That information ripped him out of his languid pose against the heaps of satin cushions on his couch. His body jerked forward, his loose robes suddenly pasted to a tautly muscled physique that seemed to bristle with assault readiness. Yet he spoke with a soft silky contempt which crawled straight under Emily’s skin, priming her into retaliation mode.
‘Where is your husband, Madame Ross?’
‘His ashes were thrown to a breeze out at sea…as he’d once said he’d prefer to being buried,’ Emily grated out, hanging firmly to being matter-of-fact so that she wasn’t embarrassed by one of the waves of grief which could still sweep up and overwhelm her when she thought of Brian’s death.
They’d been school sweethearts, rarely parted during all the years they’d spent sharing almost everything in each other’s company. Then to have him taken from her so abruptly…being left behind…alone…cheated of a future together…No, no, no, don’t go there, Emily!
She concentrated on watching her antagonist digest the news of her widowhood, the withdrawal of all expression from his face, the slow emergence of more sympathetic inquiry in his dynamic dark eyes.
‘How long ago?’ he asked quietly.
‘About two years.’
‘He was young?’
‘Two years older than me.’
‘How did he die?’
‘Brian was with a rescue team during a cyclone.’ She grimaced. ‘He died trying to save an old lady’s pet dog. A panel of flying roof hit him.’
‘A brave man then,’ came the thoughtful observation.
She managed an ironic smile. ‘I don’t think fear ever had any influence on Brian’s actions. He just did whatever he set out to do. We used to go adventuring a lot, working our way around Australia.’
‘You do not have children?’
She shook her head. ‘We weren’t ready to settle down with a family. In fact, we were getting ready to set off on a world trip…’
‘When the cyclone happened,’ he finished for her.
‘Yes,’ she muttered, frowning at the realisation that she’d spoken more of Brian in the past two minutes than in the entire two years since her departure from Australia.
You have to move on, she’d told herself, and move on she had, a long slow trip across Asia, more or less going wherever the wind blew her on her travels, not wanting to face making any long-term decisions about her life—a life without the man who’d always coloured it.
She’d attached herself to other groups of people from time to time, working with them, listening to their experiences, soaking up interesting pieces of information, but what was highly personal and private to her had remained in her own head and heart.
So why had she opened up to this man?
Her mind zapped back the answer in no time flat.
Because he was getting to her in a highly primitive male/female way and she’d instinctively brought up the one man she’d loved as a shield against these unwelcome feelings. Her marriage to Brian was a defence against other things, as well, like the idea she was a belly-dancer with indulgent sugar-daddies on the side.
She was, in fact, a perfectly respectable widow who hadn’t even been tempted into a sexual dalliance by the many gorgeous eye-candy guys who’d offered to share their beds and bodies while they were ships passing on their separate journeys. Sex without emotional involvement hadn’t appealed, and it didn’t appeal now, either, she fiercely told herself, willing her body to stop responding in this embarrassingly animal fashion to a very foreign sheikh who wanted to treat her as a whore.
Having worked up a head of defensive steam, Emily lifted her gaze to the man in the ruling seat and noted that his disturbingly handsome head was cocked to one side as though viewing her from an angle he hadn’t considered before, and the heart-thumping power of those brilliant dark eyes was thankfully narrowed into thoughtful slits.
‘So what is your marital status?’ she bluntly demanded.
His head snapped upright, eyes opening wide with a flash of astonishment at her temerity. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Fair’s fair!’ Emily argued. ‘If you have the right to ask about mine, I have just as much right to ask about yours.’
If he had a string of wives and a bevy of concubines, perhaps he would cease to be so attractive!
His face clearly said she was being incredibly impertinent but Emily didn’t care. ‘After all, what do I know about you?’ she pointed out. ‘I’ll accept you’re Sheikh Zageo…whatever…whatever…and you own this place as well as The Salamander Inn, which obviously means you’re terribly wealthy and probably influential, but—’
‘Zageo bin Sultan Al Farrahn,’ he broke in haughtily, supplying all the names she’d forgotten in her current fraught state.
‘Right! Quite a mouthful to remember,’ she excused. ‘Though if it’s a big issue to you, I’ll try to hold it in my mind.’
‘Rather than test your mind too far,’ he drawled in a mocking tone that once more raised Emily’s hackles, ‘you may call me Zageo in my private rooms.’
‘Well, thank you very much. It was really sticking in my craw, having to address you as Your Excellency,’ she tossed at him. ‘I mean honestly…how do you keep a straight face when people call you that? Though I suppose if you actually believe it fits you…’ She paused to look at him in arch inquiry, then testingly ask, ‘Do you consider yourself totally excellent?’
His jawline tightened. Emily sensed that pride was warring with his own intelligence which had to concede the presence of a few little flaws. No man—nor woman—was perfect.
‘It is simply the customary form of address to any sheikh in my culture,’ he stated tersely. ‘I doubt Her Majesty, the queen of England, considers herself majestic. Nor think herself the highest of the high when addressed as Your Highness.’
‘Okay. Point made,’ Emily granted, smiling to show she hadn’t meant to give any offence, though secretly she felt very pleased at levelling the playing field, if only a little bit. ‘If I’m allowed to call you Zageo, you needn’t keep on with Miss Ross. Emily will do just fine. It’s actually what I’m more used to. We’re not big on titles back home in Australia.’
And he needn’t think she was overly impressed by his!
‘Thank you, Emily.’
He smiled, instantly driving her mind into a jangling loop that screamed Danger! Danger! Danger! He’d just made her name sound like an intimate caress, sending a sensual little shiver down her spine. As for his smile…it was definitely projecting a pleasurable triumph in having won this concession from her, interpreting it as a dropping of hostility and bringing a much closer meeting ground between them.