Читать книгу Modern Romance April 2017 Books 5 - 8 - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 18

CHAPTER EIGHT

A LEMON-YELLOW SUN shone out of a hard blue sky as they prepared for the descent into Teruk. Even after eight hours of admittedly sporadic sleep, Gracie felt wired, anticipation warring with sheer panic. Malik had generously allowed her and Sam the master bedroom, while he’d taken a pull-out sofa bed in the main cabin.

The bed had been incredibly comfortable and Sam had been out as soon as his head hit the pillow, so she couldn’t blame him for her lack of sleep. No, it had been Malik who had kept her awake most of the night. Malik’s sheer presence, his knowing kiss, his absolute magnetism...and the yearning desire she felt for him after all these years, as strong and powerful as it ever had been.

This morning Malik looked immaculate and refreshed, and disturbingly different in a white linen thobe and turban. The flowing clothing only emphasised his masculinity, and Gracie was conscious that she’d never before seen him in the traditional dress of his country.

‘Look, Mom!’ Sam was wriggling in his seat as he tried to peer out of the window. ‘So many mountains.’

‘Yes, indeed.’ Gracie tore her gaze from Malik’s powerful form to look out of the window. From the sky Alazar looked forbidding, a foreign landscape of barren mountain ranges and even more desolate stretches of desert. The only green was on the coast, a thin crescent of arable farmland and civilisation.

‘We will go directly to the palace from Teruk,’ Malik told them both. He smiled at Sam. ‘I cannot wait to show you.’

‘Your palace?’ Sam’s jaw dropped. ‘You have a palace?’

‘I told him you worked for the government,’ Gracie explained in a murmur, and Malik smiled.

‘And indeed I do. My grandfather is the Sultan of Alazar, Sam, and I will be Sultan after him.’

Sam boggled. ‘Wow.’

Gracie half listened as Malik continued to tell Sam about the palace, its walls and turrets and many swimming pools. My grandfather is the Sultan of Alazar, Sam, and I will be Sultan after him. Just in case she’d forgotten how important he was. How surprising and scary it was for her to be here.

The plane was starting a steep descent to the runway that cut through bleak desert when Gracie refocused on Malik.

‘You’re all right?’ he asked quietly, seeming genuinely concerned, and Gracie nodded.

‘Yes.’ She realised her hands were tightly gripping the armrests, and she forced herself to relax.

Moments later the plane bumped to a stop and the security guards headed for the door. Gracie rose from her seat.

‘Wait.’ Malik stayed her with one hand and Gracie looked at him in uneasy surprise.

‘What is it?’

‘I am sorry, but it is not wise for you to disembark like that.’ He gestured to her clothes.

Gracie glanced down at the outfit she’d taken some time over. An Indian batik skirt in a colourful print and a modest cotton blouse that covered her shoulders and arms. She’d been going for a casual but respectful look, but judging from Malik’s frown it wasn’t good enough. ‘What’s wrong with my clothes?’ she asked.

‘I’m sorry, I should have explained these arrangements earlier,’ Malik said in a low voice. ‘The truth is your presence in Alazar could be...disconcerting to some.’

Alarm prickled. ‘Disconcerting?’

‘The sudden appearance of an American woman in my life...’ Malik spread his hands. ‘We must take some steps to make sure the press do not have a field day with that bit of news.’

‘Okay,’ Gracie said cautiously. It seemed reasonable, and the less press the better as far as she was concerned, but she still felt a little wary.

‘Will you wear this?’ Malik asked, and held out a headscarf. Gracie looked at it dubiously for a moment.

‘All right.’ She took the scrap of dark fabric. ‘When in Rome, I guess.’ She laughed then, uncertainly, at the mention of Rome. Malik smiled faintly, and for a second it seemed as if they were in their own bubble, memories swirling between them. ‘So it goes on like this?’ she asked, sliding on the headscarf and drawing the tail of fabric across her neck.

