Desert Fantasies(47)

She studied him. It was inconceivable that any father wouldn’t have delighted in a son like Rashid.

Or grandfather.

King Abdullah had wilfully ripped a young family apart. And Rashid’s father had let him.

‘There is a history of rebellion in the Muzna region and it was suggested that ties could be strengthened if my father married Sheikh Sulaiman’s eldest daughter, Samira.’

There was a hideous logic, but what of Samira? It was hateful for her. ‘Did she agree?’

‘She was seventeen at the time, offered the chance to become a princess…’

And she’d thought life at Shelton was complicated.

‘Within weeks of that marriage my mother returned to England.’

Leaving Rashid behind to be brought up by the woman who’d replaced her. ‘That’s incredibly sad.’

‘As you say,’ he conceded.

It was more than sad. It was heartbreaking. For them both. ‘Did you see her? Growing up?’

‘No.’

Her heart felt so unbearably heavy.

‘As a child I only knew she’d chosen to leave. I never questioned my father’s judgement.’

‘And do you see her now?’ she asked, her voice husky.

‘Occasionally. She is my mother. I respect her as my mother but I have chosen to embrace the life she rejected.’ His voice was, once again, devoid of all emotion. ‘There is no fairy-tale ending. She is a woman I barely know.’

Polly stared out across the ornamental lake towards the orange trees, looking but not seeing. ‘Did she marry again?’

‘Yes.’

‘And had more children?’ Polly pushed.

‘I have two half-sisters. Miranda and Portia.’

Two English sisters. Half-sisters he scarcely knew.

‘And Princess Samira and your father have had children together, haven’t they?’

‘Three sons and five daughters. More recently my father decided to take a junior wife and Princess Raiyah gave birth to twin sons a little over two years ago.’

‘So, what’s that?’ Polly frowned, mentally counting through Rashid’s family. ‘Seven sons. Your grandfather must be delighted his plan worked so well,’ she said acerbically.

King Abdullah seemed like a Machiavellian puppeteer, pulling the strings of those around him. And Rashid’s father a victim of his own ambition. She couldn’t like that any more than she liked Elizabeth Lewis’s selfishness.

Other people mattered. They did. For the first time in six years she was suddenly hugely grateful she understood that. There was nothing more important than the people you loved. The years she’d spent at Shelton seemed years very well spent.

‘Except my grandfather is likely to outlive my father. He will need to name a new heir and Samira’s eldest son is still young.’

So all that upheaval and heartache might have been for nothing. Crown Prince Khalid was not going to live long enough to be King and his sons might not inherit either. One would have thought, having lived through that, he’d have been more receptive to his daughter’s situation.

‘What made Bahiyaa take the decision to finally leave her husband?’

The muscle in Rashid’s cheek worked painfully. ‘Omeir had never left a mark on Bahiyaa where it could be seen, but on that night he threw her against a wall and she broke her wrist putting her hands up to break her fall. When she came to me she had a black eye, bruising to her face and marks around her neck.’

Deep loathing washed over Polly in unstoppable waves. She’d only known Bahiyaa for such a short time but imagining her in that situation brought such revulsion. Thank God she’d had the courage to leave at last. Even in England, where divorce held no stigma, she knew women so often found it hard.

‘Three weeks later she lost the baby she’d been carrying.’

Oh, dear God, no! Polly reached out instinctively, her hand lightly touching his. ‘She was lucky to have somewhere to come.’

His fingers closed around hers, dark against the paleness of her skin. ‘She lives under my protection. She’s safe, but she has lost so much. The possibility of children. Companionship.’

Love, Polly added silently. If ever there was a woman capable of loving it was Bahiyaa. ‘Couldn’t…?’ She stared down at their joined hands. ‘Couldn’t your father do something to help her?’

‘He refuses even to see her.’

‘Even now?’ Polly couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. Crown Prince Khalid was dying. Surely now, when he realised how short a time he had left, he’d want to see his daughter. Make things safe for her.

‘He is adamant Bahiyaa should return to her husband.’

‘And be beaten?’

‘I have to believe he doesn’t think that will happen.’

