Desert Jewels: The Sheikh's Undoing / The Sultan's Choice / Girl in the Bedouin Tent

He gave a slow smile as he loosened his tie and dropped it in front of her like a calling card. She sounded as unruffled as she always did when she spoke to him in the office—her cool air of composure barely slipping. Why, nobody would guess that the last time they’d seen each other she had been giving him oral sex in the back of his darkened limousine. Demonstrating yet another new-found sexual skill which she seemed to have adopted with her usual dexterity.

And he had reciprocated by sliding his fingers beneath her skirt and bringing her to a shuddering orgasm just moments before he’d left the car to catch his flight to JFK.

Yet to look at her now she seemed light-years away from his fevered and erotic memory of her. She looked restrained and efficient—almost prim.

To Tariq’s surprise, any fears he’d had that she would become cloying or demanding had not been realised. Despite being such a sexual novice, Izzy seemed to have no problems juggling her dual roles as his lover and PA, and was as discreet as anyone in his position could have wished for.

He frowned. The only downside was that she seemed to be getting underneath his skin in a way he hadn’t anticipated. By now he should have been growing a little bored with her—because that was his pattern. Once the gloss of new sex had worn off, predictability tended to set in—and three weeks was usually long enough for him to begin to find out things about a woman which irritated him.

But Izzy was different, and he wasn’t quite sure why. Might it be because she knew him better than almost anyone? Working so closely with him over the years had given her glimpses of the private person that he would never have allowed another to see. Sometimes it felt as though she had already stripped away several layers to see the man who lay beneath. Was that what gave sex with her its extra dimension of closeness? Or was it just the fearless way she responded to him? The way she looked straight into his eyes while he was deep inside her? As if she wanted to see into his soul with those big tawny eyes of hers. Sometimes it unsettled him and sometimes it did not—but it always excited him.

He watched as she picked up his discarded tie and began to roll it into a neat silken coil. ‘So, did you miss me?’ he repeated.

Isobel put the tie down and looked at him. What would he do if she told him that she always missed him? That she wished she could suddenly become one of his ties, so that she could wrap herself round his neck all day and stay there? He would run a million miles away—that was what he would do. Declarations of adoration were not what Tariq wanted, but she could see perfectly well from his darkening eyes just what he did want.

She rose from her desk and walked towards him, aware of his gaze on her and conscious of the fact that her thighs were bare above her stocking tops. She’d dressed with deliberate daring for the office this morning, knowing that he was bound to want her as soon as he arrived—and determined to feed into the fantasies he had assured her on the phone last night had been building all week.

She might be new to all this, but some survival instinct had made her turn herself into the best lover she could possibly be. Because wasn’t that her default method? To do something to the best of her ability? Didn’t that usually mean security? If you became so good at something then you wouldn’t be replaced.

Only this wasn’t a new job, or a new project which was going to enhance her life. This was all about a relationship—it was strange new territory. Her mother’s often repeated warnings still came to her from time to time, but how could she take them seriously when she was looking into the glittering hunger of Tariq’s black eyes and feeling the lurch of her heart in response?

‘Of course I’ve missed you,’ she said softly.

‘How much, on a scale of one to ten?’

‘Well…’ She pretended to think about it. ‘How about seven?’

‘Seven?’

‘Eight, then. Nine! Tariq! Okay—ten!’

‘You’re wearing stockings,’ he breathed in disbelief.

‘Well, you’ve nagged me often enough about my tights.’

‘With good reason. Let me see.’ He lifted up her skirt and expelled a small appraising sigh. The tops of the dark silk stockings had been embroidered with deep turquoise and green, so that it looked as if some peacock had wrapped its feathers enticingly around her thighs and left them there. ‘You know that there are consequences to dressing like that?’ he questioned unsteadily.

‘What kind of consequences might they be?’

‘Can’t you guess?’ he breathed, as he placed her hand on the fly of his trousers.

‘T-Tariq.’

‘I want you, Izzy.’

‘You always want me,’ she whispered back, her fingertips caressing the thick, hard shaft.

He swallowed. ‘And is it mutual?’

‘You know it is.’

