style="font-size:15px;"> ‘Your strap is twisted,’ he said, ignoring her frustration and building on it by putting a hand to her shoulder, slipping his fingers underneath the strap and gently turning it up the right way. She gasped as his fingers brushed her skin, turning it to goose bumps and her nipples to hard peaks as he left his hand there longer than he needed. ‘That colour suits you, Princess. You look good enough to eat.’
Nothing could stop the heat from flooding her face or the heavy, aching need pooling between her thighs. He was so big before her, so powerful, his shoulders broad, his chest dripping wet, and it was all she could do not to reach out a hand and feel if his skin felt as good as it looked.
She yanked her eyes away, looked to the shore. ‘I should go back.’
‘Already?’
‘I had a head start. And I need to wash my hair.’
He smiled one of those wide, lazy smiles that made his face look boyish, even a little bit handsome. ‘So you did. But of course you must go, Princess. Such a pressing need must be urgently addressed.’
She knew he was laughing at her but she almost didn’t mind. Worse still, she almost found herself wishing he would make her stay. Which made no sense at all.
CHAPTER NINE
HER hair was almost dry when he found her brushing it in a chair under the palms. The air was filled with the scent of lamb on the spit and at first she assumed it must be time to eat.
‘You have a visitor, Princess,’ he said. ‘Or several of them, to be more precise.’
‘Me?’ She put her brush down and followed him.
They stood in a small group, looking uncertain and talking quietly amongst themselves—a woman holding a baby, a man alongside and a little girl holding a small package in her hands.
The girl from the beach.
When the woman saw her she broke into a wide smile, tears once again welling in her eyes, but it was the man who stepped forward. ‘I am so sorry,’ he said with a bow. ‘I told Marisha this was a bad time, but she insisted we come and thank you both. But you see, the helicopter comes soon after dawn tomorrow morning.’
She looked across at Zoltan to see if he understood and the mother came forward. ‘Princess, Katif needs a small operation—his coughing has torn his muscles and they need to stitch it up so he will not cry any more. They are coming to take us to the hospital and I will not have a chance to thank you again.’
She reached down and urged the young girl forward with a pat to her head. ‘Now, Cala.’
The little girl blinked up at her, and suddenly seemed to remember the package. She stepped tentatively forward, limping a little on her tender foot, a bandage strapped around it under her satin slipper. ‘This is for you.’
Aisha smiled down at her. ‘You didn’t have to bring me a present.’
‘We wanted to, Princess,’ the mother said. ‘To replace the abaya you ruined to bandage Cala’s foot.’
Aisha knelt down and touched a hand to Cala’s head. ‘How is your foot now, Cala? Is it still hurting?’
‘It hurts, but the doctor-man fixed it.’
And she smiled her thanks up at Zoltan, who was watching her, a strange expression on his face.
‘It will feel better soon, I promise,’ she said, accepting the parcel and pulling the end of the bow till the ribbon fluttered open. She pulled back the wrapping and gasped.
‘It is all hand-stitched, Princess,’ the woman offered proudly as Aisha lifted the delicate garment spun from golden thread and gossamer-thin.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, fingering the detailed embroidery around the neckline. ‘It must have taken months.’
The woman beamed with pride. ‘My family has always been known for our needlework. It was the least your generosity deserved.’
Aisha gathered the little girl in her arms and hugged her. ‘Thank you, Cala.’ Then she rose and hugged her mother too, careful of the now-sleeping baby in her arms. ‘Thank you. I shall wear it with honour and remember you always.’
She looked across at Zoltan and wondered if she should ask him first, but then decided it didn’t matter.
‘You will stay and eat with us, won’t you?’
The adults looked unsure, clearly not expecting the invitation, not knowing if she was serious. ‘We did not mean to intrude.’
‘You are not intruding,’ she assured them, hoping Zoltan thought the same.
‘Please, Mama,’ Cala said, tugging on her mother’s robe. ‘Please can we stay?’
‘Of course,’ Zoltan said in that commanding voice he had, as if there was never any question. ‘You must stay.’
They sat on cushions around a campfire, supping on spiced lamb with yoghurt and mint, with rice and okra, washing it down with honeyed tea under a blanket of stars. Afterwards, with the fragrant scent of the sisha pipe drifting from the cook’s camp, Cala’s father produced his ney reed pipe from somewhere in his robes and played more of that haunting music she had heard wafting over the headland when they had first arrived.
Cala edged closer and closer to the princess as the music wove magic in the night sky until she wormed her way under her arm and onto her lap. ‘Cala,’ her mother berated.
‘She’s fine,’ Aisha assured her.
The girl looked up at her with big, dark eyes. ‘Are you really a princess?’
Aisha smiled. ‘Yes, it’s true.’
‘Where’s your crown?’
She laughed. ‘I don’t wear a crown every day.’
‘Oh.’ The girl sounded disappointed. ‘Is Princess your name?’
‘No. Princess is my job, like calling someone “doctor” or “professor”. Of course I have a real name. My name is Aisha.’
Aisha.
Moon goddess.
Strange. He had never thought about her having a name. He had always thought of her simply as ‘princess’, but how appropriate she would have a name like that. Little wonder she looked like a goddess.
And here she was, his precious little spoilt princess, cuddling a child and looking every bit as much a mother as the child’s own mother did.
This woman would bear his children.
She would sit like that in a few years from now and it would be his children clambering over her. It would be the product of his seed she would cuddle and nurture.
And the vision was so powerful, so compelling,