‘Yes...mainly.’ With gentle hands Malik adjusted the scarf, his fingers whispering across her face as he moved the material. Gracie sucked in a hard breath at the brush of his hands on her skin. Somehow she was going to have to stop reacting so strongly to his touch. ‘There. You look lovely.’ With his hands on her shoulders he steered her to a mirror. Gracie blinked at her face, framed by the dark scarf. She looked exotic somehow, alluring even, with her hair covered and her eyes so prominent.

‘You look cool, Mom,’ Sam chipped in.

‘I know it is not the custom for you,’ Malik murmured, his face close to hers. His hands were still on her shoulders and his breath tickled her ear. Awareness and longing rippled through her. ‘Thank you for wearing it.’

Wordlessly she nodded. She didn’t trust herself to say anything at that moment. She felt too many things all at once, and she had a near overwhelming instinct to lean back into Malik’s solid strength.

‘There is one other matter,’ Malik said as he dropped his hands.

‘And what is that?’

‘We will need to travel in separate cars. For the sake of propriety. I will meet you at the palace. Is that acceptable?’

‘I suppose,’ Gracie said. Again it seemed reasonable, but with each second that they’d been in Alazar, she’d felt as if Malik was becoming more remote. His attitude was kind, and yet she sensed a coolness in him, saw it in his eyes. The man who had smiled and laughed and kissed her was gone as if he’d never been. Had it all been an act?

But maybe Malik was simply tense upon returning to his country and his duty. She certainly felt nervous about it. Straightening, she plastered a smile on her face. ‘All right, are we ready to go now?’

The heat hit her like a brick wall as she stepped out of the plane. The whole world seemed to shimmer, from the flat blue sky above to the black tarmac that stretched onward to undulating sand and distant mountains. A small crowd of people was waiting by the plane, some with cameras, some with flowers and wreaths of welcome. Gracie took a deep breath and then a step forward, overwhelmed by the utter strangeness of it all. The heel of her shoe snagged on the edge of the step and for one terrifying moment she thought she was going to pitch forward and fall flat on her face. Welcome to Alazar.

Malik reached out one hand and grabbed her elbow in an iron grip, steadying her as she made her way down the steep steps. She could hear the murmur of voices from the crowd like the buzz of bees. This was already so much more than she’d expected.

‘Almost there,’ Malik said in a low voice. Sam was looking around with wide eyes. In front of her she could see a blacked-out sedan, the door thankfully open.

Cameras clicked and people jabbered questions in Arabic. Gracie stared straight ahead, wanting only the safety and privacy of the car.

And then thankfully she was sliding inside next to Sam. Malik leaned in, his face close to hers. ‘I’ll see you at the palace.’

What had seemed reasonable before now felt frightening. She wanted him with her, taking her through all this strangeness.

‘Not long, I promise,’ Malik said, and with that he was gone.

The car sped away, desert stretching on either side, the dark, craggy mountains thrusting up towards a brilliant blue sky. It was beautiful, yet stark. Gracie took a deep breath and turned to Sam.

‘So,’ she said. ‘This is Alazar.’

‘Yeah, isn’t it cool?’ Sam scooted closer to the window. ‘Which is Mount Jebar, do you think?’

‘Mount what?’

‘The highest mountain in Alazar.’

‘I don’t know. Maybe Malik will tell us.’ Gracie glanced at the driver, his face as impassive as Malik’s ever was, his eyes hidden by dark sunglasses. She clasped her hands together and remembered the feel of Malik’s hand on hers. The warmth of his body next to hers. It was going to be okay.

Ten minutes later the sedan pulled up to a magnificent palace of golden stone that seemed to stretch for miles in every direction. Through the tinted windows Gracie could make out domes and spires and a huge Moorish arched entrance, surrounded by landscaped gardens and fountains.

‘Wow,’ she breathed, because the whole thing was amazing. Her nerves relented a little as she took in the fairy-tale scene. She felt as if she should pinch herself.

The car pulled around to a side door and the driver got out and then opened the passenger door, gesturing with one hand for her to exit.

