Читать книгу Hot-Blooded Husbands: the Sheikh's Chosen Wife - Michelle Reid - Страница 8

TWO hours, Leona noticed, as she removed her slender gold watch from her wrist with badly trembling fingers and laid it on the marble surface along with the diamonds from her ears and throat. Two hours together and already they were tearing each other to pieces.

On a sigh she swivelled round to sink down onto the toilet seat and stare dully at her surroundings. White. Everything was white. White-tiled walls and floor, white ceramics—even the sheet she had discarded lay in a soft white heap on the floor. The room needed a bit of colour to add some—

She stopped herself right there, closing her eyes on the knowledge that she had slipped into professional mode and knowing she had done it to escape from what she should really be thinking about.

This situation, this mad, foolish, heart-flaying situation, which was also so bitter-sweet and special. She didn’t know whether to laugh at Hassan’s outrageous method of bringing them together, or sob at the unnecessary agony he was causing the both of them.

In the end she did both, released a laugh that turned into a sob and buried the sound in her hands. Each look, each touch, was an act of love that bound them together. Each word, each thought, was an act of pain that tore them apart at the seams.

Then she remembered his face when he had made the ultimate sacrifice. Chin up, face carved, mouth so flat it was hardly a mouth any more. When the man had had to turn himself into a prince before he could utter the words, ‘We will try other methods of conception,’ she had known they had nothing left to fight for.

What was she supposed to have done? Made the reciprocal sacrifice to their love and offered to remain his first wife while he took a second? She just could not do it, could not live with the agony of knowing that when he wasn’t in her bed he would be lying in another. The very idea was enough to set her insides curling up in pained dismay while her covered eyes caught nightmare visions of him trying to be fair, trying to pretend it wasn’t really happening, that he wasn’t over the moon when the new wife conceived his first child. How long after that before his love began to shift from her to this other woman with whom he could relax—enjoy her without feeling pain every time he looked at her?

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Stop it.’ She began to shiver. It just wasn’t even an option, so she must stop thinking about it! He knew that—he knew it! It was why he had taunted her with the suggestion earlier. He had been angry and had gone for the jugular and had enjoyed watching her die in front of him! It had always been like this: exploding flashes of anger and frustration, followed by wild leaps into sensual forgetfulness, followed by the low-of-low moments when neither could even look at the other because the empty truth was always still waiting there for them to re-emerge.

Empty.

On a groan she stood up, and groaned again as tiny muscles all over her body protested at being forced into movement. The fall, the lovemaking, or just the sheer stress of it all? she wondered, then wearily supposed it was a combination of all three.

So why do it? Why put them both back into a situation they had played so many times before it was wretched? Or was that it? she then thought on a sudden chill that shot down her backbone. Had he needed to play out the scene this one last time before he could finally accept that their marriage was over?

Sick. She felt sick. On trembling legs she headed quickly for the shower cubicle and switched the jet on so water sluiced over her body. Duty. It was all down to duty. His duty to produce an heir, her duty to let him. With any other man the love would be enough; those other methods of conception would be made bearable by the strength of that love. But she’d fallen in love with a prince not a man. And the prince had fallen in love with a barren woman.

Barren. How ugly that word was. How cold and bitter and horribly cheap. For there was nothing barren about the way she was feeling, nor did those feelings come cheap. They cost her a part of herself each time she experienced them. Like now, as they ate away at her insides until it was all she could do to slide down into a pathetic huddle in the corner of the shower cubicle and wait for it all to recede.

Where was she? What was she doing in there? She had been shut inside the bathroom for half an hour, and with a glance at his watch, Hassan continued to pace the floor on the vow that if she didn’t come out in two minutes he was going in there after her.

None of this—none of it—was going the way he had planned it. How had he managed to trick himself into diluting just how deep their emotions ran, how painful the whole thing was going to be? He hit his brow with the palm of his hand, then uttered a few choice curses at his arrogant belief that all he’d needed to do was hook her up and haul her back in for the rest to fall into place around them.

All he’d wanted to do was make sure she was safe, back here where she belonged, no matter what the problems. So instead he’d scared the life out of her, almost lost her to the depths of the ocean, fought like the devil over issues that were so old they did not need raking over! He’d even lied to score points, had watched her run in a flood of tears, watched her fly through the air down a set of stairs he now wished had never been put there. Shocked, winded and dazed by the whole crazy situation, he had then committed his worst sin and had ravished her. Now she had locked herself away behind a bathroom door because she could not deal with him daring to make an offer they both knew was not, and never had been, a real option!