He caught her by the shoulders and looked down into her widened tawny eyes. ‘Then why don’t you show me how much you’ve missed me?’ he questioned unsteadily. ‘Because I have missed you too, kalila.’

She savoured his unsteady words as she rose up on tiptoe to kiss him, revelling in the sheer pleasure of being in his arms again. She closed her eyes as his practised fingers began to reacquaint themselves with her body. At times like this, when he could reduce her to boneless longing within seconds, it was easy to imagine that a unique bond existed between them. Was that because they seemed to have the ability to anticipate each other’s needs—despite the disparity of their experience—or was it because they simply knew each other so well?

Or was it something far more commonplace? He’d told her candidly that making love without having to wear a condom was the biggest turn-on he’d ever known. For him, that was a brand-new experience, and that was rare enough to excite a man who’d been having sex since he was a teenager. She’d tried telling herself that Tariq’s reaction to her was purely physical. Because if she looked the truth straight in the face then surely there was less likelihood of her getting hurt?

If only her own feelings were as straightforward. If only she hadn’t started to care. Really care. She wondered if it was normal for a woman to become a little more emotionally vulnerable every time her man made love to her. For her to start wanting things she knew she wasn’t supposed to want—things he’d specifically warned her against? Things that Tariq was renowned for never delivering—and especially to a woman like her. Stuff like commitment and happy-ever-after.

‘Izzy?’

She closed her eyes, letting go of the last of her troubled thoughts, allowing pure and delicious sensation to take over instead. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, as he pushed her down onto the floor and sank down beside her. ‘Oh, yes.’

His fingers were on her flesh now, stroking open the moist and heated flesh at the very core of her, and he was saying, ‘Luloah…’ softly and fervently beneath his breath, something which Isobel had learnt meant ‘pearl’ in his native tongue.

‘You taste of honey,’ he said on a shuddered breath, his mouth high on her thigh.

‘Tariq—’ His tongue had reached the most sensitive part of her anatomy, and Isobel gave a little gasp of pleasure as she felt its delicate flick. Glancing down, she could see the erotic image of her boss’s black head between her legs, and the sheer intimacy of it only increased the sensations which were beginning to ripple through her.

Her head fell back as an unstoppable heat began to build, and she trembled on the brink as he teased her with his tongue.

‘Tariq,’ she gasped again, clutching at his shoulders, her fingers biting into him.

‘What?’ he drawled against her heated flesh.

Tariq, I think I’m falling in love with you!

But her passionate thoughts dissolved as a feeling of intense pleasure washed over her—strong enough to sweep away everything else in its wake. Wave after wave of it racked her trembling body—and just when she thought it couldn’t get any better he thrust deep inside her.

‘You feel so good,’ he said unsteadily.

‘So…do you.’

He thrust even deeper, his breaths becoming long and shuddering. ‘And I’ve been wanting to do this to you all week.’

She heard his voice change and felt his body tense, watched him splinter with his own pleasure. She loved the helplessness of his orgasm, feeling in those few heightened moments of sensation that he was really hers.

Afterwards, they lay wrapped tightly in each other’s arms, until Isobel lifted her head to free some of the hair which was trapped beneath his elbow.

‘You know, we’re going to have to stop meeting like this,’ she murmured.

Tariq laughed, drawing his fingers through the spill of her curls and marvelling at how uncomplicated all this seemed. His mouth settled into a curve of satisfaction. He could walk in from a trip and within minutes have her writhing and compliant in his arms. There were no demands made, nor questions asked. What could be better than that?

‘I think this is a very good place to meet.’ He yawned. ‘You’ve brought a whole new meaning to the expression “job satisfaction”.’

But Isobel wasn’t really listening. Now that her euphoric state had begun to evaporate she was remembering what she’d been thinking at the height of their lovemaking. About loving him.

She stared at the ceiling, her heart beginning to pound with fear. Love? Surely she wasn’t crazy enough to waste an emotion like that on a man who very definitely didn’t want it? Who had explicitly warned her against it? And hadn’t her mother done the very same? She’d managed to convince her daughter that love was rare—and Isobel knew it was an impossibility to expect it from a seasoned playboy who shied away from commitment.

