“You do not like me much, little one, do you?” About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE Copyright

“You do not like me much, little one, do you?”

Kit decided silence was definitely the best policy. There was nothing she could say.

“I am clearly the lesser of two evils, and it is a long time since I have been cast in such a rôle—” Gerard’s glittering gold eyes moved swiftly over her “—especially by such a beautiful woman.”

“You said you didn’t find me attractive.. ”

The deep voice was unrepentant “I lied!”

Helen Brooks lives in Northamptonshire, England, and is married with three children As she is a committed Christian, busy housewife and mother, her spare time is at a premium, but her hobbies include reading and walking her two energetic and very endearing young dogs Her long-cherished aspiration to write became a reality when, on reaching the age of forty, she finally put pen to paper and sent the result off to Harlequin

Dark Oasis
Helen Brooks

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

‘KIT! Where on earth are you? Everyone’s absolutely frantic here and David’s been tearing his hair out. As well he might! Are you all right, for goodness’ sake?’

‘I’m fine.’ Kit took a long, deep breath. She didn’t even want to hear David’s name. ‘It’s over between us. Did he tell you?’

‘Yes.’ Her friend’s voice was scathing. ‘He’s such a fool, Kit, he always has been, even if he is my brother. To mess about with Virginia of all people—Virginia! Never has a name been more un-apt, or at least the first six letters.’

‘Emma...’ Kit closed her eyes briefly and prayed for her voice to sound cool and calm despite her racing heart. ‘I don’t want to discuss it. I found them in bed and our engagement is over. That’s it. End of story. Now, I’ve arranged for my half of the rent for our flat to be paid—’

‘But where are you?’ Emma interrupted urgently. ‘You wouldn’t do anything silly, would you?’

‘Of course not!’ Her voice had risen and she breathed deeply before speaking again, her tone a few decibels lower. ‘I’m having a short holiday in the sun to think where I’m going to go from here, that’s all. I’ll contact you in a week or so, OK? Bye for now and take care.’

She put down the receiver and leant back against the small booth in the hotel lobby, shaking violently. The brief phone call had brought David vividly to mind and it was as though his face were there in front of her, his mouth a snarl as she had faced him in the doorway of the flat they were buying together for their intended marriage four months away, Virginia’s naked body hidden from her sight now behind the closed bedroom door that he had slammed shut as he had raced after her. ‘Damn well listen to me!’ He had pulled the towelling dressing-gown more tightly round him as her large grey eyes flicked disgustedly over his rumpled appearance.

‘There is no point, David.’ She was working on automatic, she knew it, but she blessed the shock that was keeping her from disintegrating in front of him. ‘And I think this belongs to you.’ As she deliberately removed the diamond engagement ring from her finger and held it out to him, his pale good-looking face flushed red, a hint of unease and panic replacing the aggressive bravado with which he had met her stunned face.

‘Don’t be so stupid,’ he spat angrily. ‘You’re not throwing me over because of that?’ He flung back a contemptuous hand towards the closed bedroom door through which she had walked so innocently minutes before. ‘I was just easing myself; she was available—Kit!’ He caught hold of her arm and she was made to turn without a word. ‘Kit, you can’t mean it? We’re getting married, we’ve got this flat, furniture, everything—’

‘Keep it.’ Let me get out of here with a little dignity, she prayed desperately. ‘Keep it all.’ She was tall at five feet ten, her slender figure carrying an unmistakable air of cool composure, and she had never been more glad of it as she met him eye to eye, her mouth curling with contempt. ‘I wouldn’t marry you now if you were the last man on earth.’

The torrent of abuse that followed her as she made her escape polluted the very air, mixing with the picture on the screen of her mind of Virginia’s sprawled naked limbs beneath David’s heaving thrusting body, and now, as Kit relived the sickening episode, she felt the need to breathe in some fresh clean air. As she left the pleasant coolness of the air-conditioned building and stepped into the Moroccan heat, it was like stepping into an oven, the iridescent blue sky shimmering with heat Casablanca. Kit squared her slim shoulders as she walked towards the little red convertible she had hired for her stay, pushing the bitter hurt and painful humiliation back into the closed box in her mind. She’d face that, and the tangles that would undoubtedly ensue over the little design business Emma, David and herself had started eighteen months ago, later. Enough of licking her wounds; today she was going to explore, and if tonight in the quiet of her room she cried hot, angry tears again, well...only she would know.

She travelled southward along the Atlantic coast from Casablanca making for Essaouira, meaning small fortress in Arabic. The hotel manager had fired her interest, explaining that the large harbour in the town had been used for thousands of years, ancient Romans frequently visiting to obtain a brilliant colouring material produced from shellfish and used for dyeing their robes purple. Ancient cannons still lined the main street and, after wandering its length, she turned into a quieter area. But, then, just as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle a warning about the footsteps behind her, a heavy blow on the side of her head turned the light into splintered glass, and as her shoulder-bag was wrenched from her arm she fell. Fell into a hot blackness that seemed to race up from the dusty ground to consume her.

She came out of the buzzing whirl of unconsciousness slowly, very slowly, aware of a sick pounding in her head that dominated all her senses and made her limbs like lead. ‘Can you hear me? Try and open your eyes.’ A deep male voice and a cool hand on her burning forehead registered on her bruised mind, but as her eyelids fluttered in obedience the piercing light drove them instantly shut. ‘No matter. I am going to lift you now but you are perfectly safe. Do you understand me?’ She couldn’t reply, and in the next instant she was being carried. She knew she ought to try and open her eyes again, to speak, but somehow it was so much easier to slip back into that soft enveloping darkness...

‘Try and hang in there this time.’

‘What?’ As she forced her heavy lids open, the cool shadowed room made it easier to fix her wavering gaze on the hard male face in front of her.

‘You have been slipping in and out of consciousness for the last few minutes.’

He was dark and magnificently male, his voice the one she had heard before. The accent teased her mind. French? Italian perhaps?

‘Just lie still and try to concentrate on my face only until the dizziness stops,’ he continued softly. ‘OK?’

It was more than OK. If Michelangelo’s David was beautiful, this man’s face was stunning. His gleaming hair was a thick tawny brown worn unusually long, almost down to his shoulders. High, hard cheekbones, straight nose and sensual, almost cruel lips below eyes that were the same tawny gold-brown as his hair completed a picture of such aggressive, vibrant masculinity that Kit felt her toes begin to curl.

But who was he? And where was she? And why did she feel so desperately ill? ‘Please...’ As she tried to struggle into a sitting position on the wide leather couch on which she was lying, he moved quickly, his body carrying the same powerful grace as a beautiful wild animal.

