One Desert Night - By Maggie Cox Page 0,11

see him? she wondered. Was she crazy to even hope he might agree to a meeting?

She would have broached the subject to Mrs Hussein on that morning before she’d left for the airport to return home—ask her hostess if she could elaborate on who he was and where he lived. But Clothilde had seemed busy and preoccupied, and it just hadn’t seemed right or proper to ask about the charismatic male guest that Gina knew simply as Zahir.

He’d left early the next morning, even before she’d risen to dress for the airport. His parting embrace had filled them both with intense longing all over again, but she’d given him her phone number and he’d promised to call her the very next day. It had been the hardest thing she’d ever done to kiss him goodbye and then watch him walk away, with the only remaining evidence of his presence the scent of warm aroused male he’d left on her body and the tingling ache between her thighs. She had surrendered her innocence to him—surrendered it with full heart and a fervent pledge to love him for ever…no matter what.

It was said a woman never forgot her first love. In Gina’s case her only love. That was why she could never give up her precious memories of that night. But she’d made sure all she’d ever have was memory when, incredibly, she’d rejected Zahir’s invitation to go back to Kabuyadir and be with him. Even now she still couldn’t believe she’d done it. Grief over her mother and worry over her father must have temporarily made her lose her mind. The thought of the pain and disbelief in Zahir’s proud voice had gone round and round in Gina’s head for three impossible years.

Turning her face into a plump silken pillow, she felt stinging tears of regret and longing wash into her eyes as she whispered his name…whispered it like a prayer…

At last Farida had retired to her quarters, and Zahir could safely entertain his guests from England. She would only become agitated and tearful if she knew of his intention to sell the Heart of Courage—the jewel that she seemed convinced was possessed of some king of prophetic power when it came to their family’s marriages. But when sufficient time had passed and she was more like herself again he was certain he could persuade her that the sale was for the best.

They had had a tumultuous time of late. Their parents had left this world one after the other, and then Azhar—Farida’s husband—had lost his life in an automobile accident in Dubai. The only thing his beloved sister needed right now, Zahir believed, was peace and plenty of time to heal. The presence of a family heirloom that he privately thought of as a curse would not help her achieve that. And for him it would only act as a painful reminder of all he had lost. It mocked his once fervent belief in it himself. He’d rejected the prophecy when the woman he had fallen in love with callously turned down his plea for her to be with him…

The money he received from the sale of the jewel he would give to Farida, to do with what she willed, he decided. He certainly didn’t need it.

The was plenty of evidence in palace records to vouch for the authenticity of the jewel, but as he planned to sell it abroad he’d needed to have that evidence corroborated by a respected independent source. The auction house in Mayfair had an internationally respected reputation. His two guests were a male historian and his female colleague who specialised in the study of ancient artefacts. Zahir hadn’t seen their names—he’d left the details to his personal secretary and lifelong friend Masoud, who had now unfortunately been taken ill—but he had ensured that out of respect and deference the female would have one of the best staterooms in the palace.

Now, as he waited in the main salon where he received visitors, he didn’t know why but an odd sense of foreboding gripped him. Telling himself that he was becoming as bad as his sister, believing in all types of supernatural phenomena, he impatiently shook away the unwelcomed frisson that shivered down his spine. Lifting the sleeve of his jalabiya, he glanced down at the linked gold watch circling his tanned wrist. The ornate twin doors at the end of the long stately room suddenly opened and his servant Jamal appeared.

‘Your Highness.’ He bowed respectfully. ‘May