Daughter of Hassan & Heart of the Desert(30)

‘This is the best birthday ever!’ Abby was beside herself with excitement but Georgie loathed the spotlight and the scrutiny it placed on her, though it wasn’t only that that had her heart hammering in her chest as they were led through a dark room to a very prominent table. There was a tightening in her throat and a strange sinking feeling in her stomach as she fathomed that this might not be a mistake on the doorman’s part.

Mistakes like this just did not happen.

And there was only one person in the world she could think of who might be at this place. One person she knew who had the power to open impossible doors. The one person she had tried for months not to think of. One man she would do her utmost to avoid.

‘Again—our apologies, Miss Anderson.’ Her thoughts were confirmed as the waiter used what he thought was her name and a bottle of champagne appeared. Georgie sat down, her cheeks on fire, scared to look up, to look over to the man approaching, because she knew that when she did it would be to him. ‘Ibrahim has asked that we take care of you.’

So now there was no avoiding him. She willed a bland reaction, told her heart to slow down, her body to calm—hoped against hope that she could deliver a cool greeting. Georgie lifted her eyes, and even as she managed a small smile, even if she did appear in control, inside every cell jolted, with nerves and unexpected relief.

Relief because, despite denial, despite insisting to herself otherwise, still she wanted him so.

‘Georgie.’ The sound of his voice after all this time, the hint of an accent despite his well-schooled intonation, made her stomach flip and fold as she stood to greet him—and for a moment she was back there, back in Zaraq, back in his arms. ‘It has been a long time.’ He was clearly just leaving. On his arm a woman as blonde as herself flashed a possessive warning with her eyes, which Georgie heeded.

‘It has been a while.’ Her voice was a touch higher than the one she would have chosen had she had any say in it. ‘How are you?’

‘Well,’ Ibrahim said, and he looked it. Despite all she had read about him, despite the excesses of his lifestyle. He was taller than she remembered, or was he just a touch thinner? His features a little more savage. His raven hair was longer than she remembered, but even at two a.m. it fell in perfect shape. His black eyes roamed in assessment, just as they had that day, and then he waited for her gaze to meet his and somehow he won the unvoiced race because, just as had happened on that first day, she could not stop looking.

His mouth had not changed. Had she had only one feature to identify him by, if the police somehow formed an identity parade of lips, she could, without hesitation, have walked up and chosen her culprit. For, in contrast to his sculpted features, his mouth was soft, with full lips that a long time ago had spread into a slow, lazy smile, revealing perfectly even teeth, but tonight there would be no smile. It was a mouth that evoked a strange response. As Georgie stood there, forced to maintain this awkward conversation as she met his gaze, it was his mouth that held her mind. As he spoke on, it was his mouth she wanted to watch, and after all this time, in a crowded club with a woman on his arm, it was those lips she wanted to kiss.

‘How are you?’ he asked politely. ‘How is your new business? Are you getting a lot of clients?’ And it told her he remembered, not just that night but the details she had so readily shared back then. She recalled all the excitement in her voice as she’d told him about her Reiki and healing oils venture, and how interested he had been, and she was glad of the darkness because maybe, just maybe, there were tears in her eyes.

‘It’s going very well, thank you.’ Georgie said.

‘And have you seen your niece recently?’ How wooden and formal he sounded. How she wanted the real Ibrahim to come back, to take her by the hand and drag her out of there, to take her to his car, to his bed, to an alley, to anywhere where it could be just them. Instead he awaited her answer and Georgie shook her head. ‘I haven’t been back since…’ And she stopped because she had to, because her world was divided into two—before and after.

Since a kiss that had changed her for ever.

Since harsh words had been exchanged.

‘I—I haven’t b-been back since the wedding.’ Georgie stammered.

‘I was there last month—Azizah is doing well.’

She knew he had been back, despite swearing she wouldn’t try to find out. She delved just a little when she spoke with her sister, searched out his name in ways she wasn’t proud of. His words were almost lost in the noise of the club, and the only way to continue the conversation would be to move her head just a fraction closer, but that, for her own reasons, Georgie could not do. As his date gave a pointed yawn and the hand on his arm tightened, Georgie thanked him for his help in getting them into the club and for the champagne, and in return Ibrahim wished her goodnight.