‘I said lie still.’ His voice was firm and cool. ‘You’ve received a nasty blow on the head so just take it easy.’

‘I have...?’ As her voice trailed away on a little gulp, she felt hot tears of weakness and pain prick against her eyelids seconds before he spoke again.

‘And do not dissolve on me, not yet.’ He fixed her with that hard tawny gaze that reminded her of the piercing stare of one of the big cats watching its intended prey. ‘I need to know your name, hotel, something. You are a tourist, I think?’ His voice was cool and steady and quite unemotional.

‘A tourist?’ Her tongue felt too big for her mouth. ‘I don’t know.’

A tourist? The panic that had been at the back of her mind ever since she had opened her eyes began to claw at her throat with strangling fingers. She could be a tourist. She could be anything. She didn’t remember.

‘Just relax.’ He saw the naked horror in her eyes and recognised it for what it was. ‘You’re clearly concussed, which is not surprising in the circumstances. Unfortunately the animal that did this to you also took your bag, so we have no identification to help us. I was hoping when you awoke you could provide a few answers but as it is—’ he shrugged massive shoulders slowly ‘—the police will have to sort it.’

As he leant towards her she cowered instinctively into the bulk of the couch, flushing as he eyed her sardonically with cool raised eyebrows before wiping her face and mouth gently with a damp perfumed cloth. ‘As I said, relax’

He stood up from his crouching position at her side and it registered on her just how tall he was, well over six feet, inches over, and with a powerful hard frame that would win first prize in any Mr Universe competition. ‘My name is Gerard Dumont, by the way,’ he added lazily as he folded muscled arms to stand staring down at her impassively. French. Yes, she should have known. ‘And you are...?’

‘I...’ Her voice trailed away as her eyes widened. ‘My name... I don’t know it.’ She raised agonised eyes to the gold of his. ‘I don’t know who I am.’

‘This is not a difficulty; do not panic.’ The pronunciation of his words and correct English in that broken accent was incredibly attractive, she thought faintly as she struggled for composure. ‘The bump will heal and then you will remember.’ He smiled suddenly and she drew in a hard short breath of air. He was something. He really was something. Did he know the effect he had on women? She looked into the darkly tanned handsome face silently, mesmerised by her own unaccustomed helplessness and vulnerability and the frightening loss of memory. She had to try to remember. She must remember something. ‘The police are on their way, incidentally.’ He eyed her lazily. ‘It would seem you were perverse enough to be, how you say, mugged at the same time as a rather large jewellery robbery was under way in the middle of the town. Needless to say, you were not considered the immediate priority.’

‘Oh.’ Her head felt as though it was going to explode any minute. ‘Where am I?’ It was the ultimate stage response to fit the situation, but for the life of her she couldn’t think of a less unsubtle rejoinder.

‘In my office.’ The gold eyes narrowed a little. ‘Can you not remember anything at all? Look down at your clothes; they may produce a spark. It would be preferable to the mountain of questions the police may ask. Subtlety is not their strong point here.’

She glanced down at her legs stretched out in front of her encased in light white cotton trousers, the cut impeccable, and tried to focus her whirling thoughts into some sort of order. Her feet were shod in slender coffee-coloured sandals that matched her waist-length blouse exactly, and again she noticed that both items seemed expensive. Well, fine. She obviously wasn’t destitute, but who on earth was she?

‘No.’ She sank back against the couch and shut her eyes again. ‘I’m sorry.’

When the police arrived a few minutes later she discovered one thing; she couldn’t speak the language. Fortunately the two police officers seemed quite fluent in English but she couldn’t tell them much, repeating the same thing over and over again until her head spun.

‘I think the lady needs to see a doctor,’ Gerard cut into the interrogation after a time, his hard face autocratic.

‘Do I have to go with them?’ She looked up at him, her large grey eyes suddenly terrified at the thought of leaving the only person she had any knowledge of, albeit a slight one, in this strange country.

‘You will be quite safe.’ His tone was slightly abrupt, preoccupied, and she noticed as he spoke that he glanced at the heavy gold watch on his wrist before meeting her eyes, a small frown wrinkling his brow.

‘I suppose I will.’ She wasn’t aware her voice was sharp, but he couldn’t have made it more clear that she was an awkward inconvenience and everything in her rose up in immediate opposition. ‘You must be a very busy man, Mr Dumont; please don’t let me keep you. Thank you for your kindness.’ The words were grateful, the slight edge to her voice anything but. And then he looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time and grey eyes met gold, the former defiant, proud and very dismissive and the latter narrowed with surprise. ‘Have you finished for now?’ She spoke directly to the older policeman, a plump hard-faced individual in his middle fifties with eyes of stone. ‘Then if you wouldn’t mind taking me to the nearest hospital, we’ll sort things out from there.’

Was she used to directing people like this? she asked herself faintly as she stood gingerly on her feet, her head thudding. It didn’t feel unnatural so she supposed she must be. She felt terrified, sick and desperately helpless but this man Gerard had made it perfectly plain he didn’t want to get involved, and she was blowed if she’d beg—she’d sort it out herself. She suddenly had the feeling she’d been doing that for a long, long time. Tears prickled under her eyelashes again and she blinked them away quickly. She’d cry later.

‘Look.’ Gerard steadied her with his arm round her waist as she stood swaying in the cool, air-conditioned room. ‘Please do not misunderstand me. I have an important appointment, that is all. I—’

‘Thank you, Mr Dumont.’ She moved out of his hold on trembling legs and offered him a slim hand, her chin high. ‘I hope you won’t be late...’ As the blackness took over again she just heard him growl something in muttered French that sounded incredibly rude as she fell, and then there was nothing, nothing but this soft enveloping darkness that cushioned her buzzing racing senses in the thick blanket of unconsciousness.

She awoke to the sterile neutrality of a small white room that smelt of antiseptic and carbolic, and the realisation that she had tried to surface several times before from the crazy world she had inhabited for the last little while, a world of whirling images and alien voices all of which were dominated by grinding, unrelenting pain in her head. But there was no pain now. She moved her head slightly on the hard pillow and winced as a flash of something hot spiked into her brain. Well, not if she kept still.

There was a buzzer connected to a long wire lying on the white counterpane next to her right hand, and she pressed it carefully before her eyes moved to the small narrow window at the end of the room. The grey light filtering through the louvre blinds suggested it was either dusk or dawn and she realised with a little dart of anxiety that she had no idea which it was. Or where she was. Or—and here the thought became a hard thudding in her chest—who she was. She shut her eyes tightly and prayed for calm. She remembered falling in that hot dusty street and hitting her head on the rough jagged kerb. She remembered being helped into a cool shaded room and she remembered... Her thoughts stopped abruptly. Yes, she remembered Gerard Dumont. And then, as if her mind had conjured him up, the creaking of the door brought her eyes open and there he was, closely followed by a small nurse.

