"I also prefer dresses," he commented, taking her arm. "You have great legs, and I like to see them.
You used to wear dresses a lot, as I remember."
That's right, remind me, she thought savagely, but she managed to give him an impersonal answer.
"When I started working I found that pants are more suitable for the type of work I do." To change the subject she questioned, "Do you have the tickets?"
"Everything's taken care of," he assured her. "Do you want a cup of coffee before the flight's called?"
"No, thanks. I don't drink coffee while I'm traveling," she felt compelled to explain, and took a seat in an armchair. The glint in his gray eyes as he seated himself opposite her told her that Rhy was well aware why she hadn't chosen the sofa, but she ignored him and amused herself by watching the parade of earlymorning travelers.
Their flight was five minutes late, and Rhy was already restless when the loudspeaker called their flight number. He got to his feet and took her arm, and suddenly he gave her a whimsical smile. "Those are some spikes you're wearing," he commented. "You come up to my chin ... almost."
"They're also dangerous weapons," she said, her mouth curving.
"Are they? Are you planning to use them on me?" he asked, and before she could turn her mouth away he swooped his head down and captured her lips in a hard, hungry kiss that took her breath away.
"Rhy, please!" she protested, determined to hide the curling response she felt whenever he touched her.
"We're in public!"
"I get more chances to touch you in public than I do in private, so I'm going to take advantage of them," he muttered in warning.
"This is business!" she hissed. "Try to remember that. It won't do the magazine any good if a reporter acts badly in public."
"No one here knows you're a reporter," he retorted with a grin. "Besides, I'm your boss and I say it's okay."
"I have standards, even if you don't, and I don't like being pawed! Are you going to catch this flight or not?"
"I wouldn't miss it for the world," he drawled, and she caught his hidden meaning and flushed. Beyond any doubt Rhy was planning on a reconciliation during this trip, and she was equally determined to prevent such a thing from happening. Marina would never turn her away, she was certain, and she relished the thought of Rhy's fury when he found she'd evaded him.
But for now she faced a long flight in his company and she didn't relish that. Not only did his presence make her nervous, she was a restless traveler under the best of circumstances. Before they'd been in the air an hour she'd flipped through several magazines and made a stab at reading a paperback she'd brought with her, then abandoned that for a book of crossword puzzles. When she discarded that and tried reading her book again Rhy reached out and took her hand.
"Relax," he advised, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand, a gesture guaranteed to keep her from relaxing. "It's a long flight, and you're as jumpy as a flea. You'll be worn-out before we get to Paris, let alone Sakarya."
"I'm not a good traveler," she admitted. "I'm not good at sitting still with nothing to do." Already she was bored, and she yearned for her manuscript, but she'd been afraid to risk losing it, so she had left it behind.
"Try to take a nap," he advised. "You'll need it."
"I can't do that, either," she said with a rueful grin. "I'm just nervous enough of heights that I don't trust the pilot enough to go to sleep and let him handle it all."
"I didn't know you were afraid of heights," he said, and she bristled.
"I'm not afraid, I'm nervous. There's a difference. I fly all the time--or used to-and I've been in plenty of tight spots without going to pieces. I've even enjoyed some of them. In fact, I once took a few flying lessons, but that's another thing I didn't have the time to keep up."
"You've been busy," he said on an odd note. "What other accomplishments have you added since we parted company?"
He seemed to resent that and she suddenly felt proud that she had accomplished so much. At least he'd know that she hadn't been pining for him. "I speak six foreign languages, three fluently," she enumerated coolly. "I'm a fair shot, and I've learned how to stay on a horse. I've had to give up a lot of things I've tried-and that includes cooking and sewing, because I realized how boring they were.
Anything else?"
"I hope not," he retorted, his mouth quivering with amusement. "No wonder Downey sent you into so many hot spots, you probably bullied him into it!"
"Greg can't be bullied, he's tough as nails," Sallie defended her editor. "And he'd be in the field himself if he could."
"Why can't he? I remember him as one of the best, but he suddenly grounded himself, and I've never heard why."
