Midnight at the Oasis: His Majesty's Mistake

Emmeline had thought she could just put Hannah on a plane and get her here. But she wasn’t going to be able to sneak Hannah into the desert and change places with her without anyone knowing. They were in such a deserted spot that all incoming aircraft would immediately be noticed.

“You look disappointed.” Makin’s deep voice came from across the aisle.

Emmeline’s pulse quickened, and his deep husky timbre flooded her with memories—his appearance at the nightclub last night. His harsh opinion of Alejandro. His overwhelming physical presence.

“Why would I be disappointed?” she answered, with a casual arch of her eyebrow.

His silver gaze collided with hers and held. His features were granite-hard, his strong black eyebrows a slash above intense gray eyes. There was a light in his eyes, too, and a curve to his upper lip as if he weren’t pleased with what he saw, either.

Her pulse jumped, racing wildly. He was still intense, still overwhelming, and nausea threatened to get the best of her.

“You’ve never liked the desert and Kasbah Raha,” he said softly, his upper lip curling yet again. “You prefer life in Nadir with all the hustle and bustle.”

So they truly were in the middle of nowhere. Which meant getting Hannah into Raha undetected would be as nearly impossible as Emmeline getting out.

“That may be so,” she answered, hoping he didn’t hear the wobble in her voice, “but I love how the morning sun burnishes the sand, turning everything copper and gold.”

“How refreshing. You usually dread your time in the desert, saying Raha reminds you too much of your ranch in Texas.”

Emmeline valiantly tried to play along. “But I love the ranch. It’s where I grew up.”

“Maybe. But in Nadir you have friends, your own apartment in the palace, and numerous social activities, and when you’re here, you’re very much alone. Or alone with me.”

The “alone with him” part sent a tremor of anxiety through her. She couldn’t imagine spending another hour alone with him, much less days. She had to get Hannah here. Immediately.

His eyes suddenly gleamed, his full sensual mouth lifting in a mocking smile, and she could have sworn he knew exactly what she was thinking. She blushed, cheeks heating, skin prickling, even as she told herself it was impossible. He wasn’t a mind reader. He couldn’t possibly know how much he unsettled her.

And yet his gray eyes with those bright silver flecks were so direct, so perceptive she felt a quiver race through her, a quiver of dread and anticipation. He was so different from anyone she knew. So much more.

Makin’s long legs stretched carelessly into the aisle and his broad shoulders filled his chair. He was at least six feet two. While Alejandro was handsome, Makin Al-Koury exuded power.

“Fortunately, this time here you’ll be too busy assisting and entertaining my guests to feel isolated,” he added. “I trust that everything’s in place for their arrival?”

“Of course.” She smiled to hide the fact that she didn’t have a clue. But she’d soon find someone on his staff who would fill her in.

“Good. Because last night I seriously questioned your ability to pull this weekend off. But you slept most of the flight and appear more rested.”

“I am,” she answered, thinking that it was he who looked utterly fresh despite the fact that they’d been traveling for so long.

“Did you take something to help you sleep?”

“No. Why?”

“You aren’t usually able to fall asleep on flights.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that as she’d learned to sleep on planes at a very young age. She’d grown up traveling. There were always royal functions and goodwill tours and appearances, first with her family and then on her own.

She’d been a shy little girl, and even a timid teenager, but the media never knew that. All they saw was her face and how photogenic she was. By the time she was fifteen, the paparazzi had singled her out, crowning her as the great beauty of her generation. Since then she’d lived in the spotlight, with camera lenses constantly focused on her and journalists’ pens poised to praise or critique, and she never knew which until the article was published.

“I think I was too worn out not to sleep,” she said, and it was true. All she wanted to do lately was sleep, and apparently that was another side effect of pregnancy. “And you? Did you get any rest?”

“Less than I wanted,” he said, lashes dropping over his eyes, concealing his expression. “It was hard to sleep. I was—am—worried about you.”

She heard something in his deep voice that made her insides flip-flop.

Genuine emotion. True concern.

He might hate Emmeline but he adored Hannah.

