were making for the nearest dune. Walking across the sands, her excitement mounting with every step, Tahira eyed the large rectangular object which Christopher carried wrapped in a sheet. What on earth could it be? As they began to climb the sharp, steep ridge of the sand dune, her inkling of what he intended became a delightful certainty. Wildly curious as she was, she bit her tongue. Christopher had gone to a deal of effort to please her. The least she could to was permit him to explain in his own time.
He did speak finally, stopping short of the top of the ridge to allow Tahira to catch her breath, though the subject was not what she expected.
‘In the winter, in England, it frequently snows,’ Christopher said. ‘Imagine waking up one morning to find the whole landscape has turned glittering white overnight. Soft, powdery snow is best for sledding.’
‘Sledding?’ she repeated the word with difficulty, for it was quite foreign to her. ‘What is that?’
‘I don’t know if there is an equivalent in your language. A sled is a sort of chariot which glides across the snow. It can be pulled by horses or dogs. Or, you can just point it down a hill. When I was a boy I used a tin tray—we weren’t rich enough to afford a proper sled. Which is where I got the inspiration for this.’ He pulled back the sheet with a flourish to reveal a large metal platter, a very inferior version of the solid silver-and-gold salvers used to serve food in the palace.
Tahira stared at it, completely nonplussed. ‘Where did you get such a thing?’
He laughed. ‘The means of making your wish come true are my business. Yours is simply to enjoy the experience.’
Which meant he had no intention of explaining himself. Which meant that he had most likely—no, Christopher was right. Best not to know. Best simply to enjoy. ‘Are we going to use this thing as a—what did you call it?’
‘Sled. We are indeed. My theory is that the sand will act just like snow, and we can slide all the way to the bottom on it.’
‘Like a dhow riding an ocean wave,’ Tahira said entranced. ‘When I said I wanted to slide down a dune, I did not think—thank you, Christopher. This is far beyond what I had imagined.’
‘Save your thanks for when we get to the bottom of the dune in one piece. There was a hill, not far from our house, which was just perfect for sledding. Not too high, not too steep, and most importantly not too bumpy. Rather like this dune, in fact. I still fell off regularly.’
Tahira shivered theatrically. ‘You must have been soaking wet and freezing afterwards.’
He laughed. ‘I was never allowed out until I was wrapped up in so many layers of clothes that I could hardly walk. Fortunately, cold is one of the things we don’t have to worry about. Come, let us finish our climb to the top.’
Who took the care to wrap you up in so many layers of clothes? Tahira wanted to ask. His father’s housekeeper? It was odd, wasn’t it, that he chose to share such personal childhood memories with her unsolicited, yet any time she questioned him about his family, he seemed to retreat. When he talked of finding the Roman coin, and just there, when he talked of this English sledding, it was as if in his memory he was quite alone. Who were these people he had erased? And why?
But to bring it up again would spoil the mood of this precious night that he had gone to such an effort to make perfect for her. She ought to be making the most of it, not pondering ways to make a mess of it. They were nearing the top of the ridge. Christopher was just ahead of her, for he’d moderated his long-legged stride to accommodate her shorter one, continually turning back to check on her progress, to lend her a helping hand. When they finally reached the top, she was panting hard, while he showed no signs of effort. He stood, hands on hips, his pale tunic and trousers, his halo of golden hair outlined starkly against the midnight blue of the night sky behind them, like one of the Egyptian pharaohs he knew so much about, or one of their ancient gods, imperiously surveying his realm. And then he turned towards her and smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and her heart did a little flip. Not a god, but a flesh-and-blood man, who made her blood heat and her flesh crave his touch.
He held out his hand, drawing her into the warmth of his side. ‘It is a magnificent sight, isn’t it, the desert at night? Quite awesome.’
It was. The dune was so high, she felt as if she could reach up and pull a star down from the canopy of silver suspended above them. The moon glowed pale luminescent gold. The dunes stretched out before them had been sculpted into a complex patchwork of shadowed ridges and plateaux which looked deceptively permanent, though the landscape could shift and change so fundamentally by morning that it would be unrecognisable. Below them, the little complex of buildings which Christopher had claimed for his home, and in the far distance, Nessarah, her home.
‘Beautiful,’ Tahira said.
‘Very beautiful.’ Christopher smoothed an errant strand of hair from her cheek, trailing his fingers over the line of her jaw, down her neck, to rest his hand on her shoulder. A feather-light touch, yet it was like a trail of stars on her skin. His fingers fluttered over the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck, then smoothed down the fall of her hair, which was tied back with a silk scarf, to rest on the curve at the base of her spine.
She turned towards him. She lifted her face for his kiss, bracing herself with a hand on his shoulder. His hand cupped her bottom, easing her closer. Her breasts brushed his chest. His breath fanned her cheek. Then his lips met hers in a velvet, night-dark kiss that managed to be both cool and hot, sweet and sinful. A kiss as dark as the sky, which set her alight like the stars. A kiss that drugged and befuddled, like the effect of the desert sun at midday, and which made her shiver, like the breeze at dusk fluttering over her skin. A kiss which blurred the boundaries between her lips and his, her tongue and his, her body and his. A kiss which felt like it could never end, and when it did, left her giddy, so that she would have tumbled down the dune, had Christopher not caught her.
‘Wait, not yet,’ he said, laughing. ‘It was my intention that we slide down together.’
For the first time, Tahira looked straight down the steep slope of the sand dune. Her head spun. ‘Is it dangerous?’
His smile was wicked. ‘Isn’t that half the attraction?’
She laughed, the bliss of their kiss, the thrill of danger without fear, for she knew that despite what he said, he would keep her safe. ‘Then let us launch our metal dhow on the sandy wave,’ Tahira said. ‘I’m ready.’
He set the large salver down carefully, flattening the sand on the ridge to prevent it sliding away, and sat down astride it. ‘It’s not a magic carpet, but it might just fly. Now you sit down, in front of me.’
She sat between his braced legs. He pulled her tight up against him. Her bottom was tucked into his groin, her back against his chest, his arms clasped around her waist.
‘Tuck your feet up tight.’
She managed, just, to do as he bid her.
‘Ready?’
Her heart was pounding, excitement fluttering in her belly as she looked down at the sheer drop, and lower down, a different kind of excitement fluttered, as she pressed herself tight against the solid shape of him. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’
He lifted his feet, curling his thighs around her flanks, leaning back, so that his long legs, stretched out in front of him, were clear of the sand. The sled moved only a fraction,