Her hand moved against his. Of course, he had to believe his father was acting out of ignorance. How could you have any respect left for a man who would allow his daughter to live in fear, particularly when she’d had the courage to ask for help?

It must be doubly painful if that man was someone you’d spent your entire life revering.

‘How long is your father expected to live?’

Rashid shrugged. ‘Hours. Days. Weeks. His cancer is advanced but he is a strong man. It will take the time it takes.’

And he was going to die without telling his daughter how much he loved her.

She’d been so lucky. Her father had left nothing unsaid. She’d never been in doubt he’d gone away from them only because he’d had to. And that had carried her. Always.

‘She seems so calm.’

‘She is accepting. I think she’s reached the point where she is content not to live in fear. I find the separation from our father more difficult.’

Polly looked up. She hadn’t understood that by taking Bahiyaa in Rashid had broken contact with his father, too. That conversation back in Minty’s office about why Rashid wasn’t doing the ‘bedside vigil thing’ suddenly seemed glib.

He wasn’t there because he wasn’t allowed to be there.

Never had Rashid seemed quite so human. Or so desirable. He’d made a conscious decision to do the right thing at enormous personal cost. He was all that was standing between his sister and an unthinkable future.

A strong, sexy, wonderful man. A man you could trust. A man worth loving. Polly’s gaze drifted to Rashid’s mouth and the lips that had kissed her. She studied the curve of them, the fullness of his bottom lip as compared to the top one. The cleft in his chin.

‘Polly.’

From somewhere deep inside her a tear welled up and rolled slowly down her cheek. She wasn’t sure why exactly. Whether she was crying for the boy Rashid had been, the man he was now or for Bahiyaa, she couldn’t tell. She only knew she felt an overwhelming sense of sadness flow through her.

Rashid moved. He sat beside her and his left hand moved to brush her hair off her face, his thumb coming back to wipe away the moisture on her cheek. His face so close to hers. She could feel his fingers skim her neck. But it was his eyes that caused heat to lick along her limbs.

She wanted him with a passion she really didn’t understand. It was a compulsion. A need. Something that transcended morality and sense. It wasn’t even really about sex. It was about belonging. About recognising that this was the man she’d been waiting for.

‘You’re so beautiful.’

Incredibly, with the truth of that burning in his blue eyes, she felt beautiful. His hand brushed her cheek, setting the long gold earrings Bahiyaa had given her swinging. She felt them touch her neck.

It seemed such a long time before he lowered his mouth to hers. Every millisecond she was urging him on, willing him to kiss her with all the passion she knew he was capable of.

Rashid’s hands cradled her face and his mouth was hard against hers. His kiss was everything it had been yesterday and more. There was desperation in it, a certain knowledge that this passion was beyond wisdom. They lived lives so very far apart. There could be no future. Nothing more than this moment.

But this moment was all she wanted. Heat coursed through her veins and settled in the pit of her stomach. She was beyond excitement.

I want him. The words pounded in her head with each beat of her heart. I want him to love me.

His tongue moved against her mouth. The lightest touch on her lips and she heard her own gasp for breath. She wanted to taste him. Feel him invade her body. Her lips parted and her heart thudded against her breasts.

Rashid’s hand moved round to the small of her back urging her closer, his left hand tilting her face to allow him maximum access.

There was nothing she wouldn’t do for him. Nothing. Here, now, in Elizabeth’s garden, she’d be his lover if that was what he wanted. She only wanted his lips to go on kissing her. Kissing her until she was certain there was no life outside this moment.

Her whole body was humming with a pleasure, a hot ache low in her abdomen. She needed more. Wanted more.

The sound of smashing glass barely pierced her consciousness, but Rashid pulled back, his breathing uneven.

She moaned.

‘Your glass,’ he said roughly.

No. Inside she was screaming, but her pride kicked in. She ignored the lime juice spread out over the summer-house floor and bent down to collect slivers of glass in the palm of her hand.

Rashid touched her hair. ‘Leave it.’

She placed what she’d gathered already in one neat pile and looked up, knowing that he’d remembered all the reasons why kissing her wasn’t a good idea.