Emmeline felt a sharp stab of envy. What she wouldn’t give to be the brilliant, efficient Hannah—a woman worthy of love and respect.

Awash in hot emotion, Emmeline looked away, out the jet’s oval window. They’d finally come to a full stop in this vast desert. Uniformed personnel appeared on the tarmac. A fleet of shining black vehicles waited just off to the side of the runway, sunlight glinting off the windows and polished surfaces. Even though it was early, heat shimmered in iridescent waves off the black tarmac and surrounding sand.

This vast hot shimmering desert was Sheikh Al-Koury’s world and now that she was here, Emmeline sensed her life would never be the same.

Makin stretched his legs out in the back seat of his custom car, a large, powerful sedan with tinted windows and reinforced panels to make it virtually bulletproof.

There hadn’t been an uprising in Kadar in over three hundred years, and it was unlikely there would be in the next three hundred, but trouble could come from outside his country. The fact that he controlled so much oil had put a target on his back years ago. Fortunately, he wasn’t a worrier, nor overly preoccupied with his own mortality. Instead he chose to live his life as his father had—without fear.

Makin relaxed a little, glad to be home.

His family had palaces all over Kadar but the rustic tribal kasbah in Raha had always been his favorite. Even the name Kasbah Raha—Palace of Rest—symbolized peace. Peace and calm. And it was. Here in the desert he was able to think clearly and focus without the noise and chaos of modern city life to distract him.

“Let’s go over today’s schedule,” he said to Hannah, as his driver accelerated, leaving the tarmac and the sleek white jet behind. She was sitting to his left, pale but composed. He was glad to see her so calm. It gave him hope that all the personal drama was now behind them. “Which of my guests arrive first? And when?”

He waited for Hannah to reach for her briefcase or her phone but she did nothing. Had nothing. Instead she looked at him, her expression slightly baffled. “I don’t … know.”

He hesitated, thinking she was joking, not that she normally teased about things like that. But after a beat and a moment of awkward silence, he realized she was serious.

His jaw tightened, lips compressing as he understood that Hannah’s personal problems were far from over.

Makin’s frown deepened, eyebrows flattening above his eyes. “It’s your job to know.”

She took a quick breath. “It seems I’ve lost my calendar.”

“But your calendar is backed up on your laptop. Where is your laptop computer?”

Her shoulders lifted and fell. “I don’t know.”

Makin had to turn away, look at something else other than Hannah. Her helplessness was getting to him. He didn’t want to be angry with her, but he found everything about her provoking right now.

He focused on the desert beyond the car’s tinted window, soothed by the familiar landscape. To someone else the desert might look monotonous with miles of red-gold sand in every direction, but he knew this desert like the back of his hand and it centered him now.

“You’ve lost your computer?” he asked finally, gaze fixed on the undulating dunes in the distance.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I think I must have left it somewhere when I wasn’t … well.”

“In South Beach?”

“Before that.”

He turned his head sharply toward her. Her lavender-blue eyes appeared enormous in her pale face.

“It must have been Palm Beach,” she added softly, fingers lacing together. “Just after the polo tournament. I had it for the tournament, but then it was gone.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I should have. I’m sorry.”

She looked so nervous and desperate that he bit back his criticism and took a deep breath instead. She’d just had her heart broken. She wasn’t herself. Surely, he could try to be patient with her. At least for today.

He fought to keep his voice even. “Everything should be backed up on your desktop. When we get to the palace, you can go to your office and print off your calendar and update me later this afternoon.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He drew another breath as he considered her pale, tense face and rigid posture. Her shoulders were set, her spine elongated, her chin tilted. It was strange. Everything about her was strange. Hannah had never sat like this before. So tall and still, as if she’d become someone else. Someone frozen.

Which reminded him of last night on the airplane. His brow furrowed. “You talked in your sleep last night,” he said. “Endlessly.”

Her eyes met his and her lips parted but she made no sound.

“In French,” he continued. “Your accent was impeccable. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a native speaker.”

“You’re fluent in French?”

“Of course. My mother was French.”

She flushed, her cheeks turning dark pink. “Did I say anything that would embarrass me?”

