Читать книгу Australia: In Bed with a Sheikh! - Emma Darcy - Страница 15

THE CALM AFTER the storm, Sarah thought ironically, sitting through breakfast with Tareq. His usual gentlemanly manner had been resumed without the slightest suggestion of strain. Sarah worked hard at holding a natural approach to today’s activities, asking about the ranch they would be visiting, the horses that interested him, the people who owned them.

She fixed their names in her mind—Jack and Miriam Wellesly-Adams—suspecting the double-barrelled surname represented an amalgamation of two very wealthy families. She’d taken her cue from Tareq, dressing casually in jeans, a black pair which had a matching battle jacket she could wear if the afternoon turned cool. Her lime green polo-necked top went well with it. Since no critical comment was forthcoming from Tareq, Sarah concluded she was suitably attired, regardless of her hostess’s fashion standards.

Although dinner this evening was somewhat trickier. She and Tareq were to be overnight guests. “Classy casual,” he’d advised when she’d asked him what to pack for it. How classy and how casual were left undefined. Sarah hoped her new lemon pants-suit fitted the requisites.

Cluttering her mind with superficial details kept more fretful thoughts at bay. Sarah almost managed to pretend she felt no tension at all. Logic insisted that as long as she didn’t touch Tareq, he would respect whatever distance she chose to hold. Pouncing was not on his agenda. He was playing a waiting game. Though if she let herself think about that, her nerves would start screaming again.

She was glad when it was time to go. She wanted to put the confrontation in his study behind her, a long way behind her, physically as well as mentally. Once they were on the road she could immerse herself in the role of travelling companion and hopefully find lots of distractions.

Tareq surprised her.

A gleaming red Cadillac convertible was sitting outside the house and Sam Bates was loading their overnight cases in the trunk. Sarah stopped and stared. They’d been riding around in a silvery grey BMW all week. This car had certainly not been in evidence. Anyone would have to be blind not to see such a flamboyant vehicle.

“Where did that come from?” The question spilled from her lips.

“I hired it for this trip,” came the matter-of-fact reply.

Sarah shook her head. It made no sense to her. Tareq spared no expense on his comfort and convenience but she didn’t have him tabbed as a show-off sort of playboy. The red Cadillac convertible shouted Look at me! I’m king of the road! She tore her gaze from the glittering, extrovert attraction of the car and searched Tareq’s eyes for the purpose he had to have for it.

“Why?” she asked.

He grinned, totally disarming her and sending a flock of butterflies through her stomach. “For fun,” he answered and held out the keys to her. “I thought you’d enjoy driving it.”

“Me? But I can’t, Tareq. I’ve never driven on the wrong side of the road.”

He laughed. “Here it’s the right side. And you won’t find it a problem on the highway. You just drive along in a lane as you do at home.”

She was torn between caution and temptation. “What if I make a mistake?”

“I’ll be right beside you with advice and instructions.” Still she hesitated. “It will be much safer if you drive.”

“Safe, Sarah?” His eyes sparkled a teasing challenge. “How very boring! Haven’t you ever thought it might be fun to drive such a car with the sun on your face and the wind in your hair and the wheel in your hands?”

“Of course I have.”

“So be brave. Take a risk. Do it. At least once in a lifetime.”

She took the keys, took the risk and did it, embracing the exhilaration of zooming along the highway at the controls of a flashy convertible because it was fantasy-fun and such an extraordinary experience might never come her way again. For a while driving demanded all her concentration, but once she was accustomed to the car and the different use of the road, her mind started niggling at Tareq’s motives again.

Was this another test?

Had she grabbed too quickly at the once-in-a-lifetime thrill which he had the means to provide? Seduction could come in many guises and unlimited wealth was a powerful lure. Scorning the offer of driving this extravagant toy might have been a more principled stand than accepting it. She didn’t want him to think he could buy her.

