Читать книгу The Royals Collection - Ким Лоренс, Rebecca Winters - Страница 70

CHAPTER NINE

‘WE NEED TO TALK, JAZZ.’

‘We certainly do,’ she agreed, all business now, ‘but not here and not now. These people deserve everything we can do for them, but the one thing they don’t need is our problems on their shoulders.’

The meeting was breaking up. ‘We’ve got work to do. You go and round up the children, while I make sure everyone gets home safely.’

‘And then we’ll talk,’ Jazz assured him tensely.

‘You bet we will. I’ll come and find you.’

‘Tell me you’re not thinking of coming round to check out my accommodation?’

‘The headman’s little speech has changed nothing, Jazz. I still owe it to your brother to keep you safe, so, however much of a pain in the backside you are, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’

‘I’ve lived in the desert all my life, Tyr.’

‘In a palace, Jazz.’

‘Have you forgotten our camp-outs when we were younger?’

How could he ever forget? Worms in his bed? Stones in his boots?

‘Back off, Tyr. Just leave me to work this out, will you?’

‘I’d love to,’ he assured her, ‘but something tells me it’s going to take a concerted effort to solve this one. And right now, I have bigger concerns, like making sure you’re safe. One thing I do know is that Sharif would never forgive me if any harm came to you. More importantly, I would never forgive myself.’

Straightening up, Jazz pulled the regal card. ‘My people will make sure I’m safe. And now, if you will excuse me?’

He almost bowed mockingly, but he was all out of humour and confined himself to watching from the door as Jazz shepherded the children home through swirls of sand until finally she was lost to sight.

* * *

By the time he’d delivered the last older person safely home, the storm had the village in its vicious grip. The roar of sand driven at speed by gale-force winds was deafening and his only concern now was for Jazz. Fighting against the power of the wind with one arm over his face and his bandana tied over his nose and mouth, he finally reached the large guest pavilion nestling against the cliff. His feelings lurched from concern to relief when he spotted the hurricane ropes connected to the cliff face, which Jazz had already secured across the entrance.

‘Jazz?’ Shaking the brass bell, he yelled her name again. He wanted to check the struts holding the pavilion before the wind really got up.

‘I’m coming in.’

‘Don’t let me stop you,’ she yelled from somewhere deep inside the tent.

‘You should have stayed in the hall until I came back with you to check everything was safe.’

‘How many times, Tyr?’ Jazz demanded as he closed the roar of the storm out behind him. ‘There’s no need for you to come and check up on me. Why risk your life for no reason?’

‘Maybe I disagree with you about there being no reason for me being here?’

He went about doing the job he’d come for, shaking poles and checking roof beams. ‘Move aside, Jazz. I need to make sure this structure’s safe.’

She stalked round after him. ‘Do you really think the Wadi people don’t know how to build a structure that can weather a storm?’

‘Like your brother, Jazz, I have only survived this long because I never take anything for granted.’

‘Are you satisfied now?’ she demanded, when he stood back to take one last long look around.

‘Not nearly,’ he said. ‘How long do you think you might be confined here? Do you have enough water? Enough to eat?’

‘Look around, Tyr.’

He dragged his gaze reluctantly from Jazz to take in the platters set out on low brass tables. They were laden with sweetmeats and fruit. ‘Jazz.’

‘And don’t Jazz me. I’m not a child,’ she snapped. ‘Well? Are you satisfied now? Oh, and there’s an underground stream running through the back of the tent, should I start to get thirsty.’

He glared back at her.

‘So, what are you going to do now, Tyr? Stroll back to your place in the village—get knocked off your feet and killed?’

‘Hopefully not.’ Jazz sounded belligerent, but her expression was both wounded and touchingly concerned for him. This had to be embarrassing for Jazz. According to the headman, they were destined to be married, though not a word of romance had passed between them. Jazz didn’t know how to handle it, and for once he had no advice to offer her. ‘I’m satisfied you’re safe in here,’ he said to break the tension.

‘The pavilion is well insulated, thanks to its outer skin of camel hide,’ Jazz confirmed with a dry throat, clearly relieved to seize the distraction lifeline he’d offered her.

‘And you’re right, saying no one is safe outside in a storm like this,’ he agreed for the sake of encouraging Jazz to use her sensible head, rather than the turbulent emotion he could sense bubbling so close to the surface. ‘Not even me.’

‘Well, that’s something, I suppose.’ And then she fell silent. ‘You should never have come here,’ she said at last in a strained voice.

‘I’m supposed to pretend nothing happened back there?’ He jerked his head in the general direction of the village hall.

‘Can’t you see how bad you’re making things look by coming here, Tyr?’

‘Your safety comes first. And considering you weren’t supposed to be here when I arrived, that’s rich, coming from you. But we are where we are, Jazz, and it’s no use looking back.’

‘If you’d left me on that dune as I asked you to, this wouldn’t have happened.’

‘If I’d left you on that dune, you’d be dead. And if one of my sisters was stranded in the middle of a sandstorm when Sharif was close by, I would expect him to do exactly what I’m doing for you.’

