But she knew their shape.
She’d been with Zavian when they’d found them. The memories shot at her like arrows piercing her veneer of protection. Without that defense, she felt the full force of that moment eighteen months ago, when she’d been alone with Zavian in the desert. The excitement of the find was eclipsed only by the lovemaking afterward. She closed her eyes against the full force of emotions, which rose like a tidal wave from deep inside her.
Suddenly she felt a prickle down her neck and back, which settled low inside. The silk of her abaya shimmered slightly as the air shifted. A door clicked closed, and she swung around. Zavian was formally dressed in a white robe, which made him appear even taller than he was. She’d always loved the traditional robes. They had a simplicity and a beauty which was timeless. Every eye in the room moved to Zavian when he wore European clothes, but the clothes of a king? He was not only magnetic, but awesome. This wasn’t a man to cross. This wasn’therman any longer, not the man with whom she’d discovered the objects.
The prickle that had begun in her neck sunk lower into her gut as Zavian walked towards her.
“Zavian!” His name slipped from her lips before she could check it. She could feel the color rushing to her cheeks as he gazed at her with a hunger which made her feel weak. She couldn’t be sucked in by it, to forget why they could never be together. Somehow she found the control and stepped away, needing space between them. “Your Majesty.”
As she uttered the honorific, the look in his eyes changed, and the arrogant control that she’d witnessed on the first night returned.
“Dr. Taylor.”
His formality cut to the heart of her, but she refused to allow him to see it. As far as he was concerned she’d been bribed to leave him and his country, and she’d disappeared from his life without a farewell.
“I see you’ve been admiring some pieces from my private collection.”
She gasped as he lifted his hand and reached past her. She froze, all her senses acutely attuned to him, wondering what he was going to do. But he simply retrieved one of the objects she’d been looking at and held it up to the light, twisting it in his strong hands, hands whose sensitivity she remembered well.
“I admire this piece for its simplicity.”
Taking advantage of his switch in focus, she exhaled lightly and composed herself. “I… I’ve never considered it to be simple.”
The corners of his lips tweaked slightly, but he didn’t shift his gaze from the piece. “Its contours are regular, its shape standard for its type. How could itnotbe considered simple?” he asked, passing it to her, their fingers touching.
“Because…” She paused, willing herself to focus on the piece, not him. “Because every time I look at it, I see something different.” She twisted the piece in the light. “A shade, a line, a ridge, a measurement of time etched into its fabric. Something beautiful, and yet flawed, all together in one piece.”
She looked from the piece to him. He’d lowered his eyes, which were now focused on her lips. When he raised them again, their chestnut hue was darker than before. “You always did make something simple, complex.”
“Perhaps because it was never simple.”
A muscle flickered in his jaw, but he said nothing. “You’re wrong. Everything is simple. Everything can be reduced to essentials.”
“Why is that so important to you?”
“Because only then can you judge it, only then can you assess it for what it is.”
He was too near for her to think clearly. His eyes roamed her face as the silence lengthened, deepened, and became unbearable. She swallowed and stood a little straighter.
“Well, I wish you luck with that. What is it you wanted to see me about, Your Majesty?” She hoped by using his title she’d remind them both that the intimacy of their conversation needed to stop.
“I paid a lot of money to bring you here, and yet you demand to know why I wish to meet you?” His eyes hooded, and he cocked his head a little to one side. “I thought you knew all about the power of money.”
She wished she didn’t blush so easily, but his comment sent the blood pulsing through her, branding her with guilt. But there was nothing she could do to defend herself. She needed to be guilty in his eyes. “Indeed.”
“And the person with the money has the control, isn’t that so?”
She nodded. His proximity was making it hard for her to think straight. “Sometimes,” she muttered.
“I think you’ll find it’s true all the time. Otherwise, why would you be here?”
“But why me? Others could have done this job. Others without the complications I bring.”
“Sometimes, unfortunately, complications cannot be avoided. They have to be faced to make things simple once more. There are things, Gabrielle, I need to know. Beginning with this.” He picked up a remote control and pressed a button. A part of the wall slid away, revealing the Khasham Qur’an.
Stunned, she stepped back as if pushed by a force field. She’d assumed it had been locked away somewhere in the most secure part of the museum. She’d assumed wrong. She was faced with her weakness—a way to absolve herself from accepting the bribe, a way to return a treasure to its rightful place, a way she’d thought had been anonymous.
Maybe it was fake? She walked up to it, heartbeat quickening, but could see at a glance it was genuine. While the binding was more recent—echoing the ochre and brilliant indigo of the pages within the book itself—there was no doubting the gilded angular Kufic script, laid down using a solution in which gold was suspended. And, as she cocked her head to one side, the uneven pages which carried the discoloration of centuries confirmed it. She closed her eyes and drew in a breath—despite the glass case in which it lay, she knew its smell. She’d held it and knew the musty aroma of antiquity and desert.