“Just that you are in terrible trouble.” He waited, allowing his words to fall and settle before continuing. “What have you done, Hannah? What are you afraid of?”

A tiny pulse leapt at her throat and the pink in her cheeks faded just as quickly as it had bloomed there. “Nothing.”

She answered quickly, too quickly, and they both knew it.

Makin suppressed his annoyance. Who did she think she was fooling? Didn’t she realize he knew her? He knew her perhaps better than anyone. They’d worked so closely together over the years that he quite often knew what she would say before she said it. He knew her gestures and expressions and even her hesitation before she gave him her opinion.

But even then, they’d never been friends. Their relationship was strictly professional. He knew her work habits, not her life story. And he had to believe that if she’d gotten herself into trouble, she had the wherewithal to get herself out of it.

She was strong. Smart. Self-sufficient. She’d be fine.

Well, maybe in the long term, he amended. Right now Hannah looked far from fine.

She’d turned white, and he saw her swallow hard, once and again. She looked as if she was battling for control. “Do you need us to pull over?” he asked. “Are you—”

“Yes! Yes, please.”

Makin spoke sharply to the driver and moments later they were parked on the side of the narrow road. She stumbled away from the car, her high heels sinking into the soft sand.

He wasn’t sure if he should go after her—which is all he’d spent the last week doing—or give her some space to allow her to maintain some dignity.

Space won, and Makin and his driver stood next to the car in the event that their assistance was needed.

Even though it was still relatively early in the day, it was hot in the direct sun, with the morning temperature hovering just under a hundred degrees Fahrenheit. It was a very dry heat, he thought, sliding on his sunglasses, unlike Florida with its sweltering humidity.

Florida was fine, but this was his desert. This was where he belonged. They were just a few kilometers from Kasbah Raha now, and he was impatient to reach the palace.

He spent several months each year at Raha, and they were usually his favorite months.

Every day in Raha he’d wake, exercise, shower, have a light meal and then go to his office to work. He’d break for a late lunch and then work again, often late into the night. He enjoyed everything about his work and stayed at his desk because that’s where he wanted to be.

He wasn’t all work though. He had a mistress in Nadir whom he saw several times a week when there. Hannah knew about Madeline, of course, but it wasn’t something he’d ever discuss with her. Just as Hannah had never discussed her love life with him.

Makin’s cell phone suddenly rang, sounding too loud in the quiet desert. Withdrawing the phone from his trouser pocket, he saw it was his chief of security from the palace in Nadir.

Makin answered in Arabic.

As he listened, he went cold, thinking the timing couldn’t be worse. Hannah was already struggling. This would devastate her.

Makin asked his chief of security to keep him informed and then hung up. As he pocketed his phone, Hannah appeared, her graceful hands smoothing her creased turquoise cocktail dress. As she walked toward him, she gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about that.”

He didn’t smile back. “You’re still sick.”

“Low blood sugar. Haven’t eaten yet today.”

Nor had anything to drink, he realized, remembering now that she’d no coffee, tea or juice on the flight, either.

Makin spoke to his driver in Arabic, and the chauffeur immediately went to the back of the gleaming car, opened the trunk, and withdrew two bottles of water. He gave both to the sheikh and Makin unscrewed the cap of one, and handed the open bottle to Hannah.

“It’s cold,” she said surprised, even as she took a long drink from the plastic bottle.

“I have a small refrigerator built into the trunk. Keeps things cool on long trips.”

“That’s smart. It’s really hot here.” She lifted the bottle to her lips, drank again, her hand trembling slightly.

Makin didn’t miss the tremble of her hand. Or the purple shadows beneath her eyes. She was exhausted. She needed to eat. Rest. Recover.

She didn’t need more bad news.

She didn’t need another stress.

He couldn’t keep the news from her, nor would he, but he didn’t have to tell her now. There was nothing she could do. Nothing any of them could do.

He’d wait until they reached the palace to tell her about the call. Wait until she’d had a chance to shower and change and get something into her stomach because right now she looked on the verge of collapse.

“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the car.

CHAPTER FOUR

EMMELINE slowly rolled the cold water bottle between her hands, pretending to study the arid landscape, when in truth she was avoiding Makin’s gaze.

