LITMIR.BIZ

      Darian watched her, saw the way her breasts rose and fell, outlined by the soft pink silk dress that she had changed into. She had been wearing jeans and a tee-shirt, but once the decision to fly to Maraban had been made she had opted for flowing, flattering, more feminine clothes—and she seemed to look at home in them, even here on the aircraft.

      He glanced around him. He had flown by private jet a couple of times in his life, but nothing to match this; this aircraft was a curious mixture of the very modern and the very old.

      Inside the state-of-the-art plane there were lavish silken cushions to recline on, and mint tea and and sparkling water flavoured subtly with oranges was brought to them by two very beautiful stewardesses who were unmistakably Western.

      Khalim waved his hand towards the proffered tray. ‘You would prefer whisky, perhaps? Or wine? My culture forbids the use of alcohol, but you are my guest and you must choose what you will.’

      Darian shook his head. ‘No, thanks. I never drink when I’m flying, and I’ve made it a rule always to follow the customs of wherever I happen to be.’

      ‘When in Rome?’ Khalim laughed softly.

      Darian laughed back. ‘Or when in Maraban, in this case!’

      The joke broke some of the tension and an air of ease settled down between the two men.

      The blonde stewardess offered Darian a small dish of pistachio nuts.

      ‘Thanks,’ he murmured as he took a couple, automatically registering the sideways glance she gave him, and the way that her uniform clung to her tight and luscious curves.

      As she wiggled her way out of the cabin Khalim turned to him. ‘She is very beautiful, yes?’

      ‘Very.’

      ‘Her name is Anastasia. You would like to meet her later? When we land?’

      Angrily, Darian crushed the empty shells between his fingers. ‘You offer women to your guests as you would a dish of nuts?’ he demanded. ‘Is that another of your customs?’ His voice lowered to a hiss. ‘Is that what your father did to my mother?’

      Khalim appeared unperturbed by his reaction. ‘I can assure you that Anastasia has a mind of her own, and would never deign to be offered as you would a bowl of nuts. But she is young and healthy and beautiful—is there such a crime in introducing a woman like that to a man like you? She is a strong woman.’ He paused. ‘Was your mother not similarly strong?’

      Darian nodded. It was not his way to discuss such matters, but this was an extraordinary situation, and for some reason he found himself answering Khalim, wondering if he had been deliberately provoked by him into doing so.

      ‘Yes, she was strong,’ he said. ‘Necessity made it so.’ Hard and proud and strong. Her remarkable beauty had made men flock to her, like moths to a flame, but she had rebuffed them almost coldly, as though she would never again allow herself to fall for a man.

      But how deeply had she fallen for Khalim’s father? Had it simply been a one-off? A brief passion with unexpected and unwanted consequences? And even if there was any way of ever discovering the truth did he really want to know—or was it better to let things lie?

      His golden eyes grew flinty as he gazed into the unfathomable stare of the man who it seemed was his relative, the only person connected by blood to him in the whole world.

      ‘So was that just some kind of crude test?’ he questioned softly. ‘To set me up with the stewardess? Or merely an attempt on your part to get me to talk about my mother?’

      Khalim shook his head, and now his expression looked pained. ‘Never a crude test, Darian,’ he said sincerely. ‘Though perhaps subconsciously I did wish you to speak of your mother. But my primary motive was altogether more straightforward than that. I know the appetites of men, and by your lack of interest it would appear that your appetite has already been satisfied.’ He flickered a glance over at the sleeping Lara. ‘By Lara,’ he said softly.

      Darian saw the direction of his gaze and again experienced that potent cocktail of rage and lust. He knew what Khalim wanted to know. Lara was his friend, and he would automatically wish to protect her. But it was none of Khalim’s damned business what went on between him and Lara! He would give him the bare facts, nothing more. ‘Yes, by Lara,’ he said shortly, hastily averting his eyes from her moving silk-covered breasts.

      ‘You are lovers,’ Khalim observed.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And it is serious?’

      ‘She lied to me,’ answered Darian stonily.

      ‘She lied because she was trying to protect me.’

      But in so doing she had betrayed him. Surely Khalim could see that? ‘Perhaps.’

      ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ persisted Khalim softly. ‘I asked you whether it was serious.’

      Darian gave a lazy non-committal smile. ‘I don’t do serious,’ he said truthfully.

      Through the light mists of her snatched cat-nap, Darian’s words came drifting into her subconscious, and as she allowed them to register Lara was filled with a sick, cold feeling. Had he said that deliberately—hoping that she would hear, and hear very clearly in just which category he had placed her? And wasn’t it better to know, to hear the truth that she had instinctively guessed at spoken out loud?

      She pretended to sleep, but in reality she was listening to their conversation. Darian did not come out with any more comments like the preceding one. Instead, he asked Khalim questions about Maraban, and Khalim began describing the history and the culture of his people, his rich voice softening with innate pride. Now and then Darian prompted him with an insightful question, and once he made Khalim laugh. Lara didn’t know why this should surprise her so much, but it did.

      Until she reminded herself that Khalim was intimate with few; his position as leader isolated him from confidences and shared jokes.

      After a while she made a great show of stirring, and when she opened her eyes it was to find that unforgiving gold stare trained on her. She found herself in the infuriating position of half wanting to go over and slap him and half wanting him to come over and kiss her.

      Just reaction, she told herself. He could not be faulted as a lover, and her body was simply reminding her of that—it didn’t mean she had to act on it. She yawned, and the two men turned towards her, but all Lara could see was that burning golden gaze.

      Khalim smiled. ‘You are rested now, Lara?’

      ‘Thank you. Yes.’

      ‘You will have some refreshment? You have eaten nothing.’

      Lara shook her head. ‘Thank you, Khalim, but, no. I am not hungry.’ She glanced down at her watch. Not long to go now. ‘When do we land at Dar-gar?’

      Khalim hesitated. ‘We are not going to Dar-gar.’

      Lara frowned. ‘Oh?’

      ‘I am flying us to the western province instead,’ he said smoothly. ‘To Suhayb.’ He saw her look of consternation and his voice softened. ‘Rose is pregnant, as you know,’ he explained gently. ‘And such an unresolved development as this would merely trouble her. I am needed in Suhayb, and it is as good a place as any in Maraban for Darian to see a little of how we live.’

      Lara nodded. She had heard of Suhayb, of course, which was Maraban’s second city. Rose often wrote long and chatty letters about the country so that Lara felt she knew it well. She was aware that a second palace was sited there, and that the region was fringed by beautiful mountains from which crystal streams flowed to bring life to the parched earth.

      ‘Sounds wonderful,’ she said.

      As if this was some kind of damned holiday she had booked, thought Darian furiously—until he was forced to remember that she

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