Hot-Blooded Husbands

‘Zafina.’ She stepped forward, deciding to take the polite stand. ‘You are well, I trust? Thank you for taking time out of your busy life to join us here.’

‘The pleasure is all mine, Sheikha,’ the older woman replied. But then her husband was listening and so was the coveted Sheikh Hassan. ‘You have lost weight, I think. But Sheikh Khalifa tells me you have been sick?’

Someone had told her at any rate, but Leona suspected it was not Hassan’s father. Thankfully other guests began to arrive. Sheikh Jibril Al-Mahmud and his timid wife, Medina, who looked to her husband before she dared so much as breathe.

Sheikh Imran Al-Mukhtar and his youngest son, Samir, arrived next. Like a light at the end of a tunnel, Samir put the first genuine smile on everyone’s face because he broke right through every stiff convention being performed in the yacht’s foyer, and headed directly for Leona. ‘My princess!’ he greeted, picked her up in his arms then swung her around.

‘Put her down,’ his father censured. ‘Rafiq has that glint in his eye.’

‘Not Hassan?’ Samir questioned quizzically.

‘Hassan knows what belongs to him, Rafiq is merely overprotective. And everyone else simply disapproves of your loose ways.’

And there it was, tied up in one neat comment, Hassan noted as he watched Leona laugh down into Samir’s handsome young face. Al-Qadim and Al-Mukhtar set apart from Al-Mahmud and Al-Yasin. It promised to be an interesting trip. For the first time in two weeks they used the formal dining room on the deck above. White-liveried stewards served them through many courses, and the conversation around the table was pleasant and light, mainly due to Samir, who refused to allow the other men to sink into serious discussion, and even the other women unbent beneath his boyish charm.

But Leona was quiet. From his end of the table Hassan watched her speak when spoken to, smiling in all the right places. He watched her play the perfect hostess in that easy, unassuming way he remembered well, where everyone’s needs were predicted and met before they knew they were missing something. But occasionally, when she thought no one was attending her, he watched the corners of her mouth droop with short releases of the tension she was experiencing.

Sad. Her eyes were sad. He had hurt her with his dripping-tap method of feeding information to her. Now here she sat, having to pretend everything was perfect between them, when really she wanted to kill him for waiting until the last minute to spring all of this.

His heart clenched when he caught sight of her impulsive grin as she teasingly cuffed Samir for saying something outrageous. She had not laughed with him like that since the first night they’d been together again. No matter how much she had smiled, played, teased—loved him—during the last two weeks, he had been aware of an inner reserve that told him he no longer had all of her. Her spirit was missing, he named it grimly. It had been locked away out of his reach.

I love you, he wanted to tell her. But loving did not mean much to a woman who felt that she was trapped between a rock and a hard place.

A silence suddenly reigned. It woke him up from his own thoughts to notice that Leona was staring down at the plate in front of her and Samir had frozen in dismay. What had he missed? What had been said? Muscles began tightening all over him. Rafiq was looking at him for guidance. His skin began to crawl with the horrible knowledge that he had just missed something supremely important, and he could not think of a single thing to say!

His half-brother took the initiative by coming to his feet. ‘Leona, you will understand if I beg to leave you now,’ he petitioned as smooth as silk, while Hassan, who knew him better than anyone, could see him almost pulsing with rage.

Leona’s head came up as, with a flickering blink of her lashes, she made the mammoth effort to pull herself together. ‘Oh, yes, of course, Rafiq,’ she replied, having absolutely no idea, Hassan was sure, why Rafiq was excusing himself halfway through dinner, and at this precise moment she didn’t care. It was a diversion. She needed the diversion. It should have been himself who provided it.

‘I need a word before you leave,’ he said to Rafiq, and got to his feet. ‘Samir, do the honours and replenish my wife’s glass with wine.’

The poor young man almost leapt at the wine bottle, relieved to have something to do. As Rafiq walked past Hassan, with a face like fury, Hassan saw Leona reach out and gently touch Samir’s hand, as if to assure him that everything was all right.

‘What did I miss in there?’ he rapped out at Rafiq as soon as they were out of earshot.