On the other hand, he could be measuring her capacity to dare against the instinct for safety. He had made it seem wimpish to refuse. Perhaps he thought she’d wimped out this morning after kissing him and was seeing if she would take a risk on something she found sensually attractive.

On reflection, Sarah had to dismiss that idea. He would have arranged the hiring of this car beforehand, probably yesterday. All the same, there had to be some purpose behind getting it for her to drive. She certainly didn’t believe it was the whim of a moment.

“What made you think of doing this for me, Tareq?” she asked, darting a glance at him.

She saw the beginning twitch of a smile but had to return her gaze to the road. Since it was impossible to watch for any changes of expression and be a responsible driver at the same time, she tried to listen for telling nuances in his tone of voice.

“It’s one of life’s innocent pleasures. I wanted you to have it.”

“Why?” Was it completely innocent?

“Why not? I could do it. Therefore I did.”

Like the computer for Jessie. But there’d been a reason for that. Sarah felt uncomfortable being the focus of his spending power. “You said this morning you try to balance what you give and take…”

“And you wonder if I’m giving you an innocent pleasure so I can take a wicked one.” Dry amusement.

Her heart fluttered. “I’d rather know the price if there is one,” she rushed out, wanting the truth, needing to know how he thought of her.

“No price, Sarah.”

The flat, unequivocal statement left no ground for more questioning, yet she felt frustrated, wishing he would explain himself instead of letting her seethe in ignorance.

“Surely there can be prizes in being with me,” he said quietly.

It sounded like an appeal. Sarah darted a glance at him. He caught it, jolting her with the intensity of feeling in his eyes; a disturbing cocktail of desire and a dark, personal damnation. She wrenched her gaze back to the road, struggling with the sense of having hit unexpected turbulence.

“You don’t have to show me the prizes,” she said, thinking they were undoubtedly balanced by penalties.

“Knowing them is part of our journey together. Only in knowing everything does a choice become clear.”

“What choice do I have in our journey?” she tossed at him.

He laughed. “A multitude of them. All the time you are choosing how much to give me, how much to keep to yourself, how much you will take from me.”

She flushed at the accuracy of the perception.

“It is interesting, is it not?” he teased.

“I’m glad you find it so,” she grated, feeling she was being directed through hoops for his entertainment.

“Come now, Sarah. Wouldn’t you say it puts an exquisite edge to our involvement with each other? We are not bored, either of us. Finding the right pieces of the jigsaw and fitting them together is exciting.”

There had to be thousands and thousands of pieces of him. She imagined he would put her together in his mind much faster. “Well, I guess once you have the full picture, boredom will set in,” she said dryly.

“Or will it be satisfaction?” he mused. “A picture of rare beauty can give endless satisfaction.”

Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, Sarah thought, wondering just how demanding Tareq’s eye was. “You may find the picture flawed.”

“Flaws can have an individual charm. They can be more endearing than perfection.”

Sarah sighed. She was no closer to knowing him and she resented his way of seeking knowledge of her. “I don’t like the feeling of being tested.”

“Were you not doing the same to me when you kissed me this morning?” he countered sardonically.

It was true in a way. Yet it had been more a driven impulse than a calculated plan. Testing him? She pondered the concept and decided it was alien to her. She wasn’t cold-blooded enough to work out the equations and act on them as ruthlessly as Tareq did. Maybe that was something she had to learn if she was to survive a year with him intact.

“Be honest with me, Sarah,” he urged, steel gloved in the softly persuasive tone of voice. “Was it not an experiment to test your touching power?”

Sarah instinctively recoiled from such cold, clinical terms. “Not in the way you mean,” she protested painfully. “I was trying to reach out to you. To whatever it is you keep to yourself. I guess…in the light of how you reacted…that was very silly of me.”

