Strangers in the Desert (6 page)

And yet he suddenly feared, with a terrible, dreadful certainty that ate a hole in his gut and sent him running down the corridors to her room, that it was possible. As he skidded to a stop at her door, the man he’d stationed there fell off his chair and began to babble, his face pressed to the floor.

Adan could hear singing. She was singing, the sound so rich and pure it wrapped around him like a warm blanket on a cold desert night. He shoved open the door, his heart beating so fast as he prayed he was wrong, that he’d got the time mixed up, that his intuition was merely superstition—

She sat on one of the low couches, her eyes closed as she found the note and held it. Kalila perched on another sofa, across from Isabella.

And Rafiq stood with his hands on Isabella’s knees, his little face turned up to hers as she sang. Adan’s world
went red. Rage curled and twisted inside him like a coiling snake.

The rage he understood, but there was another feeling underpinning it. Loss?

How could he feel loss? Rafiq was his, no matter what. This was one moment, one regrettable moment, and it would not be repeated. Rafiq would not remember it. Ever.

She let the note go and opened her eyes to smile down at Rafiq. He bounced in place, laughing in delight.

Isabella finished the song and held her arms out. Rafiq stretched his up until she bent and caught him. And then she was holding him close and Adan was dying inside.

“What is going on here?” he said smoothly, despite the churning emotion inside him.

All eyes turned to him. Kalila climbed to her feet and curtseyed. He hated that she did so, but she’d always been particular about observing the forms with him. As she would be with Rafiq, as well. A mother, but not a mother.

Isabella stood. Rafiq had his arms around her neck. When he saw Adan, he crowed, “Papa! Sing, Papa!”

“Does your papa sing?” Isabella asked.

Rafiq nodded his little head.

“Put him down,” Adan growled. He thought she would argue with him, but she simply bent to set Rafiq on the floor. He held on to her neck and refused to let go.

“No want down!”

His expression was militant and Adan knew he was fighting a losing battle. Somehow he found the ability
to move again. He walked over to Isabella and held his arms out.

“Come to Papa,” he said, and Rafiq stretched his arms wide. Relief flooded him. Isabella let the boy go easily enough, but he didn’t miss the way her fingers tightened oh so briefly before relinquishing his son.

He had to stand close to her to take Rafiq, and now his senses were overwhelmed with her scent. She’d showered and changed again since they’d arrived. Her hair was every bit as wild as it had been back in Hawaii, and it smelled like tropical flowers. He wanted to close his eyes and breathe her in.

Instead, he turned away. “Come, Kalila. It is time we took Rafiq for his
b-a-t-h
and bedtime.”

Isabella did not want them to go, and yet she knew there was nothing she could do to stop Adan from taking Rafiq away. She’d spent the past hour singing for her baby, delighting in his little smile and enthusiastic singing along with her. Nothing had cracked a memory open in her head, but she’d felt as though everything was right with the world in the short time she’d spent with her son.

She did not want it to end. She felt whole when he was near. It was not a feeling she was accustomed to.

She also felt lost, she had to admit, because she didn’t automatically know what to do or say to him. Just because he was hers didn’t mean she understood him. It saddened her that she didn’t know how to be a mother, but she desperately wanted to learn.

And Adan wanted to keep her from learning. He wanted to keep Rafiq away from her. When he’d spoken and she’d looked up to see him standing there, the hatred
and rage on his face was worse than anything she’d seen yet. He did not believe she had value of any kind for their son, and it hurt her at the same time as it strengthened her resolve not to give up.

But she understood why he was cautious. How could she not after meeting that precious little child? Adan’s primary goal was to protect Rafiq. She couldn’t argue with that. But she could argue that he wasn’t being fair, that she deserved a chance to be a part of her son’s life just as he deserved a chance to know his real mother.

“Adan,” she said.

She didn’t think he would stop, but when Rafiq said, “Lady sing, Papa,” Adan stopped short of the door.

“Not now, Rafi. The lady needs to rest.”

“Lady sing!” he insisted.

“No, Rafi,” Adan said—and Rafiq’s face screwed up in a frown. She knew what was coming next, even in so short a time of knowing her son. He burst into tears, his face turning red as he wailed.