‘But this is different, Tyr.’

‘Why? Because you’re a princess of Kareshi? You’re also a human being, aren’t you?’

‘I’m alone with a man.’

‘Who is here to make sure you’re safe, and for no other reason, Jasmina.’

‘You can’t even call me Jazz now?’

‘You’re a princess,’ he reminded her coldly.

But there was more to it than that. Jazz was the woman he wanted to take to bed, while Princess Jasmina was the innocent sister of his closest friend, and therefore untouchable. Princess Jasmina had nothing to worry about where Tyr Skavanga was concerned. Another tense silence hung between them. And just like the old days, neither one of them was prepared to back down first.

‘Well, I might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb,’ Jazz said finally. ‘You’re here, and, as you say, we’re in this situation, so I might as well offer you a drink.’

He slanted a wry smile at her. ‘Charmed, I’m sure.’

‘Juice?’

‘Thank you.’

While Jazz was arranging things, he took the chance to stare around at all the rich hangings and the jewel-coloured rugs. The Wadi people had really pushed out the boat to show their love for Jazz by offering her the best of everything they had. The smell of precious incense rose from brass burners, while a honeyed light shone from intricately pierced brass lanterns, which were almost certainly centuries old. And there were enough sumptuous throws and hand-sewn silk cushions to make up ten beds.

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ she commented, seeing his interest and perhaps relieved for another chance to move onto safer ground. ‘Though you forgot to secure the storm sheet when you came in.’

Surprised, he glanced around.

‘You were too busy lecturing me,’ Jazz observed dryly as he corrected his mistake.

As he returned and tugged off his jacket, he noticed Jazz staring at him. It occurred to him that in Jazz’s ultra-protected world even the flash of a naked biceps would be disturbing. She was staring now at the tattoo that wound around his arm, which was a brutal reminder of his proud Viking heritage and another warning of the many differences between them.

What on earth had persuaded her to allow Tyr Skavanga inside the pavilion? When he’d touched her lightly on the arm with his hand at the meeting, it had felt as if the voltage of the entire national grid had shot through her body. And now she was in lock-down with him? She couldn’t allow him to risk his life outside. That was the only reason this was happening, Jazz told herself firmly. But Tyr filled the tent. His aura of power and command surrounded her. He was so brazenly male and so frighteningly virile.

No one could be this close to Tyr and feel nothing, Jazz reasoned sensibly. The ferocity of the storm had unsettled her, but that wasn’t an excuse for her imagination to run riot. They were stuck here. They hadn’t chosen to be here.

But to be alone with Tyr, when she was never alone with any man apart from her brother? She didn’t know where to look, how to act, where to sit.

Look anywhere except at this man mountain, Jazz concluded. Don’t stare at Tyr’s hard muscled body covered in scars, and wonder how he came by them. Just accept Tyr for who he is, and what he was when you were both younger and could call him a good friend. Don’t stare into Tyr’s shadowed eyes and ache to know his past. Don’t even begin to think of how it felt when he touched you. Concentrate on practical matters instead, like locking down the pavilion together in preparation for the storm, and everything else will sort itself out. She hoped.

It was a relief to have something practical to concentrate on, Jazz reflected as she started to move anything breakable out of danger as the wind battered the sides of the pavilion. She was an observer, and a fantasist who had dreamed about Tyr constantly since she was a teen.

But having him here, brutally male and frighteningly close—

‘Would you mind if I have a piece of fruit to go with my drink, Jazz?’

Well, that sounded like a threat—not. ‘Of course I don’t mind. Help yourself.’

Just because Tyr was worldly and she wasn’t, it didn’t mean he expected anything from her. She’d known him half her life, and Tyr had never done anyone any harm.

Until he became a trained soldier.

Under orders, Jazz reminded herself as she refilled Tyr’s goblet and handed it back to him. She blinked when he reached for the dagger at his belt. She remembered exactly when Sharif had given him the dagger. It was the same deadly curving khanjar her brother wore hanging from his belt. Sharif had said the gift of a dagger bound Tyr and he as close as brothers, and there was no one in the world he trusted more. As if hypnotised, she watched Tyr slice the fruit into slim pieces with that same lethal blade and put some on a plate to tempt her.

‘We could be here for hours, Jazz. You should eat something.’

Hours? One crucial word broke through. How was she going to remain calm and sensible for hours alone with Tyr when her heart was already going crazy?

Jazz accepting the plate of fruit was a turning point. It was a small but significant step towards her relaxing around him. If she couldn’t do that, this was going to be a long night for both of them.

‘Good?’ he prompted as she lifted a sliver of fruit to her lips.

‘Thank you.’

She was so prim, so tense, so frightened of him. This was a new Jazz indeed, though her black eyes and perfectly sculpted features had never seemed more beautiful to him.

‘Why are you staring at me?’ she demanded suspiciously.

‘Am I staring?’

‘You know you are.’

