Authors: Sophia Lynn
“David! Oh my God, David, are you all right? Are you …”
She paused, barely breathing as she listened to her brother, nodding along to whatever he was saying.
“Oh thank God … Look, just go home. Go home and talk to Mom and Dad. Mom's worried sick. I am so glad you are all right … I … No.”
Her face took on that determined cast again, and Makeen knew that whatever her brother was asking of her, David had run into a wall. For a moment, Makeen could hate the young criminal for causing this to happen to his sister.
“David, no. It doesn't matter. Listen to me, it doesn't matter, all right? I'm doing what I want to do. This is … this is what needs to happen.”
She listened for another moment. Even from where he stood, Makeen could hear her brother's voice, even if he couldn't make it out. The young man was frightened, angry, perhaps ready to do something foolish.
“No. No. David, this is not something that you can control. I'm sorry. I'll … I'll talk to you when I can. I love you. Please, take care of yourself, all right? At the very worst, I'll see you in a month.”
While her brother was still talking, she ended the call with a finality that was impressive, and handed the phone back to Makeen.
“Well, are you—”
His words cut off in surprise as she threw herself into his arms. One moment he was walking an ice-cold maiden laying down the law like a young queen, and now his arms were full of a beautiful young woman shaking so badly he could feel it in his own body.
“Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at him. When her copper eyes were bright with tears, they shone like new pennies. “Thank you, oh God, thank you. I didn't know what I was going to do …”
In that moment, there was nothing that Makeen wanted to do more than to comfort her and to tell her that it was all going to be all right. Instead, he pushed her back, though he did so gently.
“He will be fine as long as he understands how to stay out of trouble,” Makeen said shortly. “Though I have to say that, given your family, I find that unlikely.”
Instead of being offended, she stood back and offered him a small smile that nevertheless managed to captivate him with its brilliance.
“That would not be an inappropriate response,” she said with a slight smile. “I … Thank you for what you have done.”
There it was again, that unmistakable urge to soften in the face of the woman who stood in front of him. Makeen had to remind himself that she was likely just as much of a con artist as her brother, perhaps even worse. At the very least, David had been caught, while Olivia stood freely, using her wiles on him.
“Perhaps do not thank me until the month is up,” he said. “Come on.”
***
The small plane took off from a private runway at the international airport, and Olivia had never felt shabbier when she took her seat. Makeen, of course, seemed to see the intense luxury of the plane as nothing more than his due. A pretty young woman in a neat uniform appeared to offer them drinks or food, both of which Olivia shyly refused. Makeen, who had the attendant pour him a small glass of red wine, glanced at her curiously.
“You should take advantage of the opportunity to eat,” he said. “I can't imagine that you have managed to feed yourself so well today.”
She shrugged a little, keeping her gaze down. After they had left the café, he had virtually ignored her, talking with his people to make arrangements for some kind of trip that they were taking. She had felt like a shadow, something that was almost comforting. It gave Olivia a chance to sort out her feelings, to figure out what she was doing, and how she was going to get through the next month with this man.
“I don't eat much,” she offered, and when she glanced up, she found him scowling.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, and just like it had before, her stomach growled.
He shook his head, summoning the attendant back with a beckoning gesture. “Bring her a small platter of mezes,” he said. “A little bit of everything.”
Olivia started to protest the trouble, but the woman was already moving, and Makeen raised a dark eyebrow at her.
“One of the things that you agreed to was that you would eat what I told you to,” he said. “Are you going back on our deal already?”
“No,” she said stung, sitting up straighter. “I wouldn't.”
“Good. So when the food comes, you will eat.”
She felt a stab of irritation at his casual high-handed ways, but then it occurred to her how kind it was. Instead, she smiled a little, inclining her head.
“All right, Makeen,” she said, still getting used to his name in her mouth. “Perhaps as I eat, you will tell me where we are going?”