What was left? Did he unsheath his ceremonial scabbard and offer to finish them both off like two tragic lovers?

Oh, may Allah forgive him, he prayed as his blood ran cold and he leapt towards the bathroom door. She wouldn’t. She was made of stronger stuff, he told himself as he lifted a clenched fist to bang on the door just as it came open.

She was wearing only a towel and her hair was wet, slicked to her beautiful head like a ruby satin veil. Momentarily shocked by the unexpected face-to-face confrontation, they both just stared at each other. Then he bit out, ‘Are you all right?’

‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

He had no answer to offer that did not sound insane, so he took another way out and reached for her, pulled her into his arms and kissed her—hard. By the time he let her up for air again she was breathless.

‘Hassan—’

‘No,’ he interrupted. ‘We have talked enough for one night.’

Turning away, he went over to the bed to retrieve the pearl-white silk robe he had laid out ready for her. During her absence the room had been returned to its natural neatness, at his instruction, and a table had been laid for dinner in the centre, with the food waiting for them on a heated trolley standing beside it.

He saw her eyes taking all of this in as he walked back to where she was standing. She also noticed that the lights had been turned down and candles had been lit on the table. She was no fool; she knew he had set the scene with a second seduction in mind and he didn’t bother to deny it.

‘Here,’ he said, and opened the robe up between his hands, inviting her to slip into it.

There was a pause where she kept her eyes hidden beneath the sweep of her dusky lashes. She was trying to decide how to deal with this and he waited in silence, more than willing to let the decision be hers after having spent the previous few minutes listing every other wrong move he had made until now.

‘Just for tonight,’ she said, and lifted those lashes to show him the firmness of that decision. ‘Tomorrow you take me back to San Estéban.’

His mouth flexed as the urge to say, Never, throbbed on the end of his tongue. ‘Tomorrow we—talk about it,’ he offered as his only compromise, though he knew it was no compromise at all and wondered if she knew it too.

He suspected she did, suspected she knew he had not gone to all of this trouble just to snatch a single night with her. But those wonderful lashes fluttered down again. Her soft mouth, still pulsing from his kiss, closed over words she decided not to say, and with only a nod of her head she lost the towel, stepped forward and turned to allow him to help feed her arms into the kimono-type sleeves of the robe.

It was a concession he knew he did not deserve. A concession he wanted to repay with a kiss of another kind, where bodies met and senses took over. Instead, he turned her to face him, smoothed his fingers down the robe’s silken border from slender shoulders to narrow waist, then reached for the belt and tied it for her.

His gentle ministrations brought a reluctant smile to her lips. ‘The calm before the storm,’ she likened dryly.

‘Better this than what I really want to do,’ he very ruefully replied.

‘You mean this?’ she asked, and lifted her eyes to his to let him see what was running through her head, then reached up and kissed him, before drawing away again with a very mocking smile.

As she turned to walk towards the food trolley she managed to trail her fingers over that part of him that was already so hard it was almost an embarrassment. The little vixen. He released a soft laugh. She might appear subdued on the surface, but underneath she still possessed enough spirit to play the tease.

They ate poached salmon on a bed of spinach, and beef stroganoff laden with cream. Hassan kept her glass filled with the crisp dry white wine she liked, while he drank sparkling water. As the wine helped mellow her mood some more, Leona managed to completely convince herself that all she wanted was this one wonderful night and she was prepared to live on it for ever. By the time the meal was finished and he suggested a walk on the deck, she was happy to go with him.

Outside the air was warm and as silken as the darkness that surrounded them. Both in bare feet, dressed only in their robes, they strolled along the deck and could have been the only two people on board it was so quiet and deserted.

‘Rafiq is entertaining Ethan—up there,’ Hassan explained when she asked where everyone else was. Following his gaze, Leona could see lights were burning in the windows of the deck above.

‘Should we be joining them?’

‘I don’t think they would appreciate the interruption,’ he drawled. ‘They have a poker game planned with several members of the crew, and our presence would dampen their—enthusiasm.’

Which was really him saying he didn’t want to share her with anyone. ‘You have an answer for everything, don’t you?’ she murmured.

‘I try.’ He smiled.

