Daughter of Hassan & Heart of the Desert(42)

He didn’t have to even be there to make her blush this morning.

Just her thought process last night made her burn with shame.

He could have taken her on the balcony, had he chosen to. He could have come to her room and taken her then—what sort of babysitter was she? She wanted to get away from the palace today, wanted to clear her mind before it went back to thinking of him. She’d expected his talk with his father to take for ever, that by the time they were finished she’d be long gone, but instead he walked up behind her.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked as she tapped on her computer. Most people wouldn’t look, Georgie thought. Most people wouldn’t come up behind you and stare over your shoulder at the page you were on, and even if they did, most people would pretend not to be taking an interest.

Ibrahim, though, wasn’t like most people. Georgie was scared to turn, her skin prickling at his closeness, the air between them crackling with energy.

‘I’m booking a tour.’

‘A tour?’

‘Of the desert.’

‘Scroll down.’

She really couldn’t believe his audacity.

‘Are you always this…?’ She couldn’t even sum it up in one word—rude, nosy? And then when clearly she hadn’t followed his command quickly enough, when clearly she hadn’t jumped to his bidding in time, he leant over her shoulder, moved her hand to the side and scrolled down for himself. In that second Georgie found her word—invasive.

‘An authentic desert experience…’ Every word was mocking. ‘You are staying at the palace, your sister is a princess and you are considering a guided tour?’

‘Felicity is busy,’ Georgie sighed.

‘With Jamal?’

‘No. Karim is heading out to the west today to assess the situation with the Bedouins—he wanted her to go with him, and she agreed. She won’t be back till late.’

‘So why aren’t you auditioning for the part of nanny? Didn’t she ask you to watch Azizah today?’

‘She did.’ Georgie gave a guilty blush. ‘But I said no. I said that I’d seen she was busy and had already made plans for the next couple of days.’

‘Bad Aunty.’

‘Good Aunty,’ Georgie said, because she had given this a lot of thought when feeding Azizah overnight. ‘I want to be her aunt, not her nanny. So when Felicity asked this morning if I could watch her, I told her I had plans.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Now I just have to make them.’

‘You can’t go on a tour.’ He shook his head. ‘That is like asking me to dinner and then I have to ring for a take-away.’

He was angry after his talk with his father; restless and confined, and in a moment his mind was made up. ‘I will take you.’

‘I don’t think that’s the best idea.’ Georgie swallowed, imagining Felicity’s reaction.

‘It’s a very good idea.’ Ibrahim said, because two days in, his homesickness had gone. Two days in Zaraq and he remembered why he’d left in the first place. ‘You should see the desert—and I would like to go there too.’ He would face his demons head on. The desert did not call him—the desert was not a person or a thing. Yes, maybe he had taken his horse only to the edge this visit or had ridden it on the beach, but he would go to the desert today because he refused to fear it. He would give Georgie her day and then he would leave. ‘I’ll tell them to prepare the horses.’

‘I had one riding lesson nearly a decade ago.’ Georgie said. ‘I’ll stick with my air-conditioned bus.’

‘Then I’ll drive you.’

Insane, probably.

‘Look, I don’t think my sister would approve and it has nothing to do with…’ Her voice trailed off. After all, why shouldn’t she go out with Ibrahim? Especially with what he said next.

‘You have to promise to keep your hands off me, though.’ He said it with a smile. ‘Or our souls will be bound for ever.’ He rolled his eyes as he said it. ‘It’s a load of rubbish, of course—I mean, look at my mother and father. Still we’d better not take that chance.’

‘I’m sure I can restrain myself.’ Georgie smiled back. ‘You’re not that irresistible.’

‘Liar.’ He gave her a very nice smile. ‘I’m saving you for London.’

His presumption did not irritate, instead it warmed. That she might see him again without all the confines brought hope without compromise.

‘Ring Felicity now, tell her you have booked a tour,’ Ibrahim said, ‘with an experienced guide…’

Blushing even though she was on the phone, Georgie did that, but instead of questions and a demand for details from Felicity all she got was guilty relief.