‘Ah, you are awake.’ The smile was as devastating as she recalled and her limbs turned to water. ‘The doctor thought a few hours’ sleep would put you to rights.’

‘Did he?’ She glanced round carefully as she hitched herself up slightly in the bed, finding that if she moved slowly her head still belonged to her. ‘I’m in hospital?’

‘Just an overnight stay,’ he said coolly. ‘And do not start imagining the worst. You have concussion and—’ He stopped abruptly.

‘And?’ But then the nurse took over, popping a thermometer in her mouth which stopped further conversation as she took her blood pressure with bright impersonal efficiency.

He leant back against the wall as the nurse went about her ministrations, arms crossed and big body relaxed as he watched her with tawny narrowed eyes. She found his presence incredibly unsettling, and as her cheeks began to burn so did her temper. Surely he didn’t have the right to be in her room like this? This was a hospital, for goodness’ sake. And she didn’t even know the man. She’d be having a bedbath next to complete the indignities! And he had wanted to be rid of her.

As soon as the thermometer was out of her mouth she spoke carefully, her eyes veiled. ‘I appreciate your help, Mr Dumont, but perhaps it would be better if you left now? I don’t want to inconvenience you further. I’m fine and this is a hospital, when all’s said and done—’

‘A private nursing home actually,’ he corrected coolly, levering himself off the wall, with a nod and a smile to the nurse as she left, and walking lazily over to the side of the bed to survey her with an expressionless face. ‘And as I am paying the bill, I do not foresee a problem.’ He knew exactly how she felt about him, she realised with a little shiver.

‘You’re...?’ She stared aghast at the tall figure watching her so closely. ‘But why? There are hospitals here, aren’t there? I mean—’

‘I know what you mean.’ He smiled, but there was no warmth in the twist of his mouth. ‘And before that active little imagination runs riot, let me assure you that I have no designs on your body.’ There was something almost contemptuous in the gold eyes as they ran over her slender form under the white bedclothes. ‘I prefer my women with a little more meat on their bones and definitely more submissive.’

I bet you do, she thought angrily as her eyes sparked. I just bet you do. And I’m glad you know I don’t like you!

‘Nevertheless you asked for my protection before you passed out at my feet, and that is exactly what I have given you, so please do not agitate yourself.’ The hard gaze was piercing as it roved consideringly over her hot cheeks. ‘Also the hospital here is perhaps not quite what you were used to in—England? Do you come from England?’

‘I think so.’ She stared at him as the anger drained and the enormity of her problem took hold again. ‘I must do. I look English, don’t I?’

‘To the tips of your feet,’ he assured her gravely. ‘And your demeanour is all English.’ Somehow she felt it wasn’t a compliment and again her temper was ignited.

‘What exactly does that mean?’ she asked hotly.

‘Cucumber-cool and twice as self-contained,’ he said smoothly, the dark tanned face slightly amused at her indignation. ‘You do not like this description?’

‘I can live with it,’ she returned shortly, and then felt immediately ashamed of her ingratitude. But then...she didn’t trust him, not one little bit. Why would a complete stranger pay for her to be cared for in a private hospital anyway? There was a catch here, she just knew it. Or was she generally just distrustful of people and men in particular? she asked herself silently. She didn’t know, she just didn’t know. The panic rose hot and fierce.

‘Is there a mirror anywhere?’ she asked weakly, as she glanced up from her musing to find the strange gold eyes intent on her face.

‘You look delightful—’

‘I don’t care what I look like,’ she said sharply before wincing as the pain shot through her head again. ‘I just want to see...to see who I am,’ she finished miserably.

‘Of course.’ Suddenly the hard face softened. ‘I will call the nurse to take you to the bathroom in case you should feel a little unwell again, yes?’ He paused as he walked over to the door and turned again, his eyes searching her white face slowly. ‘You will remember soon, little one, have no fear about that. The police are making enquiries and soon someone will notice you are missing.’

‘But perhaps I’m here by myself?’ she said weakly. ‘Perhaps I’ve rented a place even? I could have.’ She stared at him, her eyes wide and the pupils unnaturally dilated. ‘I could have a child waiting for me, pets, anything. I don’t know, do I?’

‘This is true,’ he said gravely, ‘but if you try to remember too hard I think it will be even more difficult.’

‘That’s all very well for you to say,’ she said tightly. ‘You aren’t me, are you? Not that this would have happened to a man, I suppose,’ she added bitterly.

‘You think the male sex is impervious to being attacked?’ he asked quietly, his eyes narrowing at the look of resentment darkening her face.

‘Not necessarily, no.’ Her eyes met his again. ‘But you sure as hell have things your own way most of the time. Women are just appendages of a man’s ego, that’s all...’ Her voice trailed away as she realised what she had said. What had made her feel like that? She felt something large and dark looming in the background and shut her eyes tightly. She had to remember.

‘I will fetch the nurse.’ She didn’t look up as he spoke, and as the door shut behind him she opened her eyes slowly as she sank back against the pillows. This was a living nightmare and one from which there was no awakening. She put her arms round her middle and hugged herself tightly as the panic clawed at her stomach, sending it churning sickeningly. She was exposed, vulnerable, helpless... Her heart began to thud crazily, and when the little nurse knocked and entered in the next instant she could have kissed her, so pleased was she to have another human being in the room to counter the monsters in her mind.

She was quite steady on her feet as she made her way along to the bathroom on the arm of the nurse, and after insisting that the small Moroccan girl wait outside and promising twice not to lock the door, she walked gingerly over to the cloudy square mirror above the small white washbasin and peered at herself with bated breath.

A pair of large, grey, darkly lashed eyes stared back at her nervously and then continued their inspection of the reflection. Small, straight nose, a somewhat wide generous mouth, she noted wanly, and all set in a clear skin that was real peaches and cream. Thick, sleek, chestnut-brown hair with more than a touch of red in its silky depths gave an explanation of the freckles scattered across her nose, and the short bob was expertly cut, complementing the fine features and upward tilt of her chin. Altogether reasonably attractive, although she would never win any beauty contests, she thought slowly, and it didn’t mean a thing to her. It could have been the face of anyone, the face of a stranger. What was she going to do? She sat down on the loo and put her head between her hands as she tried to think. She was all alone in a foreign country... or at least she thought it was a foreign country. For all she knew, she lived here. She groaned softly. Surely the police would find out something soon? They had to, this was horrific. And that man, Gerard Dumont. Why did she have this feeling that she had to be rid of him at the earliest opportunity? That he spelt danger with a capital D? Could she trust her instincts? They were the only thing she had right now.

