The Sheikh's Destiny (Harlequin Romance) (14 page)

She felt him removing the rest of the burq'a to reveal her plain cotton skirt, rose-hued shirt and sandals as she wound a hand into his hair, the other holding him tight at his waist.
She loosened his shirt and slid her hand beneath, palms and fingers drinking in the man she loved. ‘Ah,' she cried as his mouth trailed over her jaw, her ear, shivering with a primal force growing with each time they touched. ‘Alim, say it one more time, call me your star.'

‘I love you, Sahar Thurayya,' he whispered in her ear. ‘My bright, beautiful dawn star, you lit me up when I was hiding in the darkness, you made me a man again.'

Clinging to him, whispering clumsy words to him of her love, she felt the change begin, her joy fail. Their love was like the dawn star he'd compared her to: seen for a brief, shining moment, lighting her life like the morning sky, but it was impossible to hold within her hands. She was a beggar maid to his king, a gutter snipe to his poet. This wasn't real love; it was gratitude for saving him, she knew that…but that he even
thought
he loved her now was her life's private treasure. It had to be enough, because it was all she could have.

‘I have to go,' she muttered as his kisses grew so frantic she knew it was now or never—and for his sake it had to be never.

‘Stay with me tonight,' he murmured against her throat, hot, rough, demanding.

She shivered again, fighting temptation with all she had. ‘I can't,' she whispered, feeling a jolt of pain rush through her as she took her hands from him. ‘Please don't,' she cut in when he began to speak. ‘It will only make things worse.'

She had to cut the connection while there was a chance he'd get over it. He had to produce heirs for the sake of his nation—and she wasn't kidding herself that he'd love her for ever. She knew she wasn't unforgettable by the way Latif had left her life at a speed faster than Alim could create in his best Formula One car.

The passion died in his eyes, but the love, the care for her,
grew stronger. ‘If he finds you, Hana…do you want that to be your first time? Or will he do worse to you to protect himself?'

She wheeled away. If he knew what she believed Mukhtar would do to her, no force on earth would stop him from trying to protect her from him. ‘I'll be fine. I promise.'

‘You can't promise. In the Russian-roulette life you live, there'll always be another Mukhtar, another Sh'ellah.' His voice was harsh, but not aimed at her. ‘Come back with me to Abbas al-Din. I swear you'll be happy—and I couldn't be otherwise if you're near me.'

The lure of happiness pulled at her heart and soul, poor, helpless fish—but the hook he dangled with the lure was a killer. ‘I'll be fine. I survived twenty-six years before I met you—' she forced the teasing twinkle into her eyes ‘—I'm fairly sure I can stumble through the days, aft…' The words dried up, and she closed her eyes. She couldn't say it.
After you're gone
.

‘For thirty-seven years I tried everything the world could offer, education, travel, excitement—and my heart wasn't in anything, Hana. Then I met you and it was as if I crammed an entire lifetime into a few days. Strangers' souls entwined for ever, my star. What we feel is for life, whether you believe it now or not.' He turned her back to him, caressing her arms as he looked into her eyes. ‘This isn't over. I won't let it be over. I won't let you hide from me.'

She blinked hard, but the tears welled up faster than she could control them. ‘It has to be over. Please don't ask me again.' She hiccupped on the last word.

His thumbs brushed her cheeks; his mouth followed, kissing her tears away, and more fell. ‘I mean it, Hana. This isn't over. I'll find a way for us. You have my heart, my wise, cheeky star, you bring light and love to my life. I refuse to endure life without you.' He smiled down at her, as strong as
he was tender, and another hiccup escaped her, a half-controlled sob of loss. His arms enfolded her. She snuggled in, trying to catch her breath, to stop her throat
hurting
so badly.

‘You're tired. I'll call Yandi to take you to your accommodation,' he murmured, after a long time had passed, and the music on the CD player had faltered to silence.

She nodded against his shoulder. Alim helped her back into her burq'a, her old friend and shield that had begun to feel like her enemy, symbolising all she was leaving behind. Again.

When Yandi was waiting outside the house for her, Alim held the door open, and she almost ran through it. At the top stair of the wide balcony leading to the night-flooded beach, she turned for a moment. Taking her last look at him.

