leave at six,’ he said. ‘Be ready.’
The sleek jet crouched low on the tarmac, its El Jamal insignia curling artistically up the tail, whilst heated air from the warming engines turned the landscape behind into a shimmer. Inside the limousine speeding out over the tarmac towards it, Morgan knew her thoughts had just as little clarity.
Her fuzzy head was only partly to blame—it had taken her hours to get to sleep, and when she had her tortured dreams of a dark and dangerous pursuer had left her tangled in the sheets. She should never have let Tajik kiss her. She should have pushed him away.
And then the car slowed, and the real reason for both her sleepless night and her muddled thoughts caught her eye and held on tight. Oh, no, she thought, as she felt herself drowning in those liquid eyes. It wasn’t just the kiss and what she should have done. The real reason for her addled brain was the man who sprawled so nonchalantly opposite her, his long legs eating up the space between them, his hands steepled over his stomach as his eyes lazily contemplated her.
And as he watched her lips tingled with the memories of that kiss, with the warm press of his lips and the welcoming sensuality of his mouth. She bit down on her own betraying lips and turned away as the car came to a halt.
Beside her Nobilah squeezed her hand, misinterpreting Morgan’s lack of enthusiasm. ‘Don’t be nervous. Our pilots are the best in the world,’ she said with a smile in her son’s direction. ‘And by tonight we’ll be there. You’re going to love Jamalbad.’
Morgan didn’t doubt it. But she knew she’d like it one heck of a lot better if Tajik wasn’t part of the deal. She smiled back, fully aware of the Sheikh’s continued scrutiny. ‘I know I will.’
Then the door was pulled open, and it was time to alight and board the streamlined jet.
‘Goodbye, Gold Coast,’ Morgan muttered as she followed Nobilah up the stairs into the plane, taking her last look back at the familiar shape of Tamborine Mountain and the range that bordered the Gold Coast strip and marked the start of the hinterland.
Her words were whipped away by the wind that tugged at her fitted skirt and tightly knotted hair, but still she paused at the top of the stairs, hesitant to take that final step into the plane.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked the Sheikh, bounding up the stairs two at a time behind her. ‘Fear of flying?’
She looked back at him, his linen pants and white shirt emphasising his dark hair and framing his golden good looks, and she felt her world of security and planning start to crumble.
How could a man look both cool and hot at the same time? How could he have eyes that looked coldly assessing one minute, yet rich with molten desire the next?
And how could she feel both fear and yet such a bewildering attraction? What was it about this man that unsettled her on so many levels?
She shook her head, more to clear her thoughts than to answer his question, but it served the purpose. ‘I’m just not too good with turbulence,’ she answered honestly. Not since the accident.
‘In that case,’ he said, climbing a step higher so that his eyes were on the same level and just inches from her own, ‘let’s hope this is all plain sailing.’
Was he talking about the flight? As she searched his eyes all she could think about was another time when his face had been so close, his lips just a heartbeat from hers. Her gaze dropped to those lips, her pulse kicking up as she remembered the sensual press of them against her own, the masterful way he’d overcome her initial resistance, the easy way he’d melted her from the inside out.
Then those lips turned into a smile that broke into her thoughts, forcing her eyes back to his.
‘I know,’ he said, his voice a clear and steady thread amid the noise of screaming engines. ‘I keep thinking about it too.’
Did he mean what she thought he meant? Were her thoughts so obvious?
It took a few moments to find her voice, given the tremors that coursed through her body. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Then she turned and headed into the plane, knowing full well that it hadn’t been fear of flying that had held up her progress boarding. It was knowing that once inside she would no longer be in her world.
She would be in his.
Tajik watched her enter the plane, enjoying her discomfiture almost as much as he’d enjoyed last night’s kiss. That had been a surprise—the urgency of his passion like a beast demanding to be fed. But it was little wonder, he mused as he moved towards the cockpit. It had been a long time since he’d had a woman, after all, and this one promised to deliver everything he would need from her in that department. She’d shocked herself too with the force of her response, if her eyes had been any indication.
Visions of another pair of eyes, deeply expressive and framed with kohl, intruded on his thoughts, and once again he felt a stab of guilt that he might feel an attraction to another woman—and one so different from his fiancée. But what choice did he have? Joharah was gone, and reports overnight had only confirmed what Kamil had discovered. Taj needed to take a wife, and soon, if he was to put paid to his cousin’s moves to angle the sheikhdom under his control.
He greeted the other pilot and strapped himself into his seat, his mind exploring every memory and nuance of that kiss.
Besides, he told himself as he picked up the flight charts to look them over, if he had to marry anyone, and convince Qasim that it was a real marriage, then it was far better for there to be some kind of attraction between them.
And there was definitely that.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE interior of the plane was nothing like she’d ever seen before. Morgan was used to commercial airlines, with their row upon row of close-fitting seats and vinyl everything, but after being guided to the right through a short passage, she saw the cabin opened into what looked more like a lounge room, with a scattering of armchairs and tables sprinkled around the sides of the jet. Richly patterned carpet adorned the floor, and artworks lined the polished walnut walls. And from the glimpse she’d had, the rest of the plane’s interior was divided into more rooms beyond.
The dark-eyed flight attendant showed her to a plush leather chair, alongside which Nobilah was already enjoying a pre-flight glass of juice. Tajik, she noticed, had vanished.
She buckled her seatbelt and accepted the glass of juice that had arrived unbidden. ‘You mentioned that we’d be there tonight,’ she said to the older woman. ‘How long is the flight?’
‘Around fourteen to fifteen hours. I’m afraid there’s not much to do but read or watch movies until then.’
‘Sounds terrible,’ joked Morgan, finally starting to recover now that Tajik wasn’t around to throw her into a spin.
‘Where are the others?’ she asked a little while later, curiosity getting the better of her as Tajik failed to appear. ‘Kamil and Sheikh Tajik.’
‘Kamil will no doubt be in his office, sorting out the paperwork.’ Nobilah pointed to a narrow cabin they’d passed on the way in. ‘And Taj will be in the cockpit.’
‘He’s flying the plane?’
Nobilah
