Six Sizzling Sheikhs. Оливия Гейтс

also in her heart. She felt it lurch inside her every time Khaled looked at her, that knowing little smile quirking the corner of his mouth upwards, his eyes gleaming, making her ache.

      Her mind slipped away from that too.

      A week after they arrived, Khaled stretched out on the lounger next to hers as Sam splashed in the shallow part of the pool.

      ‘There will be a magnificent sunset tonight,’ he remarked casually, too casually, and Lucy waited, eyebrows raised.

      ‘I thought we could take a picnic supper to the Dragon Grove.’

      ‘Dragon Grove?’ Lucy repeated, smiling. ‘That sounds intriguing. I’m sure Sam will love it.’

      ‘Alone.’ Khaled’s eyes sought hers and found them. Lucy swallowed.

      ‘What about Sam?’ she asked, her voice sounding rusty. Khaled shrugged.

      ‘He is comfortable here now, is he not? I have hired a nurse to watch him. She is reliable, warm.’

      ‘You didn’t think to consult me?’ Lucy asked, hearing the sharpness in her tone, feeling it, and so did Khaled. He reached out and brushed her cheek with his fingertips; Lucy flinched away.

      ‘So prickly, Lucy. Does it matter?’

      ‘I don’t like you making decisions about Sam without me,’ Lucy replied stiffly.

      ‘I hired a babysitter for an evening.’ Khaled shrugged. ‘Do you want me to clear every decision I make with you, Lucy? Because, I am telling you now, I will not. Sam is my son—as much my son as he is yours. Remember that.’

      Lucy half-rose from the lounger, her body tense and ready to fight. ‘Are you threatening me?’

      Khaled muttered an oath in Arabic, his eyes darkening dangerously. ‘No, though you see threats everywhere, like spiders! I am telling you, Lucy, that you cannot threaten or manage me. I won’t grovel for Sam’s attention or access to his life. So don’t try and make me.’

      ‘I wasn’t—’

      ‘Weren’t you? You are always trying to be in control, to make the decisions.’

      ‘Of course I want to be in control,’ Lucy snapped. ‘I’m not going to sit here passively while you rearrange Sam’s life to suit your own purposes!’

      ‘Which are at cross with your own?’ Khaled shook his head, and his voice turned soft. ‘You see how easy this would be if we were married?’

      ‘Hardly,’ she replied, even though her heart bumped unevenly in her chest. ‘Then you’d just expect me to do your bidding.’

      Khaled laughed, one eyebrow arched. ‘Oh? And wear a hijab as well? Who told you that?’

      Lucy felt her cheeks flush. She was uncomfortably aware of the assumptions she’d made, and yet she felt in her gut that they were true. That they could be, anyway. ‘No one did,’ she muttered. ‘I don’t need to be told.’

      ‘Because this is an Arab country? We are Westernised, you know. Civilised too.’

      Lucy looked away. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

      ‘It does,’ Khaled said quietly, and she heard a note of sorrowful sincerity in his voice that resonated deeply within her. ‘It does,’ he repeated. ‘Because you have so many of these assumptions, and I realise it is time to correct them, even if…’ He paused, his gaze slipping from hers. ‘Even if it is uncomfortable. The truth must be told and faced. I will do so tonight…when we are alone.’

      The invitation had been replaced by a command. Lucy pursed her lips. She wasn’t going to argue simply for the sake of it, and if Khaled meant what he said about correcting her assumptions then she wanted to listen.

      She needed to hear the truth, whatever it was.

      Sam was surprisingly amenable to being left with Hadiya, the nurse Khaled had hired. She was a young, smiling, round-cheeked woman and Lucy couldn’t find a single thing wrong with her. Perversely, she had tried.

      They left the palace in the late afternoon to give them enough time to reach the grove before the spectacular sunset Khaled had promised.

      ‘What is this Dragon Grove?’ Lucy asked as she climbed into the passenger seat of an open-topped Jeep.

      ‘One of Biryal’s treasures. I know it may look like a dusty, scrubby island to you, but the interior has many beautiful sights. One of them is this grove. The trees are native only to this island and one other.’

      Intrigued, Lucy sat back and let the hot, dry breeze blow over her as Khaled started the Jeep and they began the precarious route down the mountain.

      They didn’t speak, but it was a surprisingly companionable silence. The heat made Lucy feel almost languorous, and the questions and worries that nibbled and niggled at her mind slipped away once more.

      She would enjoy this evening she resolved. One evening, for pleasure. One evening without worrying, fighting, fearing. It was all too easy a decision to make.

      Khaled turned off the main road that led to Lahji and entered a protected nature reserve, which was mostly rocky hills dotted with trees. Lucy knew this must be the grove he’d mentioned, for the trees were indeed unique. They had thick, knobbly trunks, their branches with bristly dark leaves thrust upwards, like a brush. It looked, Lucy thought, as if the trees were raising their arms to heaven.

      ‘Dragon’s Blood trees,’ Khaled told her as he parked the Jeep. From the back he fetched a blanket and picnic basket. ‘When their bark is cut, a thick, red resin comes out. It used to be called the blood of Cain and Abel. It is known to have healing properties.’

      He reached for her hand to help her across the rough ground, and Lucy took it naturally. Khaled, she noticed, walked with that same stiff-legged gait, but he did not appear to be in pain.

      He spread a blanket on a smoother stretch of ground positioned above the grove so they could watch the sun begin its descent towards the trees.

      Lucy helped him spread the blanket out before they both sat down. Khaled rested his elbows on his knees, his thoughtful expression on the distant horizon. The sun was turning the colour of a blood orange, large and flaming.

      Lucy watched him for a moment. The harsh profile had softened a bit in reflective silence, yet she thought she saw a certain determination in the set of his jaw.

      ‘Shall we eat?’ she asked, and Khaled turned to her with a distracted smile.

      ‘Yes. I asked the palace cooks to pack a feast.’

      As Khaled began to unpack the picnic basket, Lucy saw that there was indeed a feast: roast chicken seasoned with cumin, aubergine salad, pastries plump with dates and a bottle of chilled white wine.

      ‘I thought countries such as yours forbade alcohol,’ Lucy remarked, taking the glass Khaled poured her. She realised that wine had been served at most meals, although it hadn’t really registered with her until now.

      ‘I told you, we are Western now,’ Khaled replied, smiling. He raised his glass in a toast. ‘Saha.’

      ‘Saha,’ Lucy repeated, and they both drank. ‘What does that mean?’

      ‘To good health. It is a traditional toast.’

      They ate in companionable silence, although as it wore on Lucy felt her nerves start to fray. Before tonight there had always been the safety of Sam between them; Khaled hadn’t tried to see her on her own after that first night. Evening meals had been chaperoned by Ahmed, and Lucy had retired to the safety of her suite, with Sam as her excuse. Khaled had let her go.

      Now that they were finally alone, she realised how safe Sam’s presence had made her feel. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy as she tried to manage a chicken drumstick or date pastry. The food was tasteless and dry in her mouth, and she could feel her heart rate