She blushed and turned away, then moved at the same moment he did for a second piece of fruit. As their arms brushed, she took in a swift gulp of air. The jolt to his own senses stunned him. This was crazy. Sheltering from the storm had become an exercise in restraint he hadn’t expected.

Only when Jazz had put half a pavilion’s distance between them did she start talking to him again. ‘I’m glad you’re back, Tyr.’

He stabbed another piece of fruit. ‘Glad I’m back from my travels?’ he enquired, biting the succulent fruit from the tip of the knife. ‘Or glad I’m here?’

‘Both,’ Jazz admitted frankly, hugging herself tight as the wind threatened to tear the roof off the pavilion.

‘So, what do you suggest we do now?’

‘What do you mean?’ Her eyes widened as she stared at him.

He gave a short laugh, but there was no humour in it. ‘Do you tell the emir we spent the night together, or do I?’

‘Do you mind if we talk about something else?’

He shrugged as he refilled his goblet with juice. ‘Whatever you like.’

He began to pace. Inactivity didn’t suit him, but wherever his strides took him in this confined space, it could never be far enough away from Jazz. Wanting her was like a slow burn eating him up inside. ‘Why don’t we start with your plans for the future?’ he suggested.

‘My plans?’

He was instantly alert at the touch of steel in Jazz’s voice. ‘I’m going to continue working at my brother’s racing stables, and I’m going to extend my work with our people. My brother has always wanted me to work for Kareshi. Don’t look at me like that, Tyr. Sharif has always known where my future lay. It just took me a little longer to see the light.’

‘And now you have it all worked out.’

‘Men make plans. Women improve them.’

‘Was I part of your plan?’

‘No,’ she exclaimed, sounding genuinely shocked. ‘And if you think for one moment that I manufactured this insane wedding idea, you’re completely wrong.’

‘All right,’ he placated her. ‘So we know the people of Kareshi love and respect you, and you are right in saying this is where you belong. I’m just not sure that I do long-term, Jazz.’

She was silent for a moment. ‘Do you believe in fate, Tyr?’

He shrugged. ‘Where the hell is this leading us, Jazz?’

‘Bear with me for a moment, Tyr. It’s quite simple. Do you think things happen for a reason? You must do,’ Jazz argued before he could say a word. ‘Look at the evidence. The fall brought me to Wadi village. The storm kept me here. And now—’

‘And now?’ he prompted.

‘And now, apart from the fact that the events of the past couple of days have woken me up so I can see clearly where my future lies, it’s also given me chance to talk to you.’

‘What about?’ He was in no mood for an inquisition, and barriers had snapped around him before he had even finished asking Jazz the question.

‘We’re stuck here, Tyr. You’ve been away a long time. We have lots to talk about.’

Nothing could ever keep Jazz down for long, he remembered. Jazz Kareshi was as complicated as the politics of her country. She had grown up surrounded by intrigue and danger. Forced to negotiate pitfalls and double-dealing since she’d been a very small child, she knew how to survive pretty much anything; even a surprise wedding announcement, it turned out.

‘All right, I’ll start,’ she said. ‘I’m going to live here in Wadi village. At least for the time being.’

‘You’re going to live here?’

‘Why not? I can commute to the stables.’

‘What about your home at the palace?’

‘What’s the point of living in a palace distanced from my people, when I can be here where I can see their problems for myself?’

He couldn’t argue with that. ‘I don’t think Sharif will have any trouble accepting that decision. You know as well as I do that as far as Sharif is concerned, all the pomp and ceremony surrounding his position is just a necessary part of the job. It’s the people of Kareshi that matter most to both of you.’

‘And I can be quite determined when I put my mind to something.’

‘You don’t say,’ he murmured dryly.

‘Where are you going?’ Jazz asked as he turned to go.

‘Back to my own place. And don’t look so worried. I’ll make it safely.’

‘I’m not worried, but it’s your turn now. This is an opportunity for us to catch up, Tyr.’

‘I’ve been here long enough, Jazz. Your reputation is already in tatters.’

‘My reputation is shot,’ she argued. ‘You couldn’t have caused more of a sensation if you kissed me in public.’

He paused with his hand on storm cloth over the entrance. ‘Now, why didn’t I think of that?

‘Tyr.’

‘Next time I’ll leave you where I find you,’ he vowed before Jazz could get started.

‘No. You’d never do that. You always were the white knight, Tyr.’

Their eyes met and held a dangerous beat too long. ‘Not many people would call me that.’

‘No,’ she agreed, ‘they’d call you a hero.’

‘Leave it, Jazz—’

‘No. I won’t leave it.’ Her voice was every bit as loud and angry as his. Standing up, all five feet two of her bristling with pent-up frustration, she stood between him and the only way out. ‘One day you will tell me why you always avoid talking about the past.’

‘My past is none of your business.’

‘It is my business,’ Jazz said fiercely, ‘because, like my brother, I care for you, and I refuse to watch you suffer on your own.’

‘Maybe I want to be on my own,’ he fired back. ‘Believe me, Jazz, you don’t want to go where I’ve been, and you certainly don’t want to see what I’ve seen—not even in your head.’