Adan shot her a look over the top of Rafiq’s head that was full of loathing before he disappeared through the door. Kalila followed, and the servant reached in and shut the door behind them.

Isabella stood in the center of her lonely room, listening to Rafiq’s wails as they disappeared down the hall. She was numb. Whereas just a few moments before she’d been full of life, she now felt drained and dull.

The laughter was gone. The warmth. The love.

She pressed her fist to her mouth, chewing on the knuckles. She loved Rafiq. It had happened that quickly. Instantly. She’d fallen head over heels for her little boy.

Her poor little motherless boy.

What had she done two years ago? Why? Why had she left him in the first place?

As hard as she tried, she couldn’t remember anything about that time. It was blank, as blank as it had always been. She’d awakened and been told about the accident. Then she’d gone to her mother’s to recover. That was all she could recall.

The doctor she’d spoken with today had merely shrugged and said that the brain was a strange and sensitive organ. What had happened to her was not common, but her memory loss wasn’t completely unexpected, either. When she’d asked if she would ever remember, he’d said it was possible, though perhaps not likely.

Another hour passed before a servant brought her dinner. She ate alone, then took her coffee and went out onto the balcony that overlooked the gardens below. The sun had set recently, so the heat was finally leaching out of the air. The sky was red-tinted—almost like Hawaii, and yet not—and the Arabian Sea slid to dark purple in the glow of the sky.

Port Jahfar glittered like a jewel in the dusk. Industrial ships crowded the harbor in the distance, bringing supplies to the kingdom or taking on loads meant for other destinations. Her father had a home along the coast, much farther from here, where the turquoise water caressed the white shore. She’d loved that home growing up most of all. It was why she’d been drawn to Hawaii.

As she drank her coffee, the night darkened, the red fading away until it was only a ribbon along the horizon. And then she sensed that she was no longer alone. She knew who it was without turning to acknowledge him.

“Come to shove me off the balcony and end your troubles, Adan?” she asked.

Behind her, he blew out a breath. “No.”

She heard him move, and then he was standing beside her. He’d changed into a dark polo shirt and jeans. His head was free of the
keffiyeh.
She wasn’t certain what disconcerted her more—his handsome face framed in the dark cloth, or the added distraction of his hair and the shape of his head to accompany his chiseled features.

How was it possible to forget a man like this? To forget making love with him, sleeping and waking with him, eating with him, talking with him?

“He cried for over an hour,” Adan said without preamble. She could hear the emotion in his voice, the love he felt for his son. It was the only thing about him that made him redeemable to her. Adan truly loved Rafiq, and everything he did was for Rafiq’s well-being. Understanding that didn’t make it any easier, however.

“I’m sorry,” she replied, a lump rising in her throat at the thought of her baby crying.

“He refused to eat because he was so upset. Kalila finally got him to sleep.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how she did it.”

He turned to her, propping his elbow against the railing. It was a casual gesture, and yet everything about his presence was anything but casual. There was tension in the lines of his body, tension in the furrow of his brow and the intensity of his gaze.

“It’s not easy raising a child,” he continued. “They are fussy, independent, messy and a million other things you can’t imagine one tiny person could be. It’s a giant responsibility.”

“I know that, Adan.” Her heart thrummed at his nearness, at the way he stood so close to her and discussed their child. It was as if, for a moment at least, they were on the same side. As if they were two parents talking about their son.

She knew better, however.

He pushed a hand through his hair. She found herself wanting to smooth the crisp curls back into place, but she did not do so.

“He does not know you,” he said. “If you insert yourself into his life, and then decide you can’t handle the responsibility, you will hurt him because he will have grown close to you.”

She gripped the coffee cup in her fingers. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t try to be anything to him—”

“I know.” He let out a sharp breath. “Kalila told me what happened. She was taking a shortcut back to the nursery when he heard you singing.”

Her temper sharpened. “Then why are you here, if not to chastise me? I know you would be happier if I didn’t exist. But I do, Adan. And I want to know my child.”

