The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (99 page)

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Authors: Helen Bianchin

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Erotica, #Collections & Anthologies, #Contemporary Women, #General

BOOK: The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections)
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He considered her thoughtfully. ‘Is that what you think I'm doing?'
‘You're playing a game for the benefit of fellow guests who are intent on displaying a discreet interest in Sheikh Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed's latest companion.'
‘What is it you particularly object to?' he queried musingly. ‘Being a subject of interest, or labelled as my latest conquest?'
Her gaze was level. ‘I have little control over the former, but as the latter doesn't apply I'd prefer it if you would decline from indicating an intimacy which doesn't exist.'
‘You have a vivid and distorted imagination.'
‘While you, Sheikh bin Al-Sayed,' she responded evenly, ‘parry words with the skill of a master chess-player.'
A soft chuckle started at the back of his throat and emerged with a genuine humour that was reflected in the gleaming warmth of his eyes. ‘Shalef,' he insisted quietly.
Kristi looked at him carefully. ‘I imagine it is much too early to request that you take me back to the hotel?'
His mouth curved with slow indolence. ‘Much too early.'
‘In which case I shall attempt dazzling conversation with a fellow guest.'
‘Alternatively, you could attempt to dazzle me.'
She picked up her glass and sipped the chilled waiter, then set it down carefully. ‘Don't you tire of women who strive to capture your attention?'
‘It depends on the woman,' he said mockingly. ‘And whether it's more than my attention she attempts to capture.'
The request for guests to adjourn to the lounge was timely, and Kristi rose to her feet with relief, glad of the opportunity to escape the close proximity of Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed.
But her freedom was short-lived as he moved to her side, and she didn't pull away when he caught her elbow in a light clasp as they made their way from the dining room.
Her senses seemed more acute, and she was conscious of his clean male smell mingling with the subtle tang of his cologne. His touch brought an awareness of sexual alchemy together with a heightened degree of sensuality that quickened her pulse and had the strangest effect on her breathing.
Such feelings were a complication she couldn't afford, and she deliberately sought to impose a measure of control.
‘Shalef, how wonderful to see you again.'
Kristi heard the distinct purr in the light, feminine voice and glimpsed the perfection of scarlet-tipped fingers an instant before a model-slim, dark-haired young woman slid an arm through his.
Beauty enhanced by the skilful application of cosmetics and the clothes of a noted European couturier lent and exclusivity that was unmatched by any of the other female guests, and Kristi couldn't help the uncharitable thought that such a stunning result had probably taken the entire afternoon to achieve.
‘Fayza.'
Was it her imagination or did she sense a barrier of reserve fall into place?
‘Allow me to introduce Kristi Dalton. Fayza Al-Khaledi.'
The features were exquisitely composed, and her mouth curved into a smile that revealed perfectly even white teeth. But the brilliant dark eyes were as cold as an Arctic floe.
- ‘If you'll excuse me, I'll fetch some coffee.' Kristi took longer than necessary in adding sugar and a touch of cream to the aromatic brew.
She started to show an interest in the mingling guests, assured her hostess that the coffee was fine and indulged in polite small talk. Not once did she glance towards Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed or the glamorous woman who had commandeered his attention.
‘There was no need for you to desert me.'
She turned slightly as he rejoined her, and met his solemn gaze. ‘Just as there was no need for me to compete.'
Shalef chose not to comment, and Kristi finished her coffee, refused a second cup and managed to contain her relief when he indicated that they would leave.
 
‘You found the evening boring?'
The illuminated clock on the dashboard revealed that it was after midnight, and she sank back against the deep-cushioned seat as the large car gained the motorway and gathered speed.
‘Not at all,' Kristi assured him with polite civility. ‘The food was superb, and one would have to grant that the company was equally so.'
‘Including the guest who indulged in a surreptitious play for your attention during the main course?'
‘You noticed.'
‘He has a certain reputation,' Shalef informed her drily.
‘I don't need a protector.'
‘In London you can rely on Sir Alexander Harrington for friendship and support. In Riyadh it will be different.'
She turned to look at him in the semi-darkness of the car, noting the harsh angles and planes of his profile. ‘Are you issuing a subtle warning?'
