Читать книгу Sheikh's Temptation - ALEXANDRA SELLERS - Страница 9

It had been Lana’s idea to offer a fabulous fund-raising dinner on a jet, flying guests who had paid a substantial sum for the honour overnight from London to Parvan, where they would greet the sun as it rose over magnificent Mount Shir. Then they would land at the capital to meet the Regent Prince and his wife at a palace champagne breakfast.

On board the luxuriously appointed jet, donated for the occasion by the princes of the Barakat Emirates, subscribers were also privileged to meet some of the Cup Companions….

Lana had quickly learned that Kavi’s handsome Cup Companions had a drawing power second only to Prince Kavian himself, and she included them in nearly every fund-raising event. The long-suffering Companions joked that they were no better than performing bears at such times, but uncomplainingly took their turn.

It was just chance that Arash was one of the performing bears whose turn it was to appear for that particular fund-raiser—an event scheduled to last for nearly a day, and for most of which they were, of course, all captive on the aircraft.

Sheikh Arash Durrani ibn Zahir al Khosravi never failed to please women who fantasized about the Cup Companions. His charm was rough and unstudied; he never came across as practised or polished, but he had a natural charisma that had an effect in spite—or maybe because—of a sometimes impatient tongue.

Arash was tall, dark and arrogantly, powerfully good-looking, with a firmly held mouth behind a neat curling beard. His flashing dark eyes sometimes seemed black and sometimes glowed deep violet, a colour so unusual that people couldn’t help remarking on it.

The fact that he had been wounded in the war with Kaljukistan and walked with a limp only added to his romantic glamour.

When in addition he was wearing the Companions’ traditional state dress of flowing white oriental trousers snugly cuffed around the ankle, beaded thong sandals on strong bare feet, and a rich wine-dark silk tunic surmounted by his jewelled chain of office and his war medals—well, Lana knew it was a strong female heart that could resist.

Lana’s own heart had been immunized early, so she was in no danger, but she had seen women trip over their own feet when they were still twenty paces away.

It nearly always amused her, the effect one smile from a Cup Companion could have on the donations, but it was not amusing when the Companion in question was Arash.

Probably because she didn’t like him.

She also hated having to pretend enthusiasm for him with these adoring women. Arash, whose eyes sometimes seemed to hide a deep sorrow even when he smiled, was a rich source of inspiration for dreamers. She wanted to say, Don’t go anywhere near him, he’s dangerous to know…but of course she never did.

Anyone would have been guaranteed to ask how she knew. But she had never talked about it to anyone. Not even Alinor guessed that Arash and she had a past that had affected her so deeply that she still could hardly look at a man….

“I suppose he suffered an awful lot in the war,” Lucinda Burke Taylor had said with clinical soulfulness an hour or so into the flight, and Lana knew that Lucinda had sought her out for a purpose.

It was going to be a bumpy night.

Usually Lana had no difficulty enthusing about the Companions to smitten women, and the donations went up when she did. But this woman had already married two high-profile, low-income men, and a Chinese poet-in-exile was already next in her sights. It was as obvious as the day was long that she thought of these transactions in terms of purchase. His culture and brains for her money. And she believed it an equal transaction.

If she was going to start aiming at Arash…but it wasn’t Lana’s business. Arash would have to look after himself.

“I’ve heard he’s the Grand Sheikh of his tribe now. It sounds so fascinating!”

“If you consider losing your father and older brother in the same war fascinating.”

“Oh, of course, I didn’t mean—I just meant, the whole business of being sheikh of a tribe, in this day and age! It’s just so—!”

After a struggle Lana mastered herself. “He’s very close to the prince, too. One of his closest and most trusted advisors,” she confided.

His back turned to them, Arash was talking to someone Lana had earmarked for him. She provided each Companion with his own list of three or four of the wealthiest and most charitable people at any event. They all disliked the task, but each could be counted on to speak to everyone on his list. And usually a good proportion of Arash’s targets made donations afterwards.

“And he’s not married, right?”

The gunsight eyes followed as Arash and the guest unconsciously moved closer to them. Lana gritted her teeth.

“Not married, and hasn’t got a bean,” she heard herself say flatly.

The woman’s eyes brightened at this information.

“Really?” She turned to fix her gaze on Lana, who had to consciously refrain from ducking. “Do you mean he’s—” Her voice dropped to a confidential murmur. “Is he looking for a moneyed wife?”

It would be husband number three for her, and incidentally would mean sinking the fortunes of the dissident poet, but why not? Arash’s estates were in ruins, and just because he wasn’t accepting any from Lana didn’t mean they didn’t need an injection of cash.

