an open-topped Jeep.
‘One of Biryal’s treasures. I know it may look like a dusty, scrubby island to you, but the interior has many beautiful sights. One of them is this grove. The trees are native only to this island and one other.’
Intrigued, Lucy sat back and let the hot, dry breeze blow over her as Khaled started the Jeep and they began the precarious route down the mountain.
They didn’t speak, but it was a surprisingly companionable silence. The heat made Lucy feel almost languorous, and the questions and worries that nibbled and niggled at her mind slipped away once more.
She would enjoy this evening she resolved. One evening, for pleasure. One evening without worrying, fighting, fearing. It was all too easy a decision to make.
Khaled turned off the main road that led to Lahji and entered a protected nature reserve, which was mostly rocky hills dotted with trees. Lucy knew this must be the grove he’d mentioned, for the trees were indeed unique. They had thick, knobbly trunks, their branches with bristly dark leaves thrust upwards, like a brush. It looked, Lucy thought, as if the trees were raising their arms to heaven.
‘Dragon’s Blood trees,’ Khaled told her as he parked the Jeep. From the back he fetched a blanket and picnic basket. ‘When their bark is cut, a thick, red resin comes out. It used to be called the blood of Cain and Abel. It is known to have healing properties.’
He reached for her hand to help her across the rough ground, and Lucy took it naturally. Khaled, she noticed, walked with that same stiff-legged gait, but he did not appear to be in pain.
He spread a blanket on a smoother stretch of ground positioned above the grove so they could watch the sun begin its descent towards the trees.
Lucy helped him spread the blanket out before they both sat down. Khaled rested his elbows on his knees, his thoughtful expression on the distant horizon. The sun was turning the colour of a blood orange, large and flaming.
Lucy watched him for a moment. The harsh profile had softened a bit in reflective silence, yet she thought she saw a certain determination in the set of his jaw.
‘Shall we eat?’ she asked, and Khaled turned to her with a distracted smile.
‘Yes. I asked the palace cooks to pack a feast.’
As Khaled began to unpack the picnic basket, Lucy saw that there was indeed a feast: roast chicken seasoned with cumin, aubergine salad, pastries plump with dates and a bottle of chilled white wine.
‘I thought countries such as yours forbade alcohol,’ Lucy remarked, taking the glass Khaled poured her. She realised that wine had been served at most meals, although it hadn’t really registered with her until now.
‘I told you, we are Western now,’ Khaled replied, smiling. He raised his glass in a toast. ‘Saha.’
‘Saha,’ Lucy repeated, and they both drank. ‘What does that mean?’
‘To good health. It is a traditional toast.’
They ate in companionable silence, although as it wore on Lucy felt her nerves start to fray. Before tonight there had always been the safety of Sam between them; Khaled hadn’t tried to see her on her own after that first night. Evening meals had been chaperoned by Ahmed, and Lucy had retired to the safety of her suite, with Sam as her excuse. Khaled had let her go.
Now that they were finally alone, she realised how safe Sam’s presence had made her feel. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy as she tried to manage a chicken drumstick or date pastry. The food was tasteless and dry in her mouth, and she could feel her heart rate kick up again, all in reaction to Khaled.
Had he always made her feel this way?
Of course he had. From the moment she’d first laid eyes on him strolling lazily across the rugby pitch, she’d been helpless. Hopeless. Wanton.
Cool, composed Lucy Banks had melted like warm butter in Khaled’s hands under the heat of his carelessly given smile.
And he’d known. She’d always been able to tell that, had seen the amused flicker of awareness in his eyes, and still she hadn’t cared. She couldn’t change.
When Khaled had beckoned her, smiling with languorous confidence, she’d gone to him. Had been glad to.
And now it was happening again. Khaled’s gaze had turned speculative and heavy-lidded over the rim of his glass, and Lucy felt herself begin to melt, her body betraying her as always. Desire took the place of reason, of pride. Of safety. Lucy forced her gaze away from Khaled.
The sun, she saw, was nearing the tops of the trees, sending out long, orange rays and flooding the sky with supernatural colour.
‘You’re right,’ she said in an awkward attempt to fill the expectant silence, to keep the treacherous reactions of her own body at bay. ‘The sunset is spectacular.’
‘There are many beautiful things about Biryal.’
She glanced at him sharply. ‘Is that a sales pitch?’
Khaled chuckled and stretched out on the blanket, his body long and lithe next to hers…close to hers. Lucy inched away; the temptation to sidle closer, to feel the long, hot length of his thigh against hers, was too great.
As much as she’d told herself she would enjoy this evening, she wasn’t. She couldn’t. Her nerves and fears were on high alert. She was so weak when it came to Khaled; he could have her so easily, and he knew it. Even now he knew it. And, if he did, what would be left of her happiness? Her self-respect? Her safety?
‘Not really,’ Khaled said after a moment. He reached one hand out to lazily brush a tendril of hair behind her ear. Lucy forced herself not to react. ‘Your hair is always so silky,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve dreamed of touching it, of feeling it between my fingers like cool water.’ There was a surprising ache of yearning in his voice that had Lucy shaking her head, sending more tendrils escaping to brush her cheeks. Khaled threaded his fingers through them, smiling.
‘You haven’t…?’ she began, mesmerised by the feel of his hands in her hair, of his knuckles barely brushing her cheekbone. She wanted more.
‘Haven’t I?’ His fingers, tangled in her hair, drew her slowly, inexorably to him, as she’d been afraid they would. As she’d wanted him to.
He drew her towards him, and she went. She didn’t resist, didn’t even consider it. She couldn’t, for she wanted the promise she saw in his eyes, and when his lips barely brushed hers she felt that promise fire her soul.
‘Lucy…’ he murmured against her mouth, like a supplication, a prayer.
‘Oh, Khaled.’ Her hands slid up of their own accord to caress the smooth skin on the back of his neck, his stubbly jaw, to rake through his hair. She wanted to feel him, every bit, had been aching for his touch. It had been so long. Too long.
Yet even as desire swamped her body her mind rebelled. Not this. Not now, not again…
Body and heart warred against each other and helplessly she shook her head. A tear she hadn’t meant to shed escaped from beneath her closed lids and plopped on Khaled’s thumb. He drew back in