‘If I did not like Samir I would strangle him,’ Rafiq responded harshly. ‘Leona asked him how his mother was. He went into a long and humorous story about her sitting in wait for his sister to give birth. Leona dealt with that. She even laughed in all the right places. But then the fool had to suggest it was time that she produced your son and heir.’

‘He cannot have known what he was saying,’ Hassan said angrily.

‘It was not the question which threw Leona, it was the resounding silence that followed it and the bleak expression upon your face! Where were you, man?’ Rafiq wanted to know. It was so rare that he used that tone with Hassan, that the censure in it carried twice the weight.

‘My mind had drifted for a few seconds,’ he answered tensely.

‘And the expression?’

‘Part of the drift,’ he admitted heavily.

‘You were supposed to be on the alert at all times for attacks of this kind.’ Rafiq was not impressed. ‘It was risk enough to bring onto this boat the man who wishes her ill, without you allowing your mind to drift.’

‘Stop spitting words at my neck and go to your dancer,’ Hassan snapped back impatiently. ‘You know as well as I do that neither Abdul or Jibril would dare to try anything when they are here for the specific purpose of talking me round!’

It’s okay, Leona was telling herself. I can deal with it. I’ve always known that deep inside he cared more than he ever let me see. So, he had been caught by surprise and showed the truth to everyone. I was caught by surprise and showed it myself.

‘Samir,’ she murmured gently. ‘If you pour me any more wine I will be sozzled and fall over when I have to stand up.’

‘Hassan wants your glass kept full.’ He grimly kept on pouring.

‘Hassan was attempting to fill an empty gap in the conversation, not put me under the table,’ she dryly pointed out.

Samir sat back with a sigh. ‘I want to die a thousands deaths,’ he heavily confessed.

Hassan arrived back at the table. Leona felt his glance sear a pointed message at her down the table’s length. She refused to catch his eye, and smiled and smiled until her jaw ached.

After that, the rest of the dinner passed off without further incident. But by the time the ladies left the men alone and removed to the adjoining salon Leona was in no mood for a knife-stabbing session. So she was actually relieved that Medina and Zafina chose to stab at her indirectly by discussing Zafina’s daughter, Nadira, whose beauty, it seemed, had multiplied during the last year. And as for her grace and quiet gentle ways—she was going to make some lucky man the perfect wife one day.

At least they didn’t prose on about how wonderful she was with children, Leona thought dryly, as the conversation was halted when Hassan brought the men through within minutes of the ladies leaving them.

The evening dragged on. She thought about the other days and nights still to come and wondered if she was going to get through them all in one piece. Eventually the other two women decided they were ready to retire. A maid was called and within minutes of them leaving Leona was happy to follow suit. As she stepped outside, Hassan joined her. It was the first time he had managed to get her alone since the incident at the dinner table.

‘I am at your feet,’ he murmured contritely. ‘I was miles away and had no idea what had taken place until Rafiq explained it to me.’

She didn’t believe him, but it was nice of him to try the cover-up, she supposed. ‘Samir wins hands down on apologies,’ she came back. ‘He wants to die a thousands deaths.’

With that she walked away, shaking inside and not really sure why she was. She got ready for bed and crawled between the cool cotton sheets, sighed, punched the pillow, then attempted to fall asleep. She must have managed it, because the next thing she knew a warm body was curling itself in behind her.

‘I don’t recall our new deal involving having to share a bed,’ she said coldly.

‘I don’t recall offering to sleep elsewhere,’ Hassan coolly returned. ‘So go back to sleep.’ The arm he folded around her aimed to trap. ‘And, since I am as exhausted as you are, you did not need the silk pyjamas to keep my lecherous desires at bay…’

‘I really hate you sometimes.’ She wanted the last word.

‘Whereas I will love you with my dying breath. And when they lay us in our final resting place in our crypt of gold it will be like this, with the scent of your beautiful hair against my face and my hand covering your lying little heart. There,’ he concluded, ‘is that flowery enough to beat Samir’s one thousand deaths?’

Despite not wanting to, she giggled. It was her biggest mistake. The exhausted man became an invigorated man. His lecherous desires took precedence.

Did she try to stop him? No, she did not. Did she even want to? No, again. Did he know all of that before he started removing the pyjamas?’ Of course he did. And there was something needle-piercingly poignant in this man losing touch with everything but this kind of loving as he came inside her, cupped her face with his hands and held her gaze with his own, as he drove them towards that other resting place.