He looked thoughtful at that for a moment, and then shrugged. She supposed that there was no harm in telling her where they were going as she had no real ability to escape him at this point.
“We are going to an old retreat of my family's, one high in the mountains,” Makeen said, his eyes focused on the hazy sky out the window. “It is a place that has been kept for the Sheikhs of Zahar and their lovers for generations, a place of peace.”
Olivia couldn't keep herself from stirring at his use of the word
lovers.
“Is that what we are?” she asked, keeping her voice low so the woman at the rear of the plane wouldn't be able to hear.
“It is what we will be,” he said shortly. “It is what you agreed to, what you offered to me, unless you are pulling back?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I am only curious as to what you might … want of me.”
Makeen's gaze turned back to her, and it was so possessive, so very dominant, that it made her heart beat faster just to see it. No matter what the situation was between them, no matter what had brought them together, there was something that drew her to this man. Who knew what they would have been in other circumstances, but in the here and now, they were lovers.
“Everything,” he breathed, and her heart beat faster.
Even if she had had a response to that, the attendant returned, setting a small plate of delicate morsels in front of her. For a moment, Olivia simply stared at the plate, taking in the beauty of the food before she could bring herself to eat it. It made Makeen chuckle a little.
“Have you always been such a connoisseur of beauty, little bird?” he asked, and she glanced up at him.
“Since I was a little girl, I was often ready to sacrifice practicality for beauty,” she said. “It was something that drove my parents mad, but David, unfortunately, encouraged it. He would bring bits of glass, ornaments, things that got broken when we inevitably moved or had to leave. They broke my heart, but he still brought them to me …”
Makeen nodded, his face softening slightly. “Then your brother did he what he could to preserve your spirit, and that was well done of him.”
“It was, or at least I thought so. It turned me into someone who likes pretty food at least.”
“Pretty as it is, you should still eat it,” he said, and for some reason, it made Olivia feel slightly defiant.
“Or what?” she asked daringly, and from the slight smile that curled his lips, she could tell he understood her.
“Or I will feed it to you.”
She wasn't sure what made her lean forward, her hands crossed primly in front of her and an expectant look on her face. For a moment, Makeen only stared at her, and then he laughed.
“All right. I can see that whatever kind of bird you are, you are a stubborn one.”
She watched, more fascinated than she thought she would be. His fingers were lean and graceful as he scooped a small amount of shiny black caviar onto a rye cracker and held it up to her lips. When he did that, she leaned forward, taking the morsel from his hand gracefully. She felt the momentary warmth of his fingertips as they brushed her lower lip, and then it was gone as she chewed the morsel with relish.
“Oh my gosh, that's so good,” she sighed happily. “More?”
Makeen laughed again, shaking his head. “Whatever else your parents did, they did not stop short of giving you nerve,” he said with admiration, and picked up another bite of food for her.
“Not like they could stop me,” she said, slightly smug.
“I think very little could,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips.
In surprisingly short order, she finished the meal that the attendant had brought to her, and she sat back in her seat, smiling with contentment. Throughout her entire strange meal, he had looked curious and fascinated with her, as if she were some kind of strange animal that he had tamed. In some ways, she supposed that he was.
“Do you do this often?” she asked, her voice soft. She knew that she might be buying trouble by asking her brother's benefactor something like that, but she had to know.
He settled back into his own chair, templing his fingers in front of him thoughtfully. When Makeen looked at her, it was with a shuttered glance that she couldn't read at all.
“Do you think I do?” he asked.
Olivia took the question seriously, examining it from every angle. Finally, when she thought she had her answer, she shook her head.
“No, not really. I think that you are a kind man, but I also think that you were surprised. You didn't expect me.”
That startled a laugh out of Makeen. “Honestly, I don't know if anyone would expect you, little songbird. And you are right. No, I have never done this before. However, it might be a habit that I have to take up if I start pulling in girls as pretty as you.”