His eyes glittered hotly in the westering light. His mouth tightened. Her gaze settled on those firm, sensual lips. They’d been so masterful against her own. The wetness flowing into her inner core at the thought shocked her. She was angry with him, and yet her body reacted to him until the tingle of desire was soon a buzz in her veins.

How could she feel this way for him? How could she be attracted to him when he infuriated her so much? Was her body remembering what her mind had forgotten?

He took a step closer, then stopped as if he realized
he’d done so against his will. His voice, when he spoke, was low and determined.

“I am here, Isabella, because I have come to a decision.”

A
DAN
was taking a risk. He knew it, and yet he was now convinced it was the only solution. When he’d carried Rafiq back to the nursery, the child crying all the way because he wanted the lady to sing for him, Adan had realized that he could not undo what had been done.

Not only that, but perhaps he’d been wrong to try and keep Isabella away from Rafiq.

Not because he believed she was suddenly going to make a fabulous mother. He wouldn’t bet Rafiq’s future on that shaky hypothesis. But, his son was still so young, and he would encounter various people who would be a part of his life for a short while before they were gone again. Teachers. Friends. Even Kalila, who suffered from arthritis that would soon make taking care of Rafiq more difficult as he grew bigger and heavier.

People moved on. It happened all the time, and Adan couldn’t protect Rafiq from it.

Isabella was looking up at him, her green eyes so wary and sad at the same time. She held her saucer in her right hand, the fingers of her left hooked through the coffee cup that she hadn’t drunk from since he’d joined her.

She still smelled like tropical flowers. Tropical flowers,
coffee and the spicy sweetness of the cardamom seed that flavored the brew. He wondered if she would taste sweet and spicy if he kissed her.

“What is it, Adan?” she asked, her voice as smoky and rich as the coffee. He shook thoughts of kissing her from his head.

“I’m going to give you two weeks with us.” Because he’d decided that the only way to convince her she was not cut out for motherhood was to let her spend time with Rafiq. She’d walked away before—for whatever reason—and she would do so again.

And he intended that she know it sooner rather than later.

She seemed so serene, and yet he hadn’t missed the tiny gasp that had escaped her.

“Two weeks,” he repeated firmly. “But you are not to tell him you are his mother. He does not need the confusion.”

“But I
am
his mother,” she said.

“That’s the deal, Isabella. Take it or leave it.”

She tilted her head. “What am I supposed to be to him, then?”

Adan shrugged. “A nanny. A caretaker. A teacher. Someone who will not be staying.”

She set the coffee down on a nearby table. The delicate china rattled as she did so, betraying her nerves.

Or maybe it was anger. He had to acknowledge that she was certainly capable of bypassing nerves and going straight for the anger.

“And what happens at the end of two weeks?”

“We’ll decide when we get there.” It was all he could say to her. Because if he told her that he hoped to be
divorced from her at the end of two weeks, she would most certainly fight him.

But it’s what he expected. Two weeks for her to decide she didn’t want to be a mother after all, and she would agree to a divorce, assuming his solicitor hadn’t managed to get the job done by then. The coronation wasn’t scheduled for another two weeks anyway, because the laws of Jahfar required a minimum twenty-one-day period of mourning before a new king was officially crowned.

She bowed her head, as if she were thinking. Her arms crossed beneath her breasts, and an arrow of heat sizzled into his groin at the way they nearly spilled over her silky tank top. When she lifted her head again, her eyes speared into him.

“You know I’m going to accept. What choice do I have? I’ll do anything to spend time with my baby. And, whether you believe it or not, I care about his welfare every bit as much as you do. I won’t tell him I’m his mother.”

He inclined his head. “Thank you.”

“It’s not for you,” she snapped. “It’s for Rafiq. Because you’re right, he doesn’t need the confusion right now. He’s too young to understand what it means, and I won’t use him as a pawn in our argument with each other. Until we settle our issues, his understanding of who is who in his life should remain the same.”

She was so different than she’d once been. The woman before him now lit up like a firecracker, blazing sparks of outrage and righteousness, whereas the woman she’d been before would have nodded meekly, accepting whatever decree he cared to make.

