had changed, she thought as he took her elbow in an automatic gesture. She didn’t exactly know what, but some instinct sensed a softening—well, no, an awareness—in him that hadn’t been there before in spite of his consideration for her.
Rafiq sat her down, silently appreciating her smooth, lithe grace as she sank into the comfortable chair he held.
‘This courtyard was built by one of my ancestors for his bride,’ he told her when Lexie looked around with a soft sigh of pleasure. She was very tactile, responding immediately to beauty. Would she be as open and ardent when she made love?
Ruthlessly he disciplined his unruly mind. ‘She was from the south of Spain, and he wanted to give her something that would remind her of home, so he built her a serenity garden, something like the one in the Alhambra. She loved it, as did later wives.’
‘So this place has been a home for a long time?’
He nodded. ‘After the corsairs were defeated, yes, it became the residence of the oldest son. Until a hundred years or so ago, the actual ruler still lived in the citadel above the capital.’
He handed her a glass of juice, cool and refreshing. ‘I hope you enjoy this. It’s mostly lime juice, but there is some papaya there, and a local herb that’s supposed to heal bruises.’
‘It’s delicious,’ she said after a tentative sip. ‘That citadel looks pretty grim. I doubt if the wives of the heirs ever wanted to leave this lovely place for it.’
Stepping back, Rafiq tore his gaze from her lips and fought back a surge of desire. He’d watched hundreds of women drink a variety of liquids, and none of them had ever affected him like this woman.
Masking his intense physical reaction with cool detachment, he answered, ‘It was largely rebuilt in the nineteenth century, and is now used as offices for my household.’
He looked down, noting her interested expression, and wondered angrily what it was about her that bypassed the strictures of his brain and homed straight onto his groin. Taken feature by feature, she wasn’t even beautiful. Superb skin enlivened by smoky-blue eyes and a mouth that more than lived up to its sensual promise did make her alluring. But he’d made love to some of the world’s most beautiful women without feeling anything like this primitive desire to possess that gripped him whenever he saw Lexie Sinclair.
RAFIQ enquired, ‘You are interested in history?’
Lexie gave a rueful little smile, wondering what was going on behind the angular mask of his features. ‘Because we’re such a young country, most New Zealanders are impressed by anything that’s more than a couple of hundred years old.’
‘Moraze has a history stretching back a couple of thousand years, possibly even longer,’ he told her. ‘Certainly, the Arabs knew of its existence well before the end of the first millennium—its name is from the Arabic, meaning East Island, because it lies east of Zanzibar.’
East of Zanzibar—oh, the phrase had magic, she thought dreamily. Anything could happen east of Zanzibar. You could meet an excitingly dangerous man and discover things about yourself that shocked you.
You could even find your ultimate soul mate…
Hastily she dragged herself back to reality. ‘I’m surprised they didn’t exploit the fire-diamonds. Surely any trader worth his salt would have realised how incredibly valuable they were?’
Thick, black lashes covered Rafiq’s hard eyes for a second before he shrugged. ‘Before they are cut they look like mere pebbles, so they weren’t discovered until a hundred years or so after the first de Couteveille arrived. If you’re interested, there are ruins of unknown origin in the hills of the escarpment further to the north.’
‘Really?’
‘When you’re fully recovered I will take you there,’ he said casually.
A feverish thrill tightened Lexie’s skin. He was watching her, and as their eyes met he smiled, a slow movement of his mouth that sent even more chills of excitement through her. He sounded as though he was looking forward to the promised excursion as much as she was.
Help! Thoughts chased through her head in tumultuous distraction. She took a swift breath and said sedately, ‘How very intriguing. Does anyone have any theory on who built them?’
‘Theories abound,’ he informed her dryly. ‘Some say they are the original Atlantis, some that they were made by the Trojans when they fled Troy, some that the people who built them came from China.’
‘Are they being excavated?’
‘Yes.’
He told her about the ruins and the museum, and university teams that had combined to excavate them. He astonished her with tales of the furious war of words that had broken out between two extremely opinionated archaeologists, a battle fought through the media, until finally Rafiq had threatened to ban both of them from ever coming to Moraze again.
‘It seems incongruous for people whose profession is to find the truth to be so hidebound and one-eyed,’ Lexie said thoughtfully.
‘Egos often get in the way of the truth. Egos and greed.’
The words fell into the scented air, flat and cold and uncompromising, so much at variance with the soft hushing of the water in the fountain and the overarching infinity of the sable sky above that Lexie shivered. ‘Greed? Surely archaeologists don’t profit financially from their discoveries?’
‘Profit need not be financial. An interesting set of ruins well-excavated will build a reputation. Greed for the possible rewards of a big discovery can override common sense, and sometimes even lead to destructive actions.’
It sounded like a warning—one directed at her.
Did he know about her father? Greed and ego had led him to do monstrous things.
Shaken by the nausea that always affected her when she thought of the man who had sired her, Lexie sipped more of the delicious juice and said colourlessly, ‘I suppose you’re right.’
Dismissing the subject, Rafiq got to his feet. ‘Are you ready for dinner?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ But she stood too fast; the abrupt movement sent a jab of pain through her neck, making her clamp her lips together.
She didn’t think he’d noticed, but it took him only a second to reach her, his hands gripping her shoulders from behind as he asked, ‘What is it? What’s the matter? This is the second time you’ve almost fainted.’
‘I didn’t.’ Her voice sounded thin and far away, so she swallowed and tried again. ‘I must have twisted my neck in the accident. It’s fine, but every now and then the muscles remind me of it. It’s nothing.’
His grasp eased, but he didn’t let her go, still so close that she could discern his subtle, potent male scent.
‘Perhaps this will help,’ he said quietly, his thumbs moving in slow circles on the nape of her neck.
