leave you now,’ she whispered as one of the guards began to open the doors with a certain amount of ceremony. ‘Good luck.’
Eleni could see the glittering interior as the doors yawned open and at that moment she felt more like five years old than twenty-five. A terrible mixture of dread and fear mixed with hope and excitement began to tingle over her.
And drawing in a deep breath, Eleni held her head high as she was summoned to the sheikh.
CHAPTER FIVE
IN THE vast royal dining chamber Kaliq lay back on a heap of embroidered cushions, wearing robes which shimmered like spun gold beneath the guttering light of tall candles. On a low table before him stood a heavy goblet which he looked as if he were about to lift, when he looked up and saw her.
And in that split second Eleni forgot why she was there and why she found herself in such an extraordinary situation. Forgot everything—including her sanity—as her heart did a curious flip. Ebony eyes glittered as they stared at her and a mouth which must surely define sin itself quirked into a mocking kind of smile. For a moment she felt so faint, so weak, so utterly awed by his royal presence that she was grateful that protocol demanded she curtsey to him. But her cheeks were still flushed when she straightened up again.
Kaliq hadn’t moved; he hadn’t dared to—for the arrow of desire had made a stiff rod to lie aching at his groin. One of his ancestors might well have snapped his fingers and called her over to pleasure him with her mouth, but such behaviour was no longer approved of within royal circles—even in Calista. He sighed. It had been a dark day when his stepmother Anya had first brought some sort of equality to the women of this island!
‘Well, well, well,’ he murmured. ‘Let me look at you.’
‘Highness?’
‘Stand there.’
Kaliq’s mouth hardened as his gaze swept over her. In many ways it was not a promising appearance. She had tied back that magnificent mane of hair like a schoolgirl and her face remained scrubbed free of all artifice. Not only that, but she had chosen possibly the most neutral shade of all—when most women with colouring like hers would have opted for something vibrant. Something green and lush to echo the colour of her incredible eyes.
And yet it really was extraordinary how she had emerged like a Venus from the waves now that all the desert dust had been washed away from her grimy little face. The rough clothes favoured by her people had been replaced by a fine silk which accentuated the fine curves of her fit and youthful body. Why, his little lizard looked almost beautiful!
He shifted his position so that the ache at his groin grew slightly more bearable.
‘I believe that this is what they would call the “makeover”,’ he observed.
Eleni blinked. ‘I do not understand what you mean, Highness.’
‘No. I don’t suppose you do.’ His eyes glittered with mischief. ‘In the west, women sometimes take their clothes off for the television cameras—have you ever seen television, lizard?’
‘Once,’ she admitted. It had been a crackly old set hung on the wall of a café near to where she and her father had taken Nabat to race and she had not been very impressed with the raucous game-show which had had most of the other customers screaming with laughter.
‘And did you like it?’ he demanded.
‘Not particularly, Highness, no.’
‘Those in the west are addicted to it,’ Kaliq observed wryly. ‘And allow the cameras to take many liberties with their lives. These women in the makeover programmes allow other women to poke their naked flesh and tell them what to wear.’
Despite her disapproval that the sheikh should have been watching such a programme, Eleni couldn’t help herself. ‘Please,’ she protested. ‘You must not joke with me, Highness!’
‘But I do not joke.’ A mocking smile curved at his lips but the chauvinist within him silently applauded her entirely predictable reaction and
Eleni could see the glittering interior as the doors yawned open and at that moment she felt more like five years old than twenty-five. A terrible mixture of dread and fear mixed with hope and excitement began to tingle over her.
And drawing in a deep breath, Eleni held her head high as she was summoned to the sheikh.
CHAPTER FIVE
IN THE vast royal dining chamber Kaliq lay back on a heap of embroidered cushions, wearing robes which shimmered like spun gold beneath the guttering light of tall candles. On a low table before him stood a heavy goblet which he looked as if he were about to lift, when he looked up and saw her.
And in that split second Eleni forgot why she was there and why she found herself in such an extraordinary situation. Forgot everything—including her sanity—as her heart did a curious flip. Ebony eyes glittered as they stared at her and a mouth which must surely define sin itself quirked into a mocking kind of smile. For a moment she felt so faint, so weak, so utterly awed by his royal presence that she was grateful that protocol demanded she curtsey to him. But her cheeks were still flushed when she straightened up again.
Kaliq hadn’t moved; he hadn’t dared to—for the arrow of desire had made a stiff rod to lie aching at his groin. One of his ancestors might well have snapped his fingers and called her over to pleasure him with her mouth, but such behaviour was no longer approved of within royal circles—even in Calista. He sighed. It had been a dark day when his stepmother Anya had first brought some sort of equality to the women of this island!
‘Well, well, well,’ he murmured. ‘Let me look at you.’
‘Highness?’
‘Stand there.’
Kaliq’s mouth hardened as his gaze swept over her. In many ways it was not a promising appearance. She had tied back that magnificent mane of hair like a schoolgirl and her face remained scrubbed free of all artifice. Not only that, but she had chosen possibly the most neutral shade of all—when most women with colouring like hers would have opted for something vibrant. Something green and lush to echo the colour of her incredible eyes.
And yet it really was extraordinary how she had emerged like a Venus from the waves now that all the desert dust had been washed away from her grimy little face. The rough clothes favoured by her people had been replaced by a fine silk which accentuated the fine curves of her fit and youthful body. Why, his little lizard looked almost beautiful!
He shifted his position so that the ache at his groin grew slightly more bearable.
‘I believe that this is what they would call the “makeover”,’ he observed.
Eleni blinked. ‘I do not understand what you mean, Highness.’
‘No. I don’t suppose you do.’ His eyes glittered with mischief. ‘In the west, women sometimes take their clothes off for the television cameras—have you ever seen television, lizard?’
‘Once,’ she admitted. It had been a crackly old set hung on the wall of a café near to where she and her father had taken Nabat to race and she had not been very impressed with the raucous game-show which had had most of the other customers screaming with laughter.
‘And did you like it?’ he demanded.
‘Not particularly, Highness, no.’
‘Those in the west are addicted to it,’ Kaliq observed wryly. ‘And allow the cameras to take many liberties with their lives. These women in the makeover programmes allow other women to poke their naked flesh and tell them what to wear.’
Despite her disapproval that the sheikh should have been watching such a programme, Eleni couldn’t help herself. ‘Please,’ she protested. ‘You must not joke with me, Highness!’
‘But I do not joke.’ A mocking smile curved at his lips but the chauvinist within him silently applauded her entirely predictable reaction and
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