Her Royal Protector (a Johari Crown Novel) (Entangled Indulgence) (5 page)

It was an argument that had not occurred to him, and it wrecked all his best plans for monitoring her activities. Arif’s mind searched for a way around it.

“The yacht itself could anchor far out of any port. You would in any case visit the beaches in the tender.”

The main course arrived. She looked up at the waiter again as he set her plate in front of her. Seeing him in a way guests usually did not: as a fellow human being.

“Thank you,” she said. The pair exchanged a glance. This time the waiter inclined his head and allowed himself a tiny smile in return.

It was a breach of class etiquette that no socially aware western woman, in Arif’s experience, would be caught dead in. Aly Percy could hardly be ignorant of such social rules. So she was a rebel underneath that self-conscious exterior. He gazed at her, wondering how she would blossom if her feminine confidence got a boost.

“I’ll say one thing for the Sultan,” she said, digging with gusto into the delicate curls of seafood on her plate. He watched her tongue collect a drop of spiced oil from her lip. “He’s got a great chef.”

He smiled. Was she offering him her weak spot deliberately? Did she want to protest and yet be over-ruled? His groin tightened at the thought. “Bernard will cook for you every day. I am sure he will enjoy your appreciation.”

Aly gave him the level-eyed look again. “Not,” she said precisely. “If you think I value my stomach above my research, think again. It’s not workable, and I refuse to pretend it could be. Furthermore, I hate this kind of yacht and all that it stands for and I would not agree to live aboard six weeks for any consideration.” She lifted her glass of champagne and eyed him over the top of it. “If you’re serious about wanting to help, I’d be very happy if you would provide a skipper to go with me on
Oneira
. Otherwise, I think it’s back to Plan A.”

“Plan A is too risky,” he told her flatly. “I do not allow it, even if we could find you a trustworthy skipper able to embark today, which you must realize would be all but impossible.”

She eyed him warily, nodded at some thought she didn’t share, set down the snowy napkin beside her plate, and stood.

“Well, in that case, thank you for lunch, and there’s no point prolonging this discussion.”

He was disappointed, he discovered. But he could hardly order her to sit down and finish her meal.

“I thought you liked the food,” he said humorously.

“Yes, but not quite as much as that.”

“And the company,” he pursued, watching her a little more closely.

She swallowed nervously, and the hunter in him smiled.

“May I trouble you to call someone to take me back to my boat, or shall I swim?” she said.

He let a speculative smile warm his eyes. “Swim across the harbor?”

She didn’t rise to the bait. “If it’s too much trouble for someone to take me, what else am I to do?”

A vision of her climbing out at the other side, her skin slick and wet, clothes clinging to those delicate curves, arose unbidden in his mind, and Arif’s jaw tightened.

“In this busy harbor it would be suicide. Of course I will take you. But first, won’t you—?”

“Right. Can we get going, then?”

Never had he met a woman like this one.

“What are you going to do now, Ms. Percy?”

She lifted a palm. “Well, obviously, since you forbid the trip, I am going to pack up the boat and go home. What else?”

She was lying. Underneath that calm decisive manner he could sense a burning intent, a kind of fury, even, that flushed her cheeks and made her grey eyes spark. If he let her go now, she would be off on the boat before he had time to consider what options were open to him to prevent her. He’d have to sink the boat to stop her, and that couldn’t be arranged quickly. And once she’d gone out of port it would next to impossible to track the little boat among the islands.

“Sit down and finish your meal, Ms. Percy,” he said. “Let’s work on Plan C.”

Chapter Five

Aly did not like Plan C, not at all. But she had zero choice. Arif al Najimi was the kind of man who would have
Oneira
sunk in the harbor if she resisted, she was sure of that.

So she carried her equipment and supplies on deck and sat waiting for the Cup Companion to come and pick her up. The afternoon was hot and still, and the scent of grilled meat met her nostrils. The English couple had a charcoal brazier going.

“You will have to be satisfied with having won your point over
Dhikra
,” the sheikh had said, and she’d seen the set of his mouth and understood that it was a choice between traveling with Arif al Najimi on his own sailing yacht, or going home empty-handed. Ignominiously deported, if it came to that. He had the power.

“Every Cup Companion spends a month each year on the ground in his own field,” he had explained in the face of her utter disbelief at his ultimatum. “In the spirit of the great Haroun al Rashid, it is required of us to go anonymously into the heart of our domain, and observe. The turtle project was not my plan, but it is suitable to my purpose. And my own yacht can be sailed single-handedly. We need minimal crew. I usually sail with one couple and they will be enough.”

“Who’s Haroun al Rashid?” Aly had asked.

And Arif al Najimi laughed, white teeth flashing against his smoky skin and dark beard, the planes and angles of his face softening into a sculpted masculine beauty that, just for a moment, stopped her heart. As if the marble statue of a god had come to life.

“Haroun al Rashid, he who was called the Just, died in the year eight hundred and nine A.D.,” he informed her. “He was a great ruler, whose habit it was to go before judges and other officials, disguised as an ordinary person seeking justice or perhaps mercy. He did this regularly, in order to discover whether his officials were honorable or corrupt. The tradition has been revived by Sultan Ashraf—who believes that not only does it keep petty officials in line, but also ourselves—we can delegate only eleven months of the year. For one month of the year, we must work
‘in the mines,’ as we call it. The Sultan believes that this keeps us relevant.”