It was a slaying smile that sent the heat of anticipation burning between the cradle of her hip-bones, forcing her to look away so he wouldn’t see just how susceptible she was even to his smile. Going to lean against the yacht’s rail, she looked down to watch the white horses chase along the dark blue hull of the boat. They were moving at speed, slicing through the water on slick silent power that made her wonder how far they were away from San Estéban by now.

She didn’t ask, though, because it was the kind of question that could start a war. ‘This is one very impressive toy, even for an oil-rich sheikh,’ she remarked.

‘One hundred and ninety feet in length,’ he announced, and came to lean beside her with his back against the rail. ‘Twenty-nine feet across the beam.’ His arm slid around her waist and twisted her to stand in front of him so she could follow his hand as he pointed. ‘The top deck belongs mainly to the control room, where my very efficient captain keeps a smoothly running ship,’ he said. ‘The next down belongs to the sun deck and main reception salons designed to suitably luxurious standards for entertaining purposes. We stand upon what is known as the shade deck, it being cast mostly in the shade of the deck above,’ he continued, so smoothly that she laughed because she knew he was really mocking the whole sumptuous thing. ‘One half is reserved for our own personal use, with our private staterooms, my private offices etcetera,’ he explained, ‘while the other half is split equally between outer sun deck, outer shade deck, plus some less formal living space.’

‘Gosh, you’re so lucky to be this rich.’ She sighed.

‘And I haven’t yet finished this glorious tour,’ he replied. ‘For below our feet lies the cabin deck, complete with six private suites easily fit for the occupation of kings. Then there is the engine room and crew’s quarters below that. We can also offer a plunge pool, gymnasium and an assortment of nautical toys to make our weary lot a happier one.’

‘Does it have a name, this sheikh’s floating palace?’ she enquired laughingly.

‘Mmm. Sexy Lady,’ he growled, and lowered his head so he could bury his teeth in the side of her neck where it met her shoulder.

‘You’re joking!’ she accused, turning round in his arms to stare at him.

‘Okay.’ He shrugged. ‘I am joking.’

‘Then what is she called?’ she demanded, as her heart skipped a beat then stopped altogether because he looked so wonderful standing here with his lean dark features relaxed and smiling naturally for the first time. She loved him quite desperately—how could she not? He was her—

The laughter suddenly died on her lips, his expression telling her something she didn’t want to believe. ‘No,’ she breathed in denial. He couldn’t have done—he wouldn’t…

‘Why not?’ he challenged softly.

‘Not in this case!’ she snapped at him, not knowing quite what it was that was upsetting her. But upset she was; her eyes felt too hot, her chest too tight, and she had a horrible feeling she was about to weep all over his big hard beautiful chest!

‘It is traditional to name a boat after your most cherished loved-one,’ he pointed out. ‘And why am I defending myself when I could not have paid you a better compliment than this?’

‘Because…’ she began shakily.

‘You don’t like it,’ he finished for her.

‘No!’ she confirmed, then almost instantly changed her mind and said. ‘Yes, I like it! But you shouldn’t have! Y-you—’

His mouth crushed the rest of her protest into absolute oblivion, which was where it belonged anyway, because she didn’t know what she was saying, only that a warm sweet wave of love was crashing over her and it was so dangerously seductive that—

She fell into it. She just let the wave close over her head and let him drown her in the heat of his passion, the power of his arms and the hunger of his kiss.

‘Bed?’ he suggested against her clinging mouth.

‘Yes,’ she agreed, then fed her fingers into his hair and her tongue between his ready lips. A groan broke low in his throat; it was husky and gorgeous; she tasted it greedily. A hand that knew her so very well curved over her thighs, slid up beneath her wrap, then cupped her bottom so he could bring her into closer contact with his desire. It was all very hot and very hungry. With a flick of a few scraps of silk they could be making love right here against the yacht’s rail and in front of however many unseen eyes that happened to be glancing this way.

Hassan must have been thinking similarly because he suddenly put her from him. ‘Bed,’ he repeated, two dark streaks of colour accentuating his cheekbones and the fevered glitter in his eyes. ‘Can you walk, or do I carry you?’

‘I can run,’ she informed him candidly, and grabbed hold of his hand, then turned to stride off on long slender legs with his husky laugh following as she pulled him behind her.

Back in their stateroom, now magically cleared of all evidence that they had eaten, they parted at the end of the bed, one stepping to one side of it, one to the other. Eyes locking in a needle-sharp, sensual love game, they disrobed together, climbed into the bed together and came together.

