Desert Jewels: The Sheikh's Undoing / The Sultan's Choice / Girl in the Bedouin Tent. Annie West
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a little. I’m learning all the time—though it’s not the easiest language in the world. But I’m determined to be fluent one day—just as my sons will be.’
‘They’re such beautiful babies,’ said Isobel, a sudden note of wistfulness entering her voice almost before she’d realised.
‘Not getting broody, are you?’ Francesca laughed.
It was perhaps unfortunate that the brothers’ conversation chose that precise moment to end and Tariq glanced up. He must have heard what they’d been saying, Isobel thought, her skin suddenly growing cold with fear. He must have done. Why else did he fix her with an expression she’d never seen before? A calculating look iced the ebony depths of his eyes which made her feel like some sort of gatecrasher.
‘Of course I’m not!’ she denied quickly, reaching for a glass of water and horribly aware of the sudden flush of colour to her cheeks. Why was he looking at her like that—with his eyes full of suspicion? Did he think she was trying to ingratiate herself with the monarch and his wife? Or did he think she really was getting broody?
One moment she had been part of their charmed inner circle—warmed by its privileged light—and now in an instant it felt as if she had been kicked out and left to shiver on the darkened sidelines.
By the time the evening ended her feeling of despondency had grown—though she managed to maintain her bright air of enjoyment until the car door had closed on them and they were once more locked within its private space.
She settled back in the seat, unable to shake off the feeling of having been judged and found wanting, aware that Tariq did not slide his arm around her shoulder and draw her closer to him. And suddenly she was reminded of that very first time she’d had sex with him. When she’d been driven home—knickerless and confused—after first dropping him off at the Maraban Embassy.
Back then she had been painfully aware of him keeping her at a distance, and he was doing it again now. Even though in the intervening weeks they had been lovers it was almost like being transported back in time. Because nothing had really changed, had it? Not for Tariq. She might be guilty of concocting fast-growing fantasies about how hand-chosen pieces of jewellery meant that he was starting to care for her—but that was just wishful thinking. Like some young girl who read her horoscope and then prayed it would come true.
‘You seemed to be getting on very well with Francesca,’ he observed, his voice breaking into her thoughts.
‘I hope I did all right?’ she questioned, telling herself that any woman in her position would have asked the same question.
‘I thought you carried it off superbly.’
‘Thanks,’ she said uncertainly.
But Tariq leaned back in his seat, unable to dispel the growing sense of unease inside him. The whole evening had unsettled him, and it wasn’t difficult to work out why. Zahid in jeans—with no help for the children—and in a hotel suite which looked as if it had just been burgled.
He shook his head in faint disbelief. It was scarcely credible to him that his once so formal and slightly stuffy older brother was now like putty in the hands of his wife.
But it hadn’t just been the sense of chaos which had unsettled him. Something about their close family unit had opened up the dark space which was buried deep in Tariq’s heart. Watching his brother playing with his children had reinforced his sense of feeling like an outsider. Always the outsider.
He shot Isobel a glance, remembering the way their gazes had met over the dark curly head of his nephew. Had that been wistfulness he’d read in her eyes as she’d held the baby in her arms? Was she doing that clucky thing which seemed to happen to all women, no matter how much they tried to deny it? Especially if they knew that a man was watching them…
But why shouldn’t she long for babies of her own? That was what women were conditioned to do. The most unforgivable thing would be for a man who didn’t want children to waste the time of a woman who did.
He saw that her eyes were now closed. Her cheeks looked as smooth as marble. Her grey dress and the new opals were muted in the subdued light of the car. Only her magnificent mane of hair provided glowing life and colour. And suddenly, in this quiet place, all the things he usually blotted out came crowding into his mind.
He hadn’t given any thought to the future. He hadn’t planned this affair with Izzy—it had just sprung up, out of the blue, and been surprisingly good. But sooner or later something had to give. It wasn’t for ever. His relationships never were. And the longer it went on, then surely the more it would fill her with false hope. She might start seeing a happy-ever-after for them both—which was never going to happen. Wasn’t it better and more honest to end it now, before he really hurt her—a woman he liked and respected far too much to ever want to hurt?
He realised that she had fallen asleep, and although a part of him wanted to lean over and wake her with a kiss he reminded himself that this wasn’t a fairytale.
He was not that prince.
Gently, he shook her shoulder, and her big, tawny eyes snapped open.
‘Wake up, Izzy,’ he said softly.
‘What’s the matter?’ Groggily, she sat up and looked around. ‘Are we nearly home?’
It was her choice of word which helped make his mind up. Because for them there was no ‘home’ and there never would be. She had her place and he had his—and maybe it was time to start drawing a clear line between the two.
‘I’m going to get the car to drop me off,’ he said softly. ‘And then the driver will take you on to your apartment.’
Isobel snuggled up to him. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll come home with you.’
There it was again—that seemingly innocuous word which now seemed weighted down with all kinds of heavy meaning.
‘Not tonight, Izzy. I have to take a conference call very early tomorrow, and it’s pointless the two of us being woken up.’ Lightly he brushed his lips over hers before drawing away—before the sweet taste of her could tempt him into changing his mind—glad that the limousine was now drawing up outside his apartment. ‘And, thanks to you, I got very little sleep last night.’
Feeling stupidly rejected, Isobel nodded. In a way, his explanation made things worse. It made her feel as if she was wanting something from him and he was withholding it.
Or was she simply tired and imagining things? Maybe it would be better all round if she did go home alone. She could have an undisturbed night’s sleep, and tomorrow morning she would wake up bright and cheerful.
And everything would be the same as it had been before.
‘Yes, we could probably both do with a good night’s sleep,’ she said, keeping her voice resolutely cheerful. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
But as Tariq got out of the car she saw the sudden shuttering of his face, and she couldn’t shift the sinking certainty that something between them had changed.
And changed for the worst.
SO IT was true.
Horribly, horribly true.
Isobel’s fears that Tariq was cooling towards her were not some warped figment of her imagination, after all. She was getting the cool treatment. Definitely. She recognised it much too well to be mistaken.
She hadn’t spent a night with him in almost a week even though he’d been in the same country—the same city, even. Every night there was another reason why he couldn’t see her. He was eating out with a group of American bankers. Or meeting up with a friend who’d just flown in from Khayarzah.