Like Jasmine, he thought.
No.
Jasmine was perfect,
nothing like Isabella used to be—and nothing like her now. Jasmine would not blaze in the night. She would glow softly. She would not defy him.

But there would be no need, would there? He and Jasmine were friends. There was no reason for sparks between them.

“Very well,” he said, “tomorrow we are moving inland, to the Butterfly Palace. There are fewer people there, as well as fewer questions.”

Because it was best if her return to Jahfar wasn’t widely known. His staff knew, of course, but they were discreet and loyal. He had so little privacy anymore, but this was one area in which he meant to keep his—their—personal business confidential. He and Isabella would not play out the last days of their marriage before the public eye.

She seemed to understand, as she only nodded.

“Adan,” she said when he turned to go.

He stopped. “Yes?”

“I want to speak with my father.” She bit her lip, that lush lower lip he wanted to nibble as he thrust deep inside her body. The image of him doing just that started the telltale tingle at the base of his spine. He clamped down on his libido before he embarrassed himself.
Focus.

He could
not
keep thinking of her that way. It was counterproductive to his plans.

“He’s the only one who knows the truth about what happened,” she continued.

A wave of frustration rolled through him then. He very much wanted to speak to Hassan Maro, as well. He wanted to know the truth. “Your father is out of the country.”

She seemed to sink in on herself then, her shoulders slumping, the fire inside her flickering dangerously. One breath, he thought, and it would go out.

“It figures.” She sighed.

He suddenly found himself wanting to pull her into his arms and comfort her. But he would not. He couldn’t afford to soften toward her, couldn’t allow his judgment to be clouded or to make her think something more was possible between them.

Then why are you taking her to the Butterfly Palace and letting her spend time with Rafiq?

Because he had to get her to agree to a divorce. That was it, the only reason—aside from the issue of keeping her return a secret from the public, of course. They would be isolated, but he would have plenty to keep him busy. He had a nation to run. He would never be alone with her. Kalila would be there, and Mahmoud, as well as a small staff.

He would spend time with her and Rafiq during the day. At night, they would go to separate rooms. It was a good plan. A sound plan.

“I have left orders that he is to be brought to me the moment he returns,” he said. “It is the best I can do.”

She tilted her chin up as her strength returned. “Fine. And now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

“Of course,” he said, sweeping his arm wide to indicate that she precede him inside. She didn’t stop once indoors, marching straight to the hall door and holding it open for him. It wasn’t until he was halfway back to his own room that he realized he’d just been dismissed.

Early the next morning, a team of tailors and their assistants arrived. Isabella had just finished breakfast
when the knock on her door sounded. A moment later, a servant led the procession into the outer rooms of her suite.

“His Excellency says you are to have a new wardrobe, my lady,” the head tailor offered by way of explanation.

The morning was filled with measurements, choosing from bright bolts of silk georgette, and standing still for fittings of a few readymade items the women had brought along. Isabella felt self-conscious. She wanted to protest that she did not need so much, but the truth was she had no idea whether she did. Adan had said two weeks, but of course she hoped for more. The clothing she’d brought with her wouldn’t get her through much more than a week.

She already missed her life in Hawaii, and yet she missed it the way you miss something that happened in the past—not as if it was something she desired now. Because now that she’d met her baby, she couldn’t imagine anywhere else she wanted to be.

She did not know how they would work this out between them, but she hoped to be a part of Rafiq’s life for far longer than two weeks. She sensed this was a test and, as much as it infuriated her to have to take it, she was determined not to fail.

By the time Adan came for her later that afternoon, she had a suitcase full of clothes to take along. She’d dressed in a soft green
abaya
for the trip by car into the desert. The garment skimmed her form, suggesting curves rather than delineating them.

Adan stopped short when he entered the room and she stood up. His eyes slid over her appreciatively, but he banked the fire in them as he met her gaze.

“You are ready, then?”

“Yes,” she replied, as coolly as she could manage.

The ride to the Butterfly Palace took just over two hours in the caravan of Land Rovers that rolled up and down giant red sand dunes. The desert was stark and beautiful, and yet it made her heart beat crazily in her chest.

