Desert Wedding. Alexandra Scott

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      CHAPTER TWO

      GETTING ready later in the evening, Georgia abandoned reticence, for some inexplicable reason chose to wear one of her more original outfits—the wide trousers which might, until she moved, have been a skirt.

      Sheer silk organza, they drifted about her, giving tantalising glimpses of long, slender legs. Their colour—deep sea-green, a shade or two darker than her eyes—was one that she found irresistible, especially when scattered with cream polka dots. The tunic top, in the same silk but without the spots, had tiny puff sleeves with rich cream embroidery outlining the plain round neck.

      It was all perfectly modest and restrained, but at the same time, standing in front of the long mirrors, she felt a qualm as she recognised the extremely potent image that she was seeing. It was as if—and this could not have been further from the truth—she were going out on a proper date, with a man she wanted to attract, for heaven’s sake.

      Perhaps if she had taken less care with her make-up...only someone who knew nothing about it would imagine that it was casual and understated—that was exactly where the skill lay. Her eyes were emphasised with grey-green shadow, long, carefully curled lashes gave a romantic, luminous look, blusher merely touched the high cheekbones, and lips were barely brushed with a soft sheen.

      But possibly it was hair which made the most positive statement, for, after washing it and treating it to an extravagant amount of conditioner, she had decided, after much trial and error, on a plait, which now hung over one shoulder and for some reason looked devastating. Hard to explain why. Was it the contrast between the sophistication of her outfit and the schoolgirl hairdo which gave it such appeal? Perhaps.

      Perfume. Of course. She had always loved it. Turning, she picked up the bottle from the dressing table but, as she pressed the atomiser quite suddenly she panicked. This was all wrong; she wasn’t going out on a romantic date, and it was certainly the last message she wanted to send out to a man who had simply taken pity on her.

      Perhaps the wisest thing would be a quick change into a simple skirt and blouse—but no... someone was at the bedroom door. Her heart started to hammer, but it was Enna with the message, ‘Master is waiting.’

      ‘Thank you, Enna.’ So what if she looked good? she thought. She slipped her feet into high-heeled mules, picked up her handbag and did a final check in the glass. She had always—at least, mostly—dressed to please Georgia Maitland, and this was not the moment to change the habits of a lifetime. She smiled rather grimly at her reflection and went to join ‘master’ in the hall.

      And there was little doubt that Nathan, handsome or not—she still reserved judgement on that—was the kind of man who would attract attention. It had a great deal to do with his height, plus his width of shoulder. Men of his shape—powerful, slim-hipped—always pleased aesthetically, and there were other aspects that she could also approve. He was wearing dark trousers, white shirt, a tie in maroon with blue stripes and, over his shoulder, hooked on one forefinger, a lightweight dark jacket. Impeccable and...surprisingly attractive.

      But was her appreciation of the more conventional style simply a reflection of her anger with Jordan...? A faint whiff of some masculine cologne distracted her and found an echo in his first remark.

      ‘Ah, you smell nice.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Not a word about her appearance. Not that she’d looked for any—didn’t want it, for heaven’s sake.

      There was no conversation as they dropped to ground lift in the lift, but she was very aware of him—aware in the curious little prickle at the nape of her neck, in the slightly increased beat of her pulse. And there was little conversation in the car as they negotiated busy streets, then turned into a quieter area, through old narrow lanes which criss-crossed the ancient city, driving at last through an elaborate arched gateway, along a drive and into what appeared to have been the garden of a villa which now was a smart restaurant with tables and chairs set out under a canopy of vines and fragrant climbing plants.

      ‘How wonderful.’ She looked round with appreciation as Nathan held open the car door for her to step outside.

      ‘I thought you would like it. There’s quite a large garden. Let me show you round before we eat.’

      Again his hand was on her elbow, guiding her along the path which meandered through a small shrubbery into a formal walled garden with a large fountain spilling water into a lily pond. Here, when she sat on the edge and trailed her fingers in the cool water, a brilliantly coloured fish came up and nibbled her fingers in its search for titbits.

      ‘Ouch.’ She smiled. ‘I came here to eat, not to be eaten.’

      ‘They always live in hope, but feeding the fish is not encouraged; it shortens their lives if they’re overfed. But I can see you’re feeling hungry so...’ They were walking round the side of the large, elegant villa; through open windows they could see diners inside. There was an air of wealth and opulence which Georgia supposed was a reflection of the recently arrived oil riches. ‘This is the main restaurant, as you can see, but if you prefer we can eat outside in the garden...’

      ‘Oh, outside! Please!’ Her appealing upward glance failed to register his changed expression, missed the way his eyes lingered on her animated features as she looked around. ‘Please,’ she repeated, this time smiling up at him, and was gratified by a slow smile in response.

      ‘Of course.’ His hand touched her elbow as they followed the waiter. ‘It’s what I prefer myself.’

      ‘Mmm. Perfect.’ She put her handbag onto the table and took the chair offered by the waiter, while her companion sat opposite. ‘How can anyone bear to be inside on a night like this and in such a setting?’

      ‘I prefer it to the more westernised places, though there have been lots of those since the oil came. But here you at least get the impression of reaching out to the old Raqat, brushing against the ancient culture.’ Menus appeared and he waited a moment while she opened hers. ‘I hope you’re hungry. Portions tend to be on the generous side.’

      ‘I’m starving.’ She forgot to be inhibited. ‘It’s the first time since I arrived. I picked up some bug on the flight out and I just haven’t felt like eating.’ Realising what she was saying, she felt embarrassed, coloured up and flicked a glance at him to see if he had noticed, and of course he had. An amused eyebrow was raised.

      ‘Ah?’ A short sound could speak volumes.

      ‘It was nothing much really, but I was afraid to risk anything much beyond an omelette.’

      ‘I’m glad you’re past that stage now. Maybe best to avoid anything too spicy, though. Couscous can be very easy СКАЧАТЬ