of Raschid. Half an hour later she crawled wearily out of her sleeping bag. Her body was tired, but her mind refused to let her sleep. A short walk might help ease her tension, might help her to prepare some sort of defence against the accusations the morning was bound to bring.
Outside it was bitterly cold and she was glad of the thick sweater she had put on top of her blouse. Disregarding the boots Nadia had loaned her, she padded across the sand, breathing in the pure crystal air, and filling her lungs with its sharp freshness.
‘Miss Gordon!’
She spun round. Raschid was standing by one of the Land Rovers watching her. Her heart sank. If only she had stayed in the tent! What better time than now, when they were alone, for him to confront her with her duplicity? What possible excuses could she offer for abusing their hospitality by remaining with them when she knew that Faisal no longer wanted her? Could she plead Zahra’s birthday, or would he see through the protective sham and pluck the truth from her heart?
‘What are you looking for, Miss Gordon? Money? Romance? Does even your mercenary little heart yearn for a man’s hard arms to possess your slenderness and bind it to him, on a night like this? His lips against yours as the coldness of the desert gives way to the heat of mutual passion?’
Felicia gasped in pain, wondering if he knew how he was tormenting her. She sensed that here in the desert he was a different man from the cool, sardonic entrepreneur who ran their vast empire.
‘I merely wanted to walk,’ she stammered. ‘I couldn’t sleep….’
‘Because you longed so much for my nephew?’ he mocked savagely. ‘Well, I have longings too, and am as able to assuage your needs as Faisal—also I have the advantage of being here, while he is many miles away.’ He crossed the small space dividing them and took her in his arms.
If he had wanted to punish her he must have succeeded beyond his wildest imaginings, Felicia thought despairingly, looking pleadingly up into his face for some trace of pity. In the moonlight her skin was the colour of a waxen waterlily, only her eyes glowing darkly as they searched in vain for some sign of remorse. There was none—only the hardening demand of his arms, and the cold implacable purpose in his eyes, as he bent his head, obliterating the moonlight and filling her world with darkness, his face reflecting all the cruelty of the falcon’s descent to its prey.
It was impossible to resist. Impossible and unthinkable. This was her one moment stolen from time, and she admitted that in the hidden recesses of her heart she had dreamed of something like this. She longed for his touch even when it was fuelled by rage, and out here in the darkness she could pretend for a while that the arms that held her were those of a lover, that Raschid strained her body against his in desire and not anger, that the hands possessing her body trembled against her skin in passion and not fury.
She closed her eyes so that she would not see the contempt in his eyes, and gave herself up to his kiss, letting his mouth mould and teach hers. She had been kissed before—but she had never known this complete subjugation of self—this complete need to be one with another person to the extent that she was pressing herself against Raschid as though she wanted to imprint the feel of his body against her very bones.
Somehow her sweater had been removed and the buttons of her blouse unfastened, leaving her pearly skin exposed to Raschid’s impatient mouth. Her own hands mutely implored closer contact with his body, her murmured protest silenced under the pressure of his mouth as it taught her the meaning of desire.
His lips trailed lazily across her cheek, nibbling the lobe of her ear, descending to caress her neck and the fragile hollows of her shoulder blade, and then lower still to the shadowy cleft between her breasts.
Her heart was beating like a trapped bird. Stupid to feel so shy and so aroused. A lassitude enveloped her; she longed for his complete possession, and arched instinctively against him. He growled deep in his throat, his hands inside the waistband of her jeans, holding her so close to him that she could feel his impatient desire, her breasts swelling tautly in answering need. Through the thin barrier of their clothes she could feel the hard maleness of him, and fire licked along her veins as she sought to convey her growing desire. A small creature moved in the undergrowth, disturbing the heavy silence of the night. Realisation shuddered through her, breaking the spell that had enchanted her. Her flesh shrank under Raschid’s touch, and she felt him probing the darkness, listening… waiting….
The moment was gone. They were no star-crossed lovers, impatient for the culmination of their urgent lovemaking, but two enemies using their bodies to wage a war of attrition—or at least that was what Raschid thought. What had he intended to do? Make love to her and then throw Faisal’s desertion in her face? Perhaps he didn’t realise that she already knew, and was deliberately leading her on, waiting until she was at her most vulnerable, to throw the truth at her.
He was not like the falcon after all, she thought; they at least killed quickly and cleanly.
‘Obviously I was not a totally acceptable substitute after all,’ he drawled at her side. ‘A pity. You should have used your imagination a little more, or have you forgotten that I am far richer than Faisal, and far better equipped to pay for my pleasure?’
And then he was gone, melting into the darkness, leaving her to stumble back to her tent alone.
‘SO, DID you enjoy your journey into the desert?’ Umm Faisal asked Felicia.
They had arrived back just after lunch and Nadia and Achmed had gone to their own quarters with Zayad. Zahra was with the dressmaker being measured for her wedding clothes and Felicia was alone with Umm Faisal.
‘Very much,’ she replied listlessly. Since their return from the desert, a curious inertia seemed to have enveloped her, coupled with a nervous dread that kept her continually on edge.
‘Raschid has received a letter from Faisal,’ she continued. ‘Soon he will be returning home, I am sure.’
Felicia shuddered. So Raschid had read the letter. Dear God, how was she going to face him? She could not! Excusing herself to Umm Faisal, she went to her room. If only they were still in Kuwait and escape were just a relatively simple matter of presenting herself at the British Embassy. But they were not in Kuwait. They were in the desert. The desert…. She looked out across its golden emptiness; perhaps a breath of fresh air might help clear her thoughts.
She went downstairs. Outside Umm Faisal’s sitting room she paused, hearing voices. Raschid’s voice.
‘Rest assured, she will not marry Faisal,’ she heard him saying, and her face whitened with pain and despair.
Without knowing how she got there she found herself in the courtyard. The huge wooden gates stood open; the desert beckoned, offering solitude and escape from her agony. Like a sleepwalker Felicia walked through the gates to where the waters of the oasis glittered.
So many small wounds, so carelessly inflicted, all combined to make her heart and body one dreary mass of pain from which there was only one cure—Raschid’s love.
CHAPTER TEN
ONE tear followed another down her pale cheeks. She walked on, head down, not comprehending where her unwary feet were taking her, wrapped in her thoughts.
The sun was hot on the back of her neck. Her legs ached and she seemed to have been walking for a long time, but strangely she had no desire to stop. Some instinct beyond her control urged her on. Her blouse was soaked with perspiration and her hair clung damply to her