Was it because she had walked into the desert alone, as Adan said? Whatever had happened to her had happened out here. And that made her nervous.

She sat stiffly in the seat beside Adan, her hands clasped together in her lap. She’d wanted to ride with Rafiq and Kalila, but there hadn’t been enough room in their car.

“Why is it called the Butterfly Palace?” she blurted after they’d rolled down yet another steep dune. Beads of sweat broke out on her brow and between her breasts. The car was air-conditioned, but it wasn’t cool enough to conquer the evidence of her nerves.

Adan glanced over at her. “It was built five hundred years ago for the favorite wife of a king. She loved butterflies and had a garden built for them. In the spring, it was said, hundreds of butterflies swarmed the palace. They perched on her shoulders and hair, ate with her and even slept with her. And when her husband eventually died and she was brokenhearted, the butterflies carried her to heaven to be with him—or so the legend goes.”

“Are there any butterflies there now?” she asked, trying to imagine the sad queen and her colorful companions.

“I have never seen any,” he said. “I think the climate has shifted as the desert has grown, and it’s now too hot for them here. There are butterflies closer to the
sea, of course.” He frowned and leaned closer to her. “Are you unwell,
habibti?
Do you need your headache medicine?”

Isabella swallowed against the tidal wave of nausea that threatened to take her down if she didn’t hold fast against it. “It’s not my head,” she forced out. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. “It’s just so hot.”

Adan’s frown deepened. He pressed a button and gave an order to the driver in the front seat, and the blast of air from the AC unit intensified. He picked up a stack of papers he’d been leafing through earlier and fanned her with them.

Isabella closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“What is truly wrong, Isabella?”

His voice was soothing, and she had a sudden feeling that she needed to share it with someone. That maybe if she voiced her concerns, heard how silly they were, the feeling would go away. “It’s the desert. I … feel … as if it’s going to crush me beneath it.”

She heard him sigh, and then she felt his arm around her, pulling her close against him. He continued to fan her with the papers. “You are safe with me,” he said in a low voice. “I promise you that.”

She sat stiffly at first, but the rhythm of the Land Rover, the soft breeze from the papers and the warm body at her side lulled her into a doze. She drifted in that half-twilight state between dreaming and waking. She thought of her father’s house near the sea, then the one on the edge of the wildest part of Jahfar. Her father and mother rose up in her mind, arguing, of course, and then quickly faded away.

Then a man appeared before her.

A dark, dangerous man. Adan. He held his hand out and she slipped hers inside it. He pulled her to him and kissed her. She was wearing a deep orange
abaya,
heavily jeweled, and a veil covered her head. She was nervous, but he comforted her with soft words as he gently slipped the clothing from her body. Then he laid her on a bed and stripped off his clothes before lying down beside her.

She knew what came next as she gazed up into his face. That handsome face that had been so aloof all day, but was now intense and sensual. He caressed and kissed his way down her body, taking his time. He dipped his tongue into the wet seam between her legs and brought her to shattering bliss while she moaned and cried his name. Then he was on top of her, pushing at her entrance as the remnants of her pleasure ricocheted through her body.

As he pushed inside her, whispering hot words, she gasped out in pain and surprise—

Isabella blinked. The sun was bright and hot outside the car. Red sand spread as far as the eye could see in every direction. Beside her, Adan was frowning at her again.

“What is the matter, Isabella?”

Her body was hot, but not from fear this time. Oh, dear God. She’d been having an erotic dream about him—or was it a memory? She’d been wearing the dress from their wedding photo in the paper.

“I …” She swallowed. “I think I remembered something … with you.”

His gaze sharpened. “You did?”

Isabella felt a fresh wave of heat wash over her. Why
had she told him that? Because now he’d want to know
what
the memory was.

On the other hand, what did it matter? Her desire to know if it was really a memory outweighed her embarrassment over the subject.

“I think it was our wedding night. I was wearing the dress from the photo. You undressed me before … before … your mouth … And then—”

Isabella closed her eyes. Dear God. Could it get any worse?

When she found the courage to peek at him, he was staring at her. His expression seemed distant, as if he, too, were thinking of that night.