She knew he was looking at her. Ever since they’d stopped alongside the road, he seemed quieter, grimmer, if such a thing were possible.

Earlier, by the side of the road, she’d thought she heard his phone ring but she’d only stepped around the car for a minute or two, so if he had talked to someone, it had been a short call.

Her sixth sense told her the call had something to do with her.

Maybe it was paranoia, but she had a cold, sinking sensation in her gut that told her he’d begun to put two and two together and things weren’t adding up.

Had he figured out the truth? That she wasn’t the real Hannah Smith?

Still worried, Emmeline saw a shimmer of green appear on the horizon. The shimmer of green gradually took shape, becoming trees and orchards as the desert gave way to a fertile oasis.

Fed by an underground stream that came from the mountains, the oasis became a city of red clay walls and narrow roads.

The sheikh’s driver turned off the narrow highway onto an even narrower road shaded by tall date palms, the massive green-and-yellow fronds providing protection from the dazzling desert heat.

As the car approached the enormous gates ahead, they swung open, giving entrance into the walled city.

“Home,” Makin said with quiet satisfaction as they traveled down yet another long drive bordered by majestic date palms, the heavy fronds like feathered plumes against the clear blue sky.

More gates opened and closed, revealing a sprawling building washed in the palest pink. But as the car continued to travel, Emmeline discovered the palace wasn’t just one building, but a series of beautifully shaped buildings connected by trellises, patios, courtyards and gardens. No two were the same. Some had turrets and towers, others were domed, although each had the same smooth clay walls lushly covered in dark purple and white bougainvillea.

The car stopped before the tallest building, three stories tall with intricate gold-plated doors and massive gold, blue and white columns flanking the entrance.

Staff in billowy white pants and white jackets lined the entrance, smiling broadly and bowing low as Sheikh Al-Koury stepped from the car.

Having grown up in a palace, Emmeline was familiar with pomp, protocol and ceremony. Daily she’d witnessed the display of respect all were required to show the royal family, and yet there was something different about the sheikh’s staff.

They greeted him with warmth and a genuine sense of pleasure in his return. They cared about him, and she saw from the way he responded to each man, he cared about them.

Makin paused at the ornate entrance, waiting for her, and together they stepped through the tall gold doors, leaving the bright sunlight and dazzling heat behind.

The serene, airy foyer was capped by a high domed ceiling of blue and gold, the cream walls stenciled in sophisticated gold swirls and elegant patterns. Emmeline drew a slow breath, relishing the palace’s tranquility and delicious coolness. “Lovely,” she said.

The sheikh lifted a brow, and glanced enquiringly at her.

She flushed, remembering she was supposed to be Hannah and familiar with everything here. “The coolness,” she said. “Feels so good after the heat.”

He stared down at her a moment, expression peculiar. He seemed to be looking for something in her face, but what, she didn’t know.

And then he nodded, a short nod, as if he’d come to a decision. “I’ll walk you to your room,” he said. “Make sure everything is as it should be.”

Emmeline’s brow puckered at his tone. Something had happened. She was sure of it.

He set off, leaving her to follow, and they crossed the spacious foyer, through one of the many exquisitely carved arches that opened off the entrance, their footsteps echoing on the limestone floor.

He turned down a hallway marked by ornamental columns. Sunlight streamed through high windows. Mosaic murals decorated the ivory walls and large ornate copper lanterns were hung from the high ceiling to provide light in the evening.

They passed through another arch which led outside to a rose-covered arbor. The roses were in full bloom, a soft luscious pink, and the heady scent reminded Emmeline of the formal rose garden at the palace in Brabant. She felt a sudden pang for all that she’d lose once her parents knew she wouldn’t—couldn’t—marry King Patek, and why. They’d be scandalized. They’d insist she’d get an abortion, something she wouldn’t do.

There would be threats.

There would be anger.

Hostility.

Repercussions.

Makin paused before a beautiful door stained a rich mahogany and stepped aside for her to open it.

