Free Lord of the Desert by Diana Palmer Page B

out.
    â€œI know it’s a risk,” she said, glad that he hadn’t said anything immediately. “But I already love Morocco. I think I’m going to be very much at home in Qawi, if the sheikh is patient with my ignorance about local customs.”
    His dark eyes narrowed. “I think you will find him patient, in all things.”
    â€œI hope so,” she added fervently. “It’s like a leap of faith,” she added slowly. “A step into the unknown. Maggie said that I was vegetating in Texas, and I think she was right. I’ve never been anywhere or done anything adventurous in my life. I never realized the world was so big and its people so diverse. I’ll never forget any of this, whatever happens.”
    â€œNor will I,” he said quietly, and it sounded as if the words were torn from him. He was holding his wineglass so tightly that Gretchen wondered if the stem was going to snap. She wondered what was making him so broody, if it was his usual manner.
    The entertainer sat down on the small platform with her accompanist and began to sing a poignant love song in Spanish. Gretchen sighed and closed her eyes, to enjoy it even better.
    â€œDo you understand the words?” Philippe asked.
    â€œYes.” Her eyes opened and looked into his. “It’s a song about a man and woman who fall madly in love but can’t marry because he’s going off to war. They’re saying goodbye. It’s very sad.”
    He smiled. “You understand Spanish.”
    â€œYes. I speak it badly, but I can read it and understand it if it isn’t spoken too rapidly.”
    â€œIt is one of my favorite languages as well.”
    His hand slid across the table and his fingers linked slowly with hers while he turned his attention back to the singer. Gretchen stopped listening to the beautiful song. Philippe’s lean, warm fingers holding hers pushed away her reason. She closed her eyes again and gave in to the sensual delight of his touch.
    The program was only a short one, and all too soon, the singer took her bows and left the microphone. When Gretchen came back to reality, Philippe had let go of her hand and was getting ready to pay their bill with a credit card—a gold credit card, she noted, reinforcing her opinion of his station in life. He was obviously a wealthy man, that was evident from his clothing. She wondered if he might think she was playing up to him because he had money. She was certain he’d experienced that sort of woman.
    He gave the card to the waiter and tucked a large tip under the lip of his plate for the man.
    She hadn’t considered it, but she was certain now that he was going to escort her back to her room and leave her. He hadn’t said anything about his plans for the next day, but they probably wouldn’t include her. She had a poor batting average with men as a rule. She didn’t know how to flirt, she wasn’t a brilliant conversationalist, and she was only passably attractive. It depressed her to think that she’d assumed far too much after Philippe had found her in the swing. His attention had made her giddy with hope, but he looked as if he was carrying a heavy burden, and his eyes didn’t meet hers after the waiter returned his card.
    He pulled out her chair with that same old-world courtesy that seemed such a part of him and held her elbow as he escorted her up the small row of steps that led to the lobby.
    â€œI must go out,” he said without looking at her. “I have a business engagement this evening which must be honored.”
    â€œI understand. It was a wonderful day. Thank you. Maybe I’ll see you around the hotel…”
    He stopped at once, drawing her out of the pattern of traffic, and stood looking down at her with a dark scowl. “Are you tired of my company so soon?”
    Her face mirrored her surprise. “I…I thought perhaps you were tired of mine,” she