Except that the ‘past’ was hoisting a bag off her shoulder and glaring at him as if he were personally responsible for global warming and the economic crisis.
He was a fool to have allowed her to come. To have put himself in this position.
‘I’ll drive.’ She slung her bag into the back of the four-by-four, slim and elegant in linen trousers and a long-sleeved shirt that shielded her slender arms from the sun. That shiny blond fall of hair was restrained in a tight plait that fell between her narrow shoulder blades.
Mal dragged his eyes from the lean lines of her body and focused on her face. As always, her skin was flawless and her make-up perfect. There were no signs that she was finding the situation stressful. And why would she? She’d ended their relationship, hadn’t she? And since that day—that day now forged in his memory—she’d shown no regrets about that decision.
‘I’m driving.’ He wanted to give himself something to focus on other than her. ‘It will attract less attention.’
‘The driver attracts more attention than the passenger. I will drive.’
‘Are we going to argue every point?’
‘That’s up to you.’ Her blue eyes were cool. ‘If you’re a tourist then you need to look like a tourist. Good job I brought you a gift from London.’ She tossed a baseball hat at him and he caught it and read the words on the front.
‘“I love London”?’
‘I tried to get a matching T-shirt but no luck. They only had small or medium. At least you look slightly closer to “tourist” than you did five minutes ago.’ Her eyes skimmed his shoulders. It was such a brief look that to an outsider it wouldn’t have seemed significant but he was looking for other signs and this time he found them. The slight change in her breathing. The way she was careful to step away from him. ‘Now all you have to do is stop ordering me around.’
‘I have never ordered you around. You have always done exactly as you wanted to do.’ Because he was still watching, he saw her expression flicker.
For a moment he thought she was going to say something personal. Possibly even admit that travelling alone together like this was far more difficult than she’d imagined it would be. But then she gave a careless smile.
‘Good. So in that case you won’t mind if I drive.’ Breaking the connection, she opened the driver’s door and was about to jump inside when he caught her arm and pulled her back to him. The contact was minimal but that was all it took, the attraction so deep, so fierce that he released her instantly. But it was too late because his body had already recognised her. This close, her perfume seeped into his senses and the scent of it was so evocative it acted like a brake to his thinking. He couldn’t remember what he’d been about to say. He couldn’t think about anything except how much he wanted her.
Her mouth was so close to his that he could feel the tiny shallow breaths that were her attempts to draw air into her lungs. He knew that mouth. He wanted that mouth.
Her eyes lifted to his and for one unguarded moment he saw something there he’d never seen before. Not pain. It was so much more than pain. Misery? Heartbreak? Fear? Even as he was struggling to name what he saw, it was gone—as if someone had closed a blind on a window, leaving him wondering if he’d imagined that brief glimpse into someone’s strictly guarded privacy.
She was the one who looked away first. ‘Fine, you drive if it bothers you so much.’ There were many shades of emotion in her voice, but not the one he was looking for. He heard bored. He heard amused. He didn’t hear heartbreak or pain and he assumed he’d conjured that from his own brain.
‘Avery—’
Ignoring him, she strode round to the passenger side and dragged open the door. ‘If you need to reinforce your masculinity behind the wheel, you go right ahead. Maybe you can spear us an antelope for lunch, or strangle us a rattlesnake with your bare hands. Whisk us up a tasty scorpion soup?’ She sprang inside, lithe and athletic, the plait of her hair swinging across her back like a shiny golden rope. ‘But drive at a decent pace, will you? Nothing makes me madder than tentative male drivers and you don’t want to be trapped with me when I’m mad.’
Mal ground his teeth.
He didn’t want to be trapped with her at all. It was already driving him mad.
Only the knowledge that she’d be useful once they found Kalila prevented him from making the decision to leave her behind.
He slid into the driver’s seat. ‘We will check the desert camp first. We should arrive there tomorrow morning.’
If she was unsettled at the thought of a night in the desert with him then she didn’t let it show. ‘You could just fly there in your helicopter.’
‘Which would alert everyone to the fact that my bride has run away.’ He snapped on his seat belt and eased the vehicle onto the dusty road. ‘For obvious reasons I’m trying to avoid that. I’m trying to protect Kalila. If possible, I don’t want her father to find out. Since my helicopter is emblazoned with the colours of the Royal Flight, using it would hardly help me stay under the radar.’
‘Yes, it’s not great publicity, I can see that. The Prince and his Runaway Bride isn’t the best headline. Your PR team are going to have fun spinning that one.’ As the vehicle hit a bump she gripped her seat. ‘Any time you want me to drive, just let me know.’
‘We have barely been moving for five minutes. You are a terrible passenger.’
‘I like to be the one in control. If I’m going to die, I want to choose when and where. And generally, who with, but beggars can’t be choosers.’
His mouth twitched. ‘I’m an exceptionally good driver.’
‘To be exceptionally good at something requires practice and you were virtually born in a chauffeur-driven armoured limousine.’
‘I frequently drive myself unless I have work to do. I fly myself, too. And you know it.’ He gave her a sideways glance and met her glare.
‘Keep your eyes on the road. You need to be in one piece when you meet up with your little virgin princess.’
‘As a matter of interest, is your objection to the fact she is a virgin or a princess?’
‘I don’t have any objections. It was just a descriptive phrase.’
‘Interesting choice of words. You don’t like Kalila?’
‘I like her very much.’ She leaned forward and fished in her bag for a pair of sunglasses. She slid them on, protecting her eyes from the harsh glare of the desert sun. ‘I happen to think she’s perfect for you.’
‘Meaning?’
‘She won’t ever disagree with you. Whatever you do or say, you’ll always be the one in charge and sweet Kalila will admire you and never question whether you’re right or not because it wouldn’t enter her head that you wouldn’t be.’
‘That could be because I am right.’ He saw the smile curve her soft lips and felt a rush of irritation. ‘Kalila is a sweet-natured, compliant young woman.’
‘As I said—’ she adjusted her glasses with a perfectly manicured finger ‘—perfect for you. Oh look! Are those gazelle?’
Dragging his eyes from those slim fingers, he followed the direction of her gaze and watched as a small herd of slender gazelle sprinted away. From this distance they appeared to be floating on the sand. ‘Yes. You think I am afraid to be challenged?’
‘You