“The museum director,” he repeated. “Really?” He shook his head. “No, Gabrielle, it was I. But you deviated from my plans. Instead of coming direct, you took the plane to Dubai, and then came overland through the hinterland and Tawazun. Your old haunts.”
“You know which route I took,” she replied slowly, shaking her head.
“Of course. How could you think I wouldn’t?”
He speared a forkful of the spiced lamb and forced himself to eat, indicating that she should do the same. She sat forward, and he noticed her nostrils flare with appreciation at the aroma from the pungent spices. Despite her unwillingness to dine with him, she was being seduced by the traditional feast of Bedouin delicacies he’d ordered.
“Please,” he said. “Begin.” His heart softened at her hesitation and the uncertainty in her eyes. “It is tradition, Gabrielle, when we welcome old friends into our country, to share our food. I apologize if my welcome lacks polish, but, as you will undoubtedly remember, I am more a man of action than words.”
She bit her lip, nodded once, and broke off a piece of the traditionally bakedregagbread. He sat back with a sigh. Her defenses had slipped a notch, and he felt a hurdle had been overcome. She took a sip of water and he watched as her lips, not painted, but softly wet from the water, enveloped the fork upon which she’d speared a piece of lamb and aubergine. Her eyes closed momentarily as the tastes and spices of the dish bloomed on her tongue. He sipped his wine to hide the effect her eating was having on him.
“You like the food?” he asked, after he’d had a chance to recover.
She swallowed and nodded with a smile. “Yes, indeed. Thank you for the welcome and the dinner. It’s appreciated.”
One question hovered on his lips. He ignored it. It was too soon.
“It’s always a pleasure to provide things for people who truly appreciate them.” He shifted in his seat. He’d imagined that by placing Gabrielle at the end of the table, he’d be safe from her allure. He’d been wrong.
Her smile widened, and she raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. “I do. I’d almost…” She trailed off.
“Forgotten?” he prompted. “I can’t believe that.”
Her smile quirked briefly. “No. I don’t think I’ll ever forget this place.” She looked around. “It’s in my blood.”
He sucked in a satisfied breath. She’d given him what he wanted. It was what he hoped she’d say, it was what he’d believed she’d say, but what he hadn’t known was whether she understood it herself. He could proceed with confidence.
And he did. He made sure she relaxed and enjoyed the food and kept the conversation on the impersonal—about the country, archaeology, and mutual friends. Until finally, only the remnants of the meal lay between them, and the candles had burned low, one of them sending sputtering shadows across her face.
“Zavian.” She sat back in her chair, cradling a glass of wine in her hands. “I asked you a question at the beginning of dinner which you refused to answer directly. I’ll ask it again.” She cocked her head to one side, in an attitude he found impossibly appealing. “Why have you brought me here?”
“I thought we should meet as soon as possible to overcome any slight”—he hesitated as he contemplated which word to choose—“awkwardness. After all, you will be working, and living, close to me.”
He didn’t think she could have paled any more under the warm lights.
“Close to you…” she said faintly.
“Indeed. Your work will be the jewel in the crown of our forthcoming celebrations. I wish to oversee it, to make sure everything is as it should be.”
“You have people who do that. Thisisbusiness, isn’t it?” Her eyes glittered, and he suddenly felt unsure. Her eyes were shadowed as if she were hiding from him. “What else do you expect from me?”
He tilted his head back. “You think I’ve brought you here to renew our relationship?”
“I have no idea. You’ve orchestrated this whole thing, that much is clear. You don’t need me to work for the bi-millennial celebrations. They’ve been planned for months, years probably. They’re happening in one month. It’s a deadline. But for what?”
He licked his lips, as much at the sight of her flushed cheeks as at the unexpected clear summary of the situation. He liked the way she challenged him. It had always been that way. He’d set something in motion, like a chess game, expecting a particular result. Still, he could never predict the unique combination of her intelligent and emotional response, so different to his own. It had kept him on his toes then, and it looked as if it would do the same now. He smiled.
“A deadline signifying a new Gharb Havilah, new beginnings, the end of the old.”
“You’re getting married, aren’t you? You’ve brought me here to rekindle something before you marry?”
He grunted an unamused laugh. Sometimes her perspicacity could be downright annoying. But he knew how to silence that sharp intellect, he knew how to subdue her. He rose from his chair, the legs grating against the stone-flagged floor, and stepped towards her. She looked up at him with startled eyes. He didn’t even need to touch her. She leaned back, gripping the table, and he watched that long neck swallow convulsively. He longed to kiss it. But he refused to indulge the impulse. No matter what she might think, he wasn’t going to take anything that wasn’t willingly given. But a small reminder of their chemistry was no bad thing.
His eyes roamed her face, re-acquainting his mind, his senses with her. “Maybe that’s wishful thinking?”
She couldn’t speak; she looked stunned. She shook her head in denial.
He raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “No? Are you sure about that?”