growled.
‘I know. And that’s precisely why I need the practice. So either you let me ride there, or I shall refuse to come.’
He met her obstinate expression, knowing she had him beat. Imagine the dishonour to her reputation if he tried to force her onto the back of a camel. ‘If I agree—if I agree...you will stay close beside me at all times!’ he ordered.
‘If you insist.’
‘I do. And you will not do anything reckless. Is that understood?’
‘Perfectly,’ she said.
Frustratedly, he shook his head—wondering how the Sultan was going to be able to cope with such a headstrong woman.
But a far more pressing problem was how he was going to get through the next couple of days without succumbing to the temptation of making love to her.
SARA GAVE A small sigh of satisfaction as she submitted to the ministrations of the female attendant. Luxuriously, she wriggled her toes and rested her head against the back of the small bath tub. It was strange being waited on like this again after so long. On the plane she had decided she didn’t like being treated like a princess, but that wasn’t quite true. Because nobody could deny that it felt wonderful to have your body washed in cool water, especially when you had been on horseback all day beneath the baking heat of the desert sun.
They had spent hours travelling across the Mekathasinian Sands towards the Sultan’s summer palace and until a few moments ago she had been hot and tired. But according to Suleiman they had made good progress—and hadn’t it felt wonderful to be back in the saddle again after so long?
She had stubbornly ignored his suggestion that she ride side-saddle. Instead, she had lightly swung up onto her beautiful Akhal-Teke mount with its distinctive metallic golden coat, before going for a gentle trot with the black-eyed emissary close by. When she’d been going for a couple of hours, he had grudgingly agreed to let her canter. She suspected that he was testing her competence in the saddle and she must have passed the test—for it had taken very little persuasion for him to agree to a short gallop with her across the desert plain.
And that bit. That bit had been bliss...
She closed her eyes as the cool water washed away the sand which still clung to her skin. Today had been one of the best days she could remember—and how crazy was that? Shouldn’t pleasure be the last thing which a woman in her position should be feeling?
Yet the freedom of riding with Suleiman beneath the hot desert sun had been powerful enough to make her forget that she was getting ever closer to a destiny which filled her with horror.
It had felt fantastic to be back on a horse again. She had eagerly agreed to his offer of a race, although at one point she’d been lagging behind him as they were galloping towards the sand dune. Suleiman had turned to look at her and had slowed his horse to match her pace.
‘Are you okay, Sara? Not feeling too tired?’
‘Oh, I’m okay.’ Without warning, she had dug her knees into the horse and had surged ahead. And of course she reached the dune first—laughing at the frustration and admiration which were warring in his dark eyes.
‘You little cheat,’ he murmured.
‘It’s called tactics, Suleiman.’ Her answer had been insouciant, but she had been unable to hide her instinctive glee at having beaten him. ‘Just plain old tactics.’
It was only now, with the relaxation which followed hours of physical exertion, that her thoughts were slowing down enough to let her dwell on the inevitable.
One day down and time was ticking away. Soon she would never be alone with him again.
The thought of that was hard to bear. Within a few short hours, all those feelings she’d repressed for so long had come flooding back with all the force of a burst dam. He was the only man she’d ever felt anything for and he still was. She couldn’t believe how badly she had underestimated the impact of being in his company again.
She had been planning to use him as her means of escape, yes. What she hadn’t been planning was to fall deeper under his spell. To imagine herself still in love with him, as she’d been all those years ago. Had she forgotten the power of the heart to yearn for the impossible? Or had she just forgotten that Suleiman was her fantasy man, who had now come to vibrant life before her eyes?
On horseback, he looked like a dream. He had changed into his desert clothes and the result had been breathtaking. Sara had forgotten how good a man could look in flowing robes and had spent most of the day trying not to stare at him, with varying degrees of success.