He made no comment. His silence dragged on for so long it grew heavy with a host of mulled-over variations of what he left unspoken. Sarah glanced at him but he wasn’t looking at her. He appeared sunk in deep thought, his face an expressionless mask as he brooded behind it. For a few moments she exulted in the possibility his calculations had been upset. Then she realised there was nothing to be gained by it anyway. He was probably re-working his jigsaw to accommodate a rogue piece. Or maybe he was realising she didn’t fit and would never fit into the picture he wanted.

She drove on in a miserable haze of despondency. Gone was the exhilaration of driving a convertible. The car ate up the miles just as every other kind of car did, moving from point A to point B.

“We’re getting close to Ocala,” she said matter-of-factly. “Is the exit to Silver Springs clearly sign-posted?”

“I’ll point it out to you when it comes up,” he assured her, alertness instantly galvanised.

The interstate highway had not exactly been a scenic route. However, once they’d turned off it and were heading towards Silver Springs, the beautiful countryside lifted Sarah’s spirits. They passed one magnificent ranch after another; all of them with expensive railing fences enclosing pastures that looked like perfectly mown green lawns, picture postcard settings for the thoroughbred horses grazing in them. Even the grass verges on either side of the road looked mown, incredibly tidy if not. Wonderful trees, pleasingly placed, provided ready shade.

Such superbly maintained properties bespoke long-held wealth, used lavishly over generations. It was strange, comparing them to Michael Kearney’s estate in Ireland and her father’s farm in Australia…the amazing contrasts in style and form. What she was seeing here seemed distinctly American, with just as high a priority placed on appearance as on performance. Such attention to detail was truly marvellous.

The homesteads were just as breathtaking, mansions on a huge scale, fascinating in their stunning architecture. When Tareq pointed out their destination, Sarah couldn’t help gasping. The Wellesly-Adams home could have graced one of the old Southern plantations; rows and rows of wonderful white columns, two storeys high, with verandas decorated by gloriously ornate, white lace ironwork.

The house alone seemed to offer a veritable Eden to explore and Sarah confidently anticipated ready distraction from Tareq and the stress of resolving their differences. There was no warning of a serpent within who would poison any peace of mind for her.

Their host and hostess could not have been more friendly and charming in greeting their arrival. Tareq and Sarah were graciously ushered into the vast foyer, basking in Miriam and Jack Wellesly-Adams’ warm welcome. Then down a staircase designed for dramatic entrances, came a female cobra, all primed to strike.

“Tareq, darling…”

She was thirty-something with the patina of long-practised polish; long, gleaming blonde hair, a dazzling mouthful of white, white teeth, a sexy, sinuous body encased in orange lycra-satin shirt and slacks, belted brilliantly with graduated gold chains, gold bangles on her arms, gold hoops in her ears, gold slippers on her feet, but no gold ring complementing her orange fingernails.

“Dionne…this is a surprise!” Tareq responded. “Is Cal with you?”

“Hadn’t you heard, darling? Cal and I separated months ago. When Dad and Mimsy said you were coming today, I couldn’t resist flying down from New York to say hello.”

She fell on him…kiss, touch, feel…busy hands and pouty lips…saying hello with neon lights flashing I’m available and I’d just love to climb into your jeans.

Sarah hated watching her in action. Tareq had warned her nothing stopped some women and she knew it. They just waltzed in and staked their claim. But the black violence ripping through Sarah’s heart had nothing to do with reason. A primitive possessiveness was raging through her. She wanted to fly at the woman, tooth and claw, and fling her away from Tareq. She wanted to scream he belonged to her!

Above the frenzy of her feelings rose a sense of shock, of dawning horror. How could she care so much! The only tie she had to Tareq was that of being his hostage, and he had no tie to her at all. This obsession with him had to stop.

Yet she couldn’t stem the tide of revulsion she felt at his failure to push Dionne away from him. He did absolutely nothing to stop the woman drooling over him. He didn’t care. And that hurt. It hurt so much Sarah tried telling herself his laissez-faire attitude meant nothing.

