The Sheikh's Hesitant Bride (Qazhar Sheikhs series Book 7) (12 page)

Rachel recalled the times when she'd asked him about the recent past, how he'd resisted her attempts to find out more, how he'd changed the subject. It had been frustrating, the way he'd avoided revealing more about himself, but she could hardly complain. Rachel had worked almost as hard as Zarif in keeping the past chapters of her life well and truly closed from him.
 

Rachel felt she had no right to criticize him when she had done the same to him. They were like strangers to each other. She felt that keenly standing here on the balcony, sharing this moment with him. There was a distance between them, and she wondered if their time together would only be temporary, merely a matter of convenience for both of them.

Rachel rested her hands on the cool marble of the balustrade. The coldness of it startled her, reminding her of the sheer physical reality of the palace, its defiance in the midst of such elemental, primal beauty.
 

Rachel felt Zarif lean in closer to her, and he rested a hand next to her own. She knew what he was about to do, sensed the inevitability of the gesture that would come. When he eased his hand along the smooth marble and touched her hand, she felt a galvanic sensation shoot up her arm, along her shoulders, and down her spine.
 

Rachel glanced at Zarif and saw a question in his gaze as if he was asking her if he'd done the right thing. She didn't move her hand, content to leave it right where it was. Rachel narrowed her brows slightly and smiled at Zarif. The corner of his full lips creased into an answering smile of his own. There was almost nothing to this gesture but at the same time, it seemed to sum up everything they had shared in London. The reluctance; the hesitancy; the wondering.

They rested their hands against each other for a few moments longer, and then something deep inside Rachel shifted, and she gently pulled her hand away, giving him an explanatory, apologetic smile. He accepted the gesture with a slight nod of his head, and then drew in a sharp breath.
 

"I'll leave you alone to unpack."

Upon hearing those words, she felt an involuntary stab of regret that he was leaving and briefly considered insisting he stay and help her make herself at home. Because that was what she had to do, she realized. In spite of everything she told herself, she knew that this incredible place was going to be her home for a while.

Zarif wandered slowly back into the suite. The Princess suite, she reminded herself, feeling a flicker of shameful delight at that thought.
 

As Zarif paced slowly, easily, toward the door, she couldn't help gazing at him from behind. Surely he wasn't completely oblivious to the effect he had on her, she told herself. He was glorious looking, especially from this view. His shoulders were broad inside his shirt; his wide torso tapered to a narrow waist and tight hips that moved so elegantly. And then there were his buttocks. In spite of herself, despite all the years she had denied herself enjoying the sight of any man, Rachel couldn't contain the urge to swallow at the sight of that powerful, tempting part of his body. The mass of muscle shifted slowly as he moved, promising so much, tempting her to move closer to him.

Then he turned quickly, too fast for her to regain her composure. Rachel saw that he had noticed her expression even as she struggled frantically to appear disinterested. But, it was no good. He had seen the hungry look on her face and, judging by the look on his features, he was pleased. Even satisfied that he had caught her off guard.

"You okay?" he asked. She realized he wasn't going to miss this opportunity to tease her, just as he had done so many times in London. Only this time was different. This time she was in his domain; this time she was in his own private space, the one place over which he had complete dominion.

Rachel raised a hand to her neck, realizing just how awkward she must seem. "Yes. Fine. Why wouldn't it be?" she replied defensiveness in her tone.

Zarif quirked a brow and took a step toward her. "I thought you looked a little pale for a moment."

Rachel shifted on her heels and glanced over at her suitcases in the bedroom. "No. I'm fine, Zarif." Not the bedroom, she chided herself. Don't look at the bedroom. Not while he is standing there looking like that. "I better unpack."

Zarif glanced into her bedroom. She saw a flicker of a dangerous thought in those eyes and tried to force her features into a mask of impassive, unreadable nothingness. But, she could see from his continuing look that she was failing miserably.

"I'll send up Irina to help you."

"Who's she?" Rachel asked, thankful for the change of subject.

"She virtually runs the palace. Irina's been with the family for many years. She's amazing at organizing everything. I wouldn't be able to run this place without her. You and she will get along just fine."

Zarif opened the door. "I'll see you later for lunch."

