Читать книгу The Desert Princes - Jackie Braun - Страница 22

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘HUNGRY?’ Raffa queried when they had completed their tour of the camp.

‘Starving,’ Casey admitted.

‘Shall we make some food together?”

She took a step back and then realised he was serious. ‘Okay…but no sheep’s eyes.’ Remembering Raffa’s humour, she wasn’t taking any chances.

‘No sheep’s eyes,’ he conceded dryly, wiping his face on the unwound black cloth of the howlis he was now wearing slung around his neck.

So he was gorgeous, she accepted, taking in the luminous black gaze and thick, inky-black hair. Super-gorgeous, she amended when he smiled.

‘Is this your tent?’ she asked as he led her towards one of the larger pavilions.

Ruffling his wild hair, Raffa shook his head. ‘I don’t own anything in the desert. Think of it as the ocean,’ he said, ducking his head to lift the flap away from the entrance for her. ‘Like all other the voyagers in this vast wilderness, I use what I need and pass on what is left. I add what I can for the next traveler.’

‘You make it sound like a guardian angel system,’ Casey observed.

‘That’s exactly what it is.’

Where was her guardian angel? Casey wondered, hesitating on the threshold of the tent. She needed advice badly. She dearly wanted to find out all she could about A’Qaban’s people and their culture, and she desperately wanted to know everything about Raffa. But now they were alone, if he should…If he…

Wringing her hands in agitation, she knew she’d make a mess of things. She’d spoil things—change everything. She couldn’t have just a night with a man like Raffa and then pick up and carry on as if nothing had happened.

And if he didn’t make a move—

‘Casey?’ he prompted. ‘Are you coming? I want to get on.’

‘Give me a moment…I’m just drinking it all in.’ Not to mention engaging in a war of the worlds with her doubt demons.

As Raffa disappeared inside the tent, Casey thought about him with the little girl—how gentle and tender he’d been as he’d listened to the child reading her story. She thought of the fun they’d both had with the children when they’d first arrived. Raffa wasn’t some unfeeling oaf who would tumble her on the cushions and have his evil way, he was a cultured, confident, caring individual.

So what was she going to do? In the absence of a guardian angel, a decision was required.

‘Come on,’ he called impatiently.

She was still hesitating when he appeared at her elbow. He’d come back for her and he wasn’t about to take no for an answer.

Casey stood entranced inside the Bedouin tent. It was more comfortably furnished than many hotel rooms. Heaps of cushions in rich homespun textures spoke of months of dedicated weaving, while there were hand-woven rugs on the floor and hangings on the walls in muted jewel colours. The space was illuminated by a brass lantern fixed to a central post, and the tempting aroma of hot sweet coffee was in the air, along with some spice—incense, maybe. The actual walls of the pavilion were made of dark, heavy, leathery material.

‘Camel hide,’ Raffa explained, when she stroked her hand across it. ‘Nothing is wasted here.’

‘I can see that,’ she agreed, viewing two horn goblets on a low, gleaming brass table. ‘This is absolutely amazing…just like Aladdin’s cave.’

‘Ah, Ala-ad-din,’ he said. ‘We have that story too.’

‘So you know both versions?’ She turned from her examination of a large, decorative vase, hungry for more knowledge of Raffa.

‘I was brought up and educated in England, but my nanny was careful to introduce me to the culture of both countries.’

Another gem of knowledge she locked away. Some might think Raffa had enjoyed a richer start in life than most, but he had just reminded her that he had known his fair share of tragedy too.

‘So what do you think of A’Qaban now you have left the glamour of the city behind?’ he said, distracting her from her thoughts.

‘I love it. I’m constantly surprised.’

‘Live with us and then judge us?’ he murmured, slanting Casey an amused look. ‘In our language we would say, Ashirna wa akhbirna.’

She tried the unfamiliar words with Raffa’s encouragement, which naturally meant she had to look at his lips. Well, it was important to see the shapes he was making—luscious, all of them.

He turned from her momentarily and grew still. He was listening and evaluating the deeper sound of parents’ voices outside providing a counterpoint to their shrill-voiced children, she realised, and only when he was sure all was well did he relax. The bad-boy sheikh conjured up by the tabloid press was nowhere to be seen. That character was a chimera, a smokescreen for the man Raffa was in private. Raffa was a natural-born protector, not a playboy, and in spite of the vast power and wealth he wielded he was a man of simple tastes; a man so far removed from his public persona it was hard to believe she had ever been gullible enough to judge this particularly interesting book by its cover.