‘A suggestion that you accept the political and religious dictates of my father's country,' he corrected.
‘I won't attempt to wield any Western influence or encourage the younger members of your family to challenge your will, Sheikh bin Al-Sayed,' Kristi said with a touch of mockery.
‘Shalef.' His voice was silky soft, and her stomach began to knot with nerves as she focused her attention on the scene beyond the windscreen.
It had begun to snow—light flakes that settled with an eerie whiteness on tree branches and hedges.
City lights appeared in the distance, and soon they were traversing inner suburbia at a reduced speed. Streetlights gave out a regimented glow, and most of the houses were shrouded in darkness, their occupants tucked up warmly in bed.
Kristi shivered despite the car's heating. In a few days she would board a plane in the company of a man she hardly knew, forced to place not only herself but the fate of her brother in his hands.
How long would the rescue mission take? It
had
to be successful. She couldn't,
wouldn't
contemplate failure.
The car eased to a halt outside the hotel's main entrance, and she turned towards the man behind the wheel.
‘What time shall I meet you at the airport?'
He shifted in his seat and leaned an arm against the wheel. ‘My chauffeur will collect you from the hotel. I will have you notified of the time.'
‘Thank you.' She reached for the door-clasp and stepped out of the car. ‘Goodnight.'
‘Goodnight, Kristi.' His voice was a deep drawl that seemed to mock her long after she'd gained her suite and undressed for bed.
It kept her awake, then haunted her dreams as she slept.
R
IYADH rose from the desert like a high-tech oasis of glass, steel and concrete, with office towers, freeways, hotels, hospitals and, Shalef informed Kristi as his private jet landed and taxied down the runway, the largest airport in the world.
The subdued whine of the engines wound down to an electronic hum as the pilot wheeled the jet round towards an allotted bay. With almost simultaneous precision they slid to a halt as the hostess released the door and activated the steps for disembarkation.
Ten minutes later Kristi followed Shalef into the rear seat of a black stretch Mercedes. A man already occupied the opposite seat and Shalef effected an introduction.
‘Fouad is the son of the daughter of my father's first wife,' he informed her quietly. ‘He holds a managerial position with one of the family companies here.'
Kristi turned towards the man and inclined her head in silent acknowledgement. ‘How many daughters are there?'
‘Four. Two from my father's first wife, both of whom are older than me, and two younger, the daughters of my father's third wife.'
‘Happy families,' she quipped lightly. ‘I imagine there is a variety of distant aunts and cousins?'
‘Several. My father's first wife developed cancer and died five years ago.'
The two men lapsed into Arabic as the large vehicle slipped free of the terminal traffic, and Kristi transferred her attention beyond the tinted windows.
This was a land where the muezzin called the faithful to prayer five times a day, where the male was revered while the female remained subservient.
She was intrigued by a culture that viewed women as less important than their male counterparts, their role so defined and protected that it amounted to almost total discrimination.
Did the women silently crave for more freedom, both in speech and action? To dispense with the
abaaya
and the veil, and adopt westernised apparel? And, if they did, would they dare speak of it to a stranger, albeit a stranger presented to them as Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed's current companion?
The Mercedes began to slow, and Kristi felt the nerves in her stomach awaken as it paused beside massive gates, cleared security, then swept through to a large courtyard.
The architecture was interesting—solid walls plastered in stark white, surprisingly small windows, given the hot climate, and an impressive set of carved wooden doors overlaid with ornate, metal-pressed panels.
One of the doors swung inwards as the Mercedes slid to a halt, and a middle-aged couple emerged to extend a greeting.
‘Amani and Abdullah manage the house and staff,' Shalef informed her when he'd completed an introduction.
Indoors there was an assemblage of neatly attired staff waiting to greet their sheikh, and, although Shalef made no attempt at individual introductions, he presented her as a close friend from England.
The reception hall was the largest that Kristi had seen, with imposing marble columns and Carrara marble floors covered in part by a matched selection of exquisitely woven rugs. Tapestries adorned the walls, and expensive works of art vied with giltedged mirrors.
