Desert Jewels: The Sheikh's Undoing / The Sultan's Choice / Girl in the Bedouin Tent. Annie West
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Walking over to his briefcase, he slanted her a lazy smile as he withdrew a slim leather case. ‘Don’t you like presents?’
She wasn’t sure—her feelings were pretty mixed when it came to presents from Tariq. She wanted to be the first and only woman he’d ever bought a gift for. Not to feel as if she was just one in a long line of women who smiled their acceptance of whatever glittering trinket he had bought them. But she was. That was exactly what she was.
She wanted to tell him that she didn’t need presents. Because she knew him too well and she knew how he operated. Her counterpart in New York had probably been dispatched to choose something for her—just as she had chosen such gifts for his lovers many times before. She had probably even consulted him to find out what the budget for such a gift should be.
But she kept silent. She was curious and scared, knowing that she was in no position to make highly charged pronouncements because of what the outcome might be. Because mightn’t he just shrug his shoulders and walk away?
So she took the box he handed her and flipped open the clasp with fingers which were miraculously steady. The first irreverent thought which crossed her mind was that she was pretty low down on the price scale. After five years of choosing various sparklers for Tariq’s women, she could see instantly that her own offering would not have caused a stratospheric hole in his wallet. No diamonds or emeralds for her.
But in a stupid way she was glad. Precious jewels would have been all wrong on someone like her: they would have felt like some sort of payment and they wouldn’t have suited her. Instead Tariq had bought her something she might actually have saved up for and bought for herself.
Lying on bed of blue-black velvet lay a shoal of opals, fashioned into in a dramatic waterfall of a necklace. Isobel drew it out of the box. The stones were dark grey—almost black—but as the necklace shimmered over her fingers she could see the transformation of each gem into a vivid rainbow.
‘Do you like it?’ questioned Tariq.
Isobel blinked. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,’ she whispered.
‘I chose it myself,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘I liked the element of surprise. In some lights it looks quite subdued—while in other aspects it’s amazingly vibrant.’ His eyes narrowed and his tone was dry. ‘A little like you, in fact, Izzy.’
Isobel suddenly became extremely preoccupied with the jewellery, swallowing down the glimmer of tears which were hovering at the back of her eyes. He’d chosen it himself. To her certain knowledge he’d never done that before—not in all the time she’d worked for him. So did that mean anything? She couldn’t help the wild leap of her heart. Did such an unexpected gesture mean that his feelings for her might be growing and changing? Dared she…dared she hope for such a thing?
‘You do like it, Izzy?’
His question broke into her thoughts and she lifted her head. ‘I do like it. In fact, I love it.’
‘Good.’ There was a pause. ‘I thought you might want to wear it tomorrow night.’
She heard the studied casualness in his voice. ‘Why? What’s happening tomorrow night?’
‘My brother is in town.’
She blinked. ‘You mean your brother, the King?’
‘I only have one brother,’ he answered drily. ‘He flew my sister-in-law to Paris for their wedding anniversary. Francesca hasn’t been back in England in nearly a year, so they’ve decided to come on to London. Our embassy is throwing a formal dinner for them tonight—which I shall have to attend. But tomorrow they want to meet up privately. You’ve spoken to Zahid on the phone so many times that I thought you might like this opportunity to meet him.’
Carefully, she put the necklace back in its case and smiled. ‘I’d love to meet your brother,’ she said.
‘Good.’ Tariq walked through to his private office, calling out over his shoulder, ‘I’ll let you have the details later.’
Isobel waited until the door had closed behind him, then stared at the jewellery case in her handbag, a strange cocktail of emotions forming a tight knot at the pit of her stomach. She might be going out of her mind, but try as she might she couldn’t quite subdue the sudden flare of happiness which rose within her. Hand-picked jewels and meeting his brother were surely remarkable enough to merit a little analysis. Was it possible that, deep down, Tariq was willing to move this relationship on to something a little more tangible?
Cold reason tried to swamp her as she remembered the emphatic way he’d told her that he didn’t ever want commitment, or a family of his own. But measured against that was the terrible loneliness he’d experienced as a child. Maybe now he was coming to realise that people could change—and so could circumstances. That what they had was good. That it didn’t have to peter out after a few weeks—that maybe it could endure and grow. Was that too much to hope for?
But she felt as if she was on shifting sands—her hopes quickly replaced by a strange feeling of foreboding as she remembered something she’d read somewhere.
She clicked open the box to stare at the multi-hued fire of her brand-new necklace, and frowned. Because weren’t opals supposed to be awfully unlucky?
‘YOU look fine, Izzy. Really.’
For the umpteenth time Isobel smoothed damp palms down over her thick mass of curls, aware that she was probably mussing her hair up instead of flattening it. She frowned at Tariq. What kind of a recommendation was that? ‘Fine’ wasn’t the kind of description she wanted when she was about to meet the King of Khayarzah and his English bride Queen Francesca. Not when she felt so nervous that her knees were actually shaking.
‘That’s a pretty lukewarm endorsement,’ she said.
His black eyes gleamed as he captured one of her fluttering hands and directed it towards his mouth. ‘I thought honesty was our mantra?’
‘Maybe it is, but sometimes a woman needs a little fabrication.’
‘No need for fabrication, kalila,’ he said. He brushed her a brief kiss as their car drew to a halt outside the glittering frontage of the Granchester Hotel, but if the truth were known he was finding this very feminine need for reassurance a touch too domestic for his taste. Had it been wise to extend this invitation? he wondered. Or was Izzy now reading far more into it than he’d intended her to read? Maybe he should have made it clearer that there was no real significance behind the meeting with his brother. ‘You look absolutely stunning,’ he drawled. ‘Didn’t I tell you exactly that just an hour ago?’
Yes, he had, Isobel conceded. But a man said all kinds of things to a woman when he had just finished ravishing her in the middle of his big bed…
Their spontaneous lovemaking had left her running late—but maybe it was better not to have had time to fret about her appearance when she’d been nervous enough already. She was wearing a new dress in grey silk jersey, and its careful draping did amazing things for her figure. She’d teamed the dress with high-heeled black suede shoes, and on Tariq’s instructions had left her hair hanging loose. She’d wondered aloud if the wild cloud of Titian curls was not a little too much, but he had wound his fingers through its corkscrew strands and told her that it was a crime to hide it away.
Her only adornment was the opals he had brought her back from America, and they sparkled rainbow light at her throat and dominated the subdued palette of her outfit. The gems he’d chosen for her himself… How could such beautiful gems possibly be unlucky? she asked herself, her fingertips reaching up to touch the cool stones as a doorman sprang to open the car door.
The private elevator zoomed them up to the penthouse suite, and when the door was opened by a man who