Uncomfortably, she wriggled, wanting to get away, to try and soothe her confused thoughts into some kind of order. ‘Tariq, we can’t lie here all day.’

‘Why not? We can do anything we like.’ He touched his lips to hers. ‘I am the boss.’

She pulled away from him—but not before he had caught hold of her, his eyes narrowed. ‘Something is wrong, kalila?’ he queried softly. ‘You are angry with me because we have had yet another fumble on the floor of the office?’

Isobel smiled. ‘I can hardly blame you for wanting instant sex when I was a willing participant. I just happen to know that there’s a whole pile of things which need your attention. And we are supposed to be working.’

Yawning, he rose to his feet and held out a hand. ‘By the way—I’ve brought you a present from New York,’ he said as he pulled to her feet.

‘Oh?’ She felt her heart skip a beat. ‘It’s not my birthday.’

“That’s a little disingenuous of you, Izzy.’ Walking over to his briefcase, he slanted her a lazy smile as he withdrew a slim leather case. ‘Don’t you like presents?’

She wasn’t sure—her feelings were pretty mixed when it came to presents from Tariq. She wanted to be the first and only woman he’d ever bought a gift for. Not to feel as if she was just one in a long line of women who smiled their acceptance of whatever glittering trinket he had bought them. But she was. That was exactly what she was.

She wanted to tell him that she didn’t need presents. Because she knew him too well and she knew how he operated. Her counterpart in New York had probably been dispatched to choose something for her—just as she had chosen such gifts for his lovers many times before. She had probably even consulted him to find out what the budget for such a gift should be.

But she kept silent. She was curious and scared, knowing that she was in no position to make highly charged pronouncements because of what the outcome might be. Because mightn’t he just shrug his shoulders and walk away?

So she took the box he handed her and flipped open the clasp with fingers which were miraculously steady. The first irreverent thought which crossed her mind was that she was pretty low down on the price scale. After five years of choosing various sparklers for Tariq’s women, she could see instantly that her own offering would not have caused a stratospheric hole in his wallet. No diamonds or emeralds for her.

But in a stupid way she was glad. Precious jewels would have been all wrong on someone like her: they would have felt like some sort of payment and they wouldn’t have suited her. Instead Tariq had bought her something she might actually have saved up for and bought for herself.

Lying on bed of blue-black velvet lay a shoal of opals, fashioned into in a dramatic waterfall of a necklace. Isobel drew it out of the box. The stones were dark grey—almost black—but as the necklace shimmered over her fingers she could see the transformation of each gem into a vivid rainbow.

‘Do you like it?’ questioned Tariq.

Isobel blinked. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,’ she whispered.

‘I chose it myself,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘I liked the element of surprise. In some lights it looks quite subdued—while in other aspects it’s amazingly vibrant.’ His eyes narrowed and his tone was dry. ‘A little like you, in fact, Izzy.’

Isobel suddenly became extremely preoccupied with the jewellery, swallowing down the glimmer of tears which were hovering at the back of her eyes. He’d chosen it himself. To her certain knowledge he’d never done that before—not in all the time she’d worked for him. So did that mean anything? She couldn’t help the wild leap of her heart. Did such an unexpected gesture mean that his feelings for her might be growing and changing? Dared she…dared she hope for such a thing?

‘You do like it, Izzy?’

His question broke into her thoughts and she lifted her head. ‘I do like it. In fact, I love it.’

‘Good.’ There was a pause. ‘I thought you might want to wear it tomorrow night.’

She heard the studied casualness in his voice. ‘Why? What’s happening tomorrow night?’

‘My brother is in town.’

She blinked. ‘You mean your brother, the King?’

‘I only have one brother,’ he answered drily. ‘He flew my sister-in-law to Paris for their wedding anniversary. Francesca hasn’t been back in England in nearly a year, so they’ve decided to come on to London. Our embassy is throwing a formal dinner for them tonight—which I shall have to attend. But tomorrow they want to meet up privately. You’ve spoken to Zahid on the phone so many times that I thought you might like this opportunity to meet him.’

Carefully, she put the necklace back in its case and smiled. ‘I’d love to meet your brother,’ she said.