‘At your request I have made ready the east suite for Miss Dalton,' Amani revealed. ‘Refreshments are ready to be served in the sitting room.'
‘Thank you. Shall we say half an hour?'
‘I will take Miss Dalton to her room.'
Shalef inclined his head, then turned towards Kristi. ‘I am sure you'll find everything to your satisfaction.'
Dismissal, she determined wryly. Yet she had expected no more. With a faint smile she turned and followed Amani towards a wide, curving staircase leading to an upper floor.
The palace was sufficiently substantial to house several families and still ensure individual privacy, she realised as she traversed a long, marble-tiled hallway.
Ornate side-tables and velvet-upholstered, gilt-framed chairs lined the walls and expensive silk rugs covered the marble floor.
‘I'm sure you'll be very comfortable here, Miss Dalton. If there is anything you need, please don't hesitate to ask.'
Kristi preceded the manageress into a magnificent suite comprising sitting room, bedroom and
en suite
bathroom. The furnishings were an exotic blend of deep emerald, gold and white.
“Thank you.'
With twenty-five minutes in which to shower and change, Kristi managed it in less, choosing to use minimum make-up and leave her hair loose. Aware of a preference for women to wear clothes that covered their legs and arms, she'd packed smartly tailored, loose-fitting trousers, a variety of blouses and a few tunic-style tops.
As she added a spray of perfume to her wrists she couldn't help a wry smile, for the trousers and tunic top were a deep emerald ... a perfect match for the suite's furnishings.
Would members of his family join them for refreshments? She had an intense curiosity to meet the woman who had been content to take second place to an existing wife. Had a sense of rivalry existed between the two women? And what of Shalef's mother? One could only wonder at her situation—an English rose, unversed in Islamic customs, set among the desert jewels. Yet if the Prince had displayed his son's obvious attraction for the opposite sex it was probable that Shalef's mother had been caught up in a dream that had soon dissipated in the light of reality.
Kristi emerged from her suite to find a Filipino servant waiting to escort her down to the sitting room. It was a courtesy for which she was grateful, as the palace was vast, the rooms many, and she'd begun to wonder if she would need to embark on an adventure of seek and find.
They arrived downstairs and walked along a main corridor from which led three long hallways, linking, the servant informed her, further wings of the palace. No wonder there was such a large complement of staff!
The room Kristi was shown into was large and airy and filled with exquisite gilt-framed furniture, priceless items of gold-painted porcelain and original works of art.
Her eyes flew to the tall man who stood to one side of the window, his breadth of shoulder and stature emphasised by the silk-edged white
thobe
with Western-style collar and French cuffs. A white headscarf secured with an
agal
provided an electrifying effect, and made her all the more aware of the extent of his wealth, and his mantle of power.
‘Kristi. Allow me to introduce you to Nashwa.'
She wrenched her eyes away from him and turned towards a slim, attractive woman attired in a royal blue traditional robe, whose dark hair was almost hidden by an exotic royal blue scarf beautifully embroidered in gold thread.
Kristi extended her hand in formal greeting, then followed Nashwa's action by touching her heart with the palm of her right hand.
The gesture brought forth a warm smile. ‘I'm very pleased to meet you, Miss Dalton. May I call you Kristi?'
‘Please.'
Nashwa's smile widened as she indicated a comfortable chair. ‘Do sit down. Would you prefer coffee or something cool to drink? I can have tea served, if you wish.'
Kristi opted for coffee, then took a seat, all too aware that Shalef followed her action by choosing a chair close to her own.
‘I understand you are a photographer. It must be an interesting profession.'
Kristi accepted a delicate cup and saucer from the maid, added sugar, then selected a pastry from an offered plate. ‘My father founded a photographic studio, which my brother and I still operate. Shane's speciality is freelance photojournalism.' She smiled, unaware that her eyes held a tinge of warm humour which lent their hazel depths a velvety texture. ‘He enjoys the challenge of venturing into far-flung territory in search of the unusual.'
‘You have brought your camera with you?' Shalef enquired, his dark gaze steady, daring her to resort to any fabrication.
‘It forms part of my luggage wherever I travel,' she managed evenly.