‘Do you recognise these?’ he said, pointing to some cushions.

They were arranged around a low, hammered brass table, and had a familiar pattern. It was the same pattern as her shawl, Casey realised with a thrill of discovery. ‘They’re beautiful,’ she said, ‘just like this.’ As she spoke, she stroked the filmy folds of her shawl. ‘I love my shawl and I won’t be parted from it…’ Let him make what he would out of that.

He handled the revelation Casey had made coolly. Things were moving rapidly onto another level between them and he didn’t want to force the issue. He had brought Casey to the desert to introduce her to his people, but behind that intention were his growing feelings towards her. When she’d first arrived, so gauche and shy, and vulnerable in his presence, he couldn’t have considered anything other than a business relationship. But as her confidence had come to the fore, and she’d grown in self-belief as a woman, other possibilities had opened up.

They had established much while saying little, he reflected, thinking how lovely she looked in the shawl—and that was the way of the desert people. Casey had many of the qualities he most admired in the Bedouin. Small things made and given with love meant more to her than all the jewels in his strong room, and it pleased him more than he could say to think she had picked out the shawl above everything else he had donated to the auction. What she could not have known was that he had intended to buy her anything she wanted—anything she had made an unsuccessful bid for in thanks for organising the event. Casey had made that unnecessary by selecting the one item no one else had seen any value in.

‘I’ll light a fire so we can star-gaze while we eat,’ he suggested, knowing she would enjoy that.

‘Could I bathe first? I mean…’ She blushed as he turned to look at her. ‘I’m all gritty after the ride. Is it safe to swim in the oasis?’

‘Perfectly safe. It’s shallow and warm, and there is firm sand underfoot. You should have it to yourself at this time of night. Why don’t I go down there first, to take a swim and scout it out for you?’

‘Would you do that?’

At this moment in time he would do anything for her. ‘I’ll lay the fire first, so that you’re warm, and if you sort out the food we brought we’ll decide what to do with it when we’ve finished our swim.’

‘We brought food to cook?’

‘We have a mule,’ he reminded her dryly. ‘Don’t you remember the saddle bags?’

‘Ah, yes…I thought they were—’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what I thought they were.’

‘Well, now you know. They hold your gourmet supper— that’s if you can cook.’

She laughed, and he thought her lovely, and he held her gaze long after they had both stopped smiling at each other. It was the first time they had been so relaxed in each other’s company, with the façade of who they were and what they expected from each other stripped away. But then Casey’s smile faded as if she realised how intimate this was becoming.

‘Don’t be long,’ she said shyly, turning away.

‘You’ll be safe here,’ he said, touching her arm.

She smiled—a little tremulously, he thought, and he wanted the confident woman back. He wanted Casey to enjoy life to the full and know how valuable she was—not just as a colleague in business, but as a human being.

To that end there must be no more desire-charged looks or testosterone running riot, he told himself as he lifted the lid of an intricately carved Iroko chest. ‘You’ll find fresh clothes in here.’ He helped himself to a new black robe without turning round to face her. ‘Take whatever you need.’

She didn’t answer, and he guessed she was still taking stock of her position. She was alone in the desert with him, with attraction gaining momentum every minute as they got to know each other better. He would make love to her here, in the most beautiful and challenging place on earth. He had wanted to make love to Casey from the moment they met, but would only do so when he was certain she felt unthreatened and safe in every way.

Then there would only be one danger left, he reflected, which was Casey’s sexual appetite. It had been repressed for so long that when she finally let go he had a feeling it would consume her. But when that happened he would be ready.

‘I’ve got Halloumi cheese, mango, pine nuts and some green stuffinthose saddle bags—soget thinking,’ he told her lightly on the way out of the tent. ‘I’m hungry,’ he added with a casual shrug, as if his stomach was the only part of his body making demands on him these days, ‘and I’m sure you are too…’

She looked relieved, as he’d hoped she would, as she started to work out her menu, while he badly needed to work off some energy. Slinging a towel over his shoulder, he headed at speed for the calming waters of the oasis.

She had the ingredients neatly lined up and a plan in her head by the time Raffa returned from his swim. ‘All clear at the oasis,’ he called to her from outside the tent. ‘You can have your swim in absolute privacy while I find some more tinder for our fire.’