There was a hesitation, just the briefest hesitation, because the polite thing to do would be to kiss her on the cheek, to say farewell in the usual way—but as both heads moved a fraction for the familiar ritual, by mutual consent they halted, because even in this setting, even with the clash of perfumes and colognes in the air, the space between them had warmed with a scent that was a subtle combination of them, a sultry, intoxicating scent that was so potent, so thick, so heavy it should come with a government warning.

Georgie gave a wry smile.

It came with a royal warning!

‘Goodnight,’ she said, and as he headed out, she watched the people part, watched heads turn to this beautiful man and then back to her, curious eyes watching, because even that short contact with him, in this superficial setting, rendered her someone. Especially, when all of a sudden he changed his mind, when he left his date and strode back towards her. It was almost the same as it had once been, this charge, this pull, that propelled him to her, and she wanted to give in and run, to cross the club and just run to him, but instead she stood there, shivering inside as he came back to her, rare tears in her eyes as he bent his head and offered words she’d neither expected nor sought.

‘I apologise.’

And she couldn’t say anything, because she’d have wept or, worse, she’d have turned to him, to the mouth that she’d craved for so long now.

‘Not for all of it, but for some if the things I said. You’re not…’ His voice was husky. He did not have to repeat it, the word had been ringing in her ears for months now. ‘I apologise.’

‘Thank you.’ Somehow she found her voice. ‘I’m sorry too.’

She was.

Every day.

Every hour.

She was sorry.

And then he turned away and she could not stand to watch him leave a second time so she took her seat instead.

‘Who,’ Abby demanded as Georgie sat down, ‘was that?’

Georgie didn’t answer. Instead she took a sip of her champagne, except it didn’t quench her thirst, so she took another and then looked over to the man who never usually looked back. But in the early hours of this morning he did—and so potent was his effect, so renewed was her longing that had he even crooked his finger, had he so much as beckoned with his head, she would have gone to him.

It was a relief when the door closed on him but it took a moment for normality to return—to be back in the world without him.

‘Georgie?’ Abby was growing impatient.

‘You know my sister Felicity, who lives in Zaraq?’ Georgie watched Abby’s mouth gape. ‘That’s her husband’s brother.’

‘He’s a prince?’

Georgie attempted nonchalant. ‘Well, as Karim is, I guess he must be.’

‘You never said he was so…’ Abby’s voice trailed off, but Georgie knew what she meant. Even though Georgie’s sister had married into royalty, even though Felicity had gone to Zaraq as a nurse and married a prince, Georgie had played it down to her friends—as if Zaraq was some dot, as if royals were ten a penny there. She had not told them the details of this stunning land, the endless desert she had flown over, the markets and deep traditions in the countryside, contrasting with the glittering, luxurious city, with seven-star resorts and designer boutiques.

And certainly she had not told her friends about him.

‘What happened when you were there?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You were different when you got back. You hardly ever spoke about it.’

‘It was just a wedding.’

‘Oh, come on, Georgie—look at him, I’ve never see a more beautiful man. You didn’t even show me the wedding photos…’

‘Nothing happened,’ Georgie answered, because what had happened between Ibrahim and herself had never been shared, even though she thought about it every day.

* * *

‘Three times a bridesmaid!’ Georgie could still hear her mother making the little joke as they stood waiting for the service to start. ‘It’s a saying we have. If you’re a bridesmaid three times, then you’ll never…’ Her mother had given up trying to explain then. The Zaraquians were not interested in nervous chatter and they certainly did not make small talk—all they were focussed on was the wedding that was about to take place. Despite all the pomp and glamour, it wasn’t even the real wedding—that had taken place a few weeks ago in front of a judge—but now that the king had recovered from a serious operation, and Felicity deemed a suitable bride for Karim, the official celebration was taking place before her pregnancy became too obvious. Still, even if no one was listening, Georgie’s cheeks burnt as her mother chatted on, shame whooshing up inside her. She closed her eyes for a dizzy second, because if her mother only knew the truth… There was no reason for her to know, Georgie told herself, calmed herself, reassured herself, and then her mind was thrown into turmoil again because she opened her eyes to a long, appraising stare from an incredibly imposing man. He was dressed like his father and brothers in military uniform, but surely never had a man worn it so well. She swung between relief and regret because had they been in England she’d have got to dance with the best man.