He tilted her chin up with his fingers, again gazed down into her face, and then apparently satisfied, he kissed her on each cheek.
‘‘S-salamu alikum,’’ he said soberly, his voice so deep she had to strain to hear him.
‘‘Peace on you,’’ the short man translated with another bow. ‘‘His Highness welcomes you to his beloved Baraka. Land of a thousand dreams.’’
Land of a thousand dreams. Interesting. And rather provocative, too.
‘‘Thank you,’’ she murmured, her cheeks still hot from the brush of his lips, and her brain racing to assimilate everything she was learning—such as the fact that the sultan didn’t speak English. ‘‘Would you please tell His Highness that I am flattered by the warm welcome his people have given me?’’
The translator passed the message on before turning back to Nicolette. ‘‘His Highness thinks it would be good to get you out of the sun. His car is waiting just there,’’ and he pointed to a dark limousine behind them, surrounded by uniformed guards.
The translator sat on one long seat in the limousine while Nicolette and the silent sultan sat on the other.
She and King Nuri didn’t speak during the brief drive, and although he barely looked at her, Nic had never felt so uncomfortably aware of anyone before.
She was conscious of the way he sat, feet planted, knees parted, thigh muscles honed. She felt the way he breathed—slow, deep breaths as if he owned the very air. His fragrance was light and yet the faint hint of spice made her want more.
He shifted abruptly, his arm extending on the back of the black leather upholstery seat, his hand precariously near her shoulder. Nic shimmered with sudden heat, her skin prickling all over. She felt each fine hair on her nape rise, and her nipples tighten.
Bizarre. Impossible. She hadn’t responded to a man this strong since…since…
She shook her head, not wanting to go there. It was bad enough trying to cope with her dazed senses without throwing memories of Daniel into the mix.
‘‘Your luggage will follow,’’ the translator volunteered after a few tense minutes. ‘‘But if there is anything you require before your luggage arrives, you need only ask.’’
Nic nodded jerkily, grateful for the protective head scarf, knowing her cheeks were as hot as the rest of her. ‘‘Thank you.’’
They reached the outer gates of the palace, and Nic discovered the sultan’s palace was actually a modernized fort, although to Nic’s mind, the huge and richly embellished main gate seemed more suitable for decoration than defense.
Once inside the ornate gate, a miniature city appeared, gardens, courtyards, white stone buildings each elegant and unique, nearly all fronted by endless white marble columns.
Guards in white trousers, white shirts, black boots and white robes bowed as King Nuri led Nicolette and the translator across the central courtyard to the central building. The building they entered was larger than the others and the facade grander, but the large carved doors failed to hint at the grandeur inside.
The great doors were gilded, and in the interior the ceiling soared, at least two stories in height, every surface covered in gold, mosaic murals, and bronze detailing. Gold, treasure, and impossible beauty.
Awed, Nicolette followed King Nuri into an elegant salon, rich crimson carpets covered the marble floor. The King gestured to one of the low couches in the middle of the room.
Nicolette gratefully sank down on the edge of one couch, the cushion covered in stunning ruby silk, cocooned by the luxury and elegance.
‘‘Refreshments?’’ the translator offered as a serving girl entered with a silver tray.
The smell of dark rich fragrant coffee made Nic’s mouth water. She’d never needed fortifying as much as she did now. ‘‘Please.’’
Still standing, King Nuri gazed at Nicolette with unnerving focus. Then he broke the silence, and when he spoke, his voice was so deep and smooth that his words sounded like honeyed candy.
The translator explained the sultan’s words. ‘‘His Highness trusts your journey was safe.’’
She nodded, forcing a calm smile. ‘‘Yes, thank you.’’
‘‘No problems on your journey?’’ The sultan added.
Nic listened to the sultan’s voice in her head, lingering over his syllables. He had the most unusual voice. Deep. Husky. Again her pulse lurched, her heart finding it hard to settle into a steady rhythm. ‘‘The trip was uneventful,’’ she answered, knowing she’d better find her footing fast. If she couldn’t control her response to him, how could she possibly control him?
‘‘Hamadullah,’’ King Nuri answered, the corner of his mouth curved in a small private smile.
She forced her attention away from the Sultan’s lovely mouth. Remember his stream of mistresses, she told herself. Remember his reputation. ‘‘What does hamadullah mean?’’
‘‘It means, ‘Thanks be to God’.’’
Nic mulled over the King’s response.
King Nuri spoke again, and the translator hastened to explain. ‘‘It is customary here to express gratitude to God for our blessings.’’
Nic shot King Nuri a quick glance. His lips curved fractionally. Hollows appeared beneath his strong cheekbones. ‘‘And my arrival is a blessing?’’
‘‘Without a doubt.’’ The translator answered, speaking for the sultan.
She shot King Nuri yet another wary glance. She’d thought she was prepared for this trip, thought her plan was bullet proof, but now that she was here, and he was here, and they were together…this wasn’t at all how she’d imagined it. She’d pictured him rakish. Handsome but a little thick in the jowls, a little paunchy at the waist. She’d told herself he’d flirt outrageously, come on too strong, and probably wear flashy clothes, but that wasn’t the man facing her now.
The sultan took a seat close to her on one of the low couches. When he reached for his coffee, his long arm nearly brushed her knee and she shivered inwardly, tensing all over again.
Had she hoped he’d touch her?
Had she feared he’d touch her?
The sultan was speaking Arabic again, and Nic glanced from King Nuri to the translator and back. The King’s profile was beautiful. He was beautiful. Definitively male.
‘‘His Highness expresses his satisfaction that you are here. He says that he and his people have waited a very long time for this day.’’
Nic’s fingers tightened around her small espresso cup, trying to keep her calm. The King was practically reclining, and his eyes, a cool silvery green-gray, rested on her as if he found her absolutely fascinating.
Thank God Chantal wasn’t here. King Nuri would have seduced her, married her, and abandoned her in no time. If he was a man who lived off his conquests, then Chantal,
