Never Seduce a Sheikh(17)

So instead, he said lightly, “Actually, if you remember, I was the one saying no and you were the one not taking that for an answer.”

Gold-tipped lashes fluttered, veiling her gaze. “So you were. I take it all back, then.” She changed the subject after that, but Isma’il couldn’t help feeling that somehow something painful had been touched on. That she’d revealed something she hadn’t meant to reveal.

And try as he might, he knew he wasn’t going to forget it.

* * *

It had been years since Lily had been near a pool. Years since she’d even wanted to think about swimming again. But right now, standing in the tent that had been set aside for her, with the heat of the desert beating down outside, Lily couldn’t imagine anything nicer than throwing herself into a pool of blessedly cool water.

Sadly, the only option for cooling down was the little solar shower that the quiet, robed girl who’d shown her to her tent had pointed out.

In fact, the tent she’d been given for her sole use, while visiting the tribe’s desert camp was surprisingly full of a whole host of mod-cons she hadn’t been expecting. A tiny bathroom for one. A luxurious king-sized bed. A desk complete with satellite phone for internet access, even out here in the middle of nowhere. Luxurious carpets and a few floor cushions for added comfort. The tent walls were made out of a pale, heavy canvas that let light filter through, making them glow.

Lily walked to the entrance as the silent, Bedouin girl moved behind her, unpacking her suitcases. Lily had tried to tell her she’d do it herself, but the girl had been surprisingly insistent. She spoke no English at all and yet managed to convey rather eloquently that she was going unpack Lily’s case no matter whether Lily wanted her to or not. In the end, Lily had left her to it, not wanting to upset her.

Outside in the blistering heat, a group of Bedouin tents had been pitched around a tiny oasis, complete with a couple of palm trees. Camels were tethered nearby and a herd of goats cropped at the rocky ground. Only a few people lingered outside, most having withdrawn into the relative shade of their tents.

Her attention fell on the tent pitched not far from hers, a far larger, grander affair than her own. Well, considering it was the sheikh’s, it probably should be.

A tall figure moved by the entrance and her gaze caught on him. Stayed there. He was in deep conversation with a couple of black robed tribesmen, the liquid sounds of Arabic carrying in the arid air. The tribesmen were clearly listening to what he had to say, but Lily sensed a certain reserve about them. Polite scepticism sat on their weathered features as if they were reserving judgement on something.

Khalid left scars on Dahar . . .

Clearly, what he’d told her on the journey to the camp was true. Isma’il may be their king in name, but they had yet to accept him as their ruler in spirit.

She leaned against the tent pole, watching. Khalid must have been a monster to scar a people so indelibly. But what kind of mark had that left on his son? She knew what it was to have a good father, a man you could trust and believe in. But what would it have been like to have a man like Khalid for a father?

Her gaze shifted once again to the tall man near the tent, his black hair glossy in the sun. The western clothing he wore, a white shirt and sand colored trousers, seemed incongruous next to the robes of the tribesmen. And yet, still somehow he managed to look every inch the king he was. Magnetic, charismatic. Nothing like the monster his father had been reputed to be.

But then, she knew there was something else beneath that charm. She’d sensed it back in the palace, felt it in the car as they’d journeyed here. Something raw and dark and . . . fascinating.

Isma’il spoke to the tribesmen a few moments more before one of them gave him a brisk nod, obviously taking their leave. As the black-robed men walked away, Isma’il’s head turned her way, almost as if he’d sensed her watching him. Blue eyes held hers and she felt the prickle of that strange electricity move over her skin.

She knew she should look away, but something inside her wouldn’t let her. He stirred her competitive instincts, made her want to measure herself against him. Challenge him. Like when she’d been racing in the pool against a stronger, faster opponent. It had never daunted her. It just made her want to swim faster, push herself harder. Win.

He began to stride over the sand towards her tent.

She felt her breath catch, a weird surge of adrenalin sweeping through her.

“I hope everything is to your liking, Ms. Harkness?” Isma’il asked as he approached. “It is probably not what you are used to. Things are a little more primitive out here in the desert.”