‘Come. We will have refreshments.’ The interpreter was almost beside himself with excitement. He was hovering about and practically rubbing his hands together in glee.
John moved closer to where she was standing and spoke quietly, ‘This is a quite amazing honour. Try to follow my lead if you can. Hospitality is very important in this part of the world. There will probably be some kind of coffee-drinking ritual.’
Polly nodded and moved to follow. John stopped her. ‘It’s possible you might not be included. You might be taken to have refreshments with the women. I don’t know. Just go with the flow. No point in upsetting him.’
She wasn’t at all happy with that. The idea of being taken off, goodness only knew where, to make conversation with women who might or might not understand her language wasn’t appealing. Particularly when she knew Rashid was perfectly able to bend things to his will if he wanted to.
Still, she’d fight that battle if she had to. Polly adjusted her scarf once more, conscious of the heat burning through the dark fabric.
Rashid came to stand within six feet of her. ‘I wish to introduce you to my sister, who is acting as my hostess and who will be able to help you with anything at all while you are staying in my home.’
‘Thank you.’ She looked past him to where a very beautiful woman was standing.
‘My sister, Her Highness Princess Bahiyaa bint Khalid bint Abdullah Al Baha. Bahiyaa, this is Miss Pollyanna Anderson.’
The other woman moved forward to shake her hand. Polly automatically extended her own.
‘You are very welcome, Miss Anderson.’
‘Polly, please.’
‘And I am Bahiyaa.’
Older than Rashid? Younger? She couldn’t tell.
‘You must be tired from your flight.’
Polly wasn’t sure about that. The only thing she knew with certainty was that beside Bahiyaa she was impossibly creased. Minty’s guide to all things Amrahi hadn’t led her to expect anything like the exquisite gold embroidery on Bahiyaa’s tunic, or the carefully co-ordinated scarf she wore over her head. The sunlight caught the gold bangles at her wrist and the overwhelming impression was one of shimmering beauty.
Erring on the side of caution, she, on the other hand, had picked a long-sleeved too-thick cotton top and paired it with an ankle-length linen skirt, both in olive-green. In the glamour stakes she was coming a very poor second.
‘Shall we move in out of the heat?’
It seemed to be expected that the men would go first. Somehow with Bahiyaa beside her that didn’t seem rude. It was simply different from the way things were done in England. And, anyway, she’d never quite understood why it was polite to encourage a woman into a room first. She always hated being thrust into a room of people she didn’t know.
They walked across a central courtyard and through another pair of intricately carved wooden doors. The ceiling of the room beyond soared and Polly’s eye was immediately captivated by the geometric decoration that seemed to cover every available surface.
Another pair of doors, another room beyond. And then they came to a room that was exquisitely beautiful for an entirely different reason. Glass doors had been opened out onto a garden. Polly couldn’t see much of it but the scent of flowers wafting in was heady. Roses. Was that possible? Surely in these kinds of temperatures they must be incredibly difficult to grow?
A low table was central to the room and around it there were long couches in rich port-coloured silk. Polly watched carefully as Bahiyaa sank gracefully down and copied her, carefully tucking her skirt around her legs.
‘As soon as you have had some refreshments I will take you to your room,’ Bahiyaa said with a warm smile. ‘By then your luggage will have been unpacked.’
Would it? Oh, heck! Polly had this terrible mental picture of the contents of her suitcase. She’d thought she’d imagined every possible scenario, but staying in an Amrahi palace hadn’t been one of them. Having staff unpack for her was another.
Opposite, John was lounging comfortably on his couch, deep in conversation with his host. Minty had said she’d wanted him particularly because he’d worked so often in Arab countries. He did make it look easy, but all the other team members seemed to be taking this whole experience in their stride. The Amrahi interpreter was smiling as though his life would never reach a greater height than this moment.
Polly tried to think of it in terms she would understand. This must be like being invited to Royal Lodge, the Duke of York’s home. And, yet, it wasn’t quite the same because the Al Baha family wielded real power rather than mere influence.