She had witnessed such licentious greetings many times at her mother’s parties. People on the high society circuit took such liberties for granted. It was part of the game of keeping irons in the fire and a keen eye on the main chance. Do I want this? Well, I’ll just keep it warm in case I do.

Her stomach cramped. If Tareq thought like that…

“And who have we here?” Dionne trilled, snuggling herself around Tareq’s arm as she judged it time to give some scant acknowledgment to his travelling companion. Her feline green eyes skated over Sarah, summing up the competition and dismissing it.

“Good heavens, darling! So young! Have you taken to escorting schoolgirls around the world?” Tinkling amusement. Flirty eyes. “No wonder you requested separate bedrooms.”

“Dionne, you are embarrassing Sarah,” her father chided, though he smiled indulgently at his darling daughter.

“Not at all,” Sarah cut in, seething over the putdown. “Though perhaps Tareq…” she shot him a chilling, blackeyed blast “…might now take the time to introduce us.”

The coolly delivered reprimand amused him. He unhitched himself from the clinging blonde and stepped slightly aside, using his now-freed arm to gesture from one to the other. “Sarah, this is Dionne Van Housen, Jack and Miriam’s daughter, and until recently, the happy wife of a good friend of mine.”

Dionne pouted playfully at him. “If Cal had made me happy, darling, I wouldn’t have left him.”

“That could be a comment on expectations being too high, Dionne,” he said dryly. “May I introduce Sarah Hillyard, who was, indeed, a schoolgirl when I first met her, but that was eleven years ago. Happily, for me, time has moved on.”

“Hillyard…Hillyard…should I know the name?” Dionne quizzed, prompting for Sarah’s level of importance on the social register.

Tareq shrugged. “Unlikely. Michael Kearney was Sarah’s stepfather during her teenage years. Her mother is now married to the Earl of Marchester.”

Sarah burned with humiliation at being so labelled, as though her connection to the men in her mother’s prize pile lifted her onto a more acceptable level. It revolted her even further that Tareq should feel the need to blow up her importance. Wasn’t she good enough for him as she was?

“An earl! Doesn’t that make your mother a countess?” Miriam Wellesly-Adams exclaimed, very favourably struck by this relationship with the English aristocracy.

She pounced on Sarah with the avid eagerness of milking a marvellous jackpot for all it was worth. Which neatly left Tareq to the eager come-ons of the snaky daughter all during the elaborate lunch, served in what was called the conservatory annexe.

Sarah hated every minute of it. Politeness demanded she answer her hostess’s insistent and persistent questions on the English upper class, but she silently vowed never to suffer being put in such a position again. It was horribly false. Everything felt horribly false. How could a man feel the desire Tareq had shown her this morning, then toy with another woman? Where was the honesty in that?

Or maybe, since she hadn’t made herself available, he simply and cynically took what was. After all, Sarah would keep. He had a whole year to play his game with her.

The luncheon dragged on. Tareq divided his time between talking horses with his host and responding to Dionne’s demands for attention. The orange fingernails caressed his arm so often, Sarah began to wish they’d draw blood. It would serve Tareq right. She wanted him to feel as rawly wounded as she did.

It was almost four o’clock when they rose from the table, their host having suggested a visit to the stable yards was now timely. The offer to be transported by jeep was declined by Tareq who insisted a stroll would be more to his liking. A master of manipulation when he wanted to be, he persuaded Dionne into riding in the jeep with her parents and singled out Sarah as his walking companion.

Which suited Sarah just fine. It gave her the opportunity to lay down a few accommodations he could make for her in future. A hostage didn’t have to be dragged everywhere. She was determined on loosening the tie with him. She had to for her own sanity.

As soon as the jeep was on its way, she dug her heels in and opened fire. “If you want to sleaze on with Dionne Van Housen, then count me out. I’ll wait in my room until dinner.”

Tareq turned to face her, one eyebrow raised in mocking amusement. “Sleaze on?”