Olivia narrowed her eyes. She wasn't sure why the idea of Makeen finding another woman the way he had found her was distasteful, but she couldn't help but feel a stab of anger. She pushed it away, because it wasn't a useful feeling as well.
“What do you expect from me?” she asked instead.
He raised an eyebrow. “What can I expect from you?” he responded, and she bit her lip.
“You can expect me to be myself,” Olivia said finally. “You can expect me to be grateful. You can expect me … to do what you want.”
He nodded, and if there was something sad or distressed about his expression, he hid it quickly. “This isn't something we can truly answer for each other right now,” he said firmly. “Later. We can speak about it later.”
They lapsed into a silence that was strangely companionable despite the strange road that had brought them there, and as she drowsed to the sound of the plane's engines, she watched him through the thick tangle of her eyelashes.
I don't know what I am doing,
she thought,
but I am not unhappy to be here with him.
CHAPTER FIVE
Olivia couldn't stop staring around her. The plane had dropped them off at what at first glance seemed like an enormous cabin in the mountains. It looked like something out of a fairy tale, with gorgeous stained glass windows and a green shale roof, but when she stepped inside, she was astonished by the modern conveniences. It really was a small mansion camped high on the mountain top.
“This place is incredible,” she murmured, looking around. “I've never seen anything like it.”
“And you won't again. This is a place that has been in my family for generations, and each one of us has left a mark on it. It will never be featured in any magazines, and the number of people who are not related to me who have been in it in the past twenty years can be counted on one hand.”
She turned to him in surprise. “Have you ever brought someone up here?”
“No,” he answered, but before she could read too much into that, he gestured towards the hallway.
“Your room is the second door on the right. Mine is across the hall from you. Move around, make yourself comfortable. Until and unless I need you for something, you are free to roam as you like.”
He paused, thinking for a moment. “Give yourself a few hours to get settled. At six, I would like you in the living room and ready to perform.”
She blinked at him. “What?”
“At six, I want you in the living room and ready to play something for me. I'm open minded. I doubt you could play something that I'd hate.”
“That's what you want me to do? Play you music?”
“Is that a problem? You brought your violin.”
She had to admit that it wasn't. When Olivia went to her room, she found it to be far more luxurious than any place she had ever stayed. It was easily the same size as the apartment her entire family was living in, and for a moment, she felt a pang of guilt. Then she put it aside because she had stranger things by far to worry about.
Olivia did as Makeen instructed her to do. She stretched out after the long flight, resting on the bed with her eyes closed for a little while, but she found she couldn't sleep. Finally, she reached for her violin. After all, if he wanted her to play, she needed to warm up. The moment she touched the familiar warm wood, Olivia felt a sense of peace go through her. She had this. She would always have this, no matter what happened.
When six o'clock rolled around, she was calmer than she had been in what felt like years. She rose up from her seat and with her violin and bow in hand, she went to the living room.
Makeen was already seated there and waiting for her. He had taken off his suit to dress in linen trousers and a shirt she recognized as a traditional Zahar tunic in deep red. He sat on the couch, ankle propped on the opposite knee and with a drink in his hand. He looked every inch a man bred to rule, and in that moment, she understood what it must have been like to be a musician in times long gone, brought before a man who held the power of life and death over his people and told to play.
Somehow, she did not feel nervous. She had never played for an audience of one before. She had certainly never played in front of someone who had so much power over her. Instead, she seated herself on the ottoman a few feet in front of him. She could feel his dark eyes on her, and there was something oddly sensual about the moment. In some ways, what she was about to do for him was more personal than taking off her clothes, and she thought that he understood that.
She fitted the violin under her chin, took a deep breath, and brought her bow down into the first delicate notes of Mozart's Violin Concerto No. 5. It was a light but startlingly difficult number, one that required all of her concentration. However, as she played, she realized that she was exquisitely aware of Makeen in a way that she had never been before. It felt as if her music was acting as a bridge between them, as if it could say the things that she didn't have the words for, or was too afraid to say.