‘It's not over. I'll find a way for us,' he said, low and intense.

She shook her head. ‘Go home. Be the man you were always meant to become. And—and be happy, Alim. I need you to be happy.'

She fled down the stairs before she could do something stupid, like tell him she'd changed her mind, she'd do anything to be with him another day. Another moment.

The next afternoon

T
HE
female UN delegate looked directly at Hana. Alim could see she wanted to squirm every time one of them paid attention to her. She'd sat through the interview for three hours in silence unless someone asked her something directly. ‘Hana, you did a brave thing in saving Sheikh El-Kanar. If you ever need help with anything, please call me.' She handed her a card.

‘Thank you,' she said yet again, and rose. The need to get away, to hide once again was so strong on her face, he wondered if they could all see it. ‘I'll leave you all now.'

With ten long strides he caught up to her in the doorway. ‘Hana.'

She gave a silent, mirthless laugh as she turned at the outside door. ‘I don't know if I'd have been more disappointed or relieved if you hadn't followed me.'

‘I told you we're not over,' he said, gently pushing her outside the door, closing it behind him. The sun shone brightly on them both; the warm breeze caressed them.

‘Please stop,' she whispered with an anguished glance around, to see who watched. ‘We can't do this, Alim, you know we can't.'

His eyes blazed, but he spoke gently. ‘I made a few calls last night. There are things you need to know.' He pulled a thick roll of paper from his jacket without ceremony.

Her gaze lifted, searched his for a moment. Slowly she took the paper from his hand.

‘I hereby find the marriage ceremony between Mukhtar Said and Hana al-Sud, signed by Malik al-Sud on behalf of his daughter Hana al-Sud, to be illegal according to Amendment 1904 of the year 2001 by The Supreme Ruler of beloved Memory, Sheikh Fadi El-Kanar, and therefore declare the marriage to be void. Signed, Mahet Raad, Supreme Justice of the nation of Abbas al-Din.'

She read the document aloud in Gulf Arabic in a dazed voice. Eyes glazed with shock stared into his. ‘The marriage is void? But how…Alim, I told you—my family…?'

‘I found Mukhtar,' he replied grimly. ‘He was persuaded to give me a written confession to his lies, and the deception he practised on your father and the imam. He'd forged your signature on a betrothal agreement, so they'd believe the marriage was legal.' He held out a second piece of paper, Mukhtar's confession. He didn't tell her about Latif's heartfelt apologies. He didn't want any ghosts between them.

When she finished reading the second paper, her hand lifted unsteadily to her forehead. ‘Alim…I'm
free
?'

Her other hand reached out to him. He took it in his, again feeling the inexplicable sense of homecoming. ‘You're free, Sahar Thurayya. Free to do whatever you wish.'

Her eyes darkened; she shook her head. ‘But…my family? Do they know?'

‘They know,' he said grimly. ‘They're waiting to see you. You're coming to Abbas al-Din with me—' he checked his watch ‘—in five hours.'

Her hand gripped his, her eyes dazed. ‘What? I—I didn't hear you…' She swayed.

Alim cursed himself, and scooped her into his arms. ‘Too many shocks in a few minutes.' He opened the door and, without looking to see if the assemblage of people inside his house watched them, he carried her into a spare room, laying her down on the bed. He removed the veil that was her shield, her protection against the world, and caressed her cheek. ‘I took your strength for granted, my star. Rest here until it's time to go.'

Eyes huge with uncertainty stared up at him. ‘What did you say before?'

She really hadn't heard him. He sat on a chair by the bed, taking her hand in his. ‘I got all the information within hours—Mukhtar's escape plan failed when you left, and he ended up in prison. He was persuaded to tell the truth in exchange for a transfer to a lower-security facility.' He didn't mention the hours of haggling negotiation with Mukhtar's lawyer as Mukhtar tried to gain freedom in exchange for his confession. Instead he moved to the point he knew really interested her. ‘I talked to your father last night, Hana. They're in Abbas al-Din now, visiting your sister. They know you told them the truth. Any more is their story to tell—but they want to see you. We fly out in five hours.'

