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‘That all depends.’
‘I’ve told you that I’d like to help, and I mean it,’ she said. ‘I can sail—I can help you sail to the mainland.’
‘Help me sail?’ he murmured, skimming a gaze over her tiny frame.
‘Seriously—let me prove it to you. I’m not as useless as I look.’
He stared into the fire to hide his smile.
‘If I knew your name, it would be a start,’ she persisted. ‘Maybe we could relax around each other more if we knew what to call each other.’
‘Wasn’t that my question to you?’
Antonia’s cheeks blazed. How could she be so careless? Wasn’t that the one question she wouldn’t answer? ‘I have to call you something,’ she pressed, getting her question in first.
She had almost given up when he answered, ‘You can call me Saif.’
‘Saif?’ she exclaimed, seizing on the word. ‘Doesn’t that mean sword in Sinnebalese?’ And, without giving him a chance to answer, she rattled on, ‘When I first planned to travel to Sinnebar I studied the language.’
Instead of turning things around as she had hoped, this only provoked one of his dismissive gestures. ‘The name Saif is very popular in Sinnebar,’ he explained, stoking the fire with a very big stick.
‘But it isn’t your real name?’ she said, tearing her gaze away. ‘Saif is just a name you’ve adopted for while you’re here,’ she guessed.
Please, please say something, she urged him silently. ‘If you don’t want to tell me your real name, that’s all right by me.’
Nothing.
‘We could have a name truce,’ she pressed as another idea occurred to her.
‘What do you mean by that?’
Her confidence grew; imagination was her speciality. ‘Our outside lives can’t touch us here—you can be Saif, and I can be—’
‘I shall call you Tuesday.’
‘Tuesday?’ She frowned.
‘I take it you’ve heard of Man Friday?’
‘Of course I have, but—’
He shrugged. ‘You came on board on a Tuesday.’
They were really communicating, and for the first time since she’d come aboard his yacht she could see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Or at least the lighthouse guarding the entrance to the harbour of Sinnebar.
‘Tuesday it is, then,’ she agreed eagerly. ‘Would you like me to fillet the fish for you?’ She wanted to prove she could be helpful in so many ways.
Saif paused, knife suspended. His expression reflected his doubt in her abilities. ‘All right, go ahead,’ he said reluctantly.
And make a mess of it if you dare, Antonia silently translated.
She swallowed as Saif drew his knife, and took it gingerly from him with the thick, beautifully carved pommel facing towards her hand. ‘This is very nice,’ she said, struggling to wrap her hand around it. ‘Is it an heirloom?’
‘There’s nothing special about it,’ Saif said as he removed the fish from the spit he’d made out of twigs and a piece of twine. ‘It’s a utility item and nothing more.’
‘Well, it’s a very nice utility item.’
Nothing special? Apart from the knife’s size, and the fact that it could slice the gizzard out of a shark at a single stroke, it was the most fearsome weapon she had ever seen. And one she would put to good use. Her juices ran as Saif waved the fish on the stick to cool it, sending mouthwatering aromas her way.
It was a relief to discover that all the trips to fabulous restaurants with her brother Rigo hadn’t been wasted. Positioning the fish on the large, clean leaf that would act as a plate, she removed the head, skin and bones with a few skilful passes of Saif’s razor-sharp blade. ‘You first,’ she insisted, passing the succulent white morsels of fish to him on their bed of lush emerald-green leaf.
She breathed a sigh of relief when Saif’s lips pressed down with approval and he murmured, ‘Good work.’
‘Thank you.’
‘This is delicious,’ she observed, tucking in with gusto. ‘We make a good team, you and I.’
Careless words, Antonia realised when one arrogant ebony eyebrow peaked. She ate in silence after that, and when they were finished went to rinse her hands in the sea. Sitting down on the sand a safe distance from Saif, she leaned back on her hands to stare at the moon. It wasn’t long before she was longing for things she couldn’t have—a sexy Arabian lover with a body made for non-stop sin, for instance.
Saif turned when she sighed, but what could she do? It was such a romantic evening. There was a smudge of luminous orange at the horizon, and overhead a candystriped canvas of pink and aquamarine remained stubbornly in place as the sky darkened into night. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are living here,’ she murmured. ‘Though they say the ruling Sheikh is—’
