'You have approximately one hour before the first guests begin to arrive.'
A small hour to talk, to soothe, to plead yet again for more charity from a woman who had given enough as it was. 'You had better prepare yourself to take my place, Raflq,' he gritted. 'Because, at this precise moment, I am seriously considering jumping ship with my wife and forgetting I possess a single drop of Al-Qadim blood.'
'Our father may not appreciate such a decision,' Rafiq commented dryly.
"That reminder,' Hassan turned to snap, 'was not necessary.'
'I was merely covering for myself,' his half brother defended. 'For I have no wish to walk in your shoes, my lord Sheikh.'
About to go after Leona, Hassan paused. 'What do you wish for?' he questioned curiously.
'Ah.' Rafiq sighed. 'At this precise moment I wish for midnight, when I should be with my woman in a hotel room in Port Said. For tonight she flies in to dance for visiting royalty by special request. But later she will dance only for me and I will worship at her feet. Then I will worship other parts of her until dawn, after which I will reluctantly return here, to your exalted service, my lord sheikh,' he concluded with a mocking bow.
Despite the weight of his mood, Hassan could not resist a smile. 'You should change your plans and bring her to dinner,' he suggested. 'The sheer sensation she would cause would be a diversion I would truly appreciate.'
'But would Leona?' Raflq pondered.
Instantly all humour died from Hassan's face. 'Leona,' he predicted, 'is in no frame of mind to appreciate anything.'
And on that grim reminder, he went off to find his woman, while half wishing that he was the one treading in Rafiq's shoes.
He found her without difficulty, shut behind the bathroom door and hiding in the steam being produced by the shower. The fact that she had not bothered to lock the door spoke volumes as to her mood. Hassan could visualise the angry way she would have walked in here, throwing the door shut behind her then taking the rest of her anger out on the heap of clothes he could see tossed onto the floor.
So what did he do now? Go back to the bedroom and wait for her to reappear, or did he throw caution to the wind, strip off and just brave her fiery den?
It was not really a question since he was already taking off his clothes. For this was no time to be feeble. Leona had agreed in principle, so now she was about to learn the consequences of that. With a firming of his mouth he opened the shower-cubicle door, stepped inside and closed it again.
She was standing just out of reach of the shower jets with her head tipped back as she massaged shampoo into her hair. Streams of foaming bubbles were sliding over wet gold skin, collecting around the tips of her tilted breasts and snaking through the delightful valley in between to pool in the perfect oval of her navel, before spilling out to continue their way towards the chestnut cluster marking the apex with her slender thighs.
His body awoke; he allowed himself a rueful smile at how little it took to make him want this beautiful creature. Then she realised he was there and opened her eyes, risking soap burn so that she could kill him with a look.
'What do you want now?' she demanded.
Since the answer to that question was indubitably obvious, he didn't bother with a reply. Instead he reached for the container of foaming body soap, pumped a generous amount into the palm of his hand and began applying it to her skin. Her hands dropped from her hair and pressed hard against his chest in an effort to push him away.
'Thank you,' he said, and calmly pumped some soap onto his own chest as if it was a foregone conclusion that she would wash him. 'Sharing can turn the simplest of chores into the best of pleasures, do you not think?"
The green light in her eyes took on a distinctly threatening gleam. 'I think you're arrogant and hateful and I want you to get out of here,' she coldly informed him.
'Close your eyes,' he advised. 'The shampoo is about to reach them.'
Then, even as she lifted a hand to swipe the bubbles away, he reached up and directed the shower head at her so that the steamy spray hit her full in the face. While gasping at the shock, he made his next move, turned the spray away and replaced it with his mouth.
For a sweet, single moment he allowed himself to believe he'd made the easy conquest. It usually worked. On any other occasion it would have worked as a tasty starter to other ways of forgetfulness. But this time he received a sharp dig in the ribs for his optimism, and a set of teeth closed threateningly on his bottom lip until he eased the pressure and lifted his head. Her eyes spat fire and brimstone at him.
