Free Heart of the Desert by Carol Marinelli Page B

words.
    ‘That’s not good, Georgie.’ He knew her from the inside; he pulled out her demons and told her to banish them. For a moment she wanted to run.
    ‘She’s helped me so much, though.’
    ‘Have you thanked her?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Did you mean it?’
    She nodded.
    ‘Then you’re done,’ Ibrahim said, except it surelywasn’t that simple. ‘Lose the guilt, Georgie …’ he smiled ‘… and come to bed with me instead.
    ‘That last bit was a joke,’ he added, then it wasn’t his smile but the swallow beneath that told her something else—that he was remembering. For the first time in months he moved closer into her space and there was an almost imperceptible tightening to his nostrils, but to Georgie it was magnified tenfold, for she knew he was drawing in her scent as he lowered his head.
    ‘Bal-smin.’
He inhaled the fragrant air that swirled between them and she wondered if he would kiss her, could hardly hold onto her breath as she tried to keep speaking normally.
    ‘We call it melissa …’ And then there was no hope of speaking because his breath was on her cheek.
    She thought he might kiss her, so badly she wanted to taste him again, she thought he might pull her just a little further in, but all he did was torment her with a slow appraisal that made her feel faint. He breathed in her scent, though he did not touch her physically, but to have him so close made her feel weak and, whatever his assessment, he was right to assume he could kiss her; he could touch her; he could have her right here on the balcony, and that, Georgie thought in a brief moment of clarity, was a very good reason to say goodnight.
    ‘I’ve got to go,’ she croaked.
    ‘Then go now,’ Ibrahim warned, which was wise.
    She took the baby monitor from the ledge, walked to her room and made herself, forced herself, not to turn round, but there was little sanctuary in her bedroom.
    She took off her dress and lay naked between cool sheets, knowing there was just one door between them and wondering if he’d pursue her—already she knew what her response would be.
    But he didn’t.
    He left her burning, aroused and inflamed as once she had left him, as perhaps was his intention, Georgie realised. Maybe he did want her on her knees, begging, just so he could decline.
    Thank God for the baby monitor.
    An electronic chastity belt that blinked through the night and made lots of noise, and, far from resent it, Georgie was grateful to have it by her side.
    For without it she’d have roamed the palace, looking for his door.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    ‘Y OU wanted to see me.’ Ibrahim strode into the king’s plush office ten minutes early. Yesterday’s reprieve from his father had come more as an irritation than a relief to Ibrahim. He did not avoid things and though he wasn’t looking forward to this conversation, he would rather it was over.
    That he state his case and move on.
    ‘Have a seat.’ The king’s voice was tired rather than assertive, which was unusual, but what came next was a complete surprise. He had expected to be met with a tirade, a challenge, but it was the father, not the ruler who met his eyes. ‘You were right.’
    ‘I’m always right.’ Ibrahim smiled, perhaps the only one of the sons who dared and sometimes could get away with cheeking his father. ‘Can I ask about what?’
    ‘I should have informed your mother.’ The smile faded from Ibrahim’s face as his father continued. ‘She deserved better than to hear it from her son, or the news, or my secretary.’
    She deserved better, full stop, Ibrahim wanted to add, but knew better than to push it.
    ‘She would not come to the phone this morning to accept my apology, so I am heading there to deliver it in person.’
    ‘You are leaving Zaraq now?’ It was almost unthinkable. The streets were awash with celebration, this was Zaraq’s greatest day, and his father was leaving?
    ‘I will be home in time for his discharge from hospital and I will