He was waiting m her room when she returned with the nurse, his big frame stretching lazily as he stood up at their approach, his whole demeanour casual and relaxed but his eyes hawk-like on her face as she passed, although he said not a word as the nurse settled her back into bed.

‘I fetch the breakfast, yes?’ The small girl smiled cheerfully. ‘And then you feel a million dollars with plenty of zow?’

I wouldn’t bank on it, Kit thought silently as she smiled a dutiful response as the nurse left the room.

‘The police phoned.’ Gerard Dumont settled himself back on the stool by her bed that he had vacated a minute before, and she raised her eyes reluctantly to his. ‘No luck yet, unfortunately; it would appear you are the mystery girl. The doctor will be along shortly to examine you, but if all is as he thinks there is no reason why you cannot leave this morning.’

‘To go where?’ she asked blankly as her mind raced. Was there a British embassy near here? But then she wasn’t even sure she was English.

‘Well, I do have an idea there as it happens,’ he drawled slowly, lifting dark brows as he watched her carefully, his face cynical and cool. ‘But maybe it would be better for you to eat your breakfast first and—’

‘I would prefer to hear anything you have to say right now,’ she said firmly, her chin setting at a determined angle that brought an amused gleam into the glittering gold-brown eyes trained on her face.

‘As you wish.’ He stood up abruptly, walking over to the small narrow window and lifting the blind aside so that a shaft of sunlight spilled into the austere room, catching a million tiny particles in its radiant light. ‘I was going to suggest that it would seem logical for you to remain resting somewhere until either you regain your memory or the police find out who you are, yes?’

‘I suppose so.’ She glanced at the broad back warily. ‘And?’

‘And that would pose a problem, or at least an embarrassment, as you have no money that I know of?’ He turned to face her, his eyes slits of gold light.

‘You know I haven’t.’ She stared back, hard. ‘But I can assure you that once all this is sorted out I will reimburse you for every penny you’ve spent—’

‘Do not be ridiculous.’ This time his voice was harsh, and she blinked twice before opening her mouth to respond, but he continued swiftly. ‘The money is incidental, as I am sure you are aware. I was merely stating facts.’

‘Well, now you’ve stated them I still don’t understand—’

‘It would seem practical for you to be my guest until you are recovered sufficiently to take charge of your own affairs,’ he said expressionlessly. ‘There are several guest-rooms at my home in Marrakesh, and as I am a prominent and well-known figure in business circles I am sure the police would be happy to—’

‘You must be joking!’ Tact and diplomacy fled out of the window as she reared up in the narrow bed like a small lioness. ‘You must think I was born yesterday, Mr Dumont! So that’s what this has all been about, the private room and so on! Well, if you expect me to pay for my expenses in the fashion that is as old as time, you can forget it, mister! I know your sort—believe me, you’re far from being unique! I’d rather spend the next few days, weeks or months in a prison cell if necessary compared to what you’re suggesting. Just what do you think I am—?’

‘I think you are a very absurd young lady.’ The icy voice cut short her passionate outburst as though with a knife. ‘Impolite, churlish, ridiculous... Need I go on?’ He was angry; she couldn’t believe how angry. ‘Do you seriously think that I am so short of female companions that I have to spirit one away to my home—is that it?’ He wasn’t shouting, in fact his voice was very controlled and infinitely cutting. ‘If you want me to be brutal, I do not find you sexually attractive at all. The offer was one of friendship, from one member of the human race to another in distress. That is all. That is all.’ He glared at her and took a long deep pull of air before continuing. ‘Now you have made your feeling perfectly clear, and so I will—’

What he would or would not do they never found out because at that moment Kit’s control finally snapped. The flood of tears and sensation of utter and absolute desolation blinded and deafened her to everything but her own misery, and as she raised her hands to cover her face, her body shaking helplessly, she could hear the sound of her own wailing but could do nothing to control it.

‘Mon dieu...’ His voice was a low growl but the next moment she had been lifted wholesale out of the bed and on to his lap as he sat down on the ruffled covers, holding her tight as he swayed back and forth as one did soothing a devastated child, his voice low and soft now and speaking a crooning stream of endearments in French of which she understood not a word but found infinitely comforting to her terrified mind. And she was terrified, she acknowledged faintly as the hard male bulk of him banished the frantic fear for a time. Nothing, nothing could be worse than this monstrous, gut-wrenching dread that she would never remember who she was again, that she would be left in this strange, alien half-world where even her own face was that of a stranger, with no memories, no recollection of a past life and with only an empty, uncertain future to look forward to.

CHAPTER TWO

QUITE when she began to find Gerard Dumont’s closeness disturbing rather than comforting she wasn’t sure. It might have been something to do with the warm male fragrance emanating from the massive frame, a mixture of spicy aftershave and a faint lemony smell, or it could have been the controlled power in the huge body enfolding hers, or even the sound of his voice, deep and seductively attractive as he murmured in his native tongue. Whatever, as the storm of weeping passed she began to feel acutely uncomfortable and vaguely threatened. But there was another emotion there too, one that made her skin tingle and her stomach tighten with a dull ache she didn’t recognise.

‘I’m sorry.’ As she made to move off his lap he let her go instantly, his eyes searching as they washed over her face.

‘Have you any idea where all that hostility comes from?’ he asked levelly as he stood up and drew back the covers for her to climb back into bed. ‘What has happened to make you feel so threatened by the male species?’

‘Threatened?’ She stared at him wide-eyed, horrified he could read her so easily. ‘I don’t feel threatened—’

‘Yes, you do.’ He eyed her impassively and she was conscious of his great height again as he gestured towards the bed. ‘Get in. The nurse will be bringing your breakfast in a moment.’

‘I don’t feel threatened.’ She ignored his instructions with obstinate determination. ‘This has all just been unsettling, surely you can understand that?’

‘I told you that the doctor confirmed concussion?’ His voice was low and moderate but with an underlying thread of steel. ‘And undoubtedly you have a secondary complication resulting in amnesia. However...’ He paused and gestured towards the bed again, his mouth thinning as she still refused to acknowledge the command. ‘However, the blow to your head was not severe enough for this continued loss of memory.’

‘Are you saying I’m making it up?’ she asked hotly as her skin burnt with anger. ‘I can assure you—’

‘Of course I am not saying that,’ he interrupted sharply, ‘and for my sake if not yours please get yourself into this damn bed. I do not relish the prospect of picking you up off the floor again and you look distinctly feeble.’