‘Good.’ Tariq walked through to his private office, calling out over his shoulder, ‘I’ll let you have the details later.’

Isobel waited until the door had closed behind him, then stared at the jewellery case in her handbag, a strange cocktail of emotions forming a tight knot at the pit of her stomach. She might be going out of her mind, but try as she might she couldn’t quite subdue the sudden flare of happiness which rose within her. Hand-picked jewels and meeting his brother were surely remarkable enough to merit a little analysis. Was it possible that, deep down, Tariq was willing to move this relationship on to something a little more tangible?

Cold reason tried to swamp her as she remembered the emphatic way he’d told her that he didn’t ever want commitment, or a family of his own. But measured against that was the terrible loneliness he’d experienced as a child. Maybe now he was coming to realise that people could change—and so could circumstances. That what they had was good. That it didn’t have to peter out after a few weeks—that maybe it could endure and grow. Was that too much to hope for?

But she felt as if she was on shifting sands—her hopes quickly replaced by a strange feeling of foreboding as she remembered something she’d read somewhere.

She clicked open the box to stare at the multi-hued fire of her brand-new necklace, and frowned. Because weren’t opals supposed to be awfully unlucky?

CHAPTER NINE

‘YOU look fine, Izzy. Really.’

For the umpteenth time Isobel smoothed damp palms down over her thick mass of curls, aware that she was probably mussing her hair up instead of flattening it. She frowned at Tariq. What kind of a recommendation was that? ‘Fine’ wasn’t the kind of description she wanted when she was about to meet the King of Khayarzah and his English bride Queen Francesca. Not when she felt so nervous that her knees were actually shaking.

‘That’s a pretty lukewarm endorsement,’ she said.

His black eyes gleamed as he captured one of her fluttering hands and directed it towards his mouth. ‘I thought honesty was our mantra?’

‘Maybe it is, but sometimes a woman needs a little fabrication.’

‘No need for fabrication, kalila,’ he said. He brushed her a brief kiss as their car drew to a halt outside the glittering frontage of the Granchester Hotel, but if the truth were known he was finding this very feminine need for reassurance a touch too domestic for his taste. Had it been wise to extend this invitation? he wondered. Or was Izzy now reading far more into it than he’d intended her to read? Maybe he should have made it clearer that there was no real significance behind the meeting with his brother. ‘You look absolutely stunning,’ he drawled. ‘Didn’t I tell you exactly that just an hour ago?’

Yes, he had, Isobel conceded. But a man said all kinds of things to a woman when he had just finished ravishing her in the middle of his big bed…

Their spontaneous lovemaking had left her running late—but maybe it was better not to have had time to fret about her appearance when she’d been nervous enough already. She was wearing a new dress in grey silk jersey, and its careful draping did amazing things for her figure. She’d teamed the dress with high-heeled black suede shoes, and on Tariq’s instructions had left her hair hanging loose. She’d wondered aloud if the wild cloud of Titian curls was not a little too much, but he had wound his fingers through its corkscrew strands and told her that it was a crime to hide it away.

Her only adornment was the opals he had brought her back from America, and they sparkled rainbow light at her throat and dominated the subdued palette of her outfit. The gems he’d chosen for her himself… How could such beautiful gems possibly be unlucky? she asked herself, her fingertips reaching up to touch the cool stones as a doorman sprang to open the car door.

The private elevator zoomed them up to the penthouse suite, and when the door was opened by a man who was unmistakably Tariq’s brother all Isobel’s expectations were confounded.

He had the same hawk-like features as Tariq—and the same knockout combination of ebony hair and glowing olive skin. But he was casually dressed in dark trousers, and although he was wearing a silk shirt he was tieless. Isobel had been expecting to be greeted by a servant, so her curtsey was hastily scrambled together and illprepared. But King Zahid smiled at her as he indicated that she should rise.

‘No formality,’ he warned. ‘That is my wife’s instruction, and I dare not disobey!’

‘Why, Zahid—you sound as if you are almost under the thumb,’ mocked Tariq softly.

‘Perhaps I am. And a very beautiful thumb it happens to be,’ murmured Zahid.

