poetry as she walked.
And then there was Tajik. Tall and broad-shouldered and hard, as if he’d been carved from stone and breathed into life by the kiss of the gods. His pale blue sweater could not mask a firm chest and flat abdomen; his dark trousers could not disguise lean hips and long legs.
As she watched, he angled his face towards his mother, and Morgan found herself reacquainted with the determined angles of his jaw, the strong line of his nose. Everything about the man said power, even the fire-flecked golden eyes and the passionate slash of his mouth.
What did his return today have to do with the family’s sudden departure? It couldn’t be coincidental. There’d been no hint of a possible early return to Jamalbad before now.
Not that there was anything she could do about it. With a sigh she pushed herself off the deck, heading for the pool area while the pair were still strolling around the far end of the pool. Screened by trees, she’d take the opportunity of leaving the tea on the table and make herself scarce while mother and son enjoyed their reunion. She had no desire to lock horns—or gazes, for that matter—with Sheikh Tajik again, not when he had such a disconcerting ability to get under her skin.
Morgan gave a wry smile as she reached the table. If she had to find a bright side to the early end to this assignment, she guessed being saved any further contact with Sheik Tajik would probably fit the bill. That would be some consolation at least.
He’d known the second she’d emerged from the house. He’d felt her presence like a sigh of satisfaction. She’d taken a long time, much longer than it took to collect a mere pot of tea, and he’d wondered if he’d actually scared her off completely. After all, she’d almost bolted for the sanctuary of the house the second Nobilah had mentioned the word “tea”.
He’d waited with unexpected enthusiasm for her to rejoin them while he’d gone over the plans to leave with his mother, until finally Morgan had reappeared, but even then she’d hesitated, like some quaking virgin on her way to her wedding feast—knowing but not really comprehending what was in store for her.
He allowed himself a smile at the parallel as his mother headed back to the house to check with Kamil on progress.
Morgan was perfect. Up close he could see she was both good-looking enough for everyone to believe he’d chosen her as his bride for just that reason alone, and meek enough not to complicate his plans. She was exactly what he needed to quash Qasim’s lust for the throne.
He watched her place the tray on the table, her cream linen trousers moulding to her neat backside as she bent down, emphasising the flare of her hips and firing off a primitive spike of need in his loins that took him both by surprise and delight. Oh, no, he thought as he circled the pool towards her, appreciating the neat waist between those feminine curves, it would be no hardship playing Qasim at his own game. Not with such an appetizing partner in crime.
The object of his attention straightened and set off without a backward glance. He smiled to himself. She was kidding herself if she thought she could escape that easily.
‘Miss Fielding,’ he called. ‘You will be joining me for tea.’ It wasn’t a question.
She stopped with a jolt, before her back straightened and she swung around.
The polite smile on her face did nothing to hide her obvious discomfiture at being caught.
‘I’m afraid I only brought two cups.’
He swung his hand around in a sweeping arc that could only emphasise the leanness in his body, the sheer latent strength. ‘As you can see, there are only two of us.’
‘But Nobilah?’ Frantically her eyes scanned the pool area.
‘Has gone to organise the staff,’ he finished.
She took a step towards the house. ‘Then I should help her.’
‘No.’ His hand whipped out and caught her forearm, arresting her mid-turn. ‘Not just yet. I wanted the opportunity to talk to you.’
She looked up at him, her hazel eyes wide with what looked almost like panic, her lips still parted with surprise. Underneath his hand her skin felt smooth and warm, and his thumb picked up the race of her pulse through her slender limb.
Then her chin kicked up on a swallow. ‘If it’s about leaving tomorrow, I already know.’ She looked down at his hand. ‘So, if you’ll kindly take your hand away…’
He didn’t. Not right away. He let it linger long enough to drink in more of the touch of her skin, long enough to tell her that he was the one who would decide what and where. As she would soon come to know.
Finally he let her go, and she clutched her arms around her as if she was cold. But he knew from her touch that she wasn’t cold. Far from it.
‘Walk with me,’ he said, ‘and tell me what you think you know.’
Her eyes sparked at the implication, but she said nothing, merely falling into step alongside him as he set off along the path that threaded through the palms around the perimeter. She walked with a slight limp, he noticed, a limp she was working hard at disguising.
For a moment he wondered if he was acting too rashly and there might be some pressing medical reason why he would be foolish to take this woman as his wife, but if Kamil had not listed it amongst his concerns, as surely he would have, then it must be a detail of no consequence. Beside him the woman gave a small sigh of resignation.
‘Just that the household is returning to Jamalbad tomorrow and that everyone will be leaving.’
‘You’re not sorry? I believe from Kamil that your contract has two weeks to run?’
‘I will miss Nobilah.’
He nodded, liking the way this conversation was developing. ‘As my mother seems to like you.’
She smiled in return, transforming her features to dazzling. ‘I love hearing Nobilah’s stories of life in Jamalbad. I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘It just all sounds so exotic.’
She looked up at him, her eyes bright and her smile wide, until, as suddenly as if she’d flicked a switch, her eyes clouded over and she let her smile slide away.
‘Anyway,’ she continued, looking ahead once more, the prim miss back in control, ‘I will miss her.’
He waited a stride or two before answering, taking his time to appreciate the slightly irregular sway of her hips as they walked together. It was good. Even the way she moved pleased him. ‘That will not be necessary,’ he told her.
He heard the rapid intake of air that preceded her words. ‘Look, it may not be necessary, as you put it, but I do like your mother. I’ve enjoyed her company immensely, whether you believe me or not.’
Her sudden outburst took him by surprise. So the meek-looking girl had some spirit after all? That might be a drawback if it meant she would not fall in with his plans, but then again it might make this a more interesting exercise than he’d imagined. Right now, though, he could do without getting her off-side.
‘You misunderstand me,’ he soothed. ‘I do not doubt your affection for my mother. I am saying merely that you will have no reason to miss her.’
