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‘I needed some air. I ask your pardon...’
An impatient, dismissive wave of his hand flicked away her explanation, making her break off in confusion. Had he forgiven her for being here—hiding, as he would see it, in the darkness? She’d taken a real risk, knowing how tight the security still was in the place. So she would only have herself to blame if this all turned nasty.
Perhaps she should have given him her own name, but her heart kicked inside at just the thought. All those years ago, from the moment that the twelve-year-old Nabil had turned to notice her—her, not her two years older sister Jamalia—she had lost her heart in the blink of an eye. For days after that, she had followed him round like a little puppy, always at his heels, hoping for another glance her way. She was so unused to being singled out for any attention that his tolerance for her, the stunning effect of his smile, even then had knocked her off balance. She had fallen head over heels into a youthful adoration that was all the more potent for having been so innocent and juvenile. She had given him her childish heart and all that had happened since had meant that he still had a hold on her emotions that no one else had ever quite managed to displace him from.
He was so instantly recognisable—apart from the black beard that shaded his angular jaw—she would have known who he was immediately. But there was something deeply personal that held her back from giving him her name. What if he didn’t remember her? If he stared at her blankly, unable to recall any Aziza from so long ago? Her father would have laughed at the thought that he might recall her, and it was foolish to let herself be hurt by the possibility—the probability—that he would not remember her as she did him. But something small and hidden deep inside her shrank from even taking the risk.
‘If you will forgive me...’
She had turned towards the doors into the main palace when he stirred again and his voice came from behind her.
‘Don’t go!’
Nabil had no idea what made him say it. Why the hell should he want anyone to stay with him when at last he had found the solitude and silence of the balcony that should have been balm to his barren soul? But, now that this slip of a woman was so obviously intent on hurrying away and leaving him there, he knew a sudden new rush of emptiness piled on emptiness that had always been there, and the words had escaped him without thought.
‘Highness?’
She hadn’t been expecting them either. It was obvious from the way that she started as if she’d been hit, froze, then whirled back to face him. In the moonlight her eyes were wide and dark.
‘Don’t go. Stay a while.’
He pitched it as a command, not a request, and saw the change in her expression as he did so. For a second her clouded gaze slid to the open door, where the light from the ballroom spilled out on to the balcony, the hum of voices and clink of glasses drifting out to them on the night air. But then she obviously decided on the wisdom of obeying him and she dipped once more into a deferential curtsey.
‘And stop doing that,’ Nabil growled. It wasn’t subservience or submissiveness he wanted now. What he wanted was...
What?
Damnation, if he couldn’t answer that himself then what could he ask from her?
‘Sir’ was all she said, but there was a new light in her eyes and an unexpected tilt to the pretty chin as she looked up at him. Not defiance, quite, but there was something very different there. Something that tugged on a sliver of memory that flickered for a moment in his thoughts and then went out again.
She kept her distance now, deliberately leaving several paces between them. But it was not enough to prevent the swirl of her perfume reaching out to him. The richness of sandalwood and jasmine tantalised his nostrils, stirring his senses in a way he hadn’t experienced in years. The kick of his heart and sudden heating of his blood was a shock to his system, making his pulse pound in unexpected response. It was so long since he had felt this way that the rush of sexual hunger made his senses spin. For years the most beautiful, sensual women had tried to create this effect in him and failed, and now some small, insignificant female had set his libido smouldering in a way he had almost forgotten could happen.
‘Should I fetch you a drink?’
She had seen the way his tongue had slipped out, moistening unexpectedly dry lips, and had misread the gesture. It jolted him to think that she had been watching him so closely.
‘No—I’m fine.’
What was she? A maid? ‘I’m with Jamalia,’ she had said, and she must mean the eldest daughter of the El Afarim family.
