‘A very wealthy international family,’ Emily said, deciding sheikhdom probably had more to do with who owned the oil wells.
He shrugged. ‘Wealth that has benefited our people. And we keep investing to consolidate the wealth we have, ensuring that the future will have no backward steps. There is nothing wrong with wealth, Emily.’
‘I didn’t say there was. It just happens to form a huge gap between your circumstances and mine. And while you take all this for granted—’ she waved wildly at their uniformed chauffeur and the plush interior of the Mercedes ‘—I hate not being able to pay my own way.’ A passionate need for independence from him fired up other resentments. ‘I hate not having my own money, my own credit card, my own…’
‘Freedom to do whatever you want?’
‘Yes!’
‘Then why not feel free to be with me, Emily? It is what you want,’ he claimed in that insidiously silky voice that slid straight under her skin and made all her nerve ends tingle.
His eyes mocked any attempt at denial. She struggled to come up with one that sounded sensible enough to refute his certainty. ‘What we want is not always right for us, Zageo. Even you, with all the freedom your wealth gives you, must have been hit with that truth somewhere down the line.’
‘Ah, but not at least to try it…to satisfy the wanting…how is one to make an informed judgment without embracing the experience?’
‘I don’t have to put my hand in a fire to know it will get burnt,’ she slung at him and tore her gaze from the sizzling desire in his.
‘You prefer to stay cold than hold out your hand to it, Emily? What of the warmth it promises? The sense of physical well-being, the pleasure…’
Her stomach contracted at the thought of the sexual pleasure he might give her. Panicked by how much she did want to try it, Emily seized the first distraction her gaze hit as the Mercedes started through a narrow alley.
‘The doors…’ Even on these poorer houses in the old part of Stone Town, they were elaborately carved and studded with very nasty looking iron or brass protrusions. ‘Why are they made to look so intimidating?’
‘The studs were designed to stop elephants from barging inside.’
‘Elephants!’ Emily was startled into looking incredulously at him. ‘Are you telling me there are elephants rampaging around Zanzibar, even in the town?’
‘No.’ He grinned at having drawn her interest again. ‘There have never been elephants on Zanzibar. The doors were originally made by Indian craftsmen who brought the design from their home country centuries ago. The style of them apparently appealed and has endured to the present day.’
She frowned, not liking them despite their elaborate craftsmanship. ‘They give the sense of a heavily guarded fortress.’
‘Very popular with tourists,’ he drily informed her. ‘They form one of Zanzibar’s main exports.’
‘What about spice? Isn’t this island famous for its spice trade?’
‘Unfortunately Zanzibar no longer has the monopoly on growing and selling cloves. Indonesia, Brazil, even China are now major producers. The island still has its plantations, of course, but they are not the economic force they once were.’
‘That’s rather sad, losing what made it unique,’ Emily commented.
‘The golden years of Zanzibar were not only based on the trade in cloves, but also in ivory and slaves, neither of which you would wish to revive,’ he said, his eyes boring intently into hers. ‘The past is the past, Emily. One has to move on.’
The words thudded into her heart—words she had recited to herself many times since being widowed. Zageo was making a pointedly personal message of them. But any journey with him would have to reach a dead end, forcing her to move on again. On the other hand, she certainly didn’t regret her marriage. She might not regret a sexual dalliance with this sheikh, either.
She stared down at her hands which were tightly clasped in her lap, the fingers of her right hand automatically dragging at the ringless state of her left. What did she fear? The world famous model, Veronique, had taken Zageo as a lover. Why couldn’t she? It wasn’t a betrayal of her love for Brian. It was just something else. A different life experience.
Except she couldn’t forget how out of control she’d been when he’d kissed her. To hand him that kind of power required an enormous amount of trust, and how could she give that trust to a man she hadn’t even met before yesterday? To blithely act upon sheer attraction did not feel right, regardless of how strong the attraction was and no matter what Zageo argued.
She sucked in a deep breath, lifted her gaze and once more focused on the outside world. ‘How much further is it to The Salamander Inn?’ she asked, looking out at a veritable jumble of buildings, many of which were crumbling from sheer age.
‘Not far. Perhaps another five minutes.’
‘Why build an expensive hotel in this location?’
‘It’s the most historic part of Stone Town and tourists like local colour. They come to Zanzibar because of its exotic past and because its very name conjures up a romantic sense of the east, just like Mandalay and Kathmandu.’ He smiled, his eyes wickedly teasing as he added, ‘Sultans and slaves and spice…it’s a potent combination.’
‘For attracting the tourist dollar.’
‘Yes,’ he conceded, amused by her sidestep away from anything personal. ‘And thereby boosting the economy of the island, generating more employment.’
‘So this hotel is a benevolent enterprise on your part?’ she half-mocked, wanting to get under his skin.
‘I am, by nature, benevolent, Emily. Have I not kept you out of the local lock-up, giving you the benefit of the doubt, sympathising with your concern over your sister’s whereabouts, offering you a free means of communication with her?’ His eyes simmered with provocative promises as he purred, ‘I wish you only what is good. And what will be good.’
It was futile trying to get the better of him. He was the kind of man who’d always be on top of any game he cared to play.
The car pulled up outside his hotel.
No doubt he could claim any suite he liked for his personal use.
Emily desperately tried telling herself she was only here to use a computer, but a wild sense of walking into the lion’s den gripped her as Zageo escorted her into the foyer.
And came to a dead halt.
Right in front of them, impatiently directing a bellboy on how to handle her luggage, was the stunningly beautiful and uniquely glamorous French-Moroccan model—Veronique!