Undressed by the Boss (Mills & Boon By Request) (13 page)

‘Come on, he won’t bite,’ Raffa encouraged.

She had to admit the dapple grey did look kind. The gelding was decked out with a fancy harness and a colourful saddle cloth to protect its sturdy back from her. And at least she didn’t have to ride Raffa’s horse—a jet-black, impatient looking stallion, with a fierce stare like its master. The monster mount was currently tossing its head and chomping at its bit in impatience.

‘Ready?’ Raffa encouraged. ‘How else do you think we’re going to get to our destination?’

She’d rather walk.

‘If you don’t hurry I’ll put you on the mule and tie your backpack to the horse.’

Okay. Deep breath. So she’d ride the horse. How hard could it be?

Very hard.

She fell stiff-legged off her mount the moment they stopped, after what felt like hours of bone-jouncing trekking. They had reached an oasis around which a tented city had formed.

Casey remained where she fell, hugging her knees and silently yowling at the pain in her limbs. At least it gave her chance to admire the scenery, she reasoned as Raffa shook his head, slowly unwinding his
howlis
as he looked down at her.

She needed some immediate distraction from that sort of wow. Well, there was plenty of distraction around. They were on top of a sand dune, from where they could look down at the rolling desert painted in shades of ochre and umber. The plateau was punctuated by a limpid lilac lake fringed by shades of green. The oasis not only provided a lifeline to the wandering people who used it, but to the local wildlife, Casey saw, spotting desert gazelles grown brave enough to come and drink in the failing light.

Rolling over onto her stomach, she exclaimed softly as she watched them, forgetting her own discomfort. It was just such a magical sight—timid creatures finding courage as she had in the desert, beneath a sky that was slowly turning from palest aqua to midnight-blue, while at the horizon it was shot through with dazzling scarlet.

‘Get up,’ Raffa rapped, putting an end to her idyll. ‘There are scorpions in this area.’

With a shriek, she leapt up, slapping her sides energetically.

‘Remember to check your boots each time you put them on,’ he told her sternly—one instruction she was unlikely to forget.

‘Is this the end of our journey?’ she asked, still shuddering as she hurried after him.

‘It could be—for you.’

‘For me?’

‘If you find a scorpion in your clothes.’

That did it. With a shriek that startled the gazelles, she whacked herself all over while Raffa held the back of his neck, viewing her contortions with a puzzled frown. ‘With all that stuff in your backpack,’ he said, ‘didn’t you remember to bring some bug spray?’

‘I could be dead by the time I find it.’

‘Okay, relax. Even the biggest scorpions you’ll find round here would only sting you like a wasp.’

‘Nice,’ she accused him.

‘Would you like me to search you?’

‘Absolutely not,’ she exclaimed, springing away. ‘So why are we here?’ she demanded, all fired up now.

‘I thought you might like to see how the money you raised will be spent.’

As he walked away she chased after him. ‘Raffa, wait … thank you.’

Out of breath, she rested, hands on knees, at the foot of the next dune.

‘Why are you thanking me?’ His cheek creased attractively as he smiled.

She straightened up. ‘You haven’t even allowed me to apologise to you yet.’

‘For success?’

‘Raffa, wait.’ She gazed up with frustration as his panther stride increased the distance between them. How was it she slipped two steps back for every step she tried to take up the dune?

Thankfully, Raffa had paused on the brow of the hill to stare down at her.

‘I’ll be right there,’ she called up. In maybe a year, the rate she was going.

‘Here, let me help you,’ he said, leaning down. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her up by sheer brute force. ‘Turn your feet out
a little,’ he advised. ‘Think of the sand as snow. You can even side-step if you find that easier.’

‘You ski?’

‘Of course.’

Of course.

And, actually, she rather liked being helpless for once, and having him drag her up.

Close to, the tented city was a revelation. It was laid out neatly around the oasis, which flamed crimson where the grey water had harnessed the last solar gasp of the day. Camels and ponies and mules were gathered in a shady corral, and the voices of children carried shrilly towards them on the night breeze.

‘Come on,’ Raffa said, more relaxed than she’d ever seen him. ‘I want to introduce you.’

