Never Seduce a Sheikh(18)

Lily tried to calm her suddenly racing heartbeat. “Why do I get the impression that you view me as some kind of spoiled princess?”

“I am not sure.” His smile was very white. “Are you a spoiled princess?”

Ah yes, the charm. The witty banter. She was starting to recognize it as a distraction technique, though distracting her from what she had no idea. “You know I’m not. So why do you keep asking after my welfare?”

His expression remained bland. “You are a guest. And as you know, hospitality and the welfare of guests are of the utmost importance to Daharans.”

A tight little kernel of frustration knotted inside her, his response unsatisfactory in a way she couldn’t put her finger on. “You really are the consummate politician aren’t you?”

“Naturally. I am the ruler of a country. I have to be.”

“But they don’t think so.” She tipped her head in the direction of the tribesmen. “They seemed a little reticent.”

“You were watching me?”

No, she wouldn’t blush. “I was interested to see how you interact with them.”

“Ah.” His tone seemed to indicate he didn’t believe that for a second. “You are correct. They are wary of me.”

She glanced up at him. “What exactly did Khalid do to them?”

His expression hardened. “He sold off their land. Limited their grazing rights. Some families were imprisoned and tortured.”

Horror feathered over her skin. “But why? What did they do to deserve that?”

Isma’il didn’t move but once again she felt that crackling, dangerous tension charge the air around them. “That is not a subject I wish to discuss.” He said it mildly enough, but she knew a warning when she heard it.

Briefly, she debated pushing him for answers, because the more she knew about the tribes, the better she could respond when it came to meeting with them. But she suspected that pushing him now would not only be futile, it would also probably only serve to antagonize him further. Not a good idea, when she’d only just managed to claw back the ground she’d lost last night.

“Fair enough,” she said. “So when are we meeting with the chiefs? A time-frame would be good as I’ve got a few things to prepare.”

The tension in his posture eased, a flicker of a smile curving his mouth. “You are always in a rush, Lily. The official meeting does not start until tomorrow.”

The sound of her name in his lilting accent felt vaguely disturbing. She preferred ‘Ms. Harkness.’ It reminded her of who she was—a businesswoman, CEO of a multinational oil company. Someone strong and in charge, not weak and vulnerable.

“You’re just like a lily,” Dan murmured. “All white and graceful.” His hand on her throat. Touching . . .

The memory ambushed her and for a moment all she could see was the darkness of the room where Dan had cornered her, feel the hard press of his fingers, smell the beer on his breath. She tried not to choke on the memory, forcing it away. She would not fall prey to it as she had back in the palace. Would not let Dan have power over her. Not here. Not anymore.

“Are you all right?” Isma’il’s voice near her ear, stripped of the usual veneer of lazy amusement.

Lily looked up to find him standing close. Very close. Still in the grip of memory, she nearly took half a step back, catching herself at the last minute. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You went pale.”

Damn Dan. “It’s nothing. You were saying the meeting isn’t till tomorrow?”

His dark eyes seemed strangely intense in the muted light of the sun burning through the tent’s awning above. “No. Traditions of hospitality must be maintained and as such, the tribes have organised a welcome banquet for us tonight.”

“I see.” She couldn’t seem to shake the physical awareness of him. Beneath the heat of the sun and dry scent of the sand, she could smell him. A hot, spicy, masculine scent that made a part of her want to just stand there and inhale, get rid of the sour beer odor that still filled her nostrils. But yet, another part couldn’t stand the thought of his closeness, or the way that closeness seemed to affect her.

She half turned away, looking into the dim recesses of the tent. “And are there any particular cultural aspects I need to be aware of?”

If he noticed her unease he gave no sign, but his disturbingly perceptive gaze ran over her as if looking for something. “The banquets tend to go on a long time and you will be expected to try all the dishes. You don’t have to finish everything, but tasting each one is considered polite. There will also be music and dancing, and as guest of honor, your reactions will be watched.” He paused. “Enjoyment is not mandatory, but staying the course of the whole evening shows respect to the hosts.”