One of them pulled up one of the older chiefs to dance, everyone in their vicinity cheering, and Lily wanted to get up and stop her. Ask her if she knew what she was doing. Ask her if she understood that men such as these could not be trusted.
“What is wrong?” Isma’il’s voice close to her ear.
A shiver went through her, intensifying the sense of threat, paralyzing her. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t find her voice to speak. The dancers were beautiful. Sensual.
Sexual.
“Don’t blame me for this, Lil.” Dan’s voice heavy with drunken anger. “It’s your own damn fault, wandering around in a wet swimsuit half the time. Everything on show. I’m not bloody made of stone you know.”
“Lily?” Isma’il asked, softer this time.
The dancer stopped next to her, holding out a hand. The woman was smiling, obviously enjoying herself. Utterly comfortable with her sensuality. As if there was nothing wrong with being nearly naked in a tent full of men.
“She wants you to dance,” Isma’il prompted.
Panic flooded through Lily, a primitive fight or flight reflex triggering. She couldn’t get up there before all these men. She couldn’t put herself on show like that. The dancers may not know what men were capable of but she was. She knew exactly.
Lily surged to her feet. But not to take the hand the woman held out.
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” she said hoarsely. “Please excuse me.”
Then she turned and walked out of the tent.
* * *
Isma’il only just stopped himself from calling out after her as Lily fled. To do so would make him appear weak, not to mention indicate the fact that something was amiss and he could not do either in front of the chiefs. But he could see the frowns registering on the men’s faces at Lily’s abrupt exit. To leave in the middle of a banquet without even an excuse or a request for permission was disrespectful. They would see it as disrespect for their ruler too.
The dancer looked confused. To have her invitation refused was rude and the girl clearly didn’t expect it.
Allowing no trace of his anger to show, Isma’il smoothly handled the situation, reassuring the dancer and excusing Lily’s behaviour to the chiefs. The heat, gentlemen. Westerners are unused to it, ladies in particular. This seemed to be acceptable and the dancing continued, discussion resuming. No harm done for the moment.
He rose to his feet, making sure to keep the movement measured, controlling the fury that burned inside him. Hadn’t he told her what was expected of her just before the banquet? Hadn’t she listened to a word he said?
Leaving the tent himself was not ideal, but he had to get Lily to return to present her apologies for her rudeness. Not to do so would be noted and held against her, jeopardizing the goodwill of the chiefs and putting into doubt Harkness’ suitability for the contract. He could not let that happen. Not only would it reflect badly on him, but then he would be left with two other contenders who, if he were totally honest with himself, did not compare with Harkness. And that wasn’t only due to his growing attraction to Harkness’s beautiful CEO.
Isma’il stepped outside the tent. A couple of his security team came to attention, but he waved them away, scanning around for Lily’s tall figure. Eventually, he spotted her not far away, near the little stand of palms at the center of the camp, her head bent.
He walked over to her, keeping the anger inside, the fury very carefully at bay.
“You left.” It came out harsh but he made no attempt to soften his voice. “Did I not tell you that you need to remain in the tent for the duration of the banquet?”
“I’m sorry.” Her usual cool tones sounded worn and frayed. “I just . . . needed some air.”
An excuse. His anger leapt and he took a step towards her, unable to stop himself. “It is not me you need to apologize to. Your departure was rude and disrespectful and has undone the good impression you made earlier.”
Her mouth tightened, the skin drawn tight over her lovely features. “Did I offend the dancer?”
“You offended everyone.”
Abruptly, she looked away and in the light coming from the tent, he saw color burning on the pale skin of her cheeks. “I’ll apologize.”
“Of course you will. And you will also explain yourself to me. Because you are not the only one who has been made to look bad by your actions.”
“I don’t have to give you any—”
“I will have an explanation, Lily, and I will have it now.”
The color on her cheeks burned brighter, the cool mask she so often wore slipping to reveal something dark glittering in her eyes. Anger. “I didn’t like the dancing,” she said, the words clipped and short. “I just . . . ” she stopped, her mouth closing with a snap as if she’d said too much.