“I find it disgusting. She’s not even divorced from your good friend, Cal, yet, and you’re letting her lech all over you.”

“Since I’ve accepted the hospitality of her parents, what would you have me do, Sarah?”

“Oh, don’t give me that excuse!” Her eyes blazed contempt for it. “You think I haven’t been faced with stuff like that from my mother’s high-flying crowd? It’s easy enough to take a step back, offer your hand and maintain some personal dignity. The message gets across that liberties aren’t welcome.”

A smile twitched at his mouth. “Thank you for the lesson.”

She huffed her exasperation. “You don’t need lessons in handling people. And you don’t need me as a spectator for your little peccadilloes.”

He laughed. “I’m not the least bit interested in Dionne. But it is interesting that you have such a strong reaction against her liberties with me.”

The urge to slap his self-satisfied face was so strong, Sarah swung on her heel and marched off down the road to the stable yards, the other option of going to her room driven from her mind by the need to walk off the violence sizzling through her. Him and his damned jigsaw, fitting the pieces together! She was a human being, not bits of cardboard, and she would not be moved around for his entertainment!

He strolled along beside her, reforging the link she was desperately trying to repel. “From henceforth I shall keep other women at a distance,” he declared. “Better now?”

“Better if you leave me out of these social occasions,” she shot at him. “You don’t value my company. Why bother with it?”

“If I didn’t value it I wouldn’t have sought your company for this walk. You have no reason to be jealous, Sarah.”

“It has nothing to do with jealousy,” she lashed out in seething fury. “It’s a matter of pride. I do not like being escorted by a man who lets himself be a target for loose women right in my face.”

“If you were indifferent to me, Sarah, it wouldn’t matter. And with some women, other priorities would keep them silent and tolerant.”

“Well, stick to them if that’s what you expect,” she raged. “I don’t want to be with you anyway. You’re a snobby pig.”

“Ah! If this relates to my name-dropping, that was a ploy to cut dead any further patronising remarks.”

“I don’t care about patronising. People can be as patronising as they like and as far as I’m concerned it reflects badly on them, not me.”

“It can still be upsetting.”

“Oh, sure!” she mocked. “You’re talking to a survivor of a toffee-nosed British boarding school where I was an Australian nobody. And let me tell you, Tareq al-Khaima, I don’t need a name to prop me up as a person. I am me, no matter what I’m called, and if that’s not good enough for you, then park me somewhere else when you want to mix with others.”

“I’m delighted to be corrected on that point,” he said quietly. “Such strength of character is so rare I wouldn’t dream of parking you anywhere except beside me.”

She shot him a baleful look. “Don’t you ever, ever, attach me to Michael Kearney or the Earl of Marchester again. They don’t turn me into something better. They diminish me.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry I did that to you, Sarah.”

His agreement and apology stole the momentum of her fury. However, it didn’t stop the sick churning of being with him and not being able to reach the heart of the man. Why did she care so much? How had he got to her so deeply? He shouldn’t be able to do this to her when his caring was so insultingly shallow it didn’t even begin to comprehend where she was coming from.

The all too transient pleasure of driving a convertible…

Protecting her from being patronised…

Luxuries on tap…

What good were they when her most innermost needs craved what he was incapable of giving? He could keep his damned prizes for being with him in future! She wouldn’t take any of them.

“I don’t like you, Tareq,” she stated bluntly, hugging in her hurt and wishing the intensity of feeling he stirred would go away.

“Perhaps, when you finish re-educating me, you’ll like me better,” he answered, a touch of whimsy in his voice.

It vexed her that he could take it so lightly while she was a torn up emotional mess. “Try being consistent,” she muttered, shooting him a resentful glare. “Try being honest!”

He smiled at her…flooding her mind and heart and soul with the sweet, seductive warmth of approval and admiration, dazzling her with the beauty of it, the strength of it…tying her even more inexorably to him because he gave it.