"He was shot up pretty badly in Vietnam," Sallie explained. "And while he was recovering his wife died of a stroke. It was quite a shock, there'd been no warning at all, but all of a sudden she was dead.
They had two children, a boy and a girl, and the little girl had a hard time adjusting to her mother's death, so Greg decided to stay home with the kids."
"That's rough," Rhy commented. "He doesn't talk about it much."
"But he told you?" he asked sharply.
"In bits and pieces. Like I said, he doesn't talk about it much."
"A field reporter doesn't need a family. The old Pony Express advertised for riders who were orphans and had no family ties, and I sometimes think that should hold true for reporters, too."
"I agree," she said sharply, not looking at him. "That's why I don't want any ties."
"But you're not a reporter any longer," he murmured, his long fingers tightening around her hand.
"Consider this your swan song, because after this your position will be that of Mrs. Rhydon Baines."
Swiftly Sallie jerked her hand away from him and stared out at the cloud cover below them. "Are you firing me?" she bit out angrily.
"I will if you force me to. I don't mind if you work so long as you're home every night with me. Of course, when we have children I'll want you to be home with them while they're small."
She turned furious blue eyes on him. "I won't live with you," she said bitterly. "I can't live with you and be more than half-alive myself. The thought of being a housewife again is nauseating."
His mouth turned grim. "You're lying to yourself if you believe that. You've changed a lot of things, but you can't change the way you feel about children. I remember how you were when you were pregnant with our son-"
"Shut up!" she flared, her fingers curving into her palms as she strove to control her pain at the memory of her dead child. "Don't talk about my baby." Even after seven years the pain of losing him was raw and unhealed, and for the rest of her life she would mourn that small, lost life.
"My son, too," Rhy said tightly.
"Really?" she challenged, lowering her voice to keep others from hearing her. "You weren't there when I gave birth, and you were seldom home during my pregnancy. The only role you played was to physically father the baby. After that, I was on my own." She turned away, swallowing in an effort to control the tears that threatened as she remembered her son. She'd never heard him cry, never watched him look about at the strange new world he'd entered, but for several magic months she'd felt his movements as he kicked and turned inside her and he'd been real to her, a person, and he'd had a name.
She had somehow known she would have a boy, and he had been David Rhydon Baines, her son.
Rhy's fingers closed over her wrist so tightly that the fragile bones ground together and she winced with pain. "I wanted him, too," Rhy grouud out, then almost flung her wrist aside. The next several hours passed in silence.
There was no layover in Paris and Sallie guessed that Greg had made the arrangements, because he always arranged things as tightly as he could, sometimes resulting in a missed flight when the first flight was only a little late. She and Rhy had barely checked through customs when their connecting flight was called, and they had to run to make the plane. From Paris it was another seven hours before they landed at the new, ultramodern jetport in Khalidia, the capital of Sakarya, and because of the time change, instead of the night their bodies were ready for, they were thrown into the middle of the Sakaryan day.
Their weariness and the long hours had largely erased the constraint between them, and Sallie didn't protest when he took her arm as they walked across the tarmac to the low, sprawling air terminal. The heat was incredible, and she was actually grateful for Rhy's support.
"I hope the hotel's decent," Rhy muttered beneath his breath, "but the way I feel right now I don't care what it's like as long as I can catch some sleep."
She knew the feeling. Jet lag was worse than simply missing sleep, it was total drain. She certainly wasn't up to battling with Rhy over where she would sleep!
They couldn't find anyone who spoke English, but several of the Sakaryans spoke French and both she and Rhy knew that language well. The taxi driver who took them to the hotel in a remarkably battered Renault spoke a rough French, and from what he said they gathered that Khalidia was being overrun by Westerners. Many Europeans had already arrived, and many Americans, including a man with a big camera, and it was said that the King would be on American television. He did not have a television himself, but he had seen one, and he thought that the big camera was one used for making the pictures for the television.
He was talkative, as taxi drivers the world over seemed to be, and he pointed with pride to the gleaming new buildings existing alongside ancient structures baked white by the merciless sun.