“And I’m to be your version of the coal face this year?” Aly supplied dryly.

She couldn’t help liking him when he laughed. “Here in Bagestan we have jewel mines,” he said. “When we go into the mines, what we return with is precious.”

“Well, I hope you’ll think turtle eggs match up to rubies,” Aly said.

…

“This is what we’ll be sailing on?” Aly couldn’t keep the lilt of joy from her voice. He was drawing up beside a soaringly beautiful sailing yacht. It was bigger than she had imagined when he said he sometimes sailed it alone, but it was too lovely a thing for complaint.

“What a
beauty
of a boat.”

“Thank you.”

“
Janahine,
” she read the Roman letters under the flowing Arabic script on the stern. “Is that a woman’s name?” She bit her lip. Stupid to ask that, as if she might be interested in whether he was attached. “Sorry. Not my—”

“It means
Wings,
” he said. “Catch hold, please.” But Aly had leapt up automatically and was already waiting. He reversed the engine and came in closer, and she reached up to grab on.

A few minutes later he had moored. Immediately, he hefted a bundle and went lightly up the ladder. “Can you carry?”

“Yes, Your Excellency, I can carry,” Aly said. “Who do you think loaded
Oneira
with all this stuff in the first place? I don’t turn weak just because there’s a man around.”

“Stop calling me Your Excellency,” was all he said to that. “We are going to be sailing together for a long time. My name is Arif.”

She smiled. “And mine is Aly.” She picked up her duffel bag and started up the steps after him.

Her first impression had been spot on. The sloop was an elegant simplicity, workmanlike, with clean lines and no ostentation. A sailor’s boat. The deck covered in yards of bleached teak with varnished trim, a guest seating area amidships. Down a few steps into the main cabin. Teak everywhere.

Arif showed her to a cabin, where she dumped her bag and then went back up to continue unloading. When everything was stowed and he had showed her around a little, they paused by the seating area, where a table, seats, and serving counter gleamed with varnish in the sun.

“I will leave you now,” Arif said, “and join you tomorrow morning for an early departure. You will be here alone tonight.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“The couple who sail with us will be able to join us only in the morning. But I can arrange for a guard to sleep aboard if you prefer.”

“I’ll be fine, Your…Arif.”

“Lock the hatch tonight. If you have any trouble, the number of the harbor police is beside the phone, along with that of Fouad Mukhtar.”

“Of course.”

“Good, then.”

He paused, and they stood looking at each other while a heavy silence filled the space between them, as if he did not want to go but could think of no reason to stay. The blue eyes were grave on her, and Aly sensed danger. What had she done, agreeing to go to sea for six weeks of close confinement with this man?

I’ll get terrible hots for him and humiliate myself totally
.
I’m already imagining he doesn’t want to leave me. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

She opened her mouth to say—what? That she had changed her mind, that she couldn’t do this after all? But whatever she would have said came too late.

“In the morning,” Arif said, turned, and went down the sea ladder. A moment later she heard his engine roar to life.

…

“Six weeks.” Fouad Mukhtar stared at him. “You will be sailing for
six weeks
?”

“The length of the nesting season, apparently, Fouad.”

“Excellency, your away month is already fully arranged. As Jafar Hamrahi, you are due to begin work next week at—”

“Yes,” Arif agreed. It was what had given him the idea. “It makes things simple. You will need to re-arrange my schedule only for this week, Fouad. And for another week at the end of the month, of course.”

Fouad was wide-eyed with horror. “Excellency, can we not find someone else to sail with the turtle scientist? Reflect that there may be danger. Why must it be yourself?”

Arif wasn’t sure. Aly Percy aroused his curiosity. On several levels. But where came this inner conviction that he and only he could get to the root of the mystery? Or even, that he and only he could protect her on this voyage?

“And what crew will you take? How will we find someone with the right security clearance to sail with you, on such short notice, for such a period?”

“Farhad and Jamila will crew for me, as usual when I do not sail alone.”

“You will need a backup pair to cover when they have time off. How are we to find such so quickly?”

“When Farhad and Jamila take time off, the scientist and I will manage alone.”

“Alone.” With the rights of an older man and a trusted advisor, Fouad frowned blackly. “This sounds like madness, Excellency. Are you besotted with the woman so quickly? One so plain and undistinguished? Recollect that if she is attempting to attract you, it may be because…”

Arif lowered his chin to look at the older man. “Olivia Percy is a scientist who has devoted her professional life to understanding a creature that is of great importance to our country, not to her own,” he said softly. “We have reason to be grateful to her, Fouad. She deserves more respect from you.”

Fouad’s mouth tightened and he bowed his head at the rebuke. “Forgive me, Excellency. But this sudden interest in—”

“I am interested in her scientific work with the turtles. Rid yourself of the idea that it goes further than that.” As soon as he said it his gut called him on the lie. But Fouad would sleep more comfortably if he didn’t qualify that.