Casey stared at his outstretched hand. Was there a difference in taking hold of Raffa’s hand because she wanted to and taking hold of it because she had to, because without his help she was stranded on the sand?

This was not a time to get philosophical, Casey concluded as he looked at her impatiently.

She made a grab for it, and screamed as Raffa dragged her with him in a pell-mell race down the sand dune. He swung her into his arms at the bottom of it so she wouldn’t fall over.

‘You brute,’ she exclaimed, laughing as she tried to catch her breath. ‘You really scared me.’

‘Did I?’

He was wholly unrepentant, and the children were laughing, forming a circle around them. Impulsively, Casey reached for one small hand and Raffa reached for another, and before they knew it there was one big circle and they were dancing round and round beneath a rising crescent moon—for no other reason than they were all so happy.

The children led them deeper into the encampment, where everything was orderly and looked so permanent Casey had to remind herself that appearances could be deceptive. Her gaze
strayed to Raffa at this point, who always managed to look like the baddest man on the planet, but who right now was listening to a little girl read her favourite book.

The Bedouin would be moving on soon, she realised, taking the moon and the sun as their guide and accepting no boundaries other than those raised by nature. It was a privilege to be able to spend time with them. It was a gift from Raffa, and the only gift she wanted.

Having this chance to visit the community the auction had helped, to see the travelling school and the medical facilities, made everything clearer to Casey. Minor niggles in her own life were suddenly immaterial. Anything she could do would never be enough to repay the friendship of these people. As the children led her by the hand to show her their prized pencils and blocks of writing paper, she felt humbled, and in that moment determined to open her eyes and see what else there was in the big, complex world she inhabited, outside her own small corner of it.

‘H
UNGRY?
’ Raffa queried when they had completed their tour of the camp.

‘Starving,’ Casey admitted.

‘Shall we make some food together?”

She took a step back and then realised he was serious. ‘Okay … but no sheep’s eyes.’ Remembering Raffa’s humour, she wasn’t taking any chances.

‘No sheep’s eyes,’ he conceded dryly, wiping his face on the unwound black cloth of the
howlis
he was now wearing slung around his neck.

So he was gorgeous, she accepted, taking in the luminous black gaze and thick, inky-black hair. Super-gorgeous, she amended when he smiled.

‘Is this your tent?’ she asked as he led her towards one of the larger pavilions.

Ruffling his wild hair, Raffa shook his head. ‘I don’t own anything in the desert. Think of it as the ocean,’ he said, ducking his head to lift the flap away from the entrance for her. ‘Like all other the voyagers in this vast wilderness, I use what I need and pass on what is left. I add what I can for the next traveler.’

‘You make it sound like a guardian angel system,’ Casey observed.

‘That’s exactly what it is.’

Where was
her
guardian angel? Casey wondered, hesitating
on the threshold of the tent. She needed advice badly. She dearly wanted to find out all she could about A’Qaban’s people and their culture, and she desperately wanted to know everything about Raffa. But now they were alone, if he should … If he …

Wringing her hands in agitation, she knew she’d make a mess of things. She’d spoil things—change everything. She couldn’t have just a night with a man like Raffa and then pick up and carry on as if nothing had happened.

And if he didn’t make a move—

‘Casey?’ he prompted. ‘Are you coming? I want to get on.’

‘Give me a moment … I’m just drinking it all in.’ Not to mention engaging in a war of the worlds with her doubt demons.

As Raffa disappeared inside the tent, Casey thought about him with the little girl—how gentle and tender he’d been as he’d listened to the child reading her story. She thought of the fun they’d both had with the children when they’d first arrived. Raffa wasn’t some unfeeling oaf who would tumble her on the cushions and have his evil way, he was a cultured, confident, caring individual.

So what was she going to do? In the absence of a guardian angel, a decision was required.

‘Come on,’ he called impatiently.

She was still hesitating when he appeared at her elbow. He’d come back for her and he wasn’t about to take no for an answer.

