“No!” His answer was uncompromising. “You may have heard that there is trouble brewing between Ali and Mahood and Sheikh Karim al Bashir?”
She nodded. It would’ve been difficult not to have heard the rumours that flew around the palace, or the speculation about how Tariq would react. The Emir was dying. Would he placate his father’s oldest friends? Or would he make amends to the furious Karim?
“Zayed must avoid a war with Sheikh Karim at all costs.”
Her brow creased, trying to remember what she’d heard. “He’s the ruler of a neighbouring sheikhdom, right?”
“Yes. We have many alliances—particularly over oil. We can’t afford to antagonise him.”
“Ali and Mahood are more trouble than they are worth,” she said daringly.
“Mahood and Ali are my father’s closest friends. Like brothers to him. I have to respect that bond.”
Jayne said nothing. His reply left no room for argument. He would put up with Mahood and Ali and all their guile for his love of his father.
“The trip to the desert town of Aziz should take no longer than three days. I plan to travel swiftly.”
He must fear that his father would die in his absence. Her heart squeezed at the sight of the pain etched into his features as he towered over her.
“What about—” His father. She broke off, her heart going out to Tariq. What if his father did die while he was gone? What if he left to sort out Ali and Mahood’s skirmishes and never saw his father again? As much as she loathed Sheik Rashid, Tariq loved his father.
“What about you? Or what about the divorce that you desire so highly?” His mouth curled into an unpleasant smile. “Your first thought is about yourself.”
It was so unfair! But her heart sank at the derision in his eyes, and for the first time she felt relief that she would be staying in the palace. Being surrounded by hostile aides was better than accompanying Tariq in this mood. “I have to think about me,” she fired back. “No one else does. You’ve brought me all the way across the world to cool my heels and await your return and twiddle my thumbs. To waste my time. I have things I want to do.” Like start her new course…and have a date with Neil…and start a new life, out from under Tariq’s shadow. “What if there are delays and this all takes more than three days? Does that mean you will expect me to stay longer?”
The bubbling of the water in the fountain was the only sound that broke the silence. But the soothing sound did nothing to comfort her as she waited for his reply.
At last he spoke and his eyes were hard. “I won’t leave my father for as long as a week. Not when he is so near the end. Nor will I be leaving you to cool your heels, habiibtii. You will be coming with me. Be ready to leave by daybreak.”
* * *
The courtyard behind the palace was already bustling when Jayne got there the following morning.
Tariq was waiting beside a lone white SUV, clad in a thobe with a ghutra tied with two rounds of black cord around his head. The SUV had already been packed high with provisions. In the back, beside their bags, Jayne spotted a kafas, a cage with holes to allow circulation, holding Noor along with large storage bottles of water—a sobering reminder of exactly how remote their destination was.
Jayne slowed to a halt in front of Tariq. “Is this it?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You were expecting camels?”
Not camels. Anyway, the white SUV was the modern equivalent of the white stallion for a desert traveller. But she’d expected some sort of entourage. Tariq never went anywhere alone. Bodyguards. Aides. A veritable army accompanied him. “When we travelled before—”
“Last time I organised camels because that’s what you wanted.”
She gave up. They were talking at cross purposes. He was referring to the trip they’d made in the first few months after their return to Zayed not long after their marriage in London. He’d taken her into the desert—by camel. They’d camped out under velvet skies studded with stars as bright as diamonds.
“You expected the fantasy,” he was saying, his eyes intent. “A desert romance. That excursion was supposed to be romantic—to make up for the honeymoon I’d never given you.”
She clambered into the vehicle and muttered dismissively, “Another mirage.”
“What do you mean?” He leaned in through the doorway, his brows fierce.
She shrugged, reluctant to get into a skirmish, and stared through the windshield determined not to look at him. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”
“When a woman says ‘It’s nothing’ only a fool believes her.”
Jayne remained mute, pressing her lips firmly together.
She sensed him watching her. After a long moment he sighed and shut the door before walking around the front of the vehicle to hop in beside her. A flick of his wrist and the vehicle roared to life. Jayne put her head back on the headrest and closed her eyes.
Their desert romance had been nothing more than a mirage. Even that belated honeymoon had been cut short. After only two days a helicopter had landed where they were camped. Tariq had been summoned back to the palace. During the flight back he’d apologised. Promised that there’d be other times.
And Jayne had been left wondering if it had been another instance of the long hand of the Emir acting to destroy their marriage.
When she’d been taken ill with a violent stomach bug the next day, she hated everything in the desert…and Zayed.
But that was in the past.
In the end, the Emir had won.
Their entire marriage had been a mirage.
Now she’d finally made herself a new life. A real life. And she was ready to move on. Find an ordinary man with whom to create a real marriage with real children.
Turning her head, Jayne focused on the passing landscape. The morning was lovely. A smattering of clouds meant that the heat had lost the edge common even in the winter months.
“It’s hot,” she said a while later, more to break the throbbing silence than because the heat worried her.
“Tonight will be cool in the desert.” His hand flicked a dial, and a blast of cold air swirled around her. “Better?”
She stared at the lean hands on the steering wheel, and a bolt of emotion shot through her. No, it wasn’t better. The cold air did nothing to alleviate her inner tension. She swallowed. “Yes,” she said finally. “It’s cooler.”
A sideways glance revealed a hard, hawkish profile. The white ghutra should have softened his jagged profile; instead it added to the mystique and ruthlessness of the man. Her gaze lingered on the black agal—the cords that wound twice around his headdress and hung down his back. Beside his mouth, the deep, scored lines showed the strain he was under. Tariq