‘His Highness wishes for you to remain comfortable while you wait for him,’ he said in flawless English. ‘Please let me know if there is anything you desire. Anything at all.’

‘Thank you,’ Gracie murmured. All she wanted was Malik. She followed the driver to a set of double doors of intricately latticed wood. He bowed and indicated she should proceed.

A beautiful mosaic-tiled corridor led to an open courtyard with a fountain and several stone benches carved into the ancient walls. A table and chairs had been set up under a white linen awning, with a pitcher of fruit juice and a bowl of sticky dates and figs. The only sound was the soothing tinkle and splash of the water in the fountain.

‘This is so cool,’ Sam said, and reached for a fig.

‘Sam...’ It was a warning, although she wasn’t sure why. What were the manners for a time and place such as this?

‘Please,’ the man said. ‘Help yourself. A servant will be with you shortly to see to your every need. In the meantime, if there is anything else you require...’

‘No,’ Gracie said after a second’s pause. Her head was still spinning. ‘No, thank you.’

The man bowed again and left them alone, the doors clicking shut behind him.

‘Are we actually staying here?’ Sam exclaimed. ‘This is amazing.’

‘I...I guess so.’ Four doors led off the courtyard, each through intricate Moorish arches. Gracie felt her spirits lift as her curiosity was piqued. ‘Maybe we should explore.’

‘Definitely,’ Sam agreed, and together they went through one of the arches. It led to an elegant salon with louvered shutters open to the fresh, orange-blossom-scented air. Gracie took in the low divans scattered with silken pillows, the bouquets of fresh flowers and bowls of fruit. It was a lovely, peaceful place, and she could picture herself curled up on one of the sofas with a book. With Malik.

Sam tugged on her hand and they went through the other rooms—a bedroom with a huge king-sized bed and a gorgeous en-suite bathroom. The sunken marble tub was the size of a small swimming pool.

Through the next door there was a swimming pool, with a sauna and whirlpool and a small private gym. The final door led to another bedroom, just as sumptuous as the other.

‘Is this all for us?’ Sam asked in a near whisper.

‘It seems like it.’

Gracie heard the sound of a door opening, and she turned to see a smiling young woman coming down the corridor that must have led to the rest of the palace. Gracie smiled back, trying to quell the disappointment that it wasn’t Malik.

‘Good afternoon. It is my pleasure to serve you,’ the woman said. ‘My name is Leila.’ She dipped a small curtsey and then hurried about, fetching them glasses of juice, insisting they needed to sit down and relax.

‘Would madam like some spa treatments?’ she suggested. ‘A massage or facial to relax?’

‘Oh, wow.’ Gracie hadn’t had a spa treatment—ever. ‘Thank you...um...maybe later.’

‘Something else to drink, or to eat? Whatever you would like...’

‘Can I have ice cream?’ Sam asked impulsively.

‘Sam...’ Gracie interjected.

‘Of course,’ the woman said easily. ‘What flavour?’

‘Um...Rocky Road?’

‘Of course.’

Gracie felt as if they’d entered some twilight zone where your every wish was granted. Had she inadvertently sold her soul?

Maybe.

‘Excuse me, but could you tell me when Ma—um...the...that is, His Highness Malik al Bahjat is going to be back?’

The woman’s face clouded briefly. ‘I am afraid I do not know. He is in a meeting with his fiancée’s father.’

His what? Gracie blinked. ‘His fiancée?’ she repeated slowly.

‘Her father, yes. The wedding is in a few months.’ The woman’s smile was restored. ‘We have not had a royal wedding in many years.’

‘How exciting,’ Gracie managed. She couldn’t untangle the feelings that were snaking through her, but none of them felt good. From somewhere, she managed a stiff smile. ‘Please offer His Highness my congratulations.’

* * *

Tension banded Malik’s temples as he strode into one of the palace’s formal salons, where Arif Behwar waited. He wanted to be with Gracie, and the last thing he’d needed was hearing that not only was Asad ill and bedridden, but his fiancée’s father had paid an unexpected visit and was waiting for him.