‘Thank you very much,’ she intoned furiously, as sheer temper enabled her to march across the room and climb into the bed more quickly than she would have thought possible in view of her trembling legs and throbbing head.

‘What I am saying, or rather what the doctor is saying, is that there is something that is causing you to block out your past,’ Gerard said slowly. ‘Something that you do not wish to remember, something that would cause you great pain—’

‘Now it’s you who’s being ridiculous,’ she said quickly as a spark of something blindingly menacing flashed across her mind before sinking back into her subconscious. ‘You are,’ she continued faintly as the dark shadow crept back into that inner mind. ‘I had an accident, I was attacked—’

‘Of course you were,’ he said softly, ‘no one is disputing that, but the accident has merely allowed your mind to hide behind this incident, take refuge if you like.’

‘No, I don’t like.’ She glared at him, far more shaken than she would admit. ‘Are you saying I’m unbalanced, is that it?’

‘Mon dieu...’ The exclamation was made in the form of a curse. ‘I have never met such an awkward, difficult—’

‘And where is this wonderful doctor who has made such a profound diagnosis without even telling me?’ she asked angrily. ‘Do I actually get to see him or what?’

‘After breakfast.’ The nurse had just entered carrying a loaded tray, her bright black eyes flashing from one angry face to the other before concentrating on the food with lowered gaze and a tactfully bland face. ‘I’m joining you, is that all right?’

‘Fine; you’re paying after all.’ She regretted the coarseness of the retort as soon as it left her lips and raised her eyes instantly to his face, her mouth trembling. ‘I’m sorry, that was awful. I’m being awful, it’s just that—’

‘Eat your breakfast.’ His tone was firm but not unkind, the hard handsome face expressionless.

‘I don’t think I could eat anything—’

‘You will, if I have to force-feed you every mouthful,’ he replied softly, still in the same firm, emotionless voice.

She glared at him angrily and then met the full force of the startlingly cat-like gaze that suddenly told her she would lose this particular battle if she persevered. She gulped, gave him a blazing scowl that could have melted stone at thirty paces and gave in, discovering as she bit into a warm crusty croissant that she was hungry after all.

He didn’t speak again until she was finishing her second cup of coffee, and when he did she jumped so violently that most of the semi-hot liquid left in the cup splashed on to the white covers. ‘Have you made a decision?’

‘A decision?’ She raised her eyes to meet his, knowing exactly what he meant but playing for time as her mind raced back and forth seeking a solution to the impossible situation.

He shook his tawny head slowly as he stretched lazily on the stool, his face dark and sardonic and his mouth twisted with cynical amusement. ‘Yes, a decision,’ he intoned drily. ‘And do not insult my intelligence by asking what about. I really could not take that.’ As he stood up his bulk seemed to fill the small room, dominating the white surroundings with a menacing energy that suddenly made her breathless. ‘I have to go. I have an appointment at nine.’

‘Oh, right...’ She raised a hand to her face to brush back a lock of hair and was annoyed to see it was shaking, and then felt doubly humiliated when she saw Gerard had noticed it too.

‘Do I terrify you so much?’ His voice was soft, and as her eyes flashed to his she saw he was not smiling, that all amusement and mockery had left the hard masculine face. ‘I do not wish to do so. You remind me of a little bird I found some months ago fluttering along in the road with a broken wing. It pecked me several times when I picked it up, due to its great fear, and then—’ He stopped abruptly and she stared at him, fascinated by the thought of this giant of a man bothering about something so small and insignificant as an injured bird.

‘And then?’ she asked quietly.

‘Its heart simply stopped beating.’ There was something in his eyes she couldn’t read, something veiled behind the startling hypnotic gaze trained on her face. ‘If it had just relaxed a little, trusted me a little, I would have been able to help it.’

She licked her lips nervously and then stopped abruptly as his eyes followed the gesture, lingering on the tremulous curve of her mouth.

‘That is all I wish to do with this little bird.’ He smiled very slowly but for the life of her she couldn’t respond. ‘Just help out. But—’ he walked to the door and opened it quietly, turning with his hand on the brass knob to glance back at her again ‘—if you do not want to come to my home then you do not have to. It just seemed obvious, that is all. The doctor will be along shortly and I will return at lunchtime, when you can tell me what you have decided. If you choose to avail yourself of my hospitality you must be ready to leave then. Otherwise—’ he shrugged Latin-style ‘—you may stay on here while you make other arrangements.’ And then he had gone, the door shutting with a firm click only to open again a second later. ‘One more thing—my sister lives with me in Marrakesh so you will not be entirely without a chaperon.’ The heavy eyebrows quirked mockingly. ‘Not that you will need one, of course.’

Alone again she stared at the closed door with a small frown wrinkling her brow. ‘Not that you will need one.’ She sank back against the pillows feeling both disgruntled and relieved. He obviously didn’t find her in the least attractive, that much he had made crystal-clear. And that was good. Of course it was. She brushed an inoffensive crumb savagely off the sheet. She could just imagine his taste in women; voluptuous, sexy, possessing good bodies and the knowledge of how to use them. Big breasts, generous hips, pouting mouths... The mental description suddenly sparked the ghost of something in her mind, an image she couldn’t drag out of the misty darkness to examine more closely before it had gone. She stared blindly across the small room, her face white with strain. Perhaps she had been more right than she knew when she asked if Gerard thought she was unbalanced; this certainly couldn’t be normal. She groaned softly as she turned over on her side to await the appearance of the all-knowing doctor. Well, one thing was certain; there was no way, no way at all, she was leaving this place with Gerard Dumont, sister or no sister.

They left the clinic at precisely half-past three in the afternoon, and after the relative coolness of the air-conditioned building the white heat outside was overpowering.

‘All right?’ Gerard’s eyes were tight on her face as they walked to his car, a low-slung sports model in jet black that looked as if it would bite if provoked.

‘Fine.’ She wasn’t, of course. The heat was amazing but it was the dazzling brilliance of the blazing light that was causing problems, sending sharp little pinpricks of pain through her head as though it were being methodically stabbed with a keenly pointed blade. But even that wasn’t the main reason for the trembling that seemed to have taken over her limbs and the palpitations that were causing a violent, irregular beating of her heart and a sick churning in her stomach. It was him. This virile, overwhelmingly masculine man at her side who dwarfed her not inconsiderable height by a good six inches and exuded an air of pure unadulterated sensual magnetism that was both dangerous and darkly attractive.