Rachel raised a hesitant hand and smiled at Zarif. "Thank you, Zarif."

He paused. "For what?"

Rachel gazed around the room. "For making me feel so welcome."

Zarif smiled. "It's the least I could do, Rachel. I hope we can get along as well as we did in London."

Rachel felt butterflies flutter in her middle. Of course, she agreed with that statement, she told herself. How on earth couldn't she want the wonderful time they'd shared in London to continue here in this dreamlike palace in the desert? She'd be mad not to want that.

Wouldn't she?

CHAPTER TEN

Zarif had only been gone a few minutes when a stern looking dark-haired woman of middle years dressed in traditional robes knocked hesitantly on the door and entered the room. Behind her followed a younger woman similarly dressed.

"May I enter, ma'am?" the older woman said.

Rachel strode over toward the door. "You must be Irina. Zarif told me you might come to help me unpack."

The woman had dark, penetrating eyes that peered steadily at Rachel. "Sheikh Zarif requested that I assist you in any way I can," she replied in a flat, emotionless voice. Behind Irina, the younger woman shifted nervously. Irina twisted around and stared at the younger woman. "Be still, Ayliah," Irina said harshly. The younger woman's face paled slightly and she quickly bowed her head, muttering something that Rachel didn't catch.

Rachel stared at Irina. There was no need to speak like that to Ayliah, she thought. She was about to say so when Irina strode imperiously past Rachel. Hands clasped tightly, Irina stared at the clothes strewn across Rachel's bed.
 

Rachel was sure she could see disapproval in that look. "I don't really need any help, Irina," she said. "I've already made a start, as you can see," Rachel added walking toward the bed.

"I can see that, indeed, ma'am," Irina said in a flat voice.

Irina turned quickly and barked out a command to Ayliah. The young woman bowed and quickly raced out of the room. Irina turned to Rachel and smiled, but there was little warmth in the smile. "There is little need for Ayliah's assistance," she said turning her attention to the bed. "That is quite obvious," she added.

Rachel squinted at Irina. What was wrong with this woman? She and Rachel had barely met, and Rachel was already picking up a very strong feeling of dislike from the older woman.
 

Rachel moved in front of Irina and faced her directly. "How long have you been with Zarif?" she asked.

Irina's brows furrowed. "Sheikh Zarif has granted me the privilege of being the head of his household staff for over five years. I have been with his family for much longer, of course. I served his parents for many years before this."

"You must know his family quite well, then," Rachel said enthusiastically.
 

Once again Irina's brows tightened disapprovingly. "I do, ma'am," she replied.

Rachel smiled at Irina. "Please. Call me Rachel," she said.
 

Irina's features tightened into a rigid mask. She paused a moment as if considering whether to grant Rachel her request. Then she nodded. "If you wish, ma'am." Irina looked at Rachel and nodded slowly. "Rachel," she added. It seemed to Rachel that the word didn't come too easily.
 

Irina strode over to Rachel's bed and halted by its side. She gazed down on the pile of clothing, her brows furrowing, her lips pursing. Rachel wondered if she had mistakingly broken some palace protocol. She went to Irina's side and gazed down at the mess she had made. "I really don't need any help, Irina. I don't have too many things with me, anyway. My visit won't be a long one, in any case."

Irina turned her head and looked inquiringly at Rachel. "That's not what Sheikh Zarif told me," she said.

Rachel frowned. "Really? What did he say?"

Irina turned away, quiet for a long few moments. Then she turned back to Rachel. "I got the impression from the Sheikh that your stay would be a very brief one," the woman announced as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Rachel felt a stab of emotion dig at her middle. A brief stay? Was that what he was telling the staff, while giving Rachel a completely different impression? For a moment she didn't know how to respond to that. After a pause, she raised herself up to her full height and stared at Irina. "I'm here on business at the Sheikh's own invitation. I suppose he has told you that?"

Irina shook her head. "He didn't give me the details. He merely indicated that your stay would be temporary, and that I should ensure that you were as comfortable as possible for the duration."

The way Irina spoke made it all sound so different from the way Zarif had made it sound. Maybe there was some mistake. Perhaps Irina had misunderstood what Zarif had said to her.

