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The spark within threatened to turn into a flame, channelling his thoughts towards a different,beautifully dirtysort of accommodating.
Yes, he really should’ve gone to Toronto.
But then you’d have missed her...
‘To your earlier comment about trading barbs, I’m far from fragile. I’d have to be made of sterner stuff than that to rule a kingdom.’
The cue did its job of reminding her of his position.
She cast a look around her, taking in the antique furnishings, some of which had belonged to his great-great-grandfather, before returning to him. And why that mildly awed look from those stunning eyes should’ve fanned the flame of the infernal heat gripping him, he wasn’t in the mood to analyse.
‘It’s...being here in this tent. It almost makes me forget—’ She stopped herself but they both knew what she’d meant.
‘You’ll do well not to,’ he cautioned, the gravity in his tone meant as much for him as for her. He couldn’t lose sight of what her presence meant. Or of his destiny both within and outside the weathered camel’s wool structure that formed his shelter.
She stiffened, then gave a curt nod. ‘I won’t.’ After a moment’s pause, she continued. ‘So, is discussing your grandfather off the table?’
He debated his answer a fraction longer, uncorked the wine to let it sit while she tried to disguise her uneasiness. Deciding that there was nothing to be lost by divulging general information she could discover within a coffee-table book on Jukrat, he exhaled.
‘My grandfather was a great man, the visionary who dragged Jukrat into the twentieth century. It’s why you’ll find his name plastered on buildings, airports and monuments all over the kingdom.’
Her gaze had returned to him while he spoke and now her pert nose wrinkled. ‘I was hoping for more than a sound bite straight from the PR’s office.’
Shut her down. Remind her this isn’t a social visit.
But his gaze fell on the hourglasses. He’d left the door open by telling her a deeply personal memory, so, really, he had himself to blame.
‘He gifted me those on my twenty-first birthday but I left them with him so we could play the game he taught me right up until he passed,’ he found himself divulging.
‘When did he die?’ she asked softly.
‘Eight years ago.’
Her green eyes dropped to the trickle of sand, the sight that had in turn triggered anticipation and impatience on many occasions, holding her in similar thrall. ‘Why the three different measures?’
‘He wanted me to learn the efficacy of quick thinking, of making well-balanced decisions, and when to bide my time.’ All three of which seemed in short supply when it came to the woman sitting in front of him.
Her short, neatly manicured fingers trailed down one side of the glass and over the filigree mould, and it felt as if she were touching him.
Again, he asked himself why he’d used such personal means.
Again, he shied away from the answer.
‘Have you played it with anyone else?’ she asked after a long minute.
His gaze flicked to her face, unease moving through him at her careful composure because he was plagued again by the need to see her real emotions.
‘Not in the direct sense,’ he replied, swallowing past the curious stone in his throat as he thought of his grandfather.
Her gaze tangled with his again. ‘What do you mean?’
He reached for the bottle, more for something to do with his hands than anything else. He poured a glass and passed it to her. When her fingers brushed his, he tightened his gut against the flame that flared low in his belly. Against the need to keep his fingers exactly where they were, experiencing the smoothness of her skin.
Pulling back from temptation he had no intention of succumbing to again, he filled his own glass and took a healthy sip. While the excellent vintage warmed his insides, he contemplated his answer. A pat, throwaway response that gave nothing of himself away, he decided. But even before he spoke he knew he wouldn’t dishonour his grandfather’s memory that way.
‘I only bring the hourglasses with me to the desert. When I’m here, I reprise some of the games I played with my grandfather. It helps me...strategise.’
Very few people would dare disparage the Sheikh of Jukrat to his face. From the glimpses of the old Lauren he’d caught in the last few hours, Tahir knew she was one of those brave souls. So perhaps that breath locked in his diaphragm was in anticipation of a bolder challenge.
