CHAPTER EIGHT

      A LEMON-YELLOW SUN shone out of a hard blue sky as they prepared for the descent into Teruk. Even after eight hours of admittedly sporadic sleep, Gracie felt wired, anticipation warring with sheer panic. Malik had generously allowed her and Sam the master bedroom, while he’d taken a pull-out sofa bed in the main cabin.

      The bed had been incredibly comfortable and Sam had been out as soon as his head hit the pillow, so she couldn’t blame him for her lack of sleep. No, it had been Malik who had kept her awake most of the night. Malik’s sheer presence, his knowing kiss, his absolute magnetism...and the yearning desire she felt for him after all these years, as strong and powerful as it ever had been.

      This morning Malik looked immaculate and refreshed, and disturbingly different in a white linen thobe and turban. The flowing clothing only emphasised his masculinity, and Gracie was conscious that she’d never before seen him in the traditional dress of his country.

      ‘Look, Mom!’ Sam was wriggling in his seat as he tried to peer out of the window. ‘So many mountains.’

      ‘Yes, indeed.’ Gracie tore her gaze from Malik’s powerful form to look out of the window. From the sky Alazar looked forbidding, a foreign landscape of barren mountain ranges and even more desolate stretches of desert. The only green was on the coast, a thin crescent of arable farmland and civilisation.

      ‘We will go directly to the palace from Teruk,’ Malik told them both. He smiled at Sam. ‘I cannot wait to show you.’

      ‘Your palace?’ Sam’s jaw dropped. ‘You have a palace?’

      ‘I told him you worked for the government,’ Gracie explained in a murmur, and Malik smiled.

      ‘And indeed I do. My grandfather is the Sultan of Alazar, Sam, and I will be Sultan after him.’

      Sam boggled. ‘Wow.’

      Gracie half listened as Malik continued to tell Sam about the palace, its walls and turrets and many swimming pools. My grandfather is the Sultan of Alazar, Sam, and I will be Sultan after him. Just in case she’d forgotten how important he was. How surprising and scary it was for her to be here.

      The plane was starting a steep descent to the runway that cut through bleak desert when Gracie refocused on Malik.

      ‘You’re all right?’ he asked quietly, seeming genuinely concerned, and Gracie nodded.

      ‘Yes.’ She realised her hands were tightly gripping the armrests, and she forced herself to relax.

      Moments later the plane bumped to a stop and the security guards headed for the door. Gracie rose from her seat.

      ‘Wait.’ Malik stayed her with one hand and Gracie looked at him in uneasy surprise.

      ‘What is it?’

      ‘I am sorry, but it is not wise for you to disembark like that.’ He gestured to her clothes.

      Gracie glanced down at the outfit she’d taken some time over. An Indian batik skirt in a colourful print and a modest cotton blouse that covered her shoulders and arms. She’d been going for a casual but respectful look, but judging from Malik’s frown it wasn’t good enough. ‘What’s wrong with my clothes?’ she asked.

      ‘I’m sorry, I should have explained these arrangements earlier,’ Malik said in a low voice. ‘The truth is your presence in Alazar could be...disconcerting to some.’

      Alarm prickled. ‘Disconcerting?’

      ‘The sudden appearance of an American woman in my life...’ Malik spread his hands. ‘We must take some steps to make sure the press do not have a field day with that bit of news.’

      ‘Okay,’ Gracie said cautiously. It seemed reasonable, and the less press the better as far as she was concerned, but she still felt a little wary.

      ‘Will you wear this?’ Malik asked, and held out a headscarf. Gracie looked at it dubiously for a moment.

      ‘All right.’ She took the scrap of dark fabric. ‘When in Rome, I guess.’ She laughed then, uncertainly, at the mention of Rome. Malik smiled faintly, and for a second it seemed as if they were in their own bubble, memories swirling between them. ‘So it goes on like this?’ she asked, sliding on the headscarf and drawing the tail of fabric across her neck.

      ‘Yes...mainly.’ With gentle hands Malik adjusted the scarf, his fingers whispering across her face as he moved the material. Gracie sucked in a hard breath at the brush of his hands on her skin. Somehow she was going to have to stop reacting so strongly to his touch. ‘There. You look lovely.’ With his hands on her shoulders he steered her to a mirror. Gracie blinked at her face, framed by the dark scarf. She looked exotic somehow, alluring even, with her hair covered and her eyes so prominent.

      ‘You look cool, Mom,’ Sam chipped in.

      ‘I know it is not the custom for you,’ Malik murmured, his face close to hers. His hands were still on her shoulders and his breath tickled her ear. Awareness and longing rippled through her. ‘Thank you for wearing it.’

      Wordlessly she nodded. She didn’t trust herself to say anything at that moment. She felt too many things all at once, and she had a near overwhelming instinct to lean back into Malik’s solid strength.

      ‘There is one other matter,’ Malik said as he dropped his hands.

      ‘And what is that?’

      ‘We will need to travel in separate cars. For the sake of propriety. I will meet you at the palace. Is that acceptable?’

      ‘I suppose,’ Gracie said. Again it seemed reasonable, but with each second that they’d been in Alazar, she’d felt as if Malik was becoming more remote. His attitude was kind, and yet she sensed a coolness in him, saw it in his eyes. The man who had smiled and laughed and kissed her was gone as if he’d never been. Had it all been an act?

      But maybe Malik was simply tense upon returning to his country and his duty. She certainly felt nervous about it. Straightening, she plastered a smile on her