She would have liked to have seen him in the simple black robes, but he had taken them with him and her imagination had to do the rest. She waited until he had gone, and then peeped out of the tent to be sure it was all clear. She had dreamed of this moment, and ran down to the oasis as fast as she could, with the sort of abandonment she hadn’t felt since she was a child, when a swim had meant plunging into an icy river. This was very different. She paused at the brink, just to stare for a moment at the beauty of the desert all around her. She had the moonlight to herself, and the stars were twinkling…

Strangely, she felt quite safe—the Raffa effect, she guessed. Though remembering his warning about bugs, she checked around first before leaving her clothing on a rock. She had intended to leave her underwear on, but at the last moment she decided to take it off and rinse it through for the next day. She was quite alone—not that she needed an excuse to go skinny-dipping.

Stepping into the water, she cautiously made her way forward. Raffa had been right. The ground beneath her feet felt firm and there were no pebbles underfoot. The water had been heated to body temperature by the desert sun and, guessing this would be the most magical thing she had ever done, she launched herself in. Putting her head down, she began to swim seriously.

It was some time later when she remembered she was supposed to be helping Raffa prepare a meal. It was just so hard to tear herself away from the oasis…

Lifting her head to get her bearings, she saw a tall, robed figure watching her from the bank. She swam to shore, while Raffa came down from the dune where he’d been standing guard to meet her. He was just a few feet away as she crouched self-consciously in the shallows. His face was shadowed by the howlis, which he had put on again with his robe, and his eyes were bright in the darkness.

There was a brief flash of white as he smiled. ‘Did you forget something?’ he murmured.

For a moment she wondered what he meant, but then she realised that in her excitement she had run down to the oasis without a towel. ‘Did you bring one?’

Raffa’s answer was to open his arms to her.

Would she trust him enough to come out of the water? The moment was as crucial for him as it was for Casey. Sexual frustration was eating him up from the inside out.

He waited on the bank until, like a water nymph of unbelievable perfection, she rose out of the water and came steadily towards him. A surge of some primal instinct bathed him as he enclosed her in his robe. She must feel his body heat, as he could feel hers, but his only thought as he drew the folds of cloth around her was to keep her safe.

‘You were watching me,’ she accused softly, trembling a little as she slowly relaxed.

‘Did you think I would let you swim on your own in the darkness? What if something had gone wrong?’

‘I’m a strong swimmer, Raffa.’

‘Even strong swimmers get cramp.’

During this short conversation he felt her growing awareness of their naked bodies touching. Casey’s damp, his dry. And though he had ensured there was some fabric between them, it was hardly a barrier. He held her in his arms until she felt safe enough to rest her head against his chest. Savouring that for a moment, he shifted position, forcing Casey to move.

‘Come on,’ he said holding out his hand. ‘We’re both hungry.’

In a moment of complete trust she put her hand in his. ‘I’m ready, Raffa.’

Raising her slender fingers to his lips, he said, ‘I know.’

‘Thank you again,’ she said in a way that told him she didn’t want to let her fantasies run away with her. Her next words confirmed it: ‘Hopefully this will be the last time you’ll have to bail me out.’

‘And if it’s not, you shouldn’t worry. You can take advantage of me all you like.’ He kept his robe around her, so she was hidden from sight but not from his senses as they walked back to camp. He could detect the clean oxygenated water, and even the sand between her toes, he was so keenly tuned to her. She was trying hard not to read too much into what had happened, while he was exulting. He said nothing until they reached the tented pavilion, where he moved the entrance flap for her.

‘The robes are in the chest,’ he reminded her. ‘Help yourself.’

After he let the tent flap drop he stood a moment, breathing deeply, wondering how he was going to hold back from going straight to Casey now and making love to her all night. Anticipation, he mused, smiling a little as he walked away. Never had he felt hunger like this before. But the erotic buildup would put Casey’s senses in a state of the utmost awareness, allowing her to extract the ultimate from each and every sensation—which was what he wanted for her.

She held her breath as she listened to Raffa walking away. For a moment she had thought he would come back into the tent, but he was going to make her wait—either that or he didn’t want her after all.

That had to be it, she reasoned, pulling back from her stupid vigil. What was she waiting for, exactly?

