His tone was easy but Tori sensed strong emotion ruthlessly repressed. Or perhaps she was making something from nothing. Essentially he was a stranger. Surely it was crazy to believe she could read him.
Tori tugged her gaze back to the view.
‘It’s true, you know...’
His voice dropped, holding a low, resonant note that ran through her like warm treacle.
‘The border province is peaceful now. You have nothing to fear in Za’daq. You and Oliver are safe in my country.’
Safe? Protected from marauding bandits, perhaps. But Tori knew with a shiver of premonition that the most perilous threat came from the man beside her. The man determined to raise Oliver as a Za’daqi prince. The man who’d turned her world on its head and undermined all her certainties.
* * *
She was glad of Ashraf’s supporting hand as the plane’s door was opened to reveal steps down to the Tarmac. For as they emerged bright sunlight engulfed them, and with it the scent of the desert.
A tremor of panic racked her, making her shake all over, gluing her soles to the top of the steps. Rough fingers seemed to scrabble up her nape then curl around her windpipe, crushing the flow of air.
It should be impossible to smell anything other than aviation fuel and the warm cinnamon notes of Ashraf’s skin as he stood close. Yet her nostrils twitched, inhaling the faint scents of dry earth and indefinable spice she associated with the desert.
Instead of hurrying her down the stairs Ashraf stood unmoving, his hand firm at her elbow, giving her time to take it all in. The airport building to one side. Cars at the foot of the steps, where a knot of people waited. Hangars, aircraft. And beyond that, just visible over a collection of modern buildings, arid brown earth.
Tori inhaled sharply, fear stabbing her chest. Her arms tightened around her sleeping son and the pulse of her blood became a panicked flurry in her ears.
Ashraf spoke. She heard the reassuring murmur of his voice, felt his gaze on her face, and finally managed another breath, steadier this time.
Eventually his words began to penetrate. A gentle flow describing the new airport building, finished last year. The recent economic boost as Za’daq had capitalised on its location to become a regional transport hub. The businesses clustered around the airport as a result.
Another listener would have heard a sheikh proud of his country. But Tori, catching his eye as her body finally unfroze, saw concern glimmer in those black eyes. A whump of emotion hit her. Like the invisible force-field of an explosion that would have knocked her off her feet if he hadn’t held her.
He knows. He understands.
There was no impatience in those strong features. Just reassurance to counter the chill that defied the blaze of sunlight and turned her bones brittle.
Had he expected her to panic? Tori had been nervous, but nothing had prepared her for the sudden freezing dread.
She took a breath, then another. This time Ashraf’s warm scent filled her nostrils, and Oliver’s comforting clean baby smell. Tori licked her lips, moistening her mouth. Ashraf followed the movement and heat of another kind flared.
‘So much development in such a short space of time,’ she murmured, her voice husky. ‘It must have taken a lot of work.’
It wasn’t an insightful observation but it was the best she could do. Ashraf nodded. He appeared relaxed, yet Tori felt the tension in his tall frame, as if he was ready at any moment to gather up both her and Oliver. His eyes flickered to the baby and Tori read his unspoken question.
But with his help her panic had passed. Her knees had stopped wobbling and her hold on Oliver was firm. She inclined her head and Ashraf turned towards the steps and the group of people watching.
He led the way, taking his time as he spoke about the long-term vision to make Za’daq a centre for communications and information technology.
Neither the aircraft crew nor the people by the limousines would have guessed at Tori’s sickening wave of fear. Gratitude filled her for Ashraf’s support. Especially when they finally reached the Tarmac and she read the barely veiled disapproval on some of the faces turned her way.
An older man approached and bowed. The bow spoke of deference, but the dismissive glance he cast her and Oliver spoke volumes. It shored up her determination to stand tall.
Ashraf frowned as the man spoke. His voice was no longer mellifluous and reassuring as he asked the man a question, then another, in the same language.
A short time later, after a few brisk words from Ashraf, the entourage retreated to the limousines.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, turning to her. ‘Something has come up which requires my attention. I won’t accompany you to the palace. But you’ll be well looked after.’ He gestured towards a slight gangly figure in a pale grey robe who, instead of retreating with the others, stepped forward. ‘Bram will see you settled.’
This man also bowed to Ashraf, but then turned and bowed to her too. ‘Ms Nilsson.’
He straightened and Tori looked into a pair of blue eyes, startling against swarthy skin.