Hot, slow and deep, they made love into the night and didn’t have to worry about empty spaces in between because one loving simply merged into another until—finally—they slept in each other’s arms, legs entwined and faces so close on the pillows that the sleep was almost a long kiss in itself.

Leona came awake to find the place beside her in the bed empty and felt disappointment tug at her insides. For a while she just lay there, watching the sunlight seeping in through the window slowly creep towards her across the room, and tried not to let her mind open up to what it was bringing with it.

After a night built on fantasy had to come reality, not warm, like the sun, but cold, like the shadow she could already feel descending upon her even as she tried to hold it back for a little while longer.

A sound caught her attention. Moving her head just a little, she watched Hassan walk out of the bathroom wearing only a towel, his sun-brown skin fashioned to look almost like skillfully tanned leather. For such a dark man he was surprisingly free of body hair, which meant she could watch unhindered each beautifully toned muscle as he strode across to one of the concealed doors in the wall and sprung it open at a touch to reveal a wardrobe to provide for the man who had everything. A drawer was opened and he selected a pair of white cotton undershorts, dropped the towel to give her a glimpse of lean tight buttocks before he pulled the shorts on. A pair of stone-washed outer shorts followed. Zipped and buttoned, they rested low on a waist that did not know the meaning of spare flesh to spoil his sleek appearance. A casual shirt came next, made of such fine white Indian cotton she could still see the outline of his body through it.

‘I can feel you watching me,’ he remarked without turning.

‘I like to look at you,’ Leona replied. And she did; rightly or wrongly in their present situation, he was a man to watch whatever he was doing, even fastening buttons as he was doing now.

Shirt cuffs left open, he turned to walk towards the bed. The closer he came the faster her heart decided to beat. ‘I like to look at you, too,’ he murmured, bracing his hands on either side of head so he could lean down and kiss her.

He smelt clean and fresh and his face wore the smooth sheen of a wet razor shave. Her lips clung to his, because she was still pretending, and her arms reached up so she could clasp them round the back of his neck. ‘Come back to bed with me,’ she invited.

‘So that you can ravish me? No way,’ he refused. ‘As the wise ones will tell you, my darling, too much of a good thing is bad for you.’

He kissed her again to soften the refusal, and his mouth was smiling as he straightened away, but as his hands reached up to gently remove her hands she saw the toughening happening behind his eyes. Hassan had already made contact with reality, she realised.

With that he turned away and strode back to the wall to spring open another set of doors which revealed clothes for the woman who wanted for nothing—except her man. And already she felt as if he had moved right out of her reach.

‘Get up and get dressed,’ he instructed as he walked towards the door. ‘Breakfast will be served on the sun deck in fifteen minutes.’

As she watched him reach for the door handle the shadow of reality sank that bit deeper into her skin. ‘Nothing has changed, Hassan,’ she told him quietly. ‘When I leave this room I won’t be coming back to it again.’

He paused, but he did not turn to glance back at her. ‘Everything has changed,’ he countered grimly. ‘You are back where you belong. This room is only part of that.’ Then he was gone, giving her no chance to argue.

Leona returned to watching the sun inch its way across the cream carpet for a while. Then, on a sigh, she slid out of the bed and went to get herself ready to face the next round of argument.

In another room not that far away Hassan was facing up to a different opponent. Ethan Hayes was standing there in the clothes he had arrived in minus the bow tie, and he was angry. In truth Hassan didn’t blame him. He was wearing a bruise on his jaw that would appal Leona if she saw it, and he had a thick head through being encouraged to imbibe too much alcohol the night before.

‘What made you pull such a crazy stunt?’ he was demanding.

Since Hassan had been asking himself the same thing, he now found himself short of an adequate answer. ‘I apologise for my men,’ he said. ‘Their…enthusiasm for the task got the better of them, I am afraid.’

‘You can say that again.’ Ethan touched his bruised jaw. ‘I was out for the count for ten minutes! The next thing I know I am stuck on a yacht I don’t want to be on, and Leona is nowhere to be seen!’

‘She’s worried about you, too, if that is any consolation.’

‘No, it damn well isn’t,’ Ethan said toughly. ‘What the hell was wrong with making contact by conventional methods? You scared the life out of her, not to mention the life out of me.’