A shiver raced through her. She looked anything but happy. Slowly she shook her head. ‘No.' The word quivered, but sounded final.

‘No to what?' he asked, frowning. His mind was sieving through mud right now after a sleepless night arranging for Hana's freedom.

‘No to everything.' She turned her face from him. ‘I need to go.'

‘No, damn it, you don't. You're not running away again,
Hana. I won't let you play the coward,' Alim snarled, losing it without warning—and she stared up at him, her eyes huge, and filled with the strangest mixture of uncertainty, stubbornness…and intrigue.

Exultation shot through him. She
wanted
to say yes, he could feel it—and she was responding to his fury with interest instead of in mockery. Hana would never accept orders—unless she
trusted
him, wanted and loved him enough to hope there could be a future for them…

But one thing was painfully obvious to him: if she was thinking of a life together, she wasn't ready to admit it. He'd known that last night even as she'd said
I love you
. She might want a future with him, but she didn't believe in it. But if she came to Abbas al-Din with him, he was hoping to show her that, again, her deepest fear was over. It existed only now in her mind, like the monster in her childhood cupboard.

‘You've faced and passed the hardest tests on earth the past five years—so why are you being such a coward now?' He purposely kept his voice hard. ‘You're free of Mukhtar, free of the chains holding you. Your family made the wrong decision, and yes, they hurt you—but you love them. It's time to stop running from them. It's time you forgave them.'

‘You don't understand,' she muttered, a frown between her brows.

‘You say that to
me
?' He laughed in her face, pushing her away to bring her closer. ‘Do you have any idea how hard it was to face Harun, knowing what I've put him through in the past three years? Yet he paid my ransom without thinking twice, and came to meet me the hour I was released.' He lifted her chin. ‘At least your family deserved your distrust. I deserved for him to let me die at Sh'ellah's hand.'

Her lashes fluttered down, reminding him of the hour they'd met—it was the only time she'd hidden her real self
from him. Secrets, yes, but never had she hidden the person she was. ‘I'm not ready for this.'

‘You think I was ready to face Harun? Yet I was the one at fault, needing his forgiveness,' he demanded, his caressing finger beneath her chin at odds with his uncompromising tone. ‘So tell me, Hana—when will you be ready to forgive them? Would you like to pick a day when you'll finally feel brave enough to do the right thing?'

‘When would you have been ready, if the circumstances hadn't forced you into it?' Her cheeks blazed with colour; her lashes lifted to reveal eyes as aroused as they were furious.

She was consumed with desire, because of a simple movement of his finger, and a plan flashed into his mind.

Acting on it, he laughed in her face. ‘What circumstances? You mean that I
chose
to save your life and risk my own for you? Or do you mean that I announced my name and offered a ransom so you could get away safely? Are they the
circumstances
that forced me?'

Her mouth set in a stubborn line.

He shrugged. ‘I'm calling your bluff, Hana. Come back with me, or I tell your family how you've been risking your life for five years rather than face them—and then I'll send them to you. You know I can,' he growled as she stared up at him in mingled desire, fury and resentment. ‘This is going to happen, so accept it and move on.' Before she could argue he bent and kissed her, deep and hard, gathering her close. He wasn't above using any means possible to convince her to come with him. She needed reconciliation with her family as much as he'd needed to face Harun and apologise for the nightmare he'd created of his brother's life by disappearing.

Half expecting a rebuff, or for her to lie stiff and cold beneath him, he felt jubilation soar when she moaned and wound her arms around his neck, meeting his passion with
blazing flame. She arched against his body, moving in delicious friction, her hands in his hair, caressing him with ardent eagerness. Oh, how she wanted him! All her slumbering fire belonged to him—and he'd do almost anything to keep it that way for the rest of their lives.

For now, though, he had no promises he could make her; he didn't know yet what his future held, or what place she'd take in it. But there'd be nothing, no future for them if he couldn't even make her come to Abbas al-Din with him.

It felt as if he ripped his heart from his chest as he pulled away. ‘We leave in five hours,' he snarled, but his fingers trailed slowly down her throat, across her shoulder, and he saw her quiver again. He wanted to shout in joy for the heady knowledge of how badly she desired him. ‘Sleep for an hour or two; you'll need it. When you wake, we'll walk on the beach and talk.'