Hannah’s room, she thought, opening the door to a spacious apartment contained in its own building. The high-ceilinged living room spoke of an understated elegance, the colors warmer here than in the rest of the palace. The living-room walls were pale gold and the furniture was gold with touches of red, ivory and blue. She glimpsed a bedroom off the living room with an attached bathroom. There was even a small kitchen where Hannah could prepare coffee and make simple meals.

“The cook made your favorite bread,” he said, nodding at a fabric-wrapped loaf on the tiled kitchen counter. “The refrigerator also has your yogurts and milk, and everything else you like. If you won’t let Cook send you a tray for lunch, promise me you’ll eat something right away.”

She nodded. “I promise.”

“Good.” He hesitated, still standing just inside the doorway, clearly uncomfortable. “I need to tell you something. May we sit?”

She glanced at his face but his expression was shuttered, his silver gaze hard.

Emmeline walked to the low couch upholstered in a delicate silk the color of fresh butter, and moved some of the loose embroidered and jeweled pillows aside so she could sit down. He followed but didn’t sit. He stood before her, arms crossed over his chest, his gray linen shirt pulled taut at the shoulders.

He was without a doubt a very handsome man. He radiated power and control, but right now he was scaring her with his fierce expression.

“There’s been an accident,” he said abruptly. “Last night on the way to the airport, Alejandro lost control of the car and crashed. Penelope died on the scene. Alejandro’s in hospital.”

It was the last thing Emmeline had expected him to say. She struggled to process what he’d just told her. Her mouth opened and closed without making a sound. She tried again. Failed.

“He was in surgery all night,” Makin continued. “There was a lot of internal bleeding. His condition is extremely critical.”

Reeling from shock, Emmeline clasped her hands tightly together, too stunned to speak.

Penelope was dead. Alejandro might not survive surgery. And yet both had been so beautiful and alive just hours ago.

Impossible.

Eyes burning, she gazed blindly out the glass doors to the garden beyond. Behind the walled garden the red mountains rose high, reminding her of the red dress Penelope had worn last night. And just like that, the desert was gone and all Emmeline could see was Penelope’s vivid red dress against the billowing fabric of Alejandro’s white shirt.

Her throat squeezed closed. Hot acid tears filmed her eyes. “Alejandro was … driving?” she asked huskily, finally finding her voice.

“He was at the wheel, yes.”

“And Penelope?”

“Was thrown from the car on impact.”

Emmeline closed her eyes, able to see it all and hating the movie reel of pictures in her head. Stupid, reckless Alejandro. Her heart ached for Penelope who was so young—just nineteen.

A tear fell, hot and wet on Emmeline’s cheek. With a savage motion she brushed it away. She was furious. Furious with Alejandro. Furious that he took lives and wrecked them and threw them all away.

“I’m sorry, Hannah,” Makin said, his deep voice rumbling through her. “I know you imagined yourself in love—”

“Please.” Her voice broke and she lifted a hand to silence him. “Don’t.”

He crouched down before her, his powerful thighs all muscle, and caught her chin, forcing her to look at him. His silver-gray eyes glowed like pewter, hot and dark with emotion. “I know this isn’t an easy time for you, but you’ll survive this. I promise.”

Then he surprised her by gently, carefully, sweeping his thumb across the curve of her cheek, catching the tears that fell. It was such a tender gesture from him, so kind and protective, it almost broke her heart.

She hadn’t been touched so gently and kindly by anyone in years.

She’d never been touched by a man as if she mattered. “Thank you.”

Makin stood. “You’ll be all right,” he repeated.

She wished she had an ounce of his confidence. “Yes.” She wiped her eyes dry. “You’re right. I’ll shower and change and get to work.” She rose, too, took several steps away to put distance between them. “What time shall I meet you?”

“I don’t think you should try to do anything this afternoon.”

“I know there must be stacks of mail—”

“And hundreds of emails, as well as dozens of phone messages all waiting for your attention, but they can wait a little longer,” he said firmly. “I want you to take the rest of the day for yourself. Eat, sleep, read, go for a swim. Do whatever you need to do so that you can get back to work. I need your help, Hannah, but you’re absolutely useless to me right now.”