Sakarya had the intriguing blend of old and new that so many developing nations displayed, with gleaming Mercedes limousines purring up and down the same streets used by donkeys. Camels were still used for travel in the Sakaryan desert, but overhead contrails were left by the sleek, screaming jets of the Sakaryan Royal Air Command.
The King had been educated at Oxford but, despite his absorption of European culture, he was by nature a cautious man, rather resistant to change. The Sakaryan nation was not a new one; it dated back to the day of Muhammad, and the family of A] Mahdi had held the monarchy for over five hundred years. There were deeply ingrained traditions to consider whenever Modernization was discussed and for the most part life in Sakarya went on as before. Motorized vehicles were nice, but the Sakaryans had gotten along without them before and would not mind if suddenly there were no more automobiles. The jetport was too noisy and the people who arrived on the big jets had strange customs.
However, the big new hospital was a source of pride and the children were eager to attend the new schools.
The man who had accomplished this modernization was the man Marina Delchamp had married, Zain Abdul ibn Rashid, the finance minister of Sakarya and a man of considerable influence with the King.
He was a dark, hawklike man with the coal black eyes of his race, and he'd been an international playboy since his college days in Europe. Sallie wondered if he loved Marina or was attracted only to her shining blond beauty. Did Zain Abdul ibn Rashid cherish Marina's gallant spirit, her natural dignity?
She worried over her thoughts like a terrier, for it wasn't easy for East to meet West. The cultural differences were so vast. Despite their spasmodic correspondence and the long intervals between their meetings Sallie considered Marina a true friend and she wanted her to be happy. She became so engrossed with her worries that she forgot to watch the scenery and was startled when the driver said in French, "The Hotel Khalidia. It is new and rich. You like it, yes?"
Peering around Rhy's shoulder Sallie admitted that she liked it, yes. The hotel was shielded on three sides by a row of carefully nurtured trees and beyond the trees was a high rock wall. The architecture wasn't ultramodern; instead, every effort had been made to insure that the hotel blended with its surroundings. The inside might offer every modem convenience, and she sincerely hoped it did, but the outer facade could have been ageless; it was clean and uncluttered in line, built of gleaming white stone, with deeply recessed windows.
Trying to keep up with Rhy, Sallie found that she was ignored when she tried to explain which cases were hers and which belonged to Rhy. A black-eyed young man in Western dress gave his attention solely to Rhy, not even glancing at her, and she received the same treatment from the desk clerk. The young man disappeared with their luggage and Rhy pocketed the room key.
When they were a few steps away from the desk clerk Sallie caught Rhy's arm. "I want a room of my own," she insisted, looking him in the eye.
"Sorry. I've registered us as man and wife and you'll have a hard time persuading an Islamic man to give you another room," he informed her with evident satisfaction. "You knew what to expect when you came on this trip."
"What do I have to say to get it through you head-" she began in frustration, and he cut her short.
"Later. This isn't the place for a public argument. Stop being difficult, all I want is a shower and a few hours' sleep. Believe me, you're perfectly safe right now."
She didn't believe him, but she had to retrieve her luggage, so she followed him into the elevator, and he punched the button for the fourth floor.
Even as tired as she was the charm of the room made her catch her breath and she barely noticed as Rhy tipped the young man who'd brought up their bags. Though actually only one large room, it was separated by intricate wrought-iron screens in two areas, a sitting room to the front and the bedroom to the rear. A balcony ran the length of the room and it was furnished with two white wicker chairs with thickly padded cushions and a wicker lounger. A Small tea table stood between the two chairs.
Stepping onto the balcony, she could see the huge swimming pool below, set among palm trees, and she wondered if women were allowed to use the pool.
Returning to the room, she inspected the divanstyle bed and smiled at the number of vari-colored cushions that adomed it. The parquet floor was covered in this area by a rug that looked Turkish but was probably a mass-produced copy. That made no difference, the effect was still stunning. Of all the hotels she'd stayed in she already liked this one the best. The food might be terrible, the service nonexistent for all she knew, but she adored the room!