and even a little ashamed, almost as if she’d hurt his feelings. Khalil waited, his expression ironed out to blandness. ‘This is all very civilised,’ Elena finally managed.
‘It’s meant to be civilised, Elena,’ he answered. ‘I have told you before, I am neither a terrorist nor a thug. Your stay here is, I’m afraid, a necessary—’
‘Evil,’ she filled in before she could help herself.
‘Measure,’ Khalil answered. Suddenly and surprisingly, he looked weary. ‘If you are going to fight me all evening, perhaps you would prefer to eat in your tent. Or will you try to set fire to this one?’
Elena knew then that she didn’t want to fight any more. What was the point? Khalil wasn’t going to let her go. And she was wearing a beautiful dress, about to eat a lovely meal with a very attractive man. Maybe she should just enjoy herself. It was a novel concept; so much of her life as queen, and even before she’d ascended the throne, had been about duty. Sacrifice. When had anything been about pleasure?
She gave him a small smile and glanced consideringly at the creamy candles in their bronze holders. ‘That would make a big enough signal fire.’
Khalil chuckled softly. ‘Don’t even think of it, Elena.’
‘I wasn’t,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve come to realise that setting a fire won’t do me much good.’
‘You have another idea?’ he asked and walked forward to take her hand, the slide of his fingers across hers shooting sparks all the way up to her elbow.
‘Well, I was thinking of trying to charm you into letting me go,’ Elena answered lightly. She did a little twirl in her dress. ‘The dress might help.’
Khalil’s eyes gleamed. ‘You’d tempt a saint, but I’m afraid I’m made of sterner stuff. Flirting won’t get you very far.’
She drew back, a blush scorching her cheeks. ‘I wasn’t flirting.’
‘No?’ Khalil arched his eyebrows as he drew her down to the table. ‘Pity.’
Even more disconcerted by his response, Elena fussed with positioning herself on the silken pillows, arranging the folds of her dress around her. Khalil sat opposite her, reclining on one elbow, every inch the relaxed and confident sheikh.
Sheikh. Yes, lying on the pillows, the candlelight glinting on his dark hair, he looked every inch the sheikh.
‘Let me serve you,’ Khalil said, and lifted the lids on several silver chafing dishes. He ladled some lamb stewed in fragrant spices onto her plate, along with couscous mixed with vegetables.
‘It smells delicious,’ Elena murmured. ‘Thank you.’ Khalil raised an eyebrow.
‘So polite,’ he said with a soft laugh. ‘I’m waiting for the sting.’
‘I’m hungry,’ she answered, which was no answer at all because she didn’t know what she was doing. What she felt.
‘Then you must eat up,’ Khalil said lightly. ‘You are too thin, at least by Kadaran standards.’
She was thin, mainly because constant stress and anxiety kept her from eating properly. ‘And you are familiar with Kadaran standards?’ she asked. ‘You said something about living in America before, didn’t you?’
‘I spent my adolescence in the United States,’ he answered, his tone rather flat. He handed her a platter of bread, his expression shuttered, and Elena felt a surge of curiosity about this man and his experience.
‘Is that why your English is so good?’
A smile flickered across his face, banishing the frown that had settled between his brows when she’d asked about where he had lived. ‘Thank you. And, yes, I suppose it is.’
Elena sat back, taking dainty bites of the delicious lamb. ‘How long have you been back in Kadar?’
‘Six months. Is this an inquisition, Elena?’ That smile now deepened, revealing the dimple Elena had seen before. ‘“Know your enemies and know yourself, and you can win a hundred battles”.’
‘You are quite familiar with The Art of War.’
‘As are you,’ he observed.
‘How come you know it so well?’
‘Because my life has been one of preparing for battle.’
‘To become Sheikh of Kadar.’
‘Yes.’
‘But you’re already a sheikh, aren’t you? Leila told me...’
He shrugged. ‘Of a small tribe in the northern desert. My mother’s people.’
He was silent and so was she, the only sounds the wind ruffling the sides of the tent, the gentle clink of their dishes. Elena gazed at him, the harsh planes of his face, the sculpted fullness of his lips. Hard and soft, a mass of contradictions, this gentle kidnapper of hers. Her stomach twisted. What was she doing? How stupid was she being, to actually consider believing this man, trusting him?
She could tell herself she was here because she needed to know her enemy, needed to make an informed decision about her future, but Elena knew she was fooling herself. She was here because she wanted to be here. And she wanted to trust Khalil because she liked him. As a person. As a man.
‘I want to hear the other side of the story,’ she said quietly, and Khalil glanced up at her, his expression watchful, even wary.
‘Do you,’ he said, not a question, and she nodded and swallowed.
‘Everyone around you is so sure, Khalil, of your right to the throne. I don’t think they’re brainwashed or deluded, so...’ She spread her hands, tried for a smile. ‘There must be some reason why people think you are the rightful sheikh. Tell me what it is.’
* * *
Tell me what it is. A simple request, yet one that felt like peeling back his skin, exposing his heart. Admitting his shame.
Khalil glanced away from Elena, his gaze distant, unfocused. He’d said before he’d tell her his side of the story when she was ready to listen, and here she was—ready.
The trouble was, he wasn’t.
‘Khalil,’ Elena said softly. His name sounded right on her lips in a way that made everything in Khalil both want and rebel.
What was he doing? How had he got to this place, with this woman? It had started, perhaps, from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. When, in what could be considered courage or folly or both, she’d attempted to escape. When he’d seen both fear and pride in her eyes and known exactly how she’d felt.
When he’d held her in his arms and she’d curled into him, seeking the solace that he’d freely, gladly, given.
And now she wanted more. Now she wanted the truth, which he’d told her he would tell her, except now that she’d actually asked he felt wary, reluctant. Afraid.