‘I know, and I apologise again.’ Not being a man born to be conciliatory, being forced to be so now was beginning to grate, and his next cool remark reflected that. ‘Let it be said that you will be generously compensated for the…disruption.’

Ethan Hayes stiffened in violent offence. ‘I don’t want compensation,’ he snapped. ‘I want to see for myself that Leona is okay!’

‘Are you daring to imply that I could harm my wife?’

‘I don’t know, do I?’ Ethan returned in a tone deliberately aimed to provoke. ‘Overenthusiasm can be infectious.’

Neither man liked the other, though it was very rare that either came out from behind their polite masks to reveal it. But, as the sparks began to fly between the two of them, this meeting was at risk of being one of those times. Leona might prefer to believe that Ethan Hayes was not in love with her. But, as a man very intimate with the symptoms, Hassan knew otherwise. The passion with which he spoke her name, the burn that appeared in his eyes, and the inherent desire to protect her from harm all made Ethan Hayes’ feelings plain. And, as far as Hassan was concerned, the handsome Englishman’s only saving grace was the deep sense of honour that made him respect the wedding ring Leona wore.

But knowing this did not mean that Hassan could dismiss the other man’s ability to turn her towards him if he really set his mind to it. He had the build and the looks to turn any woman’s head.

Was he really afraid of that happening? he then asked himself, and was disturbed to realise that, yes, he was afraid. Always had been, always would be, he admitted, as he fought to maintain his polite mask because, at this juncture, he needed Ethan Hayes’ cooperation if he was going to get him off this boat before Leona could reach him.

So, on a sigh which announced his withdrawal from the threatening confrontation, he said grimly, ‘Time is of the essence,’ and went on to explain to the other man just enough of the truth to grab his concern.

‘A plot to get rid of her?’ Ethan was shocked and Hassan could not blame him for being so.

‘A plot to use her as a lever to make me concede to certain issues they desire from me,’ he amended. ‘I am still holding onto the belief that they did not want to turn this into an international incident by harming her in any way.’

‘Just snatching her could do it,’ Ethan pointed out.

‘Only if it became public property,’ Hassan responded. ‘They would be betting on Victor and myself holding our silence out of fear for Leona’s safety.’

‘Does she know?’ Ethan asked.

‘Not yet,’ Hassan confessed. ‘And not at all if I can possibly get away with it.’

‘So why does she think she’s here?’

‘Why do you think?’ Hassan countered, and gained some enjoyment out of watching Ethan stiffen as he absorbed the full masculine depth of his meaning. ‘As long as she remains under my protection no one can touch her.’

Ethan’s response took him by surprise because he dared to laugh. ‘You’ve no chance, Hassan,’ he waged. ‘Leona will fight you to the edge and back before she will just sit down and do what you want her to do simply because you’ve decided that is how it must be.’

‘Which is why I need your support in this,’ Hassan replied. ‘I need you to leave this boat before she can have an opportunity to use your departure as an excuse to jump ship with you.’

He got it. In the end, and after a bit more wrangling, he watched Ethan Hayes turn to the door on a reluctant agreement to go. And, oddly, Hassan admired him for trusting him enough to do this, bearing in mind the year that had gone before.

‘Don’t hurt her again.’ Almost as if he could read his thoughts, Ethan issued that gruff warning right on cue.

‘My wife’s well-being is and always has been of paramount importance to me,’ Hassan responded in a decidedly cooler tone.

Ethan turned, looked him directly in the eye, and for once the truth was placed in the open. ‘You hurt her a year ago. A man gets only one chance at doing that.’

The kid gloves came off. Hassan’s eyes began to glint. ‘Take a small piece of advice,’ he urged, ‘and do not presume to understand a marital relationship until you have tried it for yourself.’

‘I know a broken-hearted woman when I see one,’ Ethan persisted.

‘And has she been any less broken-hearted in the year we have been apart?’

Game, set and match, Hassan recognised, as the other man conceded that final point to him, and with just a nod of his head Ethan went out of the door and into the capable hands of the waiting Rafiq.

At about the same time that Rafiq was escorting Ethan to the waiting launch presently tied up against the side of the yacht, Leona was slipping her arms into the sleeves of a white linen jacket that matched the white linen trousers she had chosen to wear. Beneath the jacket she wore a pale green sun top, and she had contained her hair in a simple pony-tail tied up with a green silk scarf. As she turned towards the door she decided that if she managed to ignore the throbbing ache happening inside her then she was as ready as she ever could be for the battle she knew was to come with Hassan.

