Rafi stared at her over the rim of his coffee cup. “After meeting you, I daresay I doubt he’ll ever get over you.”
“That’s very flattering, but of course he will.”
“I wasn’t flattering you.” His remark set her body trembling. “What about other friends?”
“They don’t expect to hear from me this trip.”
“Why not?”
“Because I came to try and get over the worst of my pain after losing my grandmother recently. They know that,” she muttered, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice, but not succeeding very well.
“You were close to her?”
There was something about this man that made her want to confide in him. Maybe it was because he’d saved her life by getting her to the doctor in time. Whatever the reason, she didn’t feel like holding back.
“Very. Both my parents died when I was six months old. She was the only mother I ever knew. I miss her horribly.”
“I can understand your wanting to get away for a while, but why the desert, why here? This part of the Nafud is particularly harsh.”
“I suppose it’s because it’s one place I’ve never visited, and it holds no past memories for me.” Only Celia’s.
“You’re a world traveler?”
“Yes, from the time I was a little girl.”
A definite stillness filled the room before he said, “Under the circumstances, I’ll leave you alone to grieve. Silence is the medication for sorrow. If you need anything, you have only to pick up the phone by your bed. Nazir, one of my assistants, will take care of you and send for me or the doctor should you need us.”
“Thank you.” She lowered her head. “I’d be very remiss if I didn’t tell you how grateful I am to you for saving my life.”
“I only sped up the time so your recovery could take place under Dr. Tamam’s care.”
“I’m still thankful,” she insisted. “Be assured, you and your staff will be well paid for your services.”
Without giving her a response, he started to leave. Being the head of security, she supposed he had too many calls on his time for her to expect his company like this again but she selfishly wished he didn’t have to leave yet. “Rafi?”
He turned his dark head in her direction. “Is there something else you need?”
There were a lot of things she discovered she needed. “No, but you’re obviously on intimate terms with the king. Please let him know how grateful I am for everything. The room is beautiful beyond description.”
“It’s part of the garden suite.”
Lauren sucked in her breath. King Malik had arranged for her grandmother to stay in a private part of the palace with its own garden. Was it possible this suite was the one? The hairs lifted on the back of her neck.
He studied her for a moment. “Are you all right, Lauren?”
“Yes.”
“You need a lot more rest before I’m convinced of that. When you’re up to it, you’re welcome to walk out and enjoy the flowers through that portico. Some are quite exotic. On occasion, the queen herself tends the garden.”
She put a hand to her throat. “I don’t know why I’m so lucky.”
After a slight pause he said, “When word of your near-tragedy reached King Umar, he insisted you remain in this suite as his guest for as long as you want.”
His guest.
Lauren’s heart beat faster than a hummingbird’s wings. Was King Umar a son or a grandson or even a great-nephew of King Malik? Lauren was closer to getting information about her grandfather than she knew.
“That’s incredibly kind and generous of him.”
His black eyes gleamed. “It’s my hope that while you are recovering, the garden’s beauty will lift the sadness over your grandmother’s passing from your heart.”
Deeply touched by his words, she whispered her thanks. Bereft after he’d gone, Lauren couldn’t move any further than the nearest couch because a new weakness had attacked her, brought on by his nearness and the potent male reality of him.
She sank down and rested against one of the satin cushions. Her thoughts darted back to her grandmother who’d been a world traveler from an early age. Celia had come to Al-Shafeeq because it had been reported by a family friend highly placed in the government that this desert oasis blossomed like a rose. It had sounded so romantic to her, she’d deemed it a place she had to see.
While wandering through its palatial gardens, her waist-length blond hair had happened to catch the eye of King Malik. What had happened after that had been like a tale from the Arabian Nights tale and Celia had become enslaved by a love so powerful that Lauren’s mother, Lana, had been the ultimate result.
Lauren thought about the flowers on the patio, but she was too tired to walk out there yet. Inwardly she had the presentiment that if she went out to look at them, history might repeat itself. Lauren could well imagine being so enamored of Rafi, she would never want to leave Al-Shafeeq.
His powerful image swam before her eyes until they closed and she knew no more.
Rashad stood outside the suite and rang Dr. Tamam to give him the latest update. “Our patient was well enough to shower and eat a solid meal today.”
“That’s good. What did you find out about the medallion?”
He pursed his lips. “Nothing yet.”
“Ah?” The surprise in the older man’s voice was as unmistakable as it was understandable. “Then you must have felt she still wasn’t recovered enough to withstand an interrogation.”
The doctor was reading Rashad’s mind. Lauren had paled a little before he’d left her suite. That part was genuine. In fact everything she’d said, every reaction, had seemed genuine to him, especially her relief that Mustafa hadn’t died.
He could still feel the imprint of her lovely body molded to his while word of the near-tragedy had sunk in. She’d shed convincing tears of relief.
As for her pain over her deceased grandmother, there were degrees. Upon wakening, her first thought had been for the medallion she’d lost. Rashad had noticed she’d been careful not to give him a full description of the gold circle.
His instincts were never wrong. She was holding a secret.
The first thing Rashad needed to do was to ascertain if the medallion was real or a fake. Quite apart from her role in all of this, he wanted the answer for himself. Of the eight male members of the family alive today, including himself, none had reported their medallions lost or stolen. It had to be a fake—some kind of joke, perhaps—but he wouldn’t be able to get to the bottom of it until he’d talked to their gold expert.
In the next breath he phoned his mechanic. After being assured his helicopter had been serviced and was ready for flight, he slipped along a passage and across a private courtyard to the place where it was waiting.
Accompanied by his bodyguard, he flew to Raz. Once they’d set down, he hurried into the plant to consult the goldsmith who’d fashioned Rashad’s ring. The old man was getting on in years.
“Come in, Rashad. Your face looks like thunder. Yesterday everyone was rejoicing!”
Grimacing, he sat down at the work table across from him. “That was yesterday.” He pulled the medallion and chain out of his pocket and placed it in front of him.