Lucy and the Sheikh(13)

She jumped up and paced across the room. She had to get moving, do something. She couldn’t just sit around and wait like some passive victim. She hadn’t been able to access the internet for a few days and she was desperate to check to see if there were any more Facebook messages from Maia. Even if they had been designed to obscure where she was, at least they told her she was still alive. She needed to find an office.

She pulled the scarf back over her head, figuring it would at least give her a degree of anonymity, and stepped outside her suite of rooms. She cast quick glances around her, wondering which way to go. The gardens and covered walkways were empty and there was no sound to guide her. She didn’t have a clue but, rather than return the way she’d come, she decided to explore deeper into the castle, taking the worn steps higher up the hill. Within moments she was lost and she realized why the maid had been so insistent upon her calling for someone. She’d imagined it was for control but she had to admit as she came upon another set of doors that appeared identical to the last, she was hopelessly lost.

She retraced her steps until she reckoned she was close by her room. She pushed open a large door and found herself in an old, echoing hall that was sumptuously furnished. She listened for subdued voices, for any sign of life. But all was strangely quiet. Suddenly she felt nervous, as though she was intruding, and exited the rooms through open windows. Under the canopy of trees and tracery of greenery the mid-afternoon heat was tolerable. Here, the heavy scent of flowers was mediated by the salty tang of the sea, drifting to her on the soft breeze.

She paused for a moment, soaking up the atmosphere and then she saw a western newspaper left untidily on a cushioned seat, designed for comfort rather than show. She looked closer and saw stereo speakers hidden in the trees. Her heart thumped heavily in her chest. She had to get out of here.

She turned abruptly, about to flee, but caught sight of someone alone, pacing the floor, hands thrust into his pockets, turning and then stopping before the open vista of the city below. It was Razeen; it was the King. Lucy froze. No wonder it was so quiet. This was obviously his private wing of the palace. She should move, she knew she had to leave, but there was something about him that compelled her to stay. This was not the man she’d seen earlier. There was a sense of despair, rather than of omnipotent power about him; a sense of sadness and loneliness, rather than confidence. The feelings she’d been so carefully trying to contain, unraveled instantly. She only just managed to contain a gasp before turning away. But in her haste she caught her robes on a thorn of a bougainvillea and the sound of tearing cloth rent the air.

“Lucy!”

That voice! It sent ripples of longing through her. She drew in a deep breath, suddenly aware that the air had left her body. She turned to see him walking toward her with a haste prompted by either anger or the same need she felt. She didn’t know which.

“Lucy, what are you doing here?” Within seconds he was beside her.

“Trying to walk around like a normal person swathed from head to foot in cloth that seems to catch everywhere.”

He grinned. “Here, let me help you.”

He focused on untwisting the thorn from her robe. His large hands were gentle and he was so close that every one of her senses was aware of him: she was unable to take her eyes off the strong, downward sweep of his jawline. The brush of his fine robes against the back of her hand as his fingers twisted the cloth away from the grasping thorn, sent shivers tracking through her body. The subtle smell of his aftershave, together with something indefinable, something purely him, fed her body with a stimulus she could do without.

“You knew,” she whispered.

“I know many things—to what in particular are you referring?”

“That you’d be seeing me this morning.”

“Of course. I would never have let you go otherwise.”

A thrill ran through her body, despite everything she’d been trying to make herself think, make herself control. It all evaporated in his presence.

“You would have kept me with you by force?”

He frowned but his eyes glittered with amusement. “You think I am a savage from a savage country? Is that it Miss Gee?” He brought the tangled piece of cloth closer until it stroked her face.

“Not savage, just different. I don’t know your ways.”

“But you will. All I meant was, if I hadn’t known I would see you again, I wouldn’t have let you go without discovering how to contact you.”

“Why? You can’t be short of entertainment here. You’re a King after all.”

“Shall we say ‘entertainment’ alone can wear a little thin after a while. Besides you will prove useful to me. As I will to you, I hope.”