The Sheikh's Collection. Оливия Гейтс
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rainbows instead. How could he be such a fool? How could he let his focus slip, even for a second?
It was time to get back on track, Khalil knew. To forget the fanciful feelings he’d been harbouring for Elena. What an idiot he was, to feel something soft even for a moment! To trust her. Care for her. It would only end badly...in so many ways. He knew that from hard experience. He wasn’t about to repeat the mistake of trusting someone, loving someone.
Not that he loved her, Khalil told himself quickly. He barely knew her. Things had become intense between them because they were in an intense situation, that was all.
He let out a long, low breath and headed for the horses. The animals had weathered last night’s storm well enough and were happy for Khalil to feed and water them. He’d just finished and was turning back to check on Elena when he saw her standing between the towering black rocks, looking tired and pale, yet also tall and straight...and so very beautiful.
His gut tightened. His groin ached. And as he stood and stared at her he was reminded of her nightmare, of the vulnerability she’d shown and the secrets she’d shared. He thought of her witnessing the death of her parents, the utter horror of the terrorist attack, and a howl of need to protect her rose up inside him. In that moment last night he’d almost told her his own terrible memories. Laid bare his own secrets.
Almost.
Now he pushed the memories away and gave her a measured smile. ‘Good morning. Are you rested?’
‘A bit.’ She took a step closer to him and he saw uncertainty in her eyes. Questions loomed there that he didn’t want her to ask. Had no intention of answering, not even in the seething silence of his own mind.
‘We can eat and then we should ride. The settlement we’ve been aiming for is only another hour or so from here, and I hope my men will be waiting for us there. We can explain to the tribe how we became separated in the storm.’
She nodded slowly, her gaze sweeping over him like a sorrowful searchlight. Khalil tried not to flinch under it; that guilt was coming back, along with a powerful desire to pull her into his arms and bury his face in her hair, to comfort her—and himself.
What a joke. He was the last person qualified to give or receive comfort. The last person to think of caring or being cared for. He half-regretted taking her on this godforsaken trip; he wished he’d left her to stew in her tent. But only half, because even now, when he knew better and had told himself so, he was still glad to see her. Was glad she was here with him.
‘Come,’ he said, and beckoned her back towards their rocky shelter. They ate the remaining flat bread and dried meat in silence, and then Khalil saddled the horses while Elena watched.
A moment later they were riding across the desert, the sky hard and blue above them, the air dry, and becoming hotter by the minute.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye, admired her long, straight back, the proud tilt of her head. She would never be bowed, he thought with a surge of almost possessive admiration. She would never allow herself the possibility of defeat. Looking at her now reminded him of how it had felt to hold her: the soft press of her breasts against his chest; the way her hair had brushed his cheek; the smell of her, like rosewater and sunshine.
His horse veered suddenly to avoid a rock, startling Khalil, and he swore under his breath. Already he was losing his concentration again, forgetting his focus. All because of Elena.
Not that he could blame her for his own lack of control. No, he blamed himself, and this sudden need that opened up inside him like a great, yawning chasm of emptiness longing to be filled. He wasn’t used to feeling such a thing; for thirty years he’d basically been on his own. The only person he’d let close in all that time was Dimah, and that relationship had had its own problems and pitfalls.
No, he wasn’t used to this at all. And he didn’t like it. At all.
Liar.
Two hours after starting off, they finally rode into a small Bedouin settlement on the edge of an oasis. There had been no sight of his men, and uneasily Khalil wondered how it would look to the Sheikh for him to ride in alone with Elena. He pushed the thought from his mind. There was nothing he could do about it now.
He’d been here once before on one of his tours of duty through the desert, getting to know the people he was meant to rule, rallying support. Much to his amazement, they had welcomed him.
Such a response still surprised him after all these years: that anyone could accept him. Want him.
Yet he still didn’t trust it, because he knew all too well how the people you loved, the people you thought loved you back, could turn on you. Utterly.
Several men came up as he swung off the horse, offering their greetings and taking the horses away before leading Khalil to the Sheikh’s tent. He glanced back at Elena who was looking pale but composed as several women hustled her off to another tent.
Deciding she could handle herself for the moment, Khalil went to greet the tribe’s Sheikh and explain why he was here. It would be better, he knew, to leave Elena alone for a while.
For ever.
* * *
Several clucking women surrounded Elena and she was carried along with them to a tent, bemused by their interest, and more than a little hurt by the stony look she’d seen on Khalil’s face as he’d turned away.
So he regretted their kiss last night. Clearly. And she should regret it too; of course she should. Kissing Khalil was a very bad idea. Caring about him was even worse.
The trouble was, she couldn’t regret it. She ached with longing for another kiss—and more. For him.
She’d come to this desert tribe because she’d wanted to, because she wanted to see the people who cared about Khalil.
As she cared about him.
More, it seemed, than he wanted her to.
Once in the tent, the women fluttered around her like colourful, chattering birds, touching her hair, her cheek, the clothes she wore that were now grimed with dust and dirt. Elena didn’t understand anything they said, and it appeared none of them spoke either English or Greek, the two languages in which she was fluent. They all seemed wonderfully friendly, though, and she let herself be carried along by the wave of their enthusiasm as they fetched her fresh clothing and led her down to the oasis where the women of the village bathed.
After a moment’s hesitation at the water’s edge, she took off her clothes as the other women were doing and immersed herself in the warm, silky water. After a night in the desert and hours of hard riding it felt wonderful to wash the dirt from her body, scrub the sand from her scalp. She enjoyed the camaraderie of the women too, watching as they chattered, laughed and splashed, utterly at ease with one another. She was gratified by their willingness to include her even though she was a stranger who didn’t even speak their language.
After she had bathed she slipped on the unfamiliar garments the women gave her: a cotton chemise and then a loose, woven dress with wide sleeves embroidered with red and yellow. She left her hair down to dry in the sun and accompanied the women back up to the camp where a meal had been laid out.
She looked for Khalil, and tried to ignore the flicker of disappointment she felt when she could not find him.
In the camp the women ushered her into their circle and plied her with a delicious stew of lentils, flat bread and cardamom-flavoured coffee similar to what she had drunk with Khalil. As they ate and chatted, they mimed questions which Elena did her best to answer in a similar fashion.
Within an hour or two she felt herself start to fade, the exhaustion from the night spent outside and the endless hours on horseback making her eyelids begin to droop. The women noticed and, laughing, brought her to a makeshift bed piled high with woven blankets. Grateful for their concern, Elena lay down in it, and her last thought before sleep claimed her was of Khalil.
She woke the next morning to bright sunlight filtering