Stepping out of the stateroom, the first person she saw was a bearded man dressed in a long white tunic and the usual white gutrah on his head.

‘Faysal!’ Her surprise was clear, her smile warm. Faysal responded by pressing his palms together and dipping into the kind of low bow that irritated Hassan but didn’t bother Leona at all simply because she ignored it. ‘I didn’t know you were here on the boat. Are you well?’ she enquired as she walked towards him.

‘I am very well, my lady,’ he confirmed, but beneath the beard she had a suspicion he was blushing uncomfortably at the informal intimacy she was showing him.

‘And your wife?’ she asked gently.

‘Oh, she is very well,’ he confirmed with a distinct softening in his formal tone. ‘The—er—problem she suffered has gone completely. We are most grateful to you for taking the trouble to ensure she was treated by the best people.’

‘I didn’t do anything but point her in the right direction, Faysal.’ Leona smiled. ‘I am only grateful that she felt she could confide in me.’

‘You saved her life.’

‘Many people saved her life.’ Daring his affront, she crossed the invisible line Arab males drew between themselves and females and reached out to press her hands against the backs of his hands. ‘But you and I were good conspirators, hmm, Faysal?’

‘Indisputably, my lady.’ His mouth almost cracked into a smile but he was too stressed at having her hands on his, and in the end she relented and moved away.

‘If you would come this way…’ he bowed ‘…I am to escort you to my lord Hassan.’

Ah, my lord Hassan, Leona thought, and felt her lighter mood drop again as Faysal indicated that she precede him down the steps she had taken a tumble on the night before. On the other side of the foyer was a staircase which Leona presumed led up to the deck above.

With Faysal tracking two steps behind her, she made her way up and into the sunlight flooding the upper deck, where she paused to take a look around. The sky was a pure, uninterrupted blue and the sea the colour of turquoise. The sun was already hot on her face and she had to shade her eyes against the way it was reflecting so brightly off the white paintwork of the boat.

‘You managed to make Faysal blush, I see,’ a deep voice drawled lazily.

Turning about, she found that Faysal had already melted away, as was his habit, and that Hassan was sitting at a table laid for breakfast beneath the shade of a huge white canvas awning, studying her through slightly mocking eyes. Her heart tried to leap in her breast but she refused to let it. ‘There is a real human being hiding behind all of that strict protocol, if you would only look and see him.’

‘The protocol is not my invention. It took generations of family tradition to make Faysal the man he is today.’

‘He worships you like a god.’

‘And you as his angel of mercy.’

‘At least he felt I was approachable enough that he could bring his concerns to me.’

‘After I had gently suggested it was what he should do.’

‘Oh,’ she said; she hadn’t realised that.

‘Come out of the sun before you burn.’

It was hot, and he was right, but Leona felt safer keeping her distance. She had things to say, and she began with the one subject guaranteed to alter his mellow mood into something else entirely. ‘I was hoping that Ethan would be here with you,’ she said. ‘Since he isn’t, I think I will go and look for him.’

Like a sign from Allah that today was not going to be a good day, at that moment the launch powered up and slipped its ties to the yacht.

Attention distracted, Leona glanced over the side, then went perfectly still.

Hassan knew what she was seeing even before he got up to go and join her. Sure enough, there was Ethan standing on the back of the launch. As the small boat began to pick up speed he glanced up, saw them and waved a farewell.

‘Wave back, my darling,’ he urged smoothly. ‘The man will appreciate the assurance that all is well.’

‘You rat,’ she whispered.

‘Of the desert,’ he dryly replied, then compounded his sins by bringing an arm to rest across her stiff shoulders and lifting his other to wave.

Leona waved also, he admired her for that because it showed that, despite how angry she was feeling, she was—as always—keeping true to her unfailing loyalty to him.

In the eyes of other people, anyway. He extended that statement as the two of them stood watching Ethan and his passage away from them decrease in size, until the launch was nothing more than an occasional glint amongst many on the ocean. By then Leona was staring beyond the glint, checking the horizon for a glimpse of land that was not there. She was also gripping the rail in front of them with fingers like talons and wishing they were around his throat, he was sure.

‘Try to think of it this way,’ he suggested. ‘I have saved us the trouble of yet another argument.’