CHAPTER SEVEN

MORNING came too soon, to Leona’s regret. Although here, shut inside this room and wrapped in the relative sanctuary of Hassan’s arms, she could let herself pretend for a little while longer that everything was perfect.

He was perfect, she observed tenderly as she studied the lean smooth lines of his dark golden face. He slept quietly—he always had done—lips parted slightly, black lashes lying still against the silken line of his cheekbones. Her heart began to squeeze and her stomach muscles joined in. This deep-rooted attraction he had always inspired in her had never diminished no matter what else had come in between.

She released a sigh that feathered his face and made his nose twitch. And it was such a nose, she thought with a smile, irresistibly reaching up to run a fingertip down its long silken length.

‘Life can have its perfect moments,’ a sleepy voice drawled.

Since she had been thinking much the same herself, Leona moved that bit closer so she could brush a kiss on his mouth.

Eyelashes drifted upward, revealing ebony irises packed with love. ‘Does the kiss mean you have forgiven me for dropping all of this on you?’

‘Shh,’ she whispered, ‘or you will spoil it.’

‘Kiss me again, then,’ he insisted. So she did. Why not? she asked herself. This was her man. Rightly or wrongly he was most definitely hers here and now.

It was a shame the ring of the telephone beside the bed had to intrude, or one thing would have led to another before they should have needed to face reality again. As it was, Hassan released a sigh and reached out to hook up the receiver. A few seconds later he was replacing it again and reaching out to touch her kiss-warmed mouth with a look of regret.

‘Duty calls,’ he murmured.

Ah, duty, Leona thought, and flopped heavily onto her back. Perfect moment over, pretence all gone. Stripped clean to his smooth dark golden skin, it was the prince who rose up from the bed and without saying another word disappeared into the bathroom.

He came out again ten minutes later, wrapped in fluffy white cotton and looking as handsome as sin. Wishing his pull wasn’t as strong on her senses, she got up with a definite reluctance to face the day mirrored on her face, pulled on her wrap and went to take her turn in the bathroom.

But Hassan stopped her as she walked past him, his hand gently cupping her chin. He smelt of soap and minted toothpaste as he bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Fifteen minutes, on the sun deck,’ he instructed as he straightened again. ‘For breakfast with an added surprise.’

The ‘added surprise’ made Leona frown. ‘You promised me you had no more surprises waiting to jump out at me,’ she protested.

‘But this one does not count,’ he said with a distinctly worrying gleam in his eye. ‘So hurry up, wear something deliciously stylish that will wow everyone, and prepare yourself to fall on my neck.’

‘Fall on his neck,’ Leona muttered to herself as she showered. She had developed a distinct aversion to surprises since arriving on this wretched boat so she was more likely to strangle him.

In a pale blue sundress made of a cool cotton, and with her red hair floating loose about her shoulders—because she felt like wearing it as a banner, which made a statement about…something, though she wasn’t absolutely sure what—Leona walked out onto the sun deck to find Rafiq there but no Hassan.

He looked up, smiled, then stood to pull out a chair for her. He was back in what she called his off-duty clothes, loose-fitting black chinos and a white V-neck tee shirt that did things to his muscled shape no one saw when he was covered in Arab robes.

‘Was your mother an Amazon, by any chance?’ she enquired caustically, because his father was a fine boned little man and Rafiq had to have got his size from someone.

The waspishness in her tone earned her a sharp glance. ‘Did you climb out of bed on the wrong side, by any chance?’ he threw back.

‘I hate surprises,’ she announced as she sat down.

‘Ah,’ Rafiq murmured. ‘So you have decided to take it out on me because I am unlikely to retaliate.’

He was right, and she knew it, which didn’t help this terrible, restless tension she was suffering from. ‘Where is Hassan?’ She strove for a nicer tone and managed to half succeed. ‘He said he would be here.’

‘The pilot who will guide us through the Suez Canal has arrived,’ Rafiq explained. ‘It is an expected courtesy for Hassan to greet him personally.’

Glancing outwards, Leona saw Port Said sprawling out in front of them like a vast industrial estate. It was not the prettiest of views to have with your breakfast, even though they seemed to have got the best of the berths, moored way off to one side in a separate harbour that looked as if it was reserved for the luxury private crafts.