Heavy-lidded eyes lifted to his, aching with as much painful wanting as anger, and he knew he'd won the battle—she'd come to Abbas al-Din, and face her family—but on the issue of marrying him, the war was far from over.

 

It was another incredible sunset, softer than the rich, rioting colours in western-facing Perth, but the soft rose tipped the foaming waves, and the palm trees lining the beach caught the rustling-soft breeze. A star winked at them from low in the sky, the first of the night.

‘It's so beautiful, isn't it?' Hana murmured, awed, forgetting her fury with him for a moment. ‘Africa's a place of such amazing contrasts. There's so much beauty and faith, as well as the war and suffering.'

‘It's the same as anywhere else, with the same people, good and bad,' Alim replied. ‘Oil in Nigeria, gold and diamonds in South Africa, Mali and Mozambique bring the
greed. But the beauty—' He took her hand in his—she revelled in the simple connection to him, had been wondering why he hadn't touched her during the half-hour they'd been walking—and said, softly, ‘The unique beauty of Africa is why I keep coming back. It—gives me rest.'

You give me rest.

The thought flew out of nowhere—or maybe it came from everywhere, everything he'd been to her. She'd never had a friend who could laugh with her and let her be herself; a man who listened to her and wasn't too arrogant to learn from a woman; a man whose smallest smile made her day, whose touch, who cared enough to give her a compelling honesty that brought her out of emotional hiding, and face her cowardice. He'd looked inside her turbulent soul and calmed the storms; he brought her from a state of darkest cynicism to trust, tenderness and, unbelievably, forgiveness.

If she'd brought him
back
to life, he'd
given
her life. She could be what she'd always wanted to be: a normal woman, wearing rolled-up trousers and shirt, barefoot and holding hands with the man she—she—

Couldn't resist, couldn't turn from, could barely say no to.

And that was why she was going to Abbas al-Din. He'd literally kissed her into capitulation. Far more than merely desiring him, or liking him, she
needed
him. She loved him, had to be where he was. It was as simple as that—and as impossible.

Impossible
was never more obvious than today, with so many reminders all around him, the armed guards keeping a discreet distance. His current location might be secret, but it wouldn't take the media long to find out—and they'd want to know who she was. How long would it take them to find out? A day, a week?
Drug runner's ex-wife is our sheikh's saviour
…

Tonight, here on the beach, in the jet, would be their last
hours alone together—and she intended to cherish them, even if they were surrounded by armed minders all the way.

They might as well flash a neon sign;
Go home, low life, you can never have him.

‘I can see why you love Mombasa,' she finally replied, her fatalism and her love tearing her heart in two.
Run. Run as far and fast as you can…don't leave him, now or ever…

‘I'm keeping the house,' he said quietly. ‘The family of my housekeeper will look after the house while I'm gone, and I've given them the cottage out back to live in permanently.' He led her around a late surfer who'd just flopped on his towel. ‘You've taught me to look outside myself, Hana. I thought being here, helping, was enough to justify my existence, and I could keep my life, my
self
, separate. I know now I can't, and I don't want to.'

Wonderful words, yet they sounded like a farewell, even before they boarded the jet. Yet he was smiling… Her gaze riveted to his mouth, her lips tingling and her body aching, she managed to say, ‘I didn't do anything.'

Still with that tender smile curving his mouth he stopped, turned her around. Her heart pounded like the waves against the sand as he bent to her. The kiss was soft, sweet, perfect…and too soon over. ‘You're like that,' he murmured, pointing at that low-slung star, ‘like the story of those men who were led to the Christian Messiah. I was lost in the darkness of self-hate, and you showed me the way to redemption, to joy in living, without even knowing you did it.'

She couldn't help it, couldn't stop herself from lifting up on her toes, kissing him again—and then again. ‘You did the same for me,' she whispered. ‘You saved me.'

‘We saved each other.' He rested his forehead against hers, and she adored the intimacy of it while still aching for more.
‘Face the truth: we're souls entwined, Sahar Thurayya. We need each other.'