Lucy and the Sheikh(23)
“Lucy?”
His eyes were bright in the dusky light. They narrowed as he tried to work out the reason for her hesitance.
“Yes, sorry.” She took his hand and he helped her onto the jetty but then he withdrew his hand as if aware of her doubts.
“Is everything all right?”
She tried to smile, but her mouth felt tight with apprehension. What the hell was she doing? She knew what happened when she let her emotional defenses down. She’d been there and done that at fifteen and she didn’t plan to ever be that emotionally vulnerable again. Since then she’d always protected herself, always been in control. But now she felt as if she were a piece of wood, floating on the sea, at the mercy of the tides. And the tides had chosen to wash her up on this shore, with this man, from whom just one touch left her feeling exposed.
“Sure.” She forced herself to relax. They fell into step, their footsteps sounding hollow on the jetty, beneath which the sea surged.
“So what’s on your mind—what’s giving you such a pensive expression?”
“Memories, that’s all.” Not a complete lie.
“But you’ve not been here before.”
“No. It’s all so strange and so beautiful but it still reminds me of home in an odd way.”
“And where is home?”
“The New Zealand coast—unspoiled, wide, expansive.”
“I’ve never been there. I hear it’s beautiful.” He paused. “How often do you return?”
“Never,” she shrugged. “There’s nothing there for me now. I haven’t been back in eight years, since I was sixteen.”
He frowned. “You have no family to visit?”
The smile trembled on her lips. “They’re scattered around the globe.”
“And that doesn’t worry you? You don’t wish to settle down?”
Was it Lucy’s imagination or did she sense the question was important behind its cloak of politeness?
“No. I don’t want to settle, ever. I love traveling and I love the sea so my job is perfect.”
He’d come to a halt and he nodded his head, as if the answer pleased him. “This way.” He brushed her arm lightly and she closed her eyes in the darkness as his touch flitted softly through her body, opening up her feelings in a way she hadn’t experienced for so long and quieting those fears his touch should have ignited.
As his hand slid down her arm, he took her hand in his and they walked up to the house. It was only when they stood in front of it that she realized what she’d thought was the sky, was a wall of glass. The lodge was long and low, its entire front was made of glass that reflected and merged with the sky. Further dwellings were clustered some distance from the lodge. A sensor light clicked on and light rained out onto the grasses, lending them a curious silver quality, draining all color.
He slid back the doors to reveal a room furnished simply with oversized sofas set on a dark-stained wooden floor. One wall was covered in books. He turned on some music and speakers softly came into life.
“Is this your retreat from the world?” She walked up to the books, drawn to the vast array, and trailed her fingertips gently over them. “So many books.”
“I have little time for reading at the palace. I come here to rest, to relax. Do you enjoy reading?”
She frowned and shook her head. “Never got into the habit.”
“But at school?”
“Nah. I didn’t hang about at school.” She fixed a bright smile on her face—only her sister knew the real reason she’d left school so young— and turned to him. “I wanted to get out, see the world, live a little.”
He showed her through to the dining room where dinner was laid out for them. “And your family didn’t mind?”
“My mother died when I was twelve and my father was long gone.” She shrugged. “Went off with another woman.”
“I’m sorry.”
She glanced up sharply, the old defensiveness springing back into life again. “Why? I’m not. It made me stand on my own two feet; it made me realize no one else was going to make my life for me, except me.”
“Sounds lonely.”
She turned away to look out over the sea. “I have my sister.”
“You’re still close to her?”
She sat very still, aware of him seating himself opposite, but focused on the soft drawing of the sea on the sand outside their window. “Yes.” She forced herself to look into his eyes. “Yes,” she repeated, stronger now. “She cared for me after mum died. She was only sixteen but she worked as model, waitress, whatever, so she could keep me at school, keep me with her.”