It wasn’t up to her to guess whether he would consider an offer or not.

“Might be worth putting your bid in,” Lana said, glad that the other woman was apparently deaf to irony.

Arash’s gaze met hers briefly across the space that divided them. He had heard some of the discussion. But instead of sending him an apologetic look, as she would have with any of the others, Lana merely raised her eyebrows in a shrug and shepherded Lucinda in his direction.

“Your Excellency…” she began, giving full weight to his title because of the impact it had on most Westerners. But the way Arash eyed her she knew he suspected her of irony.

Well, to hell with him. He knew nothing about her. If he had known her at all, he would have understood that he could take her father’s money without obligation.

“…may I present Lucinda Burke Taylor?”

Maybe Lucinda would have better luck. Maybe Arash would be more comfortable with a cash sale. Maybe that had been her mistake. She hadn’t asked for anything in return.

Lana frowned. Mistake? The only mistake she had made with Arash was a long time ago, and she was far from making another.

“I was joking!’ she said now.

“You were not joking. She came to me as one who comes to assess a horse. She wanted to count my teeth!”

“I know she did! Don’t you know irony when you hear it?”

He glanced at her. “And Miss Burke Taylor—did she know irony when she heard it?”

“I can’t help it if she was too stupid to get my point. You’ve dealt with enough stupid, greedy women. You couldn’t have had any trouble with her—she wasn’t up to your weight at all!”

“Thank you.” He bowed ironically over the wheel.

“But Lucinda’s not the point now, is she? Where do you get the jump from Lucinda to me?”

“You?”

She breathed deep, trying to quell the irrational fury that consumed her. “Even if you thought I was serious, you have no grounds for suggesting I would want to put in a bid myself. No grounds at all!”

To her surprise, he braked and pulled over to the side of the road. He slammed the gearshift into Park and turned to her.

“What are you talking about? Why do you make so much fuss about a simple mistake?”

“I’m talking about you saying I engineered this trip so I could make a pass at you!”

He stared at her. “Are you crazy, Lana? I have just told you—”

She overrode him. “It’s been a long time since I threw myself at you, Arash, and if it is not already obvious, let me make it one hundred percent clear—I am not likely to do it again!”

“You did not throw yourself at me,” he said. “You offered yourself to me from compassion, the way a woman does when a man is going to war and may never come back.”

“Is that what you thought?” she asked bitterly.

“Is it not the truth?”

She blinked slowly, her eyes clouding. Was it? Was that what had motivated her? She could hardly remember now, but she supposed she must have had some reason for such crass stupidity.

“Maybe,” she said. It would explain something, anyway—the thing that had always mystified her. Why had she thrown herself at him when now it was so obvious they were incompatible and didn’t like each other? Just out-of-control hormones?

She sighed. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t matter now.”

“And just to set your mind at rest, Arash, in case you really are afraid it might happen again, it is just possible I might be reduced to buying a husband for myself—”

“I did not—”

“But never, in a thousand million years, would I ever consider making you an offer, Arash. So if you were thinking that was the reasoning behind my offer to help you rebuild your palace or your valley or anything like that, you can relax.”

“I have—”

“I didn’t want you to come on this trip, I was blackmailed into it, and I would have flown when I discovered you were going to be my escort, only Alinor as good as begged me not to. I have no desire ever to be alone with you, for any reason whatsoever!”

“I understood this before,” he said, not without humour. “You have been at such pains to make it clear that you regretted that night, Lana, that even a stone statue would have the message by now. So I know that you do not believe what you are indignantly pretending to believe, and that you know very well that what was in my mind was no more than that Lucinda Burke Taylor had asked you to open certain negotiations for her.”

Heat rushed up under her skin, and she was filled with angry shame. Oh God! What a fool she was! Of course he would never imagine…what the hell had possessed her to accuse him of thinking such a thing? It was the last thing he would think. They couldn’t stand each other! She must be going crazy. Mountain air did that to some people.

“I am sure that Lucinda Burke Taylor handles her own negotiations. She must be quite polished by now,” Lana muttered, bending her head to conceal her embarrassment from him.

Arash laughed, and from the corner of her eye she watched the smooth movement of his throat and smiled herself. However angry she got with him, it rarely lasted. They did have that.

There was a moment of silence while she abruptly took in the fact that they were not moving.

“Why are we stopped here? Why aren’t you driving?”

He leaned forward, resting his arms over the steering wheel, and gazed out at the weather.

“We have a choice to make,” he observed.

A huge gust of wind hit the side of the truck, seeming to suck the warmth out of the little cabin, and she shivered. Looking out the window, she could see lots of rock, but nothing that offered real protection.