‘What if she finds out?’

‘How would she?’

‘Won’t the staff say something?’

‘I’ll smuggle you out,’ Ibrahim said. ‘I’ll have them pack me lunch. They always pack enough for ten—they are used to me heading out.’

‘Are you sure?’

He wasn’t.

Not sure of anything, and least of all her.

A woman who changed her mind at less than a moment’s notice, a woman his brother had warned him against yet again just this very morning, was serious trouble.

And there was unfinished business, which did not sit well with Ibrahim.

Still, where they were heading, there could be no conclusion, for the desert had rules of it own.

‘I would like to spend the day with you.’

It was the only thing he knew.





CHAPTER EIGHT




HE FROWNED at her carefully planned desert wardrobe when she climbed into his Jeep.

Cool capri pants, a T-shirt and flat pumps were clearly not what he had been expecting her to change into.

‘See if your sister has robes.’

‘I’m not wearing them!’ Georgie said. ‘Anyway, on the tour guidelines it said—’

‘That was for a play date. This is the real thing,’ Ibrahim interrupted. ‘You’ll get burnt.’

‘I’ve got sunblock on.’

‘Don’t come crying to me then at 3 a.m.,’ Ibrahim said, and then he changed his mind, gave her a flash of that dangerous smile. ‘Well, you are welcome to—just don’t expect sympathy.’ And Georgie swallowed, because they were flirting and a day in the desert, a whole day alone with him, was something she hadn’t dared dream of and certainly not with him looking like that.

He was dressed for the desert and it was an Ibrahim she had not once glimpsed or envisaged. The sight made her toes curl in her unsuitable pumps, for if her mind could have conjured it up, this was how she’d have envisioned him. A man of the desert in white robes, his feet encased in leather straps and a black and white kafeya that hid his hair from sight and allowed more focus on his face.

‘What?’ Ibrahim asked, as he often did to silence.

‘Bring it back,’ Georgie said, and they were definitely flirting because he smiled as he registered what she meant.

‘Consider it packed.’

They drove for miles, until the road ran out. Then Ibrahim hurtled the Jeep over the dunes, accelerating and braking, riding the dunes like a surfer on a wave. He had been wrong to fear it, Ibrahim decided, because all it was was fairy-tales and sand.

He parked near a vast canyon, with a few clusters of shrubs and not much else.

‘Is this it?’ Georgie asked, curious at her own disappointment.

‘This is it,’ Ibrahim said. ‘You take the rug and I’ll bring the food over.’

‘Where?’

‘To the picnic table,’ he teased.

‘Ha, ha,’ she said as she stepped out. She knew she was being a bit precious, or just plain shallow—she didn’t want belly dancers or for Ibrahim to produce a hookah. She’d just dreamt of it so, built it up to something majestic in her mind, and all there was…was nothing. She felt the blistering heat on her head and she scanned the horizon, trying to get her bearings, to see the city and the palace behind, or the blue of the ocean that circled the island, but there was nothing but endless sand.

‘What direction is the palace?’

‘That way,’ Ibrahim said, spreading a blanket at the side of the Jeep for shade. She sat down and accepted some iced mint and lemon tea, but her eyes could not accept the nothingness.

‘You want camels?’ He grinned.

‘I guess,’ she admitted. ‘And I’d love to see the desert people.’

‘We might come across some. But most are deeper in the desert.’

‘What is this illness that the Bedouins are suffering from?’ Georgie asked.

‘A virus,’ Ibrahim explained. ‘It is not serious with treatment, and most have been vaccinated. Most in Zaraqua anyway, but out of the city…’ He looked out to the horizon. ‘Beyond the royal tent there is nothing to the west. It is accessible only by helicopter. There is no refuelling point, no roads…’

‘What if they need help?’

‘It is how they choose to live.’ Ibrahim repeated his father’s words, though today they did not sit well in his gut. ‘Ten years ago there was talk, contractors were bought in, proposals made, but the elders protested they did not want change and so, instead we concentrated on the town, the hospital and university.’