‘And the rest of our guests?’ she enquired next, aware that she probably should have asked about them first.

‘Either still asleep or breakfasting in their suites.’

Mentioning sleep had a knock-on effect on him, and in the next moment Rafiq was stifling a yawn. It was only then that Leona recalled his slick retreat from the fray the evening before.

‘Up all night?’ The spike was back in her voice.

He didn’t reply, but the rueful way his mouth tilted suddenly made her think of Spanish dancers. ‘I hope she was good.’ She took a tart stab in the dark.

‘Delightful.’ He smiled. It was yet another blow to her fragile ego that her one solid ally had deserted her last night for another woman. ‘Here,’ he said gently, and began to pour her out a cup of tea. ‘Maybe this will help soothe your acid little tongue.’

Something needed to, Leona silently admitted as she picked up the cup. She had never felt so uptight and anxious, and it all was down to Hassan and surprises she did not want and people she did not want to be with and a marriage she did not—

The slightly sweet scent of Earl Grey suddenly turned her stomach. She must have gone pale because Rafiq began frowning. ‘What is the matter?’ he demanded.

‘I think the milk must be off,’ she explained, hastily putting the cup back on its saucer then pushing it away.

The sickly sensation left her almost as suddenly as it had hit. Problem solved in her mind, she wasn’t convinced when Rafiq picked up the jug to sniff at the milk and announced, ‘It seems fine to me.’

But he rose anyway and went to replace the milk with fresh from the cartons kept in the refrigerator situated just inside the salon. Then Hassan appeared and the incident was forgotten because, after dropping a kiss on her forehead, he went to pull out the chair next to Rafiq, who was just returning to the table with the fresh jug of milk. For a moment Leona was held captivated by how much alike the two men were. Even their clothes were similar, only Hassan wore beige chinos and a black tee shirt.

Men of beauty no matter what clothes they were wore, she mused a trifle breathlessly, knowing that she would be hard put to it to find two more perfect specimens. So why do I love them both so differently? she asked herself as she watched them sit down. Life would certainly have been a whole lot simpler if she’d fallen in love with Rafiq instead of Hassan. No strict calls to duty, no sheikhdom to rule, no onus to produce the next son and heir to his vast power and untold fortune.

But she loved Rafiq as a brother, not as a lover—just as he loved her as a sister. Plus, he had his mysterious dancer, she added wryly, as she poured herself another cup of tea in a clean cup, then reached for a slice of toast.

‘You look pale. What’s wrong?’ Glancing up, she found Hassan’s eyes were narrowed on her profile.

‘She hates surprises.’ Rafiq offered a reply.

‘Ah. So I am out of favour,’ Hassan drawled. ‘Like the milk and the butter…’ he added with the sharp eyes that should have been gold, like a falcon’s, not a bottomless black that made her feel as if she could sink right into them and never have to come back out again.

‘The milk was off, it turned my stomach, so I decided not to risk it or the butter,’ she said, explaining the reason why she was sipping clear tea and nibbling on a piece of dry toast.

Keeping dairy produce fresh was an occupational hazard in hot climates, so Hassan didn’t bother to question her answer—though Leona did a moment later when a pot of fresh coffee arrived for Hassan and the aroma sent her stomach dipping all over again.

Hassan saw the way she pushed her plate away and sat back in the chair with the paleness more pronounced, and had to ask himself if her pallor was more to do with anxiety than a problem with the milk. Maybe he should not be teasing her like this. Maybe no surprise, no matter how pleasant was going to merit putting her through yet more stress. He glanced at his watch. Ten more minutes. Was it worth him hanging on that long?

‘You look stunning,’ he murmured.

She turned her head, her wonderful hair floating out around her sun-kissed shoulders and the perfect heart-shape of her face. Her eyes were like emeralds, to match the one she wore on her finger, glowing with a passion she could never quite subdue no matter how low she was feeling. Kiss me, her small, soft, slightly sulky mouth seemed to say.

‘I am de trop.’ Rafiq broke through the moment and rose to his feet. ‘I will go and awaken Samir and drag him to the gym for an hour before I allow him breakfast.’