“What choice? Is there someplace nearby where we can get under cover?”

He lifted a hand and pointed out the window beside her. “That way,” he said. “It’s a long trek.”

She turned and stared at the rocky landscape. “What—cross-country? But what about landmines?”

“There’s another mule train route here, leading to a valley. It has been cleared by your teams. It’s a long way down the road to the next such track. It may be best to make for the valley. I think it is going to be a severe storm, Lana. High winds and heavy snow. It will not be safe to remain in the truck. There may be avalanche.”

They both automatically glanced out at the snow-covered slopes, as far up as they could see. The clouds were low, dark and increasingly ominous.

“Do you mean it’s going to be a blizzard? But Arash, what if it starts while we’re walking?”

“That is only more reason to hurry.”

“But we might wander off the route! We could get blown to bits.”

“I know the landmarks. Whatever else happens, we will not stray from the path,” he said briefly, without emphasis. They were both silent as they considered the other fate that might befall them, caught without shelter on a mountain at night during a storm.

“We have a mountain survival kit in the truck.” He seemed to come to a decision. He lifted his hand to the key to shut off the engine. “We must hurry.” He opened his door and got out.

Another gust of wind smacked at them. Arash staggered under the blast.

“Arash…” she began, but he was already at the back of the truck, opening the doors and rooting around amongst their supplies.

“Dress warmly,” he ordered. “Put on everything you can. More than you think you need.”

Well, it might be preferable to stagger through the mountains than sit in the truck with Arash waiting for the storm to hit. But she hated listening to him give orders as if he were an army sergeant and she a recruit.

“Thank you for that advice,” she muttered, to the dashboard.

She stepped out of the truck and instantly began to shiver in the icy air. He was right—her jacket and jeans would get her nowhere. She would freeze to death if the temperature dropped much further.

Her short red curls were lifted and blown flat against her head; even her eyelashes were caught by the wind.

Her jacket billowing, she staggered to the back of the truck, where Arash dragged out the bag she pointed to and dropped it at her feet. Lana bent down and started pulling clothes out of it. She hadn’t packed for cold weather; she was heading to the desert, after all. She had few suitable things. But layers were the warmest way to dress anyway.

She quickly grabbed out sweatshirts and jerseys, a pair of sweatpants, socks. Then came a couple of pairs of leggings. She gazed at them in surprise, suddenly remembering having packed them, paused for a moment, then tucked them back into the case.

“Put them on,” Arash commanded her.

She glanced up. She had thought he was fully engaged, but apparently he had time to watch her.

“Put them on,” he repeated in a voice that brooked no argument. Another wind slammed into them, smashing one of the doors of the truck closed, rocking the vehicle violently. It was icy cold, with fingers that reached inside the cotton shirt she was wearing to count her ribs. She shivered.

“Are you crazy? I’d have to take off my jeans first! I’d freeze just putting them on!”

“You will quickly get warm again when we start to walk,” he said.

She really didn’t want to strip off in the middle of the road—in front of Arash—if she could help it.

“I’m sure I’ll be all right with—”

“The temperature is still dropping. We have a long walk on exposed mountain.”

She still hesitated, and his voice got flatter and more urgent.

“Lana, we are using valuable time. Do as I say! Take off your jeans!”

The explosion over, his words hung in the air. Their eyes met.

A muscle pulsed in his jaw. She wished they could laugh. It should have amused them. But somehow, instead, she felt heat burn up in her cheeks. Lana turned away and pulled her jacket off, reaching for a jersey.

As she pulled on all her sweaters, Arash pulled on a thick tracksuit over his jeans and shirt, then a heavy sweater and down vest, and then his leather jacket. All right for him, he didn’t have to strip off his jeans, Lana thought bitterly, pulling down the zipper and shivering as she slipped the denim down over her hips.

Underneath she was wearing only a tiny pair of briefs in paper-thin yellow Lycra, and she saw Arash glance involuntarily at her bare hips and thighs before he firmly continued with his own business.

It was just male instinct, she told herself, trying to ignore her reaction to his glance. Trying not to remember the last time he had looked at her body.

Her jeans around her knees, she held down her boot heel with the other toe and tried to prise her foot free, but her feet must have swollen during the long drive—the boot was stuck.

“Damn!” she swore, wrestling with the boot for a moment before starting to hike her jeans back up.

“What is it?” Arash turned. He had dressed quickly and was packing the supplies. He held a coil of rope in his hand. “Lana, believe me, it is best if you put on everything you can.”

“I’m trying to. I can’t get my boots off!” she exploded. Now she couldn’t get her jeans back up over her hips.

