By Request Collection Part 3. Robyn Donald

on the beach.’ His narrow smile gleamed. ‘Our local dances are a feature of the entertainment here.’

      ‘I’m sure I shall find them very interesting,’ Felipe said, fixing Lexie with a significant look.

      She met it with hard-won composure, both relieved and glad when he stepped back to let another couple be introduced.

      As Rafiq had promised, the official part of the evening was short, punctuated by champagne toasts and much good cheer, and then the party really got going. Down on the beach, the band struck up again in impressive rhythm, guitars and keyboards vying with older in struments—a triangle, gourds with seeds inside, and an insistent drum.

      ‘The hotel dancing troupe will do a demonstration first, but later everyone will join in,’ Rafiq told her as the crowd moved onto the sand, the better to watch the spectacle. ‘You will find it a little different from western dancing; in the sanga, people do not touch.’

      Watching the dancers—women in brightly coloured cropped tops and full skirts that reached their ankles, and men in white pirate shirts knotted at the waist above tight breeches—Lexie decided they didn’t need to.

      Because the sanga was erotic enough to melt icebergs.

      The women began it, holding out their full skirts while they approached the men with sensuous, shuffling steps. They swayed to the music, bare feet moving in an intricate rhythm, smiles bold and challenging as they danced from one partner to another, choosing and discarding until eventually they settled on one particular man.

      When that had happened, the drum beats began to build to a crescendo and the dance took an even more provocative turn. Both women and men taunted and teased their partners, hip movements suggesting a much more intimate encounter, smiles becoming slow and languid as the dancers gazed into each other’s eyes.

      The insidious spell of the dance—the rhythm set up by the drums and the primitive imperative of the fire, the heat and the gorgeous, primal colours of the women’s full, flounced skirts—set fire to something basic and untamed within Lexie. Her cheeks burned and her eyelids were heavy and slumbrous.

      And then, with the drumbeats reaching a frenzied climax, only to abruptly halt, the world seemed suspended in dramatic silence. After several seconds people began to applaud, releasing the dancers from the erotic spell of their own contriving. Many relaxed, laughing, calling out jests to the crowd; others walked off together—still not touching, Lexie noticed.

      Carefully avoiding Rafiq’s scrutiny, she looked across the leaping flames of the bonfire and met Felipe Gastano’s cynical smile.

      She nodded, wishing she’d never been so silly as to go out with him, wishing—oh, wishing a lot of foolish things, she thought bracingly, trying to still the constant thrumming of her heart.

      No wonder people talked of going troppo! This had to be the dangerous enchantment of the tropics.

      As though sensing her restlessness, Rafiq said, ‘Would you like to see around the hotel? The gardens and pool area are magnificent.’

      ‘I’d love to,’ she said, grateful for the chance to get away from too many interested eyes.

      They walked there through a grove of casuarinas, the long, drooping needles whispering together in the scented breeze. Lexie recovered some of her composure as she admired the glorious gardens and a pool out of some designer’s Arabian dream, only to lose it when they walked back to the beach and Rafiq said, ‘A moment.’

      She stopped with him, looking up enquiringly. He was smiling, but the intent expression of his eyes warned her what was coming, and her blood sang inside her.

      Quietly he said, ‘I neglected to tell you how very lovely you are.’

      The kiss was merely an appetiser, one snatched before they rejoined the crowd, but she longed for more. The screen of trees was thick enough to hide them from anyone on the beach, but she hadn’t thought Rafiq was the sort of man to indulge in almost-public displays.

      Emerging from the feathery shade of the grove, she felt slightly embarrassed, as though everyone knew about that kiss.

      From beside her Rafiq said, ‘I’m afraid I must leave you for a few minutes.’ A swift lift of his brows summoned a younger, good-looking man to stand beside her. ‘You will enjoy discussing the dancing with Bertrand,’ he said after introducing them.

      Which she did. Bertrand was respectful and knew a lot about the dances of Moraze, revealing that different areas had different versions, some more restrained…

      ‘And some—ah—less so,’ he finished with a cheerful smile. ‘But you won’t be seeing any of them tonight. Everyone is on their best behaviour because our ruler is with us.’

      She encouraged him to talk about Rafiq. Not that he needed much encouragement, she thought with a wry, inner smile after five minutes. Clearly he thought his ruler only one step below the gods!

      ‘You are laughing at me,’ he said, and grinned before becoming quickly serious. ‘But I am truly beholden to him. Without his intervention, I would have been cutting either sugar cane or flowers in the fields. He sits on the board that chooses the ones deserving of further education, and although I was a bad boy at school, he persuaded them to give me a chance. Everyone else thought I was beyond help; he did not. I would die for him.’

      His words were simply stated, without false bravado.

      ‘It’s a lucky ruler who can inspire such loyalty,’ Lexie said, meaning it. She too had experienced Rafiq’s consideration and his honesty.

      Bertrand drew himself up. ‘It is a lucky subject who can follow such a leader,’ he said. He glanced over her head and frowned. ‘Oh, I will have to leave you only for a moment. I must find someone to keep you company.’

      ‘No,’ she said crisply. ‘Off you go; I’ll be perfectly all right.’

      He dithered, then said, ‘I won’t be long.’ After an apologetic smile, he bowed and left her.

      Smiling to herself, Lexie watched him being swallowed up by the crowd as he angled towards a middle-aged woman who stood alone.

      ‘He is one of Prince Rafiq’s security men,’ a voice said from behind her. ‘And that woman is his superior.’

      Lexie suddenly felt alone and unprotected, her skin tightening in response to an imaginary threat.

      ‘Hello, Felipe,’ she said lightly. ‘I always thought security men were eight-feet tall with necks wider than their heads.’

      ‘The muscle men, perhaps—the grunts. The others come in all sizes and shapes, and I think this one will receive a chastisement from Prince Rafiq for leaving you.’

      ‘I’m in no danger,’ she said evenly, turning her head to look up at him.

      His smile was as charming as ever, his eyes as appreciative, his tone low and flirtatious, yet he left her completely cold.

      ‘Of course you’re not,’ he agreed. ‘But you know how it is with these rich, powerful aristocrats—they see perils in every occasion.’ He gestured at the milling crowd, a little noisier than it had been before, its laughter ringing free. ‘Even in such a friendly group as this—all devoted subjects.’

      He transferred his gaze to her face, surveying her with an intensity that was new and unsettling. ‘Did you know that the word in the bazaars is that Prince Rafiq is very interested in his house guest?’

      ‘Rumour is—as always—hugely exaggerated,’ she said evenly, and made up her mind. This wasn’t the perfect occasion, but he needed to know. ‘Felipe, I need to tell you—’

      ‘Not now,’ he interrupted curtly.

      He wanted something; she could feel it—a fierce lust, though not for her personally, she realised with a sudden flash of insight.

      It had never been her—he’d always