Why had she ever agreed to leave with him? she asked herself silently as she slid into the beautiful car just as her legs felt as though they wouldn’t support her for another second. She hadn’t meant to. But somehow... somehow he had swept all her objections aside with cool logic and a distant kind of friendliness that reassured even as she wondered if it were genuine. The call from his sister had helped too. She glanced at him now as he slid into the car at her side. ‘Why did you ask Colette to phone me?’ she asked tentatively. ‘I mean—’

‘I know what you mean,’ he said mockingly as the sleek car growled into life. ‘And you are right, partly...’ He turned to eye her briefly, his face cynical and closed. ‘You thought I had used her to promote what I wanted, is that it?’ She stared at him without answering, wondering if it were too late to jump out of the car and run back to the relative protection of the impersonal clinic. ‘Well, maybe I did, but it is for your own good, let me make that perfectly clear. This is a foreign country, or we’ll assume it is a foreign country until we find out differently,’ he added as she opened her mouth to make that very point, ‘and one does not always play by the Marquis of Queensbery’s rules here.’ The tawny gaze was glittering now, reflecting the sun’s brilliance as he held her wide grey eyes mesmerised. ‘You are very definitely the bird with the broken wing at the moment, however much you dislike the analogy, and as such prey to all kinds of dangers. Do you know that in some quarters you would fetch a king’s ransom?’

‘What?’ She couldn’t believe she’d heard right for a moment.

‘Make no mistake about it.’ His mouth was harsh now as his gaze wandered over the red-brown hair and pale creamy skin. ‘With your English looks and that air of untouched virginity, you would be snapped up within days.’ He leant back in the seat as her mouth twisted in disbelief. ‘You do not believe me? That alone tells me I was right. A babe among wolves...’

Was he going to sell her to some sheikh or white-slave trader? Was that it? She stared at him dumbly, unaware of the terror in her eyes. She had authorisation from the police to stay with him. They knew where to contact her. Lots of people did. Surely he wouldn’t have organised all that if he intended—

‘Colette exists.’ His voice was very dry now as he read her thoughts. ‘My home exists. I am a perfectly normal man who would not have slept particularly well at night if I had let you be cast adrift into an uncertain world. The telephone conversation with Colette was satisfactory?’

‘Colette?’ She pulled her thoughts together and moistened paper-dry lips carefully. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘You can spend some time talking with a female companion of your own age and perhaps something will be remembered, a spark that will unlock the door, yes?’ He put a very large hand over hers resting on her knees, and she forced herself not to jerk away although his touch fired the alarm button. ‘Now we have to drive to the small airfield where my plane is waiting. It will not take long.’

‘Your plane?’ She began to feel slightly hysterical. This wasn’t happening to her, it couldn’t be. She still wasn’t quite sure how she came to be sitting in this prowling beast of a car with its master, anyway. As his hands moved to the leather-clad steering-wheel and he manoeuvred the powerful car out of the tiny hospital car park, she forced herself to think rationally, to get her emotions under control. She had made enquiries, independent enquiries, that morning with the police and the surprisingly sympathetic doctor, who had spent some considerable time with her trying to probe for something, anything, from her past, all to no avail.

She had discovered Gerard Dumont was an eminently respected businessman in Morocco, owning several businesses in Casablanca, Essaouira and Marrakesh involving the processing of fish and fruit, as well as his own fleet of freighters for goods to be sent overseas, and homes in each of the towns. He was enormously wealthy, a dignified and decorous citizen of the land his parents had moved to before he was born and altogether, according to her reports, a paragon of virtue. Except... Her eyes narrowed as she remembered the doctor’s hesitation when she had asked if Gerard was married or involved with a particular woman.

‘Not a particular woman, no...’ The doctor had smiled carefully after a long moment of silence. ‘But he is a young man in the prime of life; obviously there are stories...’

‘Stories?’ she had squeaked nervously, but the elderly man had not allowed himself to be drawn into a discussion about such an illustrious personage, parrying her questions adroitly until she had to give up gracefully. He had told her Gerard’s parents had died many years before, that his sister was engaged to be married to a French Moroccan of impeccable breeding, and that if she accepted Gerard’s invitation, which the doctor made clear he thought was an extremely generous and benevolent one, she would be treated with great respect and care as befitted the guest of such an important man. The phone call from Colette had clinched her indecision. Gerard’s sister had sounded so bubbly and natural and genuinely concerned about her misfortune and anxious to help. It had all seemed cut and dried...until she had seen him again. Then all the doubts and fears returned with renewed vigour.

‘You do not like me much, little one, do you?’ It was a statement, not a question, and after one darting glance at the harsh profile she decided silence was definitely the best policy. There was nothing she could say, after all. She didn’t like him; in fact everything about him grated on her like barbed wire even though she kept telling herself it was the height of ingratitude when he had been so kind. His height, the powerful masculine body, his arrogance and total domination of everything and everyone around him... It bothered her. Bothered her and frightened her and—She shut off her thoughts abruptly. She didn’t trust him. Not an inch. She didn’t know why and probably there was no foundation for how she felt, but it was a fact.

She glanced again at his face and saw that the hard mouth was curved in a cynical, mocking smile. And that grated too.

‘I will be interested to find out who you are, my sharp-clawed kitten,’ he said softly after a few miles had passed in complete silence, the atmosphere tense and taut. ‘I like honesty in people, men and women, and you are not short of that commodity.’

‘You do?’

‘I do.’ She heard the thread of amusement in the dark seductive voice, and bit her lip tightly. ‘I am clearly the lesser of two very real evils and it is a long time since I have been cast in such a role, especially by a woman.’ The glittering gold eyes moved swiftly over her wary face before returning to the road. ‘Especially such a beautiful woman.’

‘You said you didn’t find me attractive,’ she retorted quickly in surprise before she had time to consider her words.

‘I lied.’ The deep voice was quite unrepentent.

As her stomach turned over in one flying leap she hunted for something to say, a casual remark that would defuse the sudden tension, but couldn’t think of a thing, and as the miles continued to be eaten up by the beautiful car she forced herself to relax and concentrate on the changing scene outside the car window. And it was fascinating. Varied as Morocco was in its geography and climate, ranging from dry, gravelly plains extending for hundreds of miles and bleak shifting sand-dunes to rich tablelands in the Middle Atlas Mountains that furnished grazing for sheep and goats, the higher slopes covered in oak, cedar and pine and rich in ski resorts for the wealthy where rocky springs, lakes and ponds abounded as well as streams well stocked with trout, still nothing could be more varied than the spectrum of people who inhabited the land.

