‘Take me to the desert.’
‘Soon,’ Ibrahim said, because still there was duty, so they danced one more dance then two and then headed to a loaded table, where Georgie took her time to select from the lavish spread.
He watched nosy, bony fingers pick up a pomegranate, he saw the servant move in with a knife, but he took over and tore the fruit in two.
‘Take me to the desert,’ Georgie said, because she hadn’t been there since that night and her womb ached for him.
And Ibrahim was about to remind her, but he checked himself. Yes, there was duty, except he had other priorities today. They had posed for the photos, had waved to the crowds, had feasted and danced—had done every last thing Georgie hated—and his duty was now to her.
‘You can’t just leave,’ her mother chided, as Ibrahim spoke with the king. ‘You can’t leave midway through your own wedding.’
‘Yes, she can.’ Felicity hugged her sister as Ibrahim returned.
‘What did he say?’ Georgie asked, but it was too noisy for him to answer. They were supposed to dance again, and with the end in sight, she did. Out of the palace and to a waiting helicopter, and they flew into a desert that looked like an ocean and for a while there were no words, just his kisses as they flew over it.
‘What did he say?’ Georgie asked, when finally they were alone in the desert and she still worried that they’d caused trouble. ‘What did the king say when you told him we were leaving?’
‘To look after you.’ Ibrahim replied. ‘Which, I told him, goes without saying.’
She stepped into his tent and braced herself for servants, for Bedra, for bathing and petals and all the drama that was a royal wedding, consoling herself that in an hour or so they could escape to bed, but it was Ibrahim lighting the lanterns that led them.
‘Where is everyone?’
‘Gone,’ Ibrahim answered. ‘It’s just you and me and no one waiting, no one watching to make sure we’re safe…’ He looked at his bride, at the broken mould that was Georgie, and he wouldn’t change a single thing just to have this moment. ‘Which you are.’
Safe in the desert, alone with him.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-1410-1
HEART OF THE DESERT
First North American Publication 2011
Copyright © 2011 by Carol Marinelli
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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BOUND BY THE SULTAN’S BABY
The second in her Billionaires & One-Night Heirs trilogy!
Sultan Alim spent one forbidden night with Gabi—when he encounters her again, she refuses to name her child’s father. Alim will seduce the truth out of Gabi, even if he has to lure her under false pretenses. Alim knows he craves her, but does he desire her as his mistress or bride?
Keep reading to get a glimpse of
BOUND BY THE SULTAN’S BABY
CHAPTER ONE
GABI DERAMO HAD never been a bridesmaid, let alone a bride.
However, weddings were her life and she thought about them during most of the minutes of her day.
From way back she had lived and breathed weddings.
Gabi was a dreamer.
As a little girl, her dolls would regularly be lined up in a bridal procession. Once, to her mother’s fury, Gabi had poured two whole bags of sugar and one of flour over them to create a winter wedding effect.
‘Essere nerre nuvole,’ her mother, Carmel, had scolded, telling her that she lived in the clouds.
What Gabi didn’t tell her was that at each wedding she made with her dolls, she pretended it was her mother. As if somehow she could conjure her father’s presence and make it so that he had not left a pregnant Carmel to struggle alone.
And while Gabi had never been so much as kissed, as an assistant wedding planner she had played her part in many a romantic escape.
She dreamt of the same most nights.
And she dreamt of Alim.
Now Gabi sat, flicking through the to-do list on her tablet and curling her long black hair around her finger, trying to work out how on earth she could possibly organise, from scratch, an extremely rushed but very exclusive winter wedding in Rome.
Mona, the bride-to-be, stepped out of the changing area on her third attempt at trying on a gown not of Gabi’s choice.
It didn’t suit Mona in the least—the antique lace made her olive skin look sallow and the heavy fabric did nothing to accentuate her delicate frame.
‘What do you think?’ Mona asked Gabi as she turned around to look in the mirror and examined herself from behind.
Gabi knew from experience how to deal with a bride who stood in completely the wrong choice of gown. ‘What do you think, Mona?’
‘I don’t know,’ Mona sighed. ‘I quite like it.’
‘Then it isn’t the gown for you,’ Gabi said. ‘Because you have to love it.’
Mona had resisted the boutique owner’s guidance and had completely dismissed Gabi’s suggestion for a bright, white, column gown with subtle embroidery. In fact, Mona hadn’t even tried it on.
Gabi’s suggestions were dismissed rather a lot.
She was curvy and dressed in the severe, shapeless dark suit that her boss, Bernadetta, insisted she wear, so brides-to-be tended to assume that Gabi had no clue where fashion was concerned.
Oh, but she did.
Not for herself, of course, but Gabi could pick out the right wedding gown for a bride at fifty paces.
And they needed this to be sorted today!
Bernadetta was on leave and so it had fallen to Gabi to sort.
It always did.
The bigger the budget, the trickier the brief, the more likely it was to have been put into the ‘Too Hard’ basket and left for Gabi to pick up.
They were in the lull between Christmas and New Year. The wedding boutique was, in fact, closed today, but Gabi had many contacts and had called in a favour from Rosa, the owner, who had opened up just for them.
Rosa would not push them out, but they had to meet Marianna, the functions co-ordinator, at the Grande Lucia at four.
‘Why don’t you try Gabi’s suggestion?’ Fleur, the mother of the groom, said.
It was a little odd.
Usually this trip would be taken with the mother of the bride or her sister or friends, but it would seem that it was Fleur who had first and last say in things.
Fleur was also English, which meant that, in order to be polite, Gabi and Mona did not speak in Italian.
Yes, it was proving to be a long, tiring day.
And they would be back tomorrow with the bridesmaids!
Reluctantly, very reluctantly, Mona agreed to try on Gabi’s suggestion and then disappeared with the dresser.
As Rosa hung up the failed gown she saw that Gabi was looking at another dress.
Silver-grey, it was elegant and simple and in a larger size, and when Gabi held it up she saw the luxurious fall of the fabric. Rosa was a talented seamstress indeed.
‘It would fit you,’ Rosa said.
‘I doubt it.’ Gabi sighed wistfully. ‘It’s beautiful, though.’
‘The order was cancelled,’ Rosa said. ‘Why don’t you go and try it on? It would look stunning, I am sure.’
‘Not while I’m working.’ Gabi shook her head. ‘Anyway, even if it did fit, when would I get a chance to wear it?’ Her question went unanswered as the curtains parted and a smiling Mona walked out.
‘Oh, Mona!’ Gabi breathed.
The dress was perfect.
It showed off Mona’s slender figure, and the bright white was indeed the perfect shade against her olive skin.
‘If only she had listened to you in the first place,’ Fleur muttered. ‘We are going to be late for the hotel.’
‘It’s all taken care of,’ Gabi assured her, checking her list on her tablet. ‘We’re right on schedule.’
Ahead of it, in fact, because now that the dress had been chosen, everything else, Gabi knew, would fall more easily into place.
Measurements had already been taken but fitting dates could not yet be made. Gabi assured Rosa she would call her just as soon as they had finalised the wedding date.
They climbed back into the car and were driven through the wet streets of Rome towards the Grande Lucia but, again, Mona wasn’t happy. ‘I went to a wedding at the Grande Lucia a few years ago and it was so…’ Mona faltered for a moment as she struggled with a word to describe it. ‘Tired-looking.’