Neither bothered to answer even if they heard him, which Rafiq seriously doubted as he went to leave. Then a sound beyond the canvas awning caught his attention, diverting him towards the rail. A car was coming down the concrete quay towards them, its long black sleekly expensive lines giving him a good idea as to who was inside it.

This time he made sure he commanded attention by lightly touching Hassan’s shoulder. ‘Your surprise is arriving,’ he told him, then left as Hassan stirred himself and Leona blinked herself back from wherever she had gone to.

Getting up, Hassan went to capture one of her hands and urged her out of her chair. ‘Come,’ he said, and keeping hold of her hand walked them down the stairs, across the foyer, out onto the shade deck and to the rail beside the gangway, just in time to watch a beautiful creature with pale blonde hair step out of the car and onto the quayside.

Beside him he felt Leona’s breath catch on a gasp, felt the pulse in her wrist begin to race. ‘Evie,’ she whispered. ‘And Raschid,’ she added as Sheikh Raschid Al-Kadah uncoiled his long lean body out of the car.

‘They’re sailing with us?’ Now her eyes were shining with true pleasure, Hassan noted with deep satisfaction. Now she was looking at him as if he was the most wonderful guy in the world, instead of the most painful to be around.

‘Will their presence make your miserable lot easier to bear?’

Her reply was swift and uninhibited. She fell upon him with a kiss he would have given half of his wealth for. Though it did not need wealth, only the appearance of her closest friend and conspirator against these—arrogant Arabian men, as she and Evie liked to call Raschid and himself.

‘After six years, I would have expected the unrestrained passion to have cooled a little,’ a deep smooth, virtually accent-free voice mocked lazily.

‘Says the man with his son clutched in one arm and his daughter cradled in the other,’ mocked a lighter, drier voice.

Son and daughter. Hassan stiffened in shock, for he had not expected the Al-Kadahs to bring along their children on this cruise. Leona, on the other hand, was pulling away from him, turning away from him—hiding away from him? Had his pleasant surprise turned into yet another disaster? He turned to see what she was seeing and felt his chest tighten so fiercely it felt as if it was snapping in two. For there stood Raschid, as proud as any man could be, with his small son balanced on his arm while the beautiful Evie was in the process of gently relieving him of his small pink three-month-old daughter.

They began walking up the gangway towards them, and it was his worst nightmare unfolding before his very eyes, because there were tears in Leona’s as she went to meet them. Real tears—bright tears when she looked down at the baby then up at Evangeline Al-Kadah before, with aching description, she simply took the other woman in her arms and held her.

Raschid was watching them, smiling, relaxed while he waited a few steps down the gangway for them to give him room to board the boat. He saw nothing painful in Leona’s greeting, nor the way she broke away to gently touch a finger to the baby girl’s petal soft cheek.

‘I didn’t know,’ she was saying softly to Evie. ‘Last time I saw you, you weren’t even pregnant!’

‘A lot can happen in a year,’ Raschid put in dryly, bringing Leona’s attention his way.

The tableau shifted. Evie moved to one side to allow her husband to step onto the deck so he could put his son to the ground, leaving his arms free to greet Leona properly. ‘And aren’t you just as proud as a peacock?’ She laughed, defying the Arab male-female don’t-touch convention by going straight into Raschid’s arms.

What was wrong with Hassan? Leona wondered, realising that he hadn’t moved a single muscle to come and greet their latest guests. She caught his eye over one of Raschid’s broad shoulders, sent him a frowning look that told him to pull himself together. By the time he was greeting Evie Leona was squatting down to say hello to the little boy who now clutched his mother’s skirt for safety. Dark like his father; golden-eyed like his father. The fates had been kind to these two people by allowing them to produce a son in Raschid’s image and a daughter who already looked as if she was going to be a mirror of her mother.

‘Hello, Hashim.’ She smiled gently. They had met before but she was sure the small boy would not remember. ‘Does that thumb taste very nice?’

He nodded gravely and stuck the thumb just that quarter inch further between sweetly pouting lips.

‘My name is Leona,’ she told him. ‘Do you think we can be friends?’

‘Red,’ he said around the thumb, looking at her hair. ‘Sun-shine.’

‘Thank you.’ She laughed. ‘I see you are going to be a dreadful flirt, like your papa.’