LITMIR.BIZ

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clustered thickly around eyes that now, as if intuitively, rested on Caroline.

      She smiled; he frowned. Then, under his lowered eyebrows, his dark eyes widened in an intent look, his gaze questioning, and more than questioning. Caroline shivered with awareness of his sheer physical presence and unconsciously drew herself up straighter, her shoulders back, as if he were a threat. As if his look was a challenge and she must not show any sign of weakness.

      He spoke to his companion, who also whirled to stare at her, and left him standing by the pillar as he moved to approach her. “Miss Langley?” he enquired in a deep, strong voice that, except for a certain throaty emphasis on the consonants, had little trace of accent. “Miss Caroline Langley?”

      She had the craziest urge to deny it, and run. The smile faltered on Caroline’s lips, but she submitted to the human reluctance to make a scene on inadequate grounds. “Are you from the hotel?” she temporized.

      “Not precisely the hotel, but rather the Royal Barakat Tour Agency. My name is Kaifar, Miss Langley. I am your personal guide. It is my job to liaise for you and your fiancé with the hotel and all the other sites you choose to visit to make sure that your trip is an enjoyable one.”

      “I see.” His voice was deep and warm, rippling along her nerves. Perhaps it was just being alone in a very unfamiliar country that made her so nervous, not his presence at all.

      “Your fiancé, Mr. Percy—where is he?” he continued. “He has been detained at Customs?”

      His gaze was clear and steady. He was a very good-looking man. She swallowed. “David had to cancel, I’m afraid. I’m here alone.”

      The strong black eyebrows snapped together. “He did not come?” He was frowning almost fiercely, his gaze piercing her, yet why should he be angry? It must be a cultural misunderstanding. Or perhaps in his experience women were not such good tippers.

      “David couldn’t make it. Is there a problem with my being on my own here?” She had been told that the Barakat Emirates were secular and moderate, but maybe as an unaccompanied woman she should be wearing chador or have a chaperone or something. She hoped not.

      He laughed at her, his teeth white against the black beard, charismatic as a fairy-tale brigand. “Certainly not!” he assured her. “I am merely surprised. I was prepared to pick up two people. One moment.”

      He moved over beside the man to whom he had been speaking a minute ago and spoke a few words in a language she took to be Arabic. The companion flicked her a glance, and then began to argue. But the chauffeur merely held up his hand and said something in a very autocratic manner, and his companion fell silent, shaking his head. The man named Kaifar returned to her.

      “My companion will bring your bags.” At his request Caroline pointed to where her luggage sat. “Follow me. Please,” he added as an afterthought, and with an arm not quite touching her he guided her through the thronging mass of humanity and baggage that was between them and the door.

      And then, with her dark guide beside her, Caroline stepped out of the airport into the heat and beauty of the exotic, exciting, little-known land that was called, in the language of its people, Blessing.

      

      Kaifar led her to a vintage Rolls Royce and installed her in the back seat while the other man stowed her luggage. The two men spoke together for a moment, then bid each other farewell as Kaifar climbed into the driver’s seat. But instead of starting the car, he sat for a long moment, stroking his beard, his eyes shuttered, deep in thought. Caroline shivered.

      She leaned forward abruptly. “What is the problem?”

      He came out of his trance in some surprise, and looked haughtily over his shoulder at her, as if she had no right to question his actions. Caroline thought dryly, Well, if West Barakat wants to attract tourists, the guides are going to have to get used to women who know what they want.

      But his next words indicated that he was already aware of that. “I beg your pardon, Miss Langley,” he said with a brief nod.

      She felt a sensation of unease that she could not pinpoint. Belatedly she saw that she had only Kaifar’s word for it that he had been officially sent to pick her up. She had seen no identification. And he was not in uniform, merely a white shirt and dark trousers. He could be anyone. She thought about his reaction to the news that David had not come. He spoke good English—he might easily have discovered that David was rich. Suppose he was planning something?

      “Where are you taking me?” she challenged, realizing that she was in a position from which it would now be almost impossible to escape. Why hadn’t she asked him for some I.D. inside?

      He leaned forward and pressed the car into life. He spoke over his shoulder without turning his head to look at her as the car moved forward.

      “I am taking you to your hotel, where else?” he said shortly.

      “What is the name of the hotel?” she said, but it was too little, too late if her nameless fears were right. The car was already picking up speed.

      He smiled in the mirror at her, looking like nothing so much as a desert bandit in a fairy tale. “The name of the hotel is the Sheikh Daud, Miss Langley. It is on the Royal Road that runs near the coast to the west of the city. Please calm your fears. Not all dark Arabs are desert sheikhs carrying off beautiful women to their harems. Some of us are so civilised we would even consider many of your own compatriots barbarian.”

      His teeth looked white and strong behind the black beard. He seemed to be inviting her to smile with him at her own foolish, unfounded nervousness. Kaifar slowed the car and turned out of the airport onto a wide, palm-lined boulevard, and this might be her last chance to leap out of the car. Caroline tensed.

      Kaifar turned slightly to look at her. “You will find the hotel very pleasant, Miss Langley. It is the best and most exclusive hotel in the Barakat Emirates. You were very lucky to win such a prize, yes?”

      She felt the buzz of his smile, the impact of the arrogant, effortless masculinity against her feeble guard, and thought, Is that what I’m afraid of? The fact that he’s so masculine and sexy?

      Maybe she should have listened to David. Maybe it had not been wise to come on her own. She had suspected that there was something David was worried about, though he had denied it. Had it been a fear that she would fall for some attractive foreigner?

      Someone like Kaifar.

      The airport was northeast of the city. “Shall I tell you about our country as we pass?” Kaifar enquired. He waved a hand and without waiting for an answer, began pointing out the sights to her an ancient ruined fortress almost buried by blown sand; a wadi in the distance, palm trees against golden dunes; a small desert village, looking as though it were still in the Iron Age, except for the single satellite dish.

      “That is the house of the chief man of the village. Once the possession of two mules marked his wealth. Now it is a television set,” he told her, smiling again. Yet she couldn’t relax.

      Soon they were in the city. The car entered a large leafy square, and a fabulously decorated, magical building of blue mosaic tile and mirrored glass came into view. “This is our Great Mosque,” he said grandly. “It was built in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries by m—” he paused, as if seeking the name “—Queen Halimah. Her tomb also is here.”

      Caroline gazed at it, entranced by her first live sight of such exotic beauty. After a glance at her rapt face, Kaifar slowed the car and drew in at the curb. The broad stone-paved courtyard was shaded by trees and cooled by fountains, and she watched the people—tourists and the worshippers together—strolling about. The place cast a spell of peace. A sense of wonder crept over her at the magnificence of the architecture, followed by a curious feeling of recognition. Her mouth opened in a little gasp.

      “What is it, Miss Langley?”

      “I think my fiancé has a miniature of this scene, painted on ivory! Is that possible?” How different, how unimaginably more impressive

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