LITMIR.BIZ

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princesses would be permitted to attend. A camel race was a rare, exciting treat, but Tahira heard this with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. There would be a huge crowd. Ghutrif was making certain, with such a very public pronouncement, that this time the marriage would definitely go ahead.

      Fortunately, Ishraq was beside herself with excitement, more than compensating for her elder sister’s distinct lack of enthusiasm. It was the one good thing to come of it, for now that she knew Tahira was soon to be wed, Ishraq was her former sunny, loving self. As for Durrah and Alimah—yes, they were upset, but they too were excited by the prospect of attending a camel race and very shortly after, the wedding celebrations. They were thrilled that Tahira was to marry such an eligible man, and were already talking of bridal visits while Tahira—just thinking of anything bridal made her nauseous. She didn’t want to marry this man. She didn’t want to think about it, so instead she would think about Christopher. Again. Her escape from reality, because reality was simply too unbearable to contemplate. Was that wrong? She didn’t care. Tonight, she would once again inhabit her dream world, with her dream man. Tahira closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around her waist and transported herself there.

      * * *

      The large rock formation where they brought their camels to a halt two nights later was not unlike the turquoise mine, the craggy rocks the same russet red colour, the soft sand tinged with the same hue. ‘What is this place?’ Tahira asked.

      Christopher shook his head, dismounting before helping her from the saddle. ‘A place where wishes come true, I hope.’

      Just like the turquoise mine, there was a fissure between the rocks, though this was much wider, forming a passageway open to the night sky. Tahira followed in Christopher’s wake, leading her camel a few short steps before stopping with a gasp of amazement. The low rock cliffs encircled the space to form a natural arena carpeted with soft sand, which shelved down towards a large pool bordered with juniper trees, their foliage lush. On the far side, a narrow cascade of water fell with a mesmeric murmur into the pool like a shimmering sheet of white silk. Through another gap in the rocks, the desert landscape was framed like a painting, a ribbon of similar rock formations growing ever higher into a mountain range until it looked to Tahira that they formed a staircase to the galaxy of silver stars pinned above.

      ‘How on earth did you find this place?’ she said, turning to Christopher.

      ‘I have the Midas touch, remember?’

      He had hobbled the camels, discarded his headdress and cloak. His hair had grown longer, thick ripples of gold fell over his brow, giving him a distinctly raffish look. The deep tan of his face made his eyes seem as blue as the oasis pool. This man, this fascinating, fiercely attractive, fearless and driven man, had gone to all this trouble for her. A lump rose in her throat. She felt as if her heart were being squeezed, making her breathless, unable to speak her gratitude, so instead she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, pressing her cheek against the hard wall of his chest, the unique scent of him mingling with the verdant green of the oasis, the salty, heady taste of the desert night.

      ‘Tahira?’ Christopher flattened his hand over her hair, running it down her long plait to rest on the slope of her bottom. It was becoming a familiar caress, and it had a familiar effect, both reassuring and arousing at the same time. ‘Are you disappointed?’

      She lifted her head, smiling up at him, for once caring not that he would see the sparkle of tears on her lashes. ‘I am overwhelmed. It is magical. If you’d asked me to describe my perfect oasis it would be just like this.’

      ‘Excellent, then we may now make your dream come true. Shall we?’ he said, gesturing towards the pool.

      She hesitated, realising somewhat foolishly that he had taken her quite literally at her word. ‘When I said I wanted to swim in an oasis I meant—I can’t actually swim.’

      ‘It’s not too deep. You can walk over to the waterfall, the water won’t go above your waist. Or you can float. I can hold you. You’ll be perfectly safe.’

      Tahira looked at the tempting waters of the oasis. She imagined the cool caress on her skin while Christopher held her. She thought of the delights she had read of in The Art of Love. ‘I don’t want to feel safe,’ she said, twining her arms around his neck. ‘I want to feel.’ She kissed him, licking into the corner of his mouth, running her tongue along his sensual bottom lip. ‘And I want you to feel too,’ she said.

      ‘Oh, but I do.’

      She kissed him again. ‘Yes, but tonight, I want you to feel more.’

      He stilled. ‘Tahira, we cannot... I cannot.’

      ‘There are many ways of making love,’ she said, ‘and many ways to reach the summit of pleasure together, a merging of passions but not of bodies.’

      ‘What on earth do you know of such things?’

      She laughed, enjoying confounding him, excited by the spark her words had kindled in his eyes. ‘I’ve been doing some research. A bit of digging of my own, you might say. From a book.’

      ‘What book?’

      ‘The Art of Love. A most—a most educational tome.’

      Christopher’s smile was sinful. ‘Theory has its place but I’m a great believer in the merit of practical experience.’

      ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Tahira said, ‘but first—don’t you think we should experience this beautiful desert pool?’

      ‘Oh, I think we can do better than that,’ he replied, unbuckling his belt and discarding his scimitar and dagger. ‘I think we should combine the two.’

       Chapter Eight

      Christopher pulled his tunic over his head, revealing a deeply tanned, lean and very muscled torso, his ribcage expanding as he raised his arms, the muscles of his stomach rippling. There was a smattering of dark-gold hair across his chest, which arrowed fascinatingly down to the belt of his trousers. His nipples were flat, dark discs, completely unlike her own. A scar, a pale, jagged line on his left side marred the otherwise sheer physical perfection of his body. ‘How did you come by that?’ Tahira asked.

      ‘The result of a slight altercation with a pasha’s bodyguard.’

      Any other time, she would have asked him to elucidate, but right now, she was frozen, mesmerised by his body, so completely different from the illustrations in the explicit little textbook, so completely different from her own too. She wanted to touch him, but there was a world of difference between theory and practice, a world of difference between her fevered imaginings and the reality of this flesh-and-blood man.

      ‘Tahira, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You can change your mind at any point.’

      ‘I haven’t changed my mind.’ Embarrassment made her sound as if she had. If Christopher thought for a moment that she was unwilling, that she needed persuading—she knew enough of his demons to be certain it would put an end to the prospect of having even a swim together. I would never, ever take such vile advantage, he had said to her. That discussion had brought their perfect night to an abrupt end. This perfect night had barely begun. She would not make the same mistake twice.

      Tahira took a deep breath and unfastened the buttons which held her tunic in place. Blushing, but keeping her gaze fixed on him, she let the garment slither to the sand. There was no mistaking the flare of desire in the way his eyes widened, in the sharp intake of his breath as he looked at her. Her breasts would be clearly outlined under the flimsy chemise, she knew. As his gaze flickered down, she could feel her nipples hardening. He liked what he saw. She liked what it did to him.

      Gaining confidence, she kicked off her boots. Her toes curled into the cool, damp sand. She waited, casting him a challenging look and he laughed when he understood her meaning, kicking off his own boots. His feet were surprisingly slender and very pale. Tahira took a step

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