‘The royal family. This is our private road. Only the locals and our security staff know about it. It’s not on any maps.’
‘And it takes us where?’
The mountains ahead looked wild. Maybe they were going to camp in a cave. Though that didn’t seem a good venue for a week of decadence.
‘Up there.’
She followed his pointing hand towards the foothills of the mountain range. Tucked in the curve of a ridge, perched above a ravine, she saw a blob of pale pink. As they drove closer she made out straight lines and realised it was a building, though it seemed to grow from the natural rock.
‘What is it? It’s too big for a house.’
‘It’s the Queen’s Palace and it is, actually, a house, albeit a fortified one. Don’t worry, it’s comfortable. The royal family has been using it as a private bolthole for generations.’ He paused. ‘I’ve known the caretakers all my life. They’re utterly discreet so you don’t have to worry about news of your presence leaking out. They won’t come inside unless we send for them. We can be utterly private.’
There it was again, that note of complacency in his deep voice. Rosanna was glad they’d be alone. That’s what she craved. Yet she couldn’t prevent that tiny tremble of nerves.
She wanted to be with Salim. There was no question of that but she wondered if this scheme would cure her infatuation. What if an affair only cemented it? Strengthened it into something more than lust?
The thought scared her into speech. She didn’t care if she was babbling, she had to break the silence and her thoughts.
‘But it’s pink. Is that because it was designed for a queen? It doesn’t look like a place a sheikh would choose for a getaway.’
A chuckle rolled across her skin and loosened her clenched muscles. ‘You think it’s not macho enough for fearsome desert kings?’ He shook his head. ‘It’s made of pink granite, one of the strongest local materials, and I can tell you it withstood at least one siege. But over time it was redesigned from a fortress to a private retreat. It’s known as the Queen’s Palace and the royal family comes here for pleasure.’
Did she imagine the way his voice dropped on the wordpleasure? Or the connection between pleasure and the sheikh’s consort?
It seemed to Rosanna that all those dry reference texts describing the power wielded by hereditary Dhalkuri sheikhs should include a note specifically about them as dangerous seducers.
Salim only had to drop his voice to that baritone rumble, or unleash a sexy chuckle, and she turned to mush.
How would she fare after a week in his company?
She told herself she was doing the right thing. That at the end of their week they could move on. Besides, what alternative did she have?
Half an hour later Rosanna stood in the most beautiful bedroom she’d ever seen.
It was airy and spacious and it felt so welcoming. Like a hug embracing her as she entered.
The walls were pale, except for the one behind the canopied bed which was painted with a gorgeous mural of a garden, complete with trellises, fountains, arbours and butterflies flitting between flowers. The furniture looked comfortable and inviting with plenty of plump cushions.
She could imagine herself curled up on that vast divan with the amber-and-gold throw, reading a book or looking out onto the internal courtyard garden. There were beautiful rugs, the sort for which Dhalkur was famous, in shades ranging from cinnamon to amber, dusky rose and dark garnet red.
Along one wall, tall arched windows gave out onto a broad terrace edged with crenellations beyond which, far below, stretched the vast southern plain of Dhalkur and the capital, a blue smudge in the distance.
The scent of roses was everywhere, from the potted plants on the terrace to the embossed gilt bowls in the room, filled with blooms of every shade.
Through an open doorway she spied a vast, sunken tub in a bathroom that glowed in the early light with shades of amber, gold and mother-of-pearl.
‘I’ve died and gone to heaven,’ Rosanna murmured as she stepped inside, her hand automatically reaching for a bowl of perfect roses, some of which, she realised, still held beads of dew. She inhaled, shutting her eyes against a sudden overload of joy.
She’d agreed to a week of sex with Salim. They could have gone to another city, or left the country for an anonymous hotel. Instead he’d brought her somewhere so romantic she had trouble swallowing over the lump rising in her throat.
Over the past four days she’d alternated between exhilaration and a nagging fear that this attraction wasn’t as significant for him as it was for her. He’d proven her wrong, bringing her to a place that was clearly special to his family. That showed a level of respect and thoughtfulness that banished her doubts and created an overwhelming surge of emotion.
His thoughtfulness made her feel special. As if she mattered to him.
At the same time she felt more vulnerable than ever. She wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to hold back her swelling emotions.
‘I’m glad you like it.’