Without another word Arash sank down at her feet and quickly loosened the laces.

“Lift your foot,” he commanded impatiently, and when she mutely obeyed he wrapped one hand around her ankle and worked the boot off with the other.

She shivered violently. It really was freezing. Hastily she stepped with her free foot on the gravelly road to let Arash draw off the other boot. She shoved her jeans down again, and he took over to pull them down over her knees and shins and off one foot and then the other.

Then she stood half naked in front of him, nothing on her lower body except the yellow bikini briefs. Lana swallowed convulsively, looking down at his dark, thickly waving hair as he lifted his head and frowned questioningly up into her eyes.

For a moment they were both silent, remembering.

“Ohhh, it’s cold!” she cried, pretending that she had been assailed by no memory of another life, another world.

Arash got to his feet and turned to business, and Lana shook out the first pair of leggings, lifted a foot and quickly began to work them on.

When she had put on the leggings and jeans and her sweatpants she began to warm up again. She quickly pulled on her boots and jacket, tied a big silk scarf around her head and face, pulled up her hood and made the drawstrings tight. She slipped a small toiletries bag with the bare essentials into her pocket.

Meanwhile Arash had stuffed two backpacks full, and was tying a rope around his waist. When that was done he took the other end and began to tie it around her.

“What on earth are you doing?” she demanded.

He threw her a look and went on tying the rope.

“Answer me, Arash!”

His hands stilled for one moment of what looked like irritation and he looked into her eyes at close quarters. In this grey light his eyes were the colour of crushed dark violets. She could almost smell their perfume.

“I am tying a rope around your waist,” he said levelly.

“I can see that!”

He shrugged. “You asked the question.”

“You know what I meant!”

“The reason for what I am doing is as obvious as the action itself. What do you want me to say? If you get blinded by the storm, do you relish the prospect of wandering off the path away from me and getting lost—or worse? Do not waste time on argument, Lana! Every second counts! You must submit to me in this! If you challenge me every step of the way, we are doomed.”

You must submit to me in this.

Lana swallowed. Of course he was right. He was the expert here. “Sorry,” she muttered, and then turned and slipped into the straps of the backpack he held up for her. A moment later he had shouldered another one himself, larger, heavier.

“Ready?” he asked.

Together they stepped into the storm. Survival depended on mutual cooperation now. She wondered if they could achieve it.

She had gone to London to study at university, wanting adventure, wanting travel, wanting to get away from the restrictions that her father’s sudden wealth imposed on her life.

Lana had been born and raised in an ordinary, comfortably-off family environment, with a father she hardly saw and a mother who was proportionately devoted to maintaining home and family. She rarely spent time with her father because his field was computers, and when Lana was about five he had taken the plunge of starting his own company.

Within ten years Jonathan Holding was almost a billionaire, and Lana’s life had changed completely. She had of course enjoyed the freedoms that such wealth offered, but she had equally disliked the restrictions that it imposed.

The worst effect was in her dating life. She had only been sixteen when she had had to fight off a date rape from a guy who, when a well-placed kick had finally calmed his ardour, had drunkenly apologized and confessed that he had wanted to be able to claim he had deflowered Jonathan Holding’s daughter.

He was a student at a nearby private school for boys. That night she had learned that there was a competition among the guys: the goal was to get the “virgin’s panties’ of the daughter of someone famous to hang on your gym locker door. Lana Holding’s panties would be almost as much of a feather in a guy’s cap as those of the daughter of a high-profile movie star, who was her fellow student.

That experience had made her very, very wary. Afterwards she listened to her friends when they talked about sex, about how they had meant to resist but had been overcome by their own passion, or by a guy’s, or by his arguments or bad temper, or merely by their own impatience to know what it was all about….

Not Lana. The experience gave her breathing time, and a good reason for resisting during those first cloudy, hormone-hazy days of growing up. And when the cloud had cleared a little, she had realized that she wanted a lot more from a guy than just his determination to get her underpants from her. And a lot more from herself than just her hormones crying out for relief.

She had decided to go abroad to university, where with a little luck she could be just an ordinary person again. She had taken her mother’s name to become plain Lana Brooks, though at her father’s insistence she had agreed to live in a building with extremely high security.

Lana had been lonely in the huge and luxurious apartment, until she had invited her best friend, Alinor, to share the place with her.

Alinor had already caught the eye of the mysterious graduate student Kavian Durran, who rumour said was an important member of the Parvan royal family. He was accompanied everywhere he went by the two Parvani friends who had come to England with him. Rumour said they were actually bodyguards.

One of them called himself Arash Khosravi.