‘Arif.’ Malik inclined his head in a greeting. ‘This is a surprise.’

‘As was news of your trip to America, and the fact that you returned with a woman and child,’ Arif returned tersely. ‘Considering you are to marry my daughter in a few months, I am naturally concerned.’

So they hadn’t been able to fly under the radar after all. Malik carefully closed the door behind him. ‘What did you hear?’

‘Just that. You flew very suddenly to the States, and just as suddenly returned. Who is she, Your Highness?’ The honorific was bitten off and flung at him.

Malik’s mouth compressed. He had wanted to postpone the news of who Gracie and Sam were until things were more secure. Until he was married to Gracie and Sam was legitimised.

‘I am afraid,’ he said carefully, ‘my situation has changed.’

Arif’s scowl deepened. ‘In what way?’

‘I can no longer marry your daughter.’

‘We had an agreement—’

‘I have recently discovered I am infertile.’ The news, so starkly given, silenced the older man. It made Malik’s stomach clench unpleasantly, as well. Infertile. Would he ever get used to that? How would Gracie react? The one thing he would never give her was children...or his love. And knowing her, she might want both. His resolve hardened into a metal ball in his gut. He would simply have to convince Gracie of all the things he could give her...and that they would be enough.

‘Infertile,’ Arif repeated after a long, tense moment. ‘What will this do to our country?’

He was, Malik noted, more concerned for Alazar than for his daughter Johara. ‘Nothing, I hope. My infertility is a recent occurrence, due to a fever I sustained in the desert.’ He paused, debating how much to reveal even as he acknowledged that one of his top government officials needed to know the truth. ‘The boy I arrived with today is my son.’

Arif’s eyebrows rose. ‘Your son? Your bastard, you mean.’

Cold fury rippled through him. ‘Do not insult my heir.’

Arif ignored him. ‘And the woman? That is his mother?’

‘That,’ Malik informed him in a tone of silky menace, ‘is soon to be the Sultana.’

Arif stepped back, shocked. ‘You intend to marry her?’

‘Of course.’

Arif’s face twisted. ‘The Bedouin will rebel. They will not want a Western sultana, and what of a Western sultan one day—’

‘They will accept. They will have to accept.’ Malik spoke flatly, brooking no disagreement. This was going to happen. He would make sure of it.

‘You do not know what you are doing, Your Highness,’ Arif said.

‘I am doing what I must,’ Malik answered, ‘and that is all you need to know.’ With a terse nod he dismissed the man.

A few minutes later, thankfully free of his former fiancée’s father, Malik went in search of Gracie and Sam. He’d given instructions for them to be taken to the more private and secure quarters in the east wing, and given whatever they desired. He hoped they’d been able to amuse themselves in his absence, and that Gracie hadn’t started to worry as he knew she was prone to do, considering the circumstances.

He heard splashing as he entered the enclosed harem where his mother had once resided. It had been empty for decades, and it brought a faint smile to his face to hear the sounds of fun and laughter, as well as a pang for the distant days he barely remembered, when his mother had been alive. When he’d felt part of a family.

Sam was swimming in the pool, with Gracie sitting on the side, her bare feet dangling in the water, her long golden-brown hair falling in tumbled waves about her shoulders. She’d taken off the headscarf and Malik couldn’t say he missed it. He loved her hair.

She glanced up as Malik entered, the smile sliding off her face.

‘Hello.’ She sounded cool, reserved. Malik hesitated, discomfited by the sudden change in her expression.

‘You have been comfortable?’

‘Fine, thank you.’

Why so cold? he wondered. What had happened? ‘And your quarters are pleasing?’

‘How could they not be?’

Malik came closer, trying to untangle what was going on as well as to suppress the spike of irritation he felt at her inexplicable distance. ‘Then everything is well?’ he asked after a moment.

‘Fine,’ Gracie answered, her voice brittle. ‘Except...’ She took a shuddering breath, her golden-green gaze now full of hurt and accusation. ‘I just wondered when you were going to tell me about your fiancée.’