Desert Fantasies. Barbara McMahon
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be all right getting back to camp?’
‘Of course,’ the mother said, letting go of her child for a moment to take Aisha’s hand and press her forehead to it, noticing the torn hem of her robe. ‘Oh, but you have ruined your abaya.’
‘It is nothing, really. I have many more.’
And the woman really looked at her this time, her eyes widening in shock, tears once again welling from their dark depths. ‘Blessings to you,’ she said, prostrating herself on the sand before her as her wide-eyed daughter looked on, contentedly sucking on two fingers of her hand. ‘Bless you.’
‘What are you doing?’ she asked Zoltan when she returned. All the way back she had felt the sun warm her skin. All the way back she had felt the warmth of the woman’s blessings in her heart.
Now she found Zoltan sitting at a desk under the shade of a palm tree, a massive tome before him.
He barely looked up from his study. ‘It was too hot inside the tent.’
‘No, I mean, what are you reading?’
He looked up then, suddenly scowling when he saw her torn robe. ‘What happened to your abaya?’
She looked down. ‘Oh, there was a child on the beach. She’d cut her foot.’
He leaned back in his chair, his frown deepening. ‘And so you tore your robe?’
She shrugged. ‘There was nothing else to use.’ And then she remembered. ‘Is there a doctor somewhere close?’
This time he stood. ‘Are you hurt, Princess?’
‘No, not for me. There is a child—a baby, I think. It sounds like he should be seen by a doctor. The mother is worried.’ He was looking at her strangely. ‘What’s wrong?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing. And yes, Ahab—one of the chefs—has some medical expertise. I will ask him to visit the camp, to see if there is anything he can do.’
She nodded, majorly relieved. ‘Thank you. It is probably worth him checking the cut on the girl’s foot too, in case there is still some shell lodged inside.’ She looked down at her torn robe. ‘I should get changed.’
He watched her turn, wondering about a spoilt princess who would tear her own abaya to make a bandage for a child she didn’t know. A stranger.
And he didn’t want her to go. He slammed the book shut. He’d had enough of crusty old prose for one day. Besides, he was supposed to be getting to know her.
‘Princess, seeing you’re getting changed.?’
‘Yes?’
‘Now that the sun is past its worst, I was thinking of taking a swim to cool down. Would you care to join me?’
He saw a slideshow of emotions flash over her eyes: uncertainty, fear, even a glimmer of panic, but then she gave a longing look out at the ocean, where the water sparkled and beckoned and promised cool, clear relief under the dipping sun.
He recognised the moment she decided before she’d said the words, in the decisive little pout of her lips.
‘Yes,’ she said, with a nod. ‘Why not?’
It’s only a swim, she told herself as Zoltan went to instruct Ahab and she changed into her swimsuit. In bright daylight and in clear sight of the beach.
It wasn’t as though he could actually try anything.
But that didn’t stop her skin from tingling as she pulled on her tangerine-coloured one-piece, didn’t stop the tiny hairs on the back of her neck from lifting or stop her remembering how good he had looked wearing nothing but a black band of lycra.
Only a swim.
She belted a robe around herself and tugged it tight before pinning her hair up. If she got into the water before he returned to get changed himself, it wasn’t as though he would even see her.
The beach was deserted. She dropped her towel and sunglasses on one of the recliners that had been put there expressly for their use, and, with a final look over her shoulder to check that Zoltan was nowhere to be seen, she slipped off her robe and padded to the sea.
It was warm in the shallows, so no shock to the system, the temperature dropping as the water deepened, cool currents swirling around her knees and sliding inexorably higher with each incoming wave. She waded deeper into the crystal-clear sea, her hands trailing through the water by her sides until her thighs tingled with the delicious contrast of cool and heat and she dived under an incoming wave to truncate the exquisite torture.
She was a goddess. There was no other way to describe her that could possibly do her justice. And he thanked whatever gods were watching over him that had brought him to this part of the beach at this particular moment in time. He’d witnessed her furtive glance over her shoulder and watched her wade into the sea, all long, honey-gold limbs and sweeping curves, the sweetly seductive roll of her hips like a siren’s call.
He growled low in his throat.
He had never been one to resist the call of a siren. Even one who at the same time appeared so timid and shy. Why was she so nervous around him? Because she knew what was in store for her?
No. Because she knew what she did to him and she wished it wasn’t so.
Because she felt it herself.
He watched her strike out in the water, swimming expertly along the shore, long, effortless-looking strokes, measured and effective, the kick of her feet propelling her along.
Dressed in that colour she looked like a luscious piece of fruit.
A piece of fruit he could not wait to sample.
And as his groin ached and tightened he thought that maybe this swim wasn’t going to provide quite the cooling-off he’d had in mind.
The water was delicious, the repetitive rhythm of her strokes soothing in its own way, and a swim was turning out to be a very good idea. Until something grabbed hold of her ankle and pulled tight.
She screamed and tugged and whatever it was let go. She came up spluttering, coughing sea water, and pushed a tangle of hair out of her eyes.
‘You!’ she said between coughs when she found Zoltan standing there grinning at her. ‘It’s not funny. You scared the hell out of me.’
‘Did you think you’d caught a shark, Princess?’
‘A shark would be preferable,’ she spat back and dived under the water to swim away. He was alongside her when she came up for air. ‘It’s a big ocean, you know. Go find your own bit to play in.’
‘Your strap is twisted,’ he said, ignoring her frustration and building on it by putting a hand to her shoulder, slipping his fingers underneath the strap and gently turning it up the right way. She gasped as his fingers brushed her skin, turning it to goose bumps and her nipples to hard peaks as he left his hand there longer than he needed. ‘That colour suits you, Princess. You look good enough to eat.’
Nothing could stop the heat from flooding her face or the heavy, aching need pooling between her thighs. He was so big before her, so powerful, his shoulders broad, his chest dripping wet, and it was all she could do not to reach out a hand and feel if his skin felt as good as it looked.
She yanked her eyes away, looked to the shore. ‘I should go back.’
‘Already?’
‘I had a head start. And I need to wash my hair.’
He smiled one of those wide, lazy smiles that made his face look boyish, even a little bit handsome. ‘So you did. But of course you must go, Princess. Such a pressing need must be urgently addressed.’
She knew he was laughing at her but she almost didn’t mind. Worse still, she almost found herself wishing