on,’ he called impatiently.
She was still hesitating when he appeared at her elbow. He’d come back for her and he wasn’t about to take no for an answer.
Casey stood entranced inside the Bedouin tent. It was more comfortably furnished than many hotel rooms. Heaps of cushions in rich homespun textures spoke of months of dedicated weaving, while there were hand-woven rugs on the floor and hangings on the walls in muted jewel colours. The space was illuminated by a brass lantern fixed to a central post, and the tempting aroma of hot sweet coffee was in the air, along with some spice—incense, maybe. The actual walls of the pavilion were made of dark, heavy, leathery material.
‘Camel hide,’ Raffa explained, when she stroked her hand across it. ‘Nothing is wasted here.’
‘I can see that,’ she agreed, viewing two horn goblets on a low, gleaming brass table. ‘This is absolutely amazing … just like Aladdin’s cave.’
‘Ah, Ala-ad-din,’ he said. ‘We have that story too.’
‘So you know both versions?’ She turned from her examination of a large, decorative vase, hungry for more knowledge of Raffa.
‘I was brought up and educated in England, but my nanny was careful to introduce me to the culture of both countries.’
Another gem of knowledge she locked away. Some might think Raffa had enjoyed a richer start in life than most, but he had just reminded her that he had known his fair share of tragedy too.
‘So what do you think of A’Qaban now you have left the glamour of the city behind?’ he said, distracting her from her thoughts.
‘I love it. I’m constantly surprised.’
‘Live with us and then judge us?’ he murmured, slanting Casey an amused look. ‘In our language we would say, Ashirna wa akhbirna.’
She tried the unfamiliar words with Raffa’s encouragement, which naturally meant she had to look at his lips. Well, it was important to see the shapes he was making—luscious, all of them.
He turned from her momentarily and grew still. He was listening and evaluating the deeper sound of parents’ voices outside providing a counterpoint to their shrill-voiced children, she realised, and only when he was sure all was well did he relax. The bad-boy sheikh conjured up by the tabloid press was nowhere to be seen. That character was a chimera, a smokescreen for the man Raffa was in private. Raffa was a natural-born protector, not a playboy, and in spite of the vast power and wealth he wielded he was a man of simple tastes; a man so far removed from his public persona it was hard to believe she had ever been gullible enough to judge this particularly interesting book by its cover.
‘Do you recognise these?’ he said, pointing to some cushions.
They were arranged around a low, hammered brass table, and had a familiar pattern. It was the same pattern as her shawl, Casey realised with a thrill of discovery. ‘They’re beautiful,’ she said, ‘just like this.’ As she spoke, she stroked the filmy folds of her shawl. ‘I love my shawl and I won’t be parted from it …’ Let him make what he would out of that.
He handled the revelation Casey had made coolly. Things were moving rapidly onto another level between them and he didn’t want to force the issue. He had brought Casey to the desert to introduce her to his people, but behind that intention were his growing feelings towards her. When she’d first arrived, so gauche and shy, and vulnerable in his presence, he couldn’t have considered anything other than a business relationship. But as her confidence had come to the fore, and she’d grown in self-belief as a woman, other possibilities had opened up.
They had established much while saying little, he reflected, thinking how lovely she looked in the shawl—and that was the way of the desert people. Casey had many of the qualities he most admired in the Bedouin. Small things made and given with love meant more to her than all the jewels in his strong room, and it pleased him more than he could say to think she had picked out the shawl above everything else he had donated to the auction. What she could not have known was that he had intended to buy her anything she wanted—anything she had made an unsuccessful bid for in thanks for organising the event. Casey had made that unnecessary by selecting the one item no one else had seen any value in.
‘I’ll light a fire so we can star-gaze while we eat,’ he suggested, knowing she would enjoy that.
‘Could I bathe first? I mean …’ She blushed as he turned to look at her. ‘I’m all gritty after the ride. Is it safe to swim in the oasis?’
‘Perfectly safe. It’s shallow and warm, and there is firm sand underfoot. You should have it to yourself at this time of night. Why don’t I go down there first, to take a swim and scout it out for you?’
‘Would you do that?’
At this moment in time he would do anything for her. ‘I’ll lay the fire first, so that you’re warm, and if you sort out the food we brought we’ll decide what to do with it when we’ve finished our swim.’
‘We brought food to cook?’
‘We have a mule,’ he reminded her dryly. ‘Don’t you remember the saddle bags?’
‘Ah, yes … I thought they were—’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what I thought they were.’
‘Well, now you know. They hold your gourmet supper—that’s if you can cook.’
She laughed, and he thought her lovely, and he held her gaze long after they had both stopped smiling at each other. It was the first time they had been so relaxed in each other’s company, with the façade of who they were and what they expected from each other stripped away. But then Casey’s smile faded as if she realised how intimate this was becoming.
‘Don’t be long,’ she said shyly, turning away.
‘You’ll be safe here,’ he said, touching her arm.
She smiled—a little tremulously, he thought, and he wanted the confident woman back. He wanted Casey to enjoy life to the full and know how valuable she was—not just as a colleague in business, but as a human being.
To that end there must be no more desire-charged looks or testosterone running riot, he told himself as he lifted the lid of an intricately carved Iroko chest. ‘You’ll find fresh clothes in here.’ He helped himself to a new black robe without turning round to face her. ‘Take whatever you need.’
She didn’t answer, and he guessed she was still taking stock of her position. She was alone in the desert with him, with attraction gaining momentum every minute as they got to know each other better. He would make love to her here, in the most beautiful and challenging place on earth. He had wanted to make love to Casey from the moment they met, but would only do so when he was certain she felt unthreatened and safe in every way.
Then there would only be one danger left, he reflected, which was Casey’s sexual appetite. It had been repressed for so long that when she finally let go he had a feeling it would consume her. But when that happened he would be ready.
‘I’ve got Halloumi cheese, mango, pine nuts and some green stuff in those saddle bags—so get thinking,’ he told her lightly on the way out of the tent. ‘I’m hungry,’ he added with a casual shrug, as if his stomach was the only part of his body making