‘You’ve changed,’ observed Tariq, creasing his brow in a frown. ‘You’d never have admitted to something like that in the past.’

‘Ah, but everything changes, Tariq,’ said Zahid. ‘That is one of life’s great certainties.’

For a moment the light of challenge sparked between the eyes of the brothers, and for a moment Isobel caught a glimpse of what the two men must have been like as children.

‘Come this way,’ continued Zahid, leading them into an enormous sitting room whose floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the park.

And there, with a baby on her knee and another crawling close by on the floor, was the English Queen Francesca, her dark hair tied back in a ponytail and a slightly harassed smile on her face. She had a snowy blanket hanging over one shoulder, and was holding a grubby white toy polar bear, at which the sturdy baby on her lap kept lunging.

Isobel blinked. The last thing she’d expected was to see a queen in blue jeans, playing nursemaid!

‘No, please don’t curtsey, Izzy—we’re very relaxed here,’ said Francesca with a wide smile. ‘But if you want to be really helpful you could pick up Omar before he tries to eat Zahid’s shoe! Azzam has already tried! Darling, I do wish you’d keep them out of reach.’

Rather nervously, Isobel bent to scoop up the blackhaired baby, aware that one of these precious boy twins was the heir to the Khayarzah throne. A robust little creature, Omar was wearing an exquisite yellow romper suit which contrasted with his ebony curls. He took one long and suspicious look at the woman now holding him, then gave a shout as he began to tug at her hair.

Isobel giggled as she extricated his tiny chubby fingers, all the nerves she’d been feeling suddenly evaporating. You couldn’t possibly feel uptight when you were holding a cuddly bundle like this. He was so sweet! She risked a glance at Tariq, but met no answering smile on his face. In fact his expression suddenly looked so glacial that she felt momentarily flummoxed. But at least he was now directing the chilly stare at his brother instead of her.

‘Don’t you have any nannies with you?’ Tariq asked Zahid coolly.

‘Not one,’ answered Zahid, giving his wife a long and indulgent look. ‘Francesca decided that she wanted us to have a “normal” family holiday—just like other people.’

‘And you agreed?’ questioned Tariq incredulously.

‘Actually, I find that I’m enjoying the experience,’ said Zahid. ‘It’s useful to be “hands-on”.’

‘I want our children to know their parents,’ said Francesca firmly. ‘Not to be brought out like ornaments, for best. Zahid, aren’t you going to offer our guests a drink?’

Isobel saw Tariq’s face darken. Clearly he did not approve of the babies being present, and she noticed that he kept as far away from his nephews as possible. She wondered how he could possibly ignore such cute little black-haired dumplings, before deciding that it was his problem and that she was just going to relax and enjoy herself.

In fact the evening went much better than she could have hoped. She took turns cuddling both Omar and Azzam, and ended up kicking off her high-heeled shoes and helping Francesca bath the twins in one of the fancy en-suite bathrooms. Her dove-grey dress was soon splattered with drops of water, but she didn’t care.

They grappled to dress the wriggling boys in animaldotted sleepsuits, and then brought them in to the men to say goodnight, all warm and rosy and smelling delicious. But she noticed that Tariq’s embrace was strictly perfunctory as each baby was offered up to him for a kiss.

She tried not to be unsettled by his rather forbidding body language as she and Francesca carried the babies through to the bedroom and laid them down in their two little cots. For a while they stood watching as two sets of heavily hooded eyes drooped down into exhausted sleep, and then—as if colluding in some wonderful secret—both women smiled at each other.

Francesca bent to tuck the polar bear next to Azzam, then straightened up. ‘You know, we’ve never met any of Tariq’s girlfriends before,’ she said.

Isobel wasn’t quite sure how to respond. She didn’t really feel like his girlfriend—more like an employee, with benefits. But she could hardly confess that to the Sheikh’s sister-in-law, could she? Or start explaining the exact nature of those ‘benefits’? Instead, she smiled.

‘I’m very honoured to be here,’ she answered quietly.

Francesca hesitated. ‘Sometimes Zahid worries about Tariq. He thinks that surely there’s only so much living in the fast lane one person can do. It would be nice to see him settle down at last.’