Desert Mistress

The sound of a discreet knock at the door, and seconds later Rochelle entered the room with a swathe of black draped over her arm.

‘Perhaps we can arrange to further this discussion at a more opportune time?’ Kristi offered with contrived politeness. ‘It would be impolite to neglect your guests for much longer.’

Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed inclined his head. ‘Indeed. Shall we say dinner tomorrow evening? I will send a car to your hotel at six.’

A tiny thrill of exhilaration spiralled through her body. ‘Thank you.’

His eyes were hooded and his smile was barely evident. ‘I shall leave you with Rochelle,’ he declared formally, then, with a dismissing gesture, he moved into the passageway and closed the door behind him.

‘I think these should be adequate,’ Rochelle indicated as she held out the evening trousers and an elegant beaded top.

They were superb, the style emphasising Kristi’s slender frame and highlighting the delicate fragility of her features.

‘Do you feel ready to rejoin the party? Sir Alexander Harrington has expressed anxiety as to your welfare.’

‘Thank you.’

It really was a splendid gathering, Kristi acknowledged silently some time later as she sipped an innocuous fruit punch. She had attended many social events in the past ten years in numerous capital cities around the world, with guests almost as impressive as these, in prestigious homes that were equally opulent as this one. Yet none had proved to be quite as nerve-racking.

Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed was not a man to suffer fools gladly. And deep inside she couldn’t discount the fact that she was indeed being foolish in attempting to best him. Twice in the past hour she had allowed her gaze to scan the room casually, unconsciously seeking the autocratic features of her host among the many guests.

Even when relaxed he had an inherent ruthlessness that she found vaguely disturbing. Yet familial loyalty overrode the need for rational thought, and she dampened down a feeling of apprehension at the prospect of sharing dinner with him the following evening.

A strange prickling sensation began at the back of her neck, and some inner force made her seek its source, her gaze seeming to home in on the man who silently commanded her attention.

Dark eyes seared her own, and the breath caught in her throat for a few long seconds as she suffered his silent annihilation, then she raised one eyebrow and slanted him a polite smile before deliberately turning towards Sir Alexander.

‘Would you like to leave, my dear?’

Kristi offered him a bemused look, and glimpsed his concern. ‘It is getting late,’ she agreed, moving to his side as they began circling the room to where their host stood listening to an earnest-looking couple conducting what appeared to be an in-depth conversation.

‘Sir Alexander, Miss Dalton.’ The voice was pleasant, the tone polite.

‘It has been a most enjoyable evening,’ Sir Alexander said cordially, while Kristi opted to remain silent.

‘It is to be hoped the effects of your accident will be minimal, Miss Dalton,’ Shalef drawled, and she responded with marked civility,

‘Thank you, Sheikh bin Al-Sayed, for the borrowed clothes. I shall have them cleaned and returned to you.’

He merely inclined his head in acknowledgement, and Kristi found herself mentally counting each step that led from the lounge.

As they reached the foyer, instruction was given for the Rolls to be brought around. Within minutes they were both seated in the rear and Ralph began easing the vehicle down the long, curving driveway.

‘I trust you were successful, my dear?’

Kristi turned towards Sir Alexander with a faint smile. ‘To a degree, although he was aware of the deliberate orchestration. We’re to dine together tomorrow evening.’

‘Be careful,’ he bade her seriously. ‘Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed is not someone with whom I would choose to cross words.’

A chill finger feathered its way down her spine. A warning? ‘Shane’s welfare is too important for me to back down now.’

A hand covered hers briefly in conciliation. ‘I understand. However, as a precaution, I would suggest you keep me abreast of any developments. I feel a certain degree of responsibility.’

‘Of course.’

It was after midnight when Ralph slid the Rolls to a halt outside the main entrance to her hotel, and an hour later she lay gazing sightlessly at the darkened ceiling, unable to sleep. There was still a slight rush of adrenalin firing her brain, a feeling of victory mixed with anxiety that prevented the ability to relax. Would Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed present a very clever argument in opposition to her bid to have him take her to Riyadh? Call her bluff regarding her threat to inform the media of his friendship with Mehmet Hassan? She had seventeen hours to wait before she found out.

Kristi stepped out of the lift at precisely five minutes to six and made her way to the foyer. It was raining heavily outside, the sky almost black, and the wind howled along the space between tall buildings and up narrow alleyways with a ferocity of sound that found its way inside each time the main entrance doors swung open.

An omen? It wasn’t a night one would have chosen to venture out in, not if a modicum of common sense was involved. The occasional blast of cold air penetrated the warmth of the central heating like icy fingers reaching in to pluck out the unwary.

Kristi drew the edges of her coat together, adjusted the long woollen scarf, then plunged her hands into her capacious pockets.

Where would they dine? There was an excellent restaurant in the hotel. She would feel infinitely safer if they remained in familiar surroundings.

She watched as a black Bentley swept in beneath the portico. The driver emerged, spoke briefly to the attendant, then strode indoors to receive the concierge’s attention, who, after listening intently, gave an indicative nod in Kristi’s direction.

Intrigued, she waited for him to reach her.

‘Miss Dalton?’ He produced ID and waited patiently while she scrutinised it. ‘Sheikh bin Al-Sayed has instructed me to drive you to his home in Berkshire.’

Her stomach performed a backward flip, then settled with an uneasy fluttering of nerves. His territory, when she’d hoped for the relative safety of a restaurant in which to conduct negotiations.

The success of her ploy rested on one single fact: information that was known to only a privileged few. Her source had extracted a vow of secrecy—a promise she intended to honour despite any threat Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed could throw at her.

The large vehicle escaped the city’s outskirts, gathered speed, its passage becoming much too swift for Kristi’s peace of mind.

It was stupid to feel so nervous, she rationalised as the Bentley slid between the heavy wrought-iron gates and progressed up the curved drive. Insane to feel afraid when the house was staffed with a complement of servants. Yet she was consumed with a measure of both when the door opened and Rochelle ushered her inside.

‘May I take your coat?’ With it folded across one arm, she indicated a door to her right. ‘Come through to the lounge.’

The room was measurably smaller than the large, formal lounge used for last night’s party, Kristi observed as she followed Rochelle’s gesture and sank down into one of the several deep-seated sofas.

‘Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Orange juice? Tea or coffee?’

Hot, fragrant tea sounded wonderful, and she said as much, accepting the steaming cup minutes later.

‘If you’ll excuse me?’ Rochelle queried. ‘Sheikh bin Al-Sayed will join you shortly.’

Was it a deliberate tactic on his part to keep her waiting? In all probability, Kristi conceded as she sipped the excellent brew.

He had a reputation as a powerful strategist, a man who hired and fired without hesitation in his quest for dedication and commitment from his employees. The pursuit of excellence in all things, at any cost. Wasn’t that the consensus of everything she’d managed to learn about him? Admires enterprise, respects equals and dismisses fools.

But what of the man behind the image? Had the contrast between two vastly different cultures caused a conflict of interest and generated a recentment that he didn’t totally belong to either? Little was known of his personal life as a child, whether his mother favoured a strict British upbringing or willingly allowed him knowledge of his father’s religion and customs.

If there had been any problems, it would appear that he’d dealt with and conquered them, Kristi reflected as she replaced the cup down on its saucer.

‘Miss Dalton.’