Casey stood entranced inside the Bedouin tent. It was more comfortably furnished than many hotel rooms. Heaps of cushions in rich homespun textures spoke of months of dedicated weaving, while there were hand-woven rugs on the floor and hangings on the walls in muted jewel colours. The space was illuminated by a brass lantern fixed to a central post, and the tempting aroma of hot sweet coffee was in the air, along with some spice—incense, maybe. The actual walls of the pavilion were made of dark, heavy, leathery material.

‘Camel hide,’ Raffa explained, when she stroked her hand across it. ‘Nothing is wasted here.’

‘I can see that,’ she agreed, viewing two horn goblets on a low, gleaming brass table. ‘This is absolutely amazing … just like Aladdin’s cave.’

‘Ah,
Ala-ad-din,’
he said. ‘We have that story too.’

‘So you know both versions?’ She turned from her examination of a large, decorative vase, hungry for more knowledge of Raffa.

‘I was brought up and educated in England, but my nanny was careful to introduce me to the culture of both countries.’

Another gem of knowledge she locked away. Some might think Raffa had enjoyed a richer start in life than most, but he had just reminded her that he had known his fair share of tragedy too.

‘So what do you think of A’Qaban now you have left the glamour of the city behind?’ he said, distracting her from her thoughts.

‘I love it. I’m constantly surprised.’

‘Live with us and then judge us?’ he murmured, slanting Casey an amused look. ‘In our language we would say,
Ashirna wa akhbirna.’

She tried the unfamiliar words with Raffa’s encouragement, which naturally meant she had to look at his lips. Well, it was important to see the shapes he was making—luscious, all of them.

He turned from her momentarily and grew still. He was listening and evaluating the deeper sound of parents’ voices outside providing a counterpoint to their shrill-voiced children, she realised, and only when he was sure all was well did he relax. The bad-boy sheikh conjured up by the tabloid press was nowhere to be seen. That character was a chimera, a smokescreen for the man Raffa was in private. Raffa was a natural-born protector, not a playboy, and in spite of the vast power and wealth he wielded he was a man of simple tastes; a man so far removed from his public persona it was hard to believe she had ever been gullible enough to judge this particularly interesting book by its cover.

‘Do you recognise these?’ he said, pointing to some cushions.

They were arranged around a low, hammered brass table, and had a familiar pattern. It was the same pattern as her shawl, Casey realised with a thrill of discovery. ‘They’re beautiful,’ she said, ‘just like this.’ As she spoke, she stroked the filmy folds of her shawl. ‘I love my shawl and I won’t be parted from it …’ Let him make what he would out of that.

He handled the revelation Casey had made coolly. Things were moving rapidly onto another level between them and he didn’t want to force the issue. He had brought Casey to the desert to introduce her to his people, but behind that intention were his growing feelings towards her. When she’d first arrived, so gauche and shy, and vulnerable in his presence, he couldn’t have considered anything other than a business relationship. But as her confidence had come to the fore, and she’d grown in self-belief as a woman, other possibilities had opened up.

They had established much while saying little, he reflected, thinking how lovely she looked in the shawl—and that was the way of the desert people. Casey had many of the qualities he most admired in the Bedouin. Small things made and given with love meant more to her than all the jewels in his strong room, and it pleased him more than he could say to think she had picked out the shawl above everything else he had donated to the auction. What she could not have known was that he had intended to buy her anything she wanted—anything she had made an unsuccessful bid for in thanks for organising the event. Casey had made that unnecessary by selecting the one item no one else had seen any value in.

‘I’ll light a fire so we can star-gaze while we eat,’ he suggested, knowing she would enjoy that.

‘Could I bathe first? I mean …’ She blushed as he turned to look at her. ‘I’m all gritty after the ride. Is it safe to swim in the oasis?’

‘Perfectly safe. It’s shallow and warm, and there is firm
sand underfoot. You should have it to yourself at this time of night. Why don’t I go down there first, to take a swim and scout it out for you?’

‘Would you do that?’

At this moment in time he would do anything for her. ‘I’ll lay the fire first, so that you’re warm, and if you sort out the food we brought we’ll decide what to do with it when we’ve finished our swim.’

‘We brought food to cook?’

‘We have a mule,’ he reminded her dryly. ‘Don’t you remember the saddle bags?’