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CHAPTER NINE
KHALED dismissed the women with a flick of his hand.
‘You don’t like your new garments?’
‘These things aren’t mine. What have you done with the clothes I packed?’
‘I promised you a gift—the garments made by Hebra’s best seamstresses. Do you agree they are quite beautiful?’
‘I want my clothes.’
‘Your clothes were not appropriate for the desert. This isn’t Milan or Sydney or even Hebra. Aren’t you going to try these on? See how well they fit? See how well they become you?’
‘Why the hell should I?’
‘Because,’ he said, his dark eyes shiny with victory, ‘you have no choice. You have nothing else to wear.’
‘Then I’ll wear what I’ve already got on.’
His nostrils flared. ‘It is entirely up to you if you wish to offend our hosts. For while we value the camel for transport, it is not a beast we would choose to eat with.’
She spun away from him, determined that he wouldn’t see that she knew he was right. From the moment they’d arrived at the encampment she’d looked forward to the prospect of washing off the baggage of a long, dusty trip and changing into clean clothes. But her idea of clean clothes had more to do with a linen skirt and fresh blouse than the silky nothingness of the fabrics now contained in her suitcase.
‘You need not be concerned,’ he said, almost as if he could read her thoughts. ‘It makes no difference what you had planned to wear as no one would see it anyway. The women will provide you with an abaya and hijab, a cloak and scarf to cover your garments and head, and a burka to hide your face, as is the custom here in the tribes. All anyone will see of you is your eyes. So you see, you really have nothing to get upset about.’
‘In that case,’ she said at last, ‘it would appear that I don’t have much of a choice.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘you don’t.’
And then he was gone, leaving her and her resentment simmering in his wake.
All night long the blue eyes had captivated him. All night he’d wished for a halt to the seemingly endless cups of coffee, the conversation that lingered interminably, when all he wanted to do was be alone with her.
Even covered from head to toe she stood out. There was simply no way Sapphire would blend in by dressing her in the local garb. There was no way she would not be noticed.
All anyone could see was her blue eyes, clear and warm, shining from behind her cotton burka. Yet he could see the way they lit up when she laughed, the way they creased at the corners with delight, the way they reacted when others told their tales of desert wanderings or their children, the way they would fill with compassion when the story was sad.
Most of all he liked the way they stilled when his gaze locked on hers, smoke suddenly swirling in their depths before they dropped or turned away.
All he could see was her blue eyes and even they were enough to hold him transfixed. Yet the promise, too, of what was under the dark abaya intervened in his thoughts. He wanted to strip away the cloak, to find the woman under the dull garb, to explore her feminine shape and hidden curves.
And now, when their hosts had finally called an end to the evening, now he finally had his chance.
She clutched the sides of the abaya, avoiding looking at him directly as Khaled walked her to her tent, the soft maa-ing of the goats carrying gently across the crisp night air. It was cooler now although feeling warm didn’t seem to be a problem for her. Not given the way Khaled had made her feel through dinner.
Tonight he looked more like a sheikh than ever. For the first time he had put aside the western garb she was used to seeing him in and that was so much a part of business in modern Hebra and instead he wore the traditional robes of the region. In the fine white shirt, the traditional headdress with its double cord of woven goat-hair and sheep’s wool, and the long black robes edged with gold braid, Khaled looked larger than life, a real desert king.
She’d seen the way he’d watched her tonight, had felt his eyes on her, and on those times she’d been unable to resist looking his way she’d been held by the authority of his features, the sheer power of his eyes, the potent message they contained.
He wanted her.
Sure, she’d known it before, she’d felt his need on his lips and in his kiss, but never had it taken on the significance it had now, the way it rocked her as they made their way almost silently across the pebble-strewn sands to her tent. He knew she was leaving yet still he wanted her.
Under her long robe a multitude of sensations beset her. Silk slid across her skin at every move, the metal belt shimmying softly over her hips, and tiny bells jangled softly on her ankles. She felt ultra-feminine, exquisitely sensual and sexy in a way she never had before.
Was it the garments that lay hidden under the abaya or was it the way Khaled had looked at her through dinner, as though he was already slowly peeling off her clothes, that made her flesh tingle and gave her such a rush of moist heat?
It didn’t matter. What suddenly did was the realisation that she could no longer deny.