Irina walked slowly around the bedroom. Even the way she regarded Rachel's belongings, gave Rachel the distinct impression that Irina didn't approve.

"In any case, it has been a while since we had anyone else staying in the palace," Irina said.

Rachel's interest immediately perked up. "Really? Who was the last person to stay here?"

Irina gazed at Rachel, a flat, emotionless gaze that made Rachel feel suddenly uneasy. It was as if she had intruded upon something that was none of her business.

Irina's clasped hands tightened even more firmly. "Hasn't Sheikh Zarif told you?"

Rachel squinted at Irina. "About what?"

Irina's eyes narrowed, and Rachel was sure she could see a measure of calculation flicker in the woman's gaze. "The last person to stay here was someone very special to the Sheikh," Irina said evenly.
 

Rachel felt a twist of anxiety curl around in her middle. Who was Irina referring to? Could it have been a friend? Maybe it had been a family member?

"Perhaps, it isn't my place to tell you," Irina said. Her eyes shifted away from Rachel. "I'm sure the Sheikh will discuss it with you if he wishes."

Rachel's mind drifted back to the times in London when she'd pressed Zarif for more details of his recent life, only to be met with firm but courteous resistance. Was this the reason he'd been so tight-lipped about everything? She had to know at least something.

"You said the person in question was special. That means they are no longer here?" Rachel asked hesitantly.

Irina's gaze was even, and it was clear she was determined to say nothing more.

Rachel thought about the lunch Zarif had promised. That would be her chance to find out more. Now that she was here in Zarif's home she was determined to get an answer to that part of Zarif's past.

****

Zarif took his seat at the dinner table across from Rachel. As he drew the seat beneath himself, he glanced across at Rachel, confirming the impression he'd gotten as she'd arrived a few minutes before. There was definitely something troubling her. He could see it in her eyes, the hesitant way she looked at him.
 

Still, he had to admit she looked amazing in that blue dress. Plain and elegant all at the same time, just like always. It was such a contrast to have someone like Rachel in the palace. Zarif had been so used to Alana's presence in the palace, her constant demands that she always look her absolute best at all times. There was nothing wrong with that, Zarif admitted, remembering how attractive Alana could be at times. It was just that she took it to extremes, like everything else, until the point came when he could hardly stand to be around her.

Zarif looked across at Rachel. He smiled to himself, watching her prepare for the first course of the meal. He could never imagine thinking the same about Rachel as he had about Alana.
 

The table had been set on the terrace beneath the shade of a huge tree that hugged the border of the expansive gardens. The air was cooler here, even in the late afternoon. It was one of his favorite spots to have lunch. For a long time he'd shared this place with someone else, but now that Rachel was here, those past times were being gradually pushed into the darker corners of his memory. That was the way he wanted it. Rachel had helped him drive those bitter recollections firmly away. He was glad she was here, pleased with his decision to bring her to his refuge from the world.

Zarif placed his napkin on his lap and gazed across at Rachel. "Everything okay?"

Rachel nodded, fussing distractedly with her cutlery. "Fine," she said flatly.

"Was Irina a help to you?"

Rachel's eyes flickered to him. "Yes. She was quite helpful, actually. More than I thought she would be."

Zarif nodded. That was good. He wanted his housekeeper to get along with Rachel. It was important to him that Rachel fit in, that the staff like her as much as possible.

The first course of the meal was served, and they started to eat. Zarif couldn't help noticing that Rachel seemed quieter than she had been earlier. Maybe she was just tired. It had been a long journey. He scrutinized discreetly her as she ate. Why was it that just watching someone eat could be so enticing? The delicate way she spooned the food into her mouth prompted a curl of appreciative desire within him.

Her gaze flickered up suddenly toward him, and he felt an instant, primal reaction, the same as always. Her brows rose inquiringly, and he quickly attended to his own food. He'd experienced this comfortable silence while with Rachel back in London. On more than one occasion there, it had occurred to him just how easy they were with one another, not needing to fill the silence with awkward conversation. It was a complete contrast to Alana, whose nervous disposition had always been a cause for discomfort during ordinary, everyday moments like these.