And he had not told her lies. On the contrary, he had been totally open with her. Had told her before he’d made love to her that there could be no long-term future—and she had accepted that and given herself to him as he had given himself to her.
So why not enjoy these exotic fruits of temptation for as long as they were available? To treasure and store up memories which would see her into old age. For she knew without a doubt that no man could ever follow Khalim.
‘Will you be my lover, Rose?’ he asked softly.
She opened her mouth to speak just as she heard the dry beat of hooves on the sand, and looked up into the distance to see four horsemen on the horizon, galloping fast towards them.
And then she smiled, deliberately enticing him with a slanted look of remembered pleasure. ‘Yes, Khalim. I will be your lover.’
CHAPTER NINE
ROSE felt as though she had been taken prisoner on the ride back to the Palace.
There had been a short, sharp exchange between Khalim and a man she had never seen before, a formidable-looking man in rich robes, whose bearing immediately distinguished him as someone of substance. Rose couldn’t understand a word of what they were saying, but she guessed that the man’s quietly restrained anger was an admonishment to Khalim for breaching security.
Khalim lifted her gently onto his mount and she held on tightly to his waist, longing to turn her head and to steal a glance at him, but she resisted, relieved when the golden gleam of the palace came into view.
Khalim dismounted and lifted her down, and in one single, suspended moment their eyes met and in his she read, what…?
Longing. Yes. And surely a brief dazzle of tenderness. But something else, too—something which stirred a wistful fear deep inside her—for wasn’t that regret there? A regret which told as clearly as words would have done that she must accept the limitations of their affair. And never hope.
‘I’ll see you to your rooms,’ he said in a low voice.
The man in the rich robes said something and Khalim turned his head and made a snapped reply.
‘Come!’ he said to Rose, and led her through the courtyard and into the palace.
‘Who was that man?’ she asked him once they were out of earshot.
‘My cousin, Raschid,’ he said.
‘He’s angry with you?’
Khalim allowed himself a small smile. ‘Furious,’ he agreed. But making love to Rose had been worth any amount of fury.
‘And will you get into trouble?’
He raised his dark brows. ‘I think not. I am the prince, after all,’ he said autocratically.
He spoke with an arrogance that no other man could have got away with, thought Rose, guiltily acknowledging the thrill of pleasure that his mastery gave her. ‘Of course you are,’ she murmured.
They reached her rooms and he paused, reaching his hand out to cup her chin, wanting to kiss her above all else, and to lay her body bare once more. He bit down the dull ache of frustration.
‘I will have food sent to you here for I cannot be with you this evening,’ he told her shortly.
She opened her eyes very wide as her heart pounded with disappointment, but she was damned if she would let it show. ‘That’s a pity,’ she said calmly.
A pity? Had he thought she would beg him to stay? Or interrogate him about where he wa
s going? And didn’t her lack of jealousy make him want her all the more? ‘But I will come to you later, sweet Rose.’
‘I might be asleep.’
‘Then I will wake you,’ he said on a silken promise, and he planted a sweet, hard kiss on her mouth before sweeping away.
Rose slowly got out of her rumpled clothes and took a long, scented bath before slipping into a pair of pure white trousers made out of finest cotton-lawn, and a little shirt of the same material.
Fatima appeared with a tempting array of food—a type of tomato stew with baby okra and lamb accompanied by a jewel-coloured rice dish. And a platter of pastries, glistening with syrup and stuffed with nuts and raisins. There was pomegranate juice and mint tea to drink.