Today, only a few hours ago, Rashid had been at a summit with other Arab leaders. When she stopped to think about it, how incredible was that? She understood how important it was they kept themselves out of Amrahi politics, but how could you not be curious to know what had been discussed? A summit was something that would be reported worldwide. The decisions made there would impact on a whole region.
And this man was a part of that.
‘Playboy sheikh’ maybe, but on his home turf he was something else entirely. Every eye in the room seemed to be resting on him. It was his personality that was the dominant force.
‘This is your first visit to Amrah?’ Bahiyaa asked.
‘My first visit anywhere, unless you count a long weekend in Paris with some university friends.’
‘Then we must make absolutely sure your stay is delightful.’ She paused while staff quietly came in with small plates of fresh dates, recognisable but only just. They were plump and almost jewel-like. Another couple brought plates of what looked like deep-fried balls together with bowls of a syrupy-looking sauce.
She’d read about the importance of coffee in this part of the world in her travel guides, but she’d expected her first experience of it would be in one of Samaah’s modern coffee houses.
And she’d not expected to be tasting it under Rashid’s watchful eye. He was aware of everything. A little out of her sight line, but she was certain he was listening to her conversation with his sister while he conducted a different one.
Polly had never felt so out of depth in her entire life. Not even when her mother had first announced her engagement to Richard and her bedroom had moved from the staff quarters to the family wing. That had been strange. But this was completely and utterly alien. There were no familiar points of reference at all.
She cast a surreptitious glance in his direction. Rashid’s mother might have been English, the largest part of his education undertaken in her country, but it was hard to believe Rashid had had any Western influences in his life at all.
A man walked forward holding a silver tray on which was a type of coffee-pot and eight small china cups. He stopped by Rashid, who murmured something in Arabic before pouring coffee into one of the cups. Then he sipped. Placing the empty cup back on the tray, he poured a second cup and passed it to her.
She knew enough about this ritual to know it was considered the height of bad manners to refuse. Careful not to touch his fingers, she took hold of the handle-less cup with her right hand, as instructed in Minty’s ‘bible’, and looked down into a thick translucent yellow drink.
It looked…foul, if she was perfectly honest, and it smelt incredibly strong. Polly looked at Bahiyaa for guidance as to whether she was expected to drink now or wait.
‘This must be your first taste of gahwa. It is so much a part of our culture that I often forget how strange it is to Western visitors. I think you’ll find it quite similar to espresso.’
That wasn’t especially comforting, since she’d never managed to acquire a taste for espresso.
‘Try.’
Polly sipped. It was strong, with a mixture of flavours she found very strange. Her palate wasn’t sufficiently developed for her to separate them out.
Bahiyaa reached out one heavily hennaed hand for a date and Polly copied her. The contrast between the bitter-tasting coffee and the sweet, succulent date was heavenly.
She looked up and caught Rashid watching her, his blue eyes openly focused on her. Her stomach clenched in recognition. Somehow, and she honestly didn’t understand how, this man attracted her. Not just that. He mesmerised her.
Charisma. Power. Danger. He took her world and he changed it. He made her feel as though everything she’d ever known was now open to question. Every fundamental belief about how men and women reacted to each other now needed to be rethought.
Rashid’s piercing blue eyes burned through her. The heavy scent of roses, the bitter taste of coffee in her mouth, the feel of heat surrounding her all combined. Polly watched, fixed like a rabbit in headlights, as Rashid drank his coffee.
She noticed the movement of his throat as he swallowed. Noticed the way his hand held the cup. Strong, beautiful hands. The kind of hands you would want to caress your body. And then her eyes travelled up to his lips. The kind of lips you would want to kiss you.
This was fantasy. She didn’t know him. Knew very little about him, even. He wasn’t, and couldn’t ever be, part of her world, but what she was feeling was as old as time itself. She knew it, even though it frightened her.
She wanted him. And that wanting had nothing to do with liking or a desire to nurture. It owed nothing to shared values and goals. All the things she thought were important. This was about passion. Desire. An instinctive knowledge that sex with this man would be amazing.