‘I met him once before, Dad,’ she admitted softly. ‘When I was here the last time. He’s the man I told you about—though I didn’t know at the time that he was going to inherit his father’s title of Sheikh. He’s the man I wanted to come back to before Mum died.’
At the other end of the telephone, apart from a few long distance connection crackles, all was silent. ‘Dad?’
‘Well, well …’ he said, and Gina could imagine him rubbing his hand round his jaw and shaking his head in bemusement. ‘Do you still care about him, Gina?’
‘Yes.’ Staring down at the receiver in her hand, she sighed with relief that she’d been able to admit the truth. ‘Yes … very much. But he’s still angry with me for not coming back when I said I would, and now I don’t think he’ll ever trust me again.’
‘But he’s asked you to stay on to catalogue the artefacts? That doesn’t sound like a man who has no trust in you, my dear.’
‘I’ll just have to wait and see how things pan out, won’t I?’
She could almost hear her father thinking hard. ‘It was selfish of me to stop you going back, Gina. I was distraught about your mother, and fearful of the future without her. Yes, I wanted you to pursue a rewarding career—but I took advantage of your innate kindness to get you to stay at home. I was afraid of losing you to a man thousands of miles away from me. I’ve since realised what a dreadful thing I did. Now I need to ask your forgiveness.’
Tracing one of the swirling patterns on the bed’s silk counterpane, Gina swallowed hard. ‘There’s nothing to forgive, Dad. You needed me, and I chose to stay. Perhaps it just wasn’t meant to be … me and Zahir. Anyway, how are you doing? Do you mind if I’m away for so long?’
‘Mind?’ Her father sounded surprised that she would even think it. ‘Of course I don’t mind! This is a great opportunity for you to make a bit of a name for yourself as well as to advance your career—if that’s what you want. And if you decide it’s Zahir that you want then that’s fine, too, and you have my blessing.’
His words stunned her. He was definitely changing, she realised. ‘Thank you. By the way, how’s your new housekeeper working out?’
‘To tell you the truth, Lizzie has been an absolute godsend. Not only is she a marvellous cook, but history is one of her passions, too. She’s a bright girl … extremely intelligent—and a very good mother to that son of hers. He, by the way, is very bright as well. He’s already sorted out that hiccup I had with the computer. Yes, we all get along like a house on fire, so there’s no need to worry, Gina. Just give me a ring from time to time and let me know how things are going with you, will you? And don’t hesitate to call if you need anything … anything at all.’
Struggling to swallow across the lump in her throat, Gina nodded. After spending many years believing that he scarcely regarded her at all, it was almost overwhelming to hear such love, concern and acceptance in her father’s voice. Especially when she considered that she was so far away, and it might be quite a while before they saw each other again.
‘I will, Dad.’
‘Well, goodbye for now, dear. We’ll speak again soon.’
‘Bye.’
Drawn to his balcony by the great glowing ball of orange fire that was the sun going down, Zahir experienced the familiar quickening in his blood that was always a given when he witnessed the phenomenon. It made him feel that he was part of much, much more than the mere sights and sounds that daily met his eyes. The realisation humbled him, and he silently gave thanks.
Then the incandescent moment passed and the ache in his side brought him back to more earthly matters—back to the frustration he felt at the thought of being confined by his discomfort for even the shortest time.
Right now he longed for the freedom and vast open spaces of the desert … longed to be pounding along the sand on his beautiful Arabian stallion with the warm wind in his hair and the sun on his back … to forget he was ruler of Kabuyadir for a while. Into his daydream came another tempting facet. On the stallion’s back in front of him—his arms keeping her safe—was a woman: the woman who for the past three years had nightly haunted his dreams, the woman who by an incredible quirk of fate was now staying in his palace.
He hadn’t written off the idea of making Gina his mistress, despite the fact that he’d said he wouldn’t allow his desire to transgress her sense of safety or honour. Tomorrow he would continue his campaign to persuade her—to help her see that it was a natural solution to the inflammatory attraction that gathered force whenever they were together. If she were to become his mistress he wouldn’t have to risk his heart as he had done before, he told himself. In a way he could hold her at arm’s length except for when they were in bed together. Fear of her letting him down again would always ensure he would not wholly trust her.
Even so, his tension lessened a little at the idea she wasn’t far away, and that soon—very soon—they would share a night together. Zahir released a long slow breath.
‘Jamal!’
‘Yes, Your Highness.’ The loyal servant appeared almost instantly from one of the connecting rooms where he waited on Zahir’s instructions—even all through the night.
‘I’m going downstairs to the hamam. After my bath I will have my usual massage, then I’ll need the physician to attend me to rebandage my wounds. Arrange it for me, will you?’
‘Straight away, Your Highness.’
Rising shortly after dawn broke, when a full sun had burned away the night and heralded a new day, Gina washed and dressed, then made her way straight to the library. She’d promised to meet Farida after breakfast to make a start on the inventory of palace artefacts, but for now her time was her own.
Browsing the stacked shelves with an intuitive as well as professional nose, she retrieved four heavy volumes of history of the area and carried them to the long varnished table beneath a row of narrow windows. The air echoed with the spine-tingling sound of the Muezzin, calling the faithful to prayer, and Gina shut her eyes for a moment to absorb the ancient chant more fully. Then she opened the first great book in the pile she’d laid on the table.
Moroccan-style brass lamps on the walls were still glowing softly from the night before, and even though the sun was already blazing, the extra light definitely helped illuminate the hushed cathedral dimness of the area. There were several interesting references to Zahir’s dynastic family, and what she read kept Gina enthralled for at least a couple of hours. Finally realising the time, she quickly returned the books to the correct shelves and all but fled back down the maze of lofty gilded corridors to the terrace, where she’d breakfast with Jake.
‘Morning, Gina … I heard you were hobnobbing with the Sheikh’s widowed sister yesterday. What’s she like? Is she as striking in appearance as her imposing brother, or did she get the short straw in the looks department?’
‘For goodness’ sake, Jake, where are your manners? What if Jamal heard you?’ Gina looked daggers at her tactless colleague, then anxiously swept her gaze round the terrace to see if Zahir’s faithful man was nearby. Thankfully, he wasn’t. Only the two girls who served the food stood silently by the sandstone wall, waiting to be of assistance.
Already helping himself to the colourful generous repast that was arranged on the table, Jake returned an unrepentant glance. ‘It’s only natural that I should be curious. I gather the general consensus in these parts is that she’ll never marry again. Something to do with that prophecy that so fascinates you—she was head over heels in love with her husband and won’t give her heart to anyone else. Not in this lifetime anyway.’
At this reminder of the prophecy, Gina’s own heart seemed to turn over in her chest. It wasn’t hard for her to understand Farida’s vow, should it be true. If she couldn’t be with Zahir then she, too, would probably live out the rest of her days alone.
‘Seems