Fouad’s brow was now deeply furrowed. “Excellency, I beg you, at least let me make arrangements for some additional crew. If you sail alone with this woman you put yourself into her power—she can afterwards accuse you of anything, and what defense will you have? It might cost millions to keep it out of court. And nothing would keep it out of the western tabloids. Your name would be—”

“She is not the sort for that.”

Fouad abandoned the argument and chose a new tack.

“And what of Jafar Hamrahi, who is expected to begin work at Anglo-Bagestan Oil on Saturday, in their so-called Environment Protection Project—which you fear is a lip service program? Do you still intend to carry out that plan? Should Jafar Hamrahi ask for a delay of six weeks? Or do you abandon all—”

“You are right to remind me,” Arif said with a nod. “The opportunity at Anglo-Bagestan must not be missed. Jafar Hamrahi should certainly turn up for work on the day. I shall speak to my cousin Nadim ad-Durrani, who would benefit from a visit into the mines. It will be an early education of what he can expect if in future he is appointed Cup Companion himself.”

“Excellency, may I beg to point out that the identification for Jafar Hamrahi has your own photograph on it. Suppose you were instead to ask Nadim ad-Durrani to go with—”

Arif stood up behind his desk. “And you have a week to produce identification with Nadim’s photograph on it.”

Fouad’s voice now betrayed desperation. “If I may suggest one more thing, Excellency. If you would delay the start of this trip for the one week only, it would be most convenient. Tomorrow, for example, you have meetings with…”

Arif circled his desk, and headed for the door. “I have it on the best authority that no delay is possible. The turtle females wait for no man. Abandon your opposition, Fouad, you will not convince me,” he ordered, and strode out.

…

“Arif al Najimi is going with you? The sheikh himself?” Richard’s voice cracked with disbelief.

“On his personal yacht. He insisted, and what could I do? Next on his list was deporting me, or sinking the
Oneira
, or both. I could see it in his eyes.”

“Why didn’t he just find you a competent skipper and crew? That’s what I suggested to his PA. It’s all that’s needed.”

“I asked. He says
Oneira
is unseaworthy and there’s no other….”

“It’s hardly that,” Richard interrupted, his masculine pride bristling. “I wasn’t happy to think of your going by yourself, Aly, that’s why I called his PA. But the boat itself is fit for purpose. I do wish you could have turned this down. Was there no—”

“I had two choices,” Aly said bluntly. “Go with him or go home.”

He grunted. “Fast workers, these Cup Companions.”

Electricity zinged through every cell of her being. Then Aly laughed, because of course he didn’t mean what that sounded like. “What do you mean?”

“Did he or did he not meet you for the first time at the banquet, Aly? That’s what I mean.”

“Are you—?” Her throat closed tight. Aly coughed. “For God’s sake, Richard! Me?” She stopped and breathed deep. Richard never, but never, mocked her like this.

“Why not you? Women are often the last to know,” Richard added. “Just watch your step, Aly. I know Ellen would say the same.”

Aly got a grip on herself. The last thing she needed was to start imagining that Arif al Najimi had designs on her. “No. Trust me. No. It’s the painkillers frying your brain, Richard.” She laughed.

Richard didn’t laugh. “Then I wonder what it is he wants to protect.”

A chill replaced the heat that had been building in her. “Richard, what are you thinking?”

“We are as certain as we can be without documented physical proof that human agency is behind the turtle decline, Aly. Aren’t we? Someone is deliberately sabotaging the nests.”

Her flesh crawled with horror for what she was about to hear. “Yee—ess.”

“What we don’t know is, which humans, and exactly why.”

“Are you suggesting that a
Cup Companion
could be bribed to…”

“If we’ve learned anything about people in authority these past few years of corruption and scandal, Aly, we’ve learned that anyone can be bribed. What was it the man said—’politicians negotiating the highest price for their core values.’ Am I right? Corruption is a rot that can strike at the heart of any organization.”

Including police and journalists and bankers…and neither last nor least, her father. Aly couldn’t deny it.

“Arif al Najimi can’t be like that,” she murmured, a vision of his firmly-sculpted face, his direct gaze, his arrogant noblesserising in her mind. But of course he could be. Anyone could be. When her father had been exposed she had learned a never-to-be-forgotten lesson, and was she going to ignore it just because Arif al Najimi made her knees weak?

“We can’t afford to take the risk, Aly. He’s after something, without a doubt. You’re certain it’s not you. If you’re right about that, it’s something else.” He paused. “You’re going to have to find a way to false mark those nests without Arif al Najimi’s knowledge.”

“Oh, God, do you think so?” she whispered.

“Don’t tell him about that part of the operation. He can’t be with you every minute—he surely won’t even want to be. But if he does happen to be with you as you mark nests, then do not false mark. Save the false marking for when you can do it entirely unobserved.”

“Treat him like the enemy, in short,” Aly said unhappily. She didn’t like this at all. But Richard was right. Arif must
have some reason for coming with her. And while
she
might burn up just looking at him, she had no illusions that the sheikh returned the favor. “Oh, Richard, what a mess. But I
can’t
back out now.”