Every town and city had its Moroccan and European businessmen in traditional European dress side by side with Berbers and Arabs in flowing robes and wide, loose hoods, the women veiled and dressed in sober grey and black. And the transport... As Kit stared out of the window, the odd sumptuous car rode alongside decrepit taxis, wicked-eyed camels, horses, donkeys, bikes and every other mode of transport known to man. The buildings were piercingly white, Moorish architecture showing its grace and beauty in sunlit streets lined with orange trees... She sank back against the upholstered seat with a small sigh, her senses sated. She couldn’t live here; she must be on holiday—it was all too new and exciting. Holiday? But she’d left because of an argument, a ring...? She glanced down at her ringless hands and her brow wrinkled and that sick feeling of dread reared its head, before both the image and emotion faded as quickly as they had come.

‘What is it?’ She suddenly realised Gerard had been talking to her and she hadn’t heard a word, and now saw they had left the confines of the town and were out on the boundary road. ‘You have remembered something?’

‘Not really.’ She rubbed a damp hand over her brow as she shut her eyes for a brief moment. ‘It was gone before I could make sense of it. I’m sorry, what did you say?’

‘I wondered if you had ever seen goats climbing trees before,’ he said drily. ‘Over there, look.’ As he brought the car to a standstill she peered where he was pointing, and saw a host of argan trees, their low spreading limbs covered with green leaves and small fruits that looked like olives, and then as her eyes rose upwards she was amazed to see several goats high in the branches nibbling away at the leaves and fruit, one or two of the sure-footed little creatures having ventured far out on the branches as they stretched for the tenderest morsels.

‘They really are goats!’ she breathed in surprise, her eyes stretched wide.

Gerard laughed softly, delighted with her astonishment. ‘These trees are not found anywhere else in the world,’ he said quietly as he started the engine again after several long minutes, ‘and the goats adore the fruit. The seeds you see on the ground there—’ he pointed to the mass of fruit seeds scattered under the trees ‘—are gathered up and washed and cracked and from the inner nut is drawn a fragrant oil used for cooking. Not that the goats care about that, of course.’ He eyed her lazily before drawing on to the dusty road again.

The little incident had broken the tension for a time, but the very nearness of that big masculine body in the close confines of the car made her as jumpy as a cricket. Did he really find her attractive? she asked herself silently as the car purred on. That last look he’d given her, there had been something in the slumberous depths that had caused her lower stomach to tighten in immediate response, and she had hated herself for it, hated herself without understanding the reason why. But then there was nothing she did understand at the moment anyway, she told herself flatly. She was a mess.

They reached the small airfield where Gerard’s private plane was kept amid a cloud of dust, and it wasn’t until she was airborne, with Gerard at the controls, that she thought to ask about the location of Marrakesh. Everything had seemed so unreal, so nebulous, since she had woken up in the hospital that she still was finding it hard to convince herself that she wasn’t in the grip of a dream...or a nightmare.

‘Marrakesh?’ Gerard’s deep voice was thoughtful. ‘Let me see. Well, it is the most African city of Morocco, at the foothills of the High Atlas Mountains due south of Casablanca. The region is dry but water has been piped down from the mountains into reservoirs, so a bath will be no problem.’ He eyed her fleetingly, his expression searching and she flushed hotly. It was just as if he had undressed her.

‘We have the normal old and new side by side,’ he continued, after the twist of his mouth informed her he knew exactly what she was thinking. ‘Modern agriculture, training schools and various industries as well as a camel market every Thursday that dates back into ancient history, and a fair in the great square of Djemaa-el-Fna that involves snake charmers, magicians, jugglers, acrobats and even the odd medicine man demonstrating miraculous cures in their bottles. I’ll show you around once you are settled in; there are some wonderful medieval palaces and monuments—’

‘No, there’s no need for that.’ She had interrupted him so abruptly that she hastened to qualify her refusal. ‘I mean, I don’t want to inconvenience you at all, Mr Dumont, you’ve been very kind and I’ll be gone within a day or so—’

‘Gerard.’ Suddenly the handsome face was intimidatingly cold and harsh, the profile flinty. ‘And please do not try to spare my feelings. Colette will do just as well as your guide.’

‘I didn’t mean—’

He interrupted her again, his voice dry. ‘I know exactly what you meant; you neither like or trust me so let us leave it at that. I hope you will be reassured when you reach my home but, as you so graciously pointed out, it will be a matter of days until this matter resolves itself so your opinion of me is really of no importance to either of us.’

She deserved it. She knew she deserved it but nevertheless the icy autocratic tone made her see red. ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ she said tightly, her voice tense. ‘If it’s any consolation I don’t understand why I’m acting like this, but when all’s said and done I didn’t ask to come with you, did I? Why did you insist—?’

‘I am damned if I know,’ he bit back angrily.

‘Well, just turn the plane round and take me back to Casablanca—’ she began furiously, only to stop abruptly as she realised the import of what she had just said. Casablanca? Why had she said Casablanca? The accident had happened on the streets of Essaouira, hadn’t it?

‘Casablanca,’ Gerard repeated thoughtfully at her side, obviously catching the importance of her words too. ‘I think we should perhaps ask the police to direct their enquiries more specifically in that city, yes?’

‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head wearily, the spurt of rage dying as quickly as it had flared into life as she stared down at the white cotton trousers and neat coffee-coloured blouse that had been pressed and cleaned by the cheerful little nurse at the nursing home. Some time, in another life, she had actually chosen these things, walked into a shop and made the purchases of her own accord. How could she not remember?

‘I will take care of it.’ He spared her a quick glance, his face expressionless. ‘And I do not intend to eat you alive, my thorny rose, but for the sake of my sanity, if not yours, could you please refrain from the cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof syndrome? My ego is beginning to feel a little fragile.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She stared down at her hands miserably.

‘So you said.’ The deep rich voice was cynically mocking again and immediately the guilt she had been feeling was replaced by hot anger. A fragile ego? Him? Not in a million years.

The fierce heat of the day was dying when they reached the huge strip of ground on the outskirts of Marrakesh which formed part of Gerard’s estate. As he taxied the light plane into the hangar she saw a beautiful white Ferrari parked some distance away, its tinted windows and enormous side grilles proclaiming it a Testarossa. ‘Your car?’ She gestured resignedly towards the magnificent vehicle.

‘My car,’ he agreed gravely, his voice bland. ‘Do you like it?’

‘It’s very nice.’

She heard a snort at her side and turned to see that he was surveying her with a dark frown, his eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t tell me,’ he drawled slowly, the relaxed tone belying the sharpness in his eyes, ‘for some reason you disapprove of the car.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘Why do I get the feeling that if anyone else had owned it you would have given it the appreciation such functional beauty deserves?’

‘I said it was very nice,’ she protested carefully, aware of the truth in his words, ‘but a car is just a car, isn’t it? A grown-up child’s toy?’

‘A toy?’ He shut his eyes briefly after killing the engine of the plane, and then opened them slowly, the narrowed slits gleaming gold. ‘There is a six-year waiting list for this toy, as it happens.’