He arched an eyebrow and glided a defiant hand down to the silken warmth of her abdomen.
'You are treading on dangerous ground. Sheikh,' she warned him.
'I am?
She ignored the message in his tone. 'I have nothing I want to say to you. So why don't you leave me alone?
'But I was not offering to talk,' he explained, and boldly slid the hand lower.
'You are not doing that either!' Squirming away like a slippery snake, she ended up pressed against the corner of the cubicle, eyes like green lasers trying their best to obliterate him. One arm was covering her breasts, the other hand was protecting other parts. She looked like some sweet, cowering virgin, but he was not fooled by the vision. This beautiful wife of his possessed a temper that could erupt without warning. At the moment it was merely simmering.
'Okay.' With an ease that threw her into frowning confusion, he conceded the battle to her, pumped more soap onto his chest and began to wash while trying to ignore the obvious fact that a certain part of him was as hard as a rock and begging he do something about it. 'We did not really have time, anyway. Our guests arrive in less than an hour...'
'Guests?' she looked up sharply. 'What guests?'
'The guests we are about to transport to Rahman to attend the anniversary of my father's thirtieth year of rule, which will take place in ten days' time,' he replied while calmly sluicing the soap from his body as if he had not dropped yet another bomb at her feet. 'Here.' He frowned. 'Wash the shampoo from your hair before you really do hurt your eyes.' And he stepped back to allow her access to the spray.
Leona didn't move; she didn't even notice that he had. She was too busy suffering from one shock too many. 'How long have you known you were taking on guests?'
'A while.' Reaching up to unhook the shower head from the wall, he then pulled her towards him to began rinsing the shampoo from her hair for himself.
'But you didn't feel fit to tell me before now?'
'I did not feel fit to do anything but enjoy being with you.' Pushing up her chin, he sent the slick, clean pelt of her hair sliding down her spine with the help of the shower jet. 'Why?' He asked a question of his own. 'Would knowing have had any bearing on your decision to come back to Rahman with me?'
Would it? Leona asked herself, when really she did not need to, because she knew her answer would have been the same. He was rinsing the rest of her now and she just stood there and let him do it. Only a few minutes ago his smallest touch had infused her with that need to feel him deep inside her, now she could not remember what the need felt like. As she waited for him to finish administering to her wooden form, she noticed that his passion had died too.
'I suppose I had better know if there is anything else you haven't bothered to tell me,' she murmured eventually.
His pause before speaking could have been a hesitation over his answer, or it could have been a simple pause while he switched off the shower. 'Just the names of our guests,' he said. 'And that can wait until we have dealt with the more urgent task of drying ourselves and getting dressed."
With that he opened the shower door and stepped out to collect a towel, which he folded around her before offering her another one for her hair. For himself he reached for a towelling bathrobe, pulled it on and headed for the door.
'Hassan...' she made him pause '...the rest of this trip and your father's celebration party-am I being put on public show for a specific purpose?'
'Some people need to be shown that I will not be coerced in any way,' he answered without turning. 'And my father meets you there. This will be his last anniversary. In accordance with Arabian tradition, the had a high neckline long sleeves and a pair of matching slender silk trousers that covered her legs. On her head she had draped a length of fine silk, and beneath it her hair had been carefully pleated into a glossy, smooth coronet. Her make-up was so understated you could barely tell it was there except for the flick of black mascara highlighting the length of her eyelashes and the hint of a gloss to her soft pink mouth.
Beside her stood the Prince. Dressed in a white silk tunic and gold silk top robe, on his head he wore a white gutrah ringed by three circles of gold. To her other side and one short pace behind stood Raflq, dressed almost exactly the same as his brother only without the bands of gold. And as they waited in the boat's foyer, Leona was in no doubt that the way they were presented was aimed to make a specific statement.