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‘Be calm. They will not come in until I give permission,’ he reassured her gruffly.
Her teeth mangled her swollen bottom lip. ‘Then give it,’ she urged in a rushed whisper. ‘Before they think you’re...that we’re...’ She pressed her lips together as another blush deepened her colour.
‘Making love? Get used to saying the words, Esmeralda, because it is going to happen. The next time I have you in my arms I won’t stop at tasting those tempting lips and gorgeous breasts. When I have you in my bed, I won’t stop until I possess you, thoroughly and completely.’
Her shaky inhalation drew his gaze back to her chest. Already he craved another taste. He rose to his feet, bent down and brushed her lips with his, gratified when she clung to him for a second. Then he forced himself to release her. Step back.
‘Our journey begins early tomorrow. Be ready.’
CHAPTER NINE
THE NEXT TIME I have you in my arms...
For some stupid, sleep-depriving reason, Esme had assumed those words carried with them a very imminent time stamp.
She’d spent the next several nights after their departure from Ja’ahr City and the Royal Palace vacillating between the urge to give in and reiterating stern warnings of why she couldn’t. Every night in the breath-taking beauty of her surroundings, be it in a camp made up of giant Bedouin tents or a hut in a desert village as they travelled north towards the oil fields that were the life blood of Ja’ahr, was spent wondering if that would be the night Zaid made his move.
Before she knew it, three weeks had passed.
Three weeks, when he’d treated her like a respected member of his travelling staff, each night reading the detailed reports she’d made on the social care needs of the communities they’d visited and peppering her with questions on points she’d made as they’d shared a simple dinner in the community tent or a mini-banquet in a chieftain’s dining room, depending on which host they’d been blessed to spend the evening with.
Each night she’d retreated to her sleeping quarters with Nashwa and Aisha as her constant companions. The two had proved themselves i
nvaluable sources of information, with Nashwa acting as an informal translator when needed. Esme had even learned to accept the presence of the two bodyguards who shadowed her at all times.
Had she not been thoroughly enjoying her new role, Esme was sure she would have gone completely out her mind. But the joy she’d gained from knowing she was making a difference went a long way towards helping her sleep at night, despite being dogged by thoughts of Zaid.
Because it wasn’t as if Zaid had lost interest in her. Many times, she’d looked up from a conversation with a matriarch of a community, or a group of teenagers, to find his intense gaze on her. At those times, the depth of his hunger had been plain to see, although those long, lush eyelashes would all too soon sweep away the glimpse into his emotions as he returned to whatever conversation he was engrossed in.
The breathless yearning those looks left behind would leave her feeling needy and bereft for hours, a part of her hating him for eliciting such a devastating craving, and the other part admonishing herself for falling beneath his spell in the first place.
It wasn’t surprising therefore then that she was feeling irritable as the sun set on another glorious day on their second night in Tujullah. The northernmost settlement of Ja’ahr was little more than a desert encampment, although the permanent tents were huge and contained an assortment of rooms.
As usual, she’d been allotted her own tent far from the one Zaid occupied—she knew that because she’d watched him disappear with Fawzi into his twenty minutes ago after he’d grilled her on her latest report. Her answers had grown increasingly short until he’d looked up from the document, his narrow-eyed gaze piercing hers before he’d dismissed her and conducted a terse conversation of his own with his personal secretary.
Normally, she would have lingered in the middle of the encampment where groups of men played musical instruments or engaged in heated discussions about the state of the world at large. Tonight, she’d chosen to take a long, relaxing bath in the privacy of her tent. Aisha had looked slightly put out after she’d filled the bath and Esme had dismissed her for the night but she hadn’t thought it fair to visit her bad mood on the young girl.
So now she drew the soft sponge filled with jasmine-and-rosewater-scented water over her arm and absently watched the water sparkle in the light of the two dozen candles within the room. In four days they would be returning to Ja’ahr, remaining there for a fortnight before they made another trek east. Zaid had other matters of state to deal with, including a few court cases. Their return would also give her another chance to visit her father. She’d flown back by helicopter for her once weekly visit with him. Although their conversation had got increasingly terse after he’d tried to pry into her relationship with Zaid, she’d promised to return. All she had to do was remind herself that he no longer had any power over her.
She would also be able to liaise with Touch Global about her recommendations for the communities she’d assessed.
But tonight she couldn’t concentrate on any of that. Her thoughts were fully centred on Zaid. On whether he’d changed his mind about having her, and why the thought that he might have made her gut clench with such keen disappointment. She was still grappling with those frustratingly divergent thoughts when she left the bath an hour later. Although she yearned for the oblivion of eventual sleep, it was too early to head to bed.
After spending mindless minutes brushing her hair, Esme tugged a lilac-coloured floor-length tunic over her head. Made of the softest silk with delicate gold embroidery at the wide cuffs and hem, the material whispered over her body with silken seduction, drawing a pleasured sigh from her before she grimaced at herself. It was true that she was falling in love with all things Ja’ahr, including the new wardrobe that Zaid had informed her via Nashwa was part of her welcome package. Esme didn’t deny the new clothes helped her blend in better and gave her an extra boost of confidence in her new role.
She freed her hair from the collar, tying it into a loose knot at her nape before slipping her feet into matching Arabian slippers. A pair of simple gold chandelier earrings she’d bought at a bazaar two weeks ago and the glide of peach gloss over her lips rounded off her attire.
She was arranging a white scarf over her head when Aisha entered.
Surprised that she’d returned, Esme turned around, ready to gently dismiss her again. But the young girl curtsied shyly.
‘Pardon me for the intrusion, Madam, but Fawzi Suleiman is here to see you.’
‘Oh...okay.’
Aisha gave a quick nod and dashed back outside. A moment later Fawzi stepped into the tent. He hovered respectfully in the doorway, his fingers in a steeple in front of him.
‘His Highness requests your presence, Miss Scott.’