She hadn’t noticed the middle-aged Arab standing to one side of the hangar but now, as Gerard jumped down from the plane and reached up to assist her, she saw the hangar doors being closed before the small man hurried across to them.

‘Assad...’ The two exchanged greetings and then Gerard turned to her, his face relaxed and smiling now. ‘This is my great friend and man of all trades, Assad. You would not have noticed him at the time, but as chance would have it he was just entering my office building when you were attacked and saw it all,’ Gerard continued quietly, ‘not that it proved much help in the event. He speaks French, Spanish and Arabic but little English incidentally. None of my house staff does, unfortunately.’

‘Oh.’ She stared at them both feeling completely out of her depth, and as she turned away to glance again at the Ferrari she missed the softening of Gerard’s mouth that indicated he was aware of just how she felt.

‘The house is just a few hundred yards away but I asked Assad to bring the car in case you were tired. Shall we?’ He indicated the car with a wave of his hand. ‘Assad will see to the plane and follow shortly.’

She found, as she walked to the car, that she was tired, a deep exhaustion taking hold of her body and mind that made even the smallest response a superhuman effort. As Gerard held open the door she climbed slowly into the luxurious interior, her head pounding. ‘Thank you.’ She raised dull eyes to his and saw him frown slightly before he left to walk round the bonnet and slide in beside her.

‘You need a warm bath and plenty of sleep,’ he said levelly as he nosed the car out of the hangar and along a dry dust road towards a mass of trees in the distance. ‘Both of which will prove no problem at Del Mahari. My home,’ he added at her glance of enquiry.

‘Del Mahari?’ She let the foreign name slide over her lips. ‘That sounds nice.’

‘It means “Racing Camel”,’ he said expressionlessly, although she was sure there was a thread of amusement colouring the deep voice. ‘My father enjoyed the sport, although I prefer to keep horses rather than camels. I find the latter singly unattractive creatures and more than a little bad-tempered, although that trait is not confined to camels, of course,’ he added smoothly as he kept his eyes fixed ahead. She glanced at him warily, knowing it was a gibe at her but unable to respond to such an indirect insult. ‘At the moment I have several beautifully trained horses of great speed and stamina who have mingled Arab and Berber strains in their blood line. Do you ride?’

The question was casual and she answered before she considered, the reply instinctive. ‘Oh, yes, I love...’ Her voice trailed away for a second before she recovered. ‘Yes, I know I ride,’ she said more firmly. ‘I don’t know how I know but I do.’

‘Good.’ They had reached the trees now which she saw were fruit trees, mainly orange, surrounding the outside of a rosy pink extremely high wall in which two huge iron gates were set standing open ready for the Ferrari to pass through, but Gerard stopped the car just before the gates and cut the engine slowly, turning to her and touching her face gently with one finger as he turned her face to his. ‘Welcome to my home, little kitten,’ he said softly, seconds before his warm, hard mouth captured hers.

CHAPTER THREE

IF SOMEONE had poured boiling water over her head Kit could not have reacted more violently. For a split-second, just an infinitesimal moment of time, she had frozen as his firm sensual mouth had captured hers, the smell and feel of him all-encompassing, and then she jerked away so savagely that her head ricocheted off the car window with a resounding bang that caused the air to vibrate.

‘What on earth?’ Gerard looked as shocked as she felt as he surveyed her beneath dark frowning brows. ‘I was only kissing you, girl; what the hell did you think I intended?’

‘I...’ Her voice trailed away as she stared at him wide-eyed in the shadowed dusk, aware of the sweet odour of flowering jasmine being borne on the soft warm night air. ‘I don’t know, I’m sorry...’ As her voice petered out agam she took a deep breath as she tried to compose herself. ‘But I didn’t expect you to do that. I’m here as your guest, aren’t I? I thought—’

‘It was a kiss of welcome,’ he ground out tightly. ‘Nothing more, nothing less.’ His eyes raked her face angrily.

‘I’m sorry.’ There didn’t seem anything else to say and she was suddenly aware that she had made a terrible fool of herself.

‘Then let us try it again?’ It was the last thing she had expected him to say, and she stared at him with wide dove-grey eyes, the smudge of freckles across her nose standing out in sharp contrast to the pale creamy skin surrounding them. ‘A kiss, nothing more,’ he reassured softly as he leant forward again, his eyes liquid gold in the dim light. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

As he lightly stroked her sealed lips with his hard, sensual mouth she began to feel herself tremble, the sensations the gentle caress was producing warm and sweet to her shattered senses, and as he felt her helpless reaction the kiss deepened, his tongue invading the sanctuary of her mouth as she opened her lips to gasp at the heat spreading through her body. A kiss? This was a kiss? If she had ever been kissed like this before she would have remembered, she knew it.

One of his arms slid round her seat, his hand moving to the small of her back to urge her more intimately against his big frame, but he made no move to touch her beyond that, although she could feel the pounding of his heart against the solid wall of his chest. His lips left hers for a moment to wander languorously over her closed eyelids, her ears, her throat, before returning to her half-open mouth to plunder the soft interior yet again. And then he raised his head as he moved back into his own seat, and the departure was almost like a betrayal.

‘As I said, welcome to my home,’ he said softly as she opened dazed eyes to focus on the tawny brown gaze. ‘I hope you will be happy here.’

He had started the engine before she could reply, and as they drove through the massive gates into the lush garden beyond she tried desperately to control the trembling that had taken hold of her limbs. This was a man she didn’t like, didn’t trust and barely knew, and she could react like that to his touch? What on earth was she? She didn’t dare look at the big dark figure next to her, trying to focus her eyes and her thoughts on her surroundings and nothing else.

They appeared to be moving through an orchard, the wide winding drive snaking past olive, orange, almond and fig trees, and then the house was there in front of her, a magnificent white structure in traditional Moroccan design with delicate ornamentation and beautifully carved arches that looked as though they were covered in lace, so fine and intricate were the traceries on them.

Gerard drew the car to a halt in front of the massive arched front door studded in brass, which was immediately opened from within to reveal a small, slender woman of thirty or so who moved out on to the top step, her brown face wreathed in smiles and her body swathed in the Moroccan jellaba, a long loose robe of cotton. ‘This is Assad’s wife, Amina,’ Gerard whispered quietly as he raised his hand in greeting. ‘Assad’s brother, Abou, also works here with his wife Halima and their family. Unfortunately Assad and Amina have no children, which has been a source of great grief to them, although Assad has resisted the temptation to take a second wife, which is quite permissable for him under Moslem law, especially if his first wife is barren.’

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