Lifting the lid of the clothes chest, she selected the plainest robe in the smallest size. It was still far too big for her, but at least it was simple and serviceable and wouldn’t draw attention. She didn’t want to look as if she was trying too hard.

Having arranged it to cover as much of herself as she could, she scraped her still damp hair back into a ponytail before walking outside.

Raffa was stoking the fire, having removed his howlis. ‘You look good in that,’ he commented, casting a lazy glance over her.

And you look even better, Casey thought as his earring glinted when the flames rose. In fact, he looked amazing. What did she think she doing in the velvet night with the ruler of this country, when it was more a case of when rather than if she would beg him to seduce her.

‘Didn’t you find any sandals to fit?’

Jolted reluctantly from her daydream, Casey was immediately self-conscious in the face of Raffa’s blistering glamour. ‘No, I…I didn’t think—’

Springing up, he handed her the long stick he was using to adjust the tinder. ‘Watch the fire for me for a minute—and for goodness’ sake stand well back from the flames.’

‘I’m not a—’ Too late. Raffa was gone. She could hear him moving about in the tent.

He was back moments later, with a pair of simple thonged sandals. ‘Put these on. You’ll feel better with something protecting your feet from the sand. The way it moves can make your feet ache after a while…’

And was there a cure for a heart that ached all the time? Casey wondered as she slipped her feet into the sandals.

They ate together seated on cushions outside the tent. From there, as Raffa had promised, they could see the stars. The simple meal Casey had suggested hadn’t taken much preparation, but it had been long enough for their mood to return to the easy companionship they had established before the erotically charged episode at the oasis.

‘This is good,’ Raffa commented with approval as he wolfed down the last of the griddled halloumi cheese Casey had arranged in slices, alternated with fresh mango. She’d put a sprinkling of toasted pine nuts on top of the salad she had prepared. ‘Where did you learn to cook like this?’

This definitely wasn’t the moment to admit she had downloaded the recipe from a supermarket site. She had to keep her fantasy alive beneath the stars. ‘I must have a natural talent.’

Raffa stopped chewing for a moment to stare at her. ‘Either that or you used a recipe.’

They both laughed, and then he said, ‘And as the next course is down to me I’ll have to look to my laurels, I can see…’

So the unreconstructed alpha male could prepare food as well as look hotter than hell in a desert robe? Life just wasn’t fair sometimes, Casey thought ruefully as Raffa sprang up.

‘Figs,’ he said, dangling them in front of her. ‘Ripe, succulent, fresh from the tree.’

He made figs sound like the most erotic fruit on earth. She gulped as he selected a fat purple fruit just for her, and was so flustered by the time he touched it to her lips she managed to knock the coffee over.

‘Kab al gahwa khay!’ Raffa exclaimed.

‘What did you say?’

‘It’s a good omen,’ he explained. ‘Knocking coffee over is considered to be lucky in A’Qaban. So what I said to you was, bad luck often brings good luck in its wake.’

‘Oh…’

Fat chance.

But the fig was delicious, and as she sucked the ripe pulp from the skin she tried not to notice how very thoroughly Raffa was doing the same.

‘That was a good meal,’ he said, having rinsed his hands in a bowl of water. Drying them on a soft towel, he held her gaze. ‘I might keep you on as a chef if you’re a good girl.’

‘And if I’m bad you’ll keep me twice as long?’ She only meant it as a joke, but Raffa’s eyes warned her not to play with fire.

He was just too much of a distraction in his black robes sitting next to her, but their night-time picnic beneath the stars had taken her back to being a child at camp, which she had enjoyed, and that safety blanket allowed her to relax. Leaning back on her hands, she gazed at the sky and it took her a moment to realise that Raffa had got up and was walking away.

‘Where are you going?’ She regretted the note of concern in her voice, because it made Raffa smile in a way that just wasn’t safe.

‘Would you rather I stayed?’ he murmured

‘No. No, of course not—I realise you must have lots to do.’

‘Good. Then I’ll leave you in the capable hands of these ladies.’

Casey turned to see a group of women hovering on the fringes of the trees. They were carrying earthenware jars, fluffy towels, and steaming jugs of fragranced water. ‘What do they want?’ Her voice was full of anxiety, to which Raffa responded with a careless gesture. ‘Oh, to prepare you for the Sheikh, I expect.’

‘What?’ Casey whirled around to stare at the women, and by the time she turned back again Raffa had disappeared.