‘I suggest you exercise caution whenever you use it, and request permission before you do.'
‘Including the palace?'
‘I would prefer it if you did not photograph any of the rooms within the palace. I have no objection to external shots, or those of the gardens.'
Security? She had no desire to flout his wishes.
She turned towards Nashwa. ‘You have two daughters. I'm looking forward to meeting them.'
Nashwa's expression softened. ‘Aisha and Hanan. They are aged twenty-one and nineteen respectively. Aisha is enjoying a sabbatical after lengthy university studies. Soon she will leave for Switzerland to spend a year in finishing school. Hanan is not quite so academically inclined, and after emerging from boarding-school in England at the end of last year she too has opted to join Aisha in Switzerland.' She proffered a warm smile. ‘You will meet them both at dinner.'
Kristi sipped the coffee, finding it very pleasant if a little too strong, and declined anything further to eat.
Shalef, she noted, drank Arabic coffee flavoured with cardamom from a tiny handleless cup that was so small it looked ludicrous held between his fingers.
Nashwa was an impeccable hostess, adept at maintaining a flow of conversation, and Kristi found herself agreeing to a conducted tour of the palace itself, while Shalef retired to the study for a few hours in order to apprise himself of business affairs.
The palace was even larger than Kristi had imagined, with innumerable rooms set aside for the sole purpose of formal and informal entertaining. Opulent, she decided silently as she admired the elaborate draping. Each room was large, the colours employed lending a cool, spacious effect that was enhanced by ducted air-conditioning. An indoor swimming pool was Olympian in proportion, the tiled surrounding area sufficiently wide to harbour a variety of casual cushioned loungers and chairs. Beyond that were the Turkish baths and beautiful paved walkways meandering through an exotic garden.
There were three wings attached to the central building, Nashwa explained—one which she and her daughters used, one designated for Shalef's occupation whenever he was in Riyadh, and the remaining one kept for visiting family and guests. Staff were housed separately.
Encompassing two levels, the internal walls enclosed a central courtyard with lush gardens, palm trees and exotic plants. Numerous columns supported wide, covered verandas which could be reached from every room on the upper floor through arched doorways.
Kristi's tour was restricted to the guest wing and the entire ground level. Not offered were Shalef's quarters or those of Nashwa and her daughters. A dual purpose, perhaps...privacy as well as security?
‘You have endured a long flight. Perhaps you would like to rest for a while?'
A flight that had been fraught with a degree of apprehension about the destination and its implications. Added to which, she'd been painfully aware of Shalef's presence and the vibrant energy he'd exuded as he'd relayed information about the history of his father's country, its rulers, and the positive effects of an oil-rich nation.
The thought of solitude for an hour or two sounded ideal. She could write a promised postcard to Annie, and Sir Alexander and Georgina would also value word of her safe arrival.
‘Thank you:
Nashwa inclined her head in polite acceptance. ‘Dinner will be served at eight. I will send a servant to your room at seven-thirty, just in case you fall asleep. She will escort you down to the dining room.'
They were back in the reception hall and, with a warm smile, Kristi inclined her head before turning towards the staircase.
Her suite was delightfully cool, and she quickly discarded her outer clothes, then donned a silk wrap. An antique escritoire held paper, a variety of postcards, envelopes and pens.
Twenty minutes later Kristi placed the completed cards to one side, then crossed to the bed and lay down. Half an hour, she told herself as she closed her eyes.
But she must have dozed longer than she'd meant to, for she came awake at the sound of a light double tap against the outer door.
It couldn't be seventy-thirty already! But it was, and she flew to the door, opening it to discover a servant waiting outside.
‘Could you come back in twenty minutes?'
‘As you wish.'
Kristi closed the door and moved quickly into the bathroom, shedding her wrap and her underclothes, as she went. The shower succeeded in removing the last vestiges of tiredness, and she let the water run cold for ten seconds before turning off the taps.
She was ready with one minute to spare, dressed in long black silk evening trousers and matching top, her make-up understated except for her eyes. Jewellery was confined to a gold pendant and matching earrings, and she'd sprayed perfume to several pulse spots. There wasn't time to do anything other than stroke a brush through her hair.

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