The Chatsfield: Series 2. Кейт Хьюит

       CHAPTER SIX

      “WE HAVE SENT your woman back to the tent.”

      Zayn looked at Jamal, something strange twisting in his gut as he turned over the words the other man had just spoken. “She is merely under my protection. Nothing more.”

      “Then would you prefer she sleep elsewhere?”

      “As I said,” Zayn replied, knowing he should be taking Jamal up on his offer, knowing he wouldn’t, “she is under my protection. That means she must stay close with me.”

      “As you wish.”

      “There is nothing between us.”

      Jamal looked off into the distance, his eyes fixed on the horizon line. “It is none of my concern what you do or with whom. I care not for your affairs, Al-Ahmar. You should know this by now. So long as you stay out of my business, I will stay out of yours.”

      “To a point, I’m certain.”

      “Well, you are here now. So obviously it only extends to a point. Though I will say it is lucky for you that you now have me to deal with rather than my father. His welcome for you may not have been so hospitable.”

      “And yet, hostility between us is pointless. We both want the same things. We both want what is absolutely best for those we rule over.”

      “Ah, yes. But I do believe you and I often have differing opinions on what is best.”

      Zayn looked toward the tent that was being provided for Sophie and himself. “I sometimes differ with myself as to what is best.”

      “Indeed.” Jamal laughed. “Don’t we all?”

      Far too often. “I shall retire now.”

      Jamal arched a brow. “As would I if I had a woman such as that waiting for me in my tent.”

      “You have a wife. And this woman is not my lover.”

      “Calm down, Al-Ahmar. I have no designs on your woman. Neither will I repeat what I have seen here. We may not agree on everything, but I believe you are a man of honor. And for that reason I do not see the point in causing you any trouble.”

      Zayn extended his hand, and Jamal clasped it and shook it. “On that we agree. And I must bid you good-night now.”

      He turned and walked away from the other man, ignoring his assumptions. Doing his best to push them away from his mind. Yes, he and Sophie would share a tent tonight. But there was plenty of room for both of them. And he would not touch her.

      He crossed the courtyard, passing the campfires that were starting to die down. He swept up the closure of the tent and encountered a wide-eyed-looking Sophie.

      “Good evening.” He turned away from her and continued on to the corner of the massive space, where there was a seating area, where the bags he had had his staff prepare for them were sitting.

      “What are you doing here?”

      “This is a guest quarters. And as we are both guests, this is where we will both be staying.”

      “I don’t even have any...” Her sentence trailed off as she looked at the bags he was now standing next to.

      “You have everything. Naturally.”

      “Naturally. I’m beginning to discover that staying with you means being taken care of whether I want to be or not.” He only stared at her. “Well, that’s not what I mean exactly.”

      “You mean I give you absolutely no excuses for being unhappy? I make you comfortable. It must be awful considering you’re trying to feel like the wounded prisoner.”

      “Well, I do feel slightly like the invaded prisoner at the moment. I was not aware we would be sharing a tent.”

      He swept his hand across the expanse of the vast space. “Did you think you would have such a place to yourself?”

      She blinked, tossing golden hair over her shoulders, the strands turning to golden fire in the lantern light. “I confess I didn’t really think it through.”

      “I don’t suppose you did.” He gestured toward a swath of silk that was suspended from the ceiling. “Back there you will find the bed. It is fine with me if you have it. I’m happy to sleep on the couch.”

      “As long as you acknowledge we’re sleeping in separate places.” He watched as her cheeks turned a fascinating shade of pink after the words left her lips.

      “Naturally.” He jerked up the zipper on the duffel bag sitting on the couch, only to discover that it was the bag that had been filled with Sophie’s clothes. His hands came into contact with silk, smooth and slick, and not what he needed right at the moment. “I am not in the market for a lover. And were I in the market for a lover, it would certainly not be you.”

      She sniffed. “Good. As long as we have an understanding.”

      “Yes, as long as we do.” Heat burned in his chest, and his palms burned from where he had just made contact with the feminine clothing. Three years of celibacy really was far too long. If women’s clothing had the ability to get him hard, it was obvious things had been left untended for way too much time.

      “Changing topic completely,” she said, “I think it’s time for the second part of our interview.”

      “Do you think so?”

      She crossed the space and moved to the sitting area, to the low chaise that sat across from the couch he was currently standing next to. She sat on the chaise, leaning against the back, the position accentuating her shape, forcing his eyes to her curves.

      He shoved the duffel bags onto the floor and took a seat across from her. “I fear tonight there is no alcohol to help make this process any less painful.”

      “I’m okay with that. I don’t actually drink all that much.” She propped her cheek on her fist.

      “Why is that?”

      “High in calories, expensive. Compromises control.”

      “Yes, so you said. When you mentioned you had never had a hangover.”

      She reached into the pocket of her pants and produced the little black recorder again. “You seem to be forgetting who’s doing the interviewing again.”

      “No, I never forget. But I never give without getting in return. It is simply not how I operate.”

      “And I don’t like to talk about myself. And you keep forcing the situation so that I am. It’s very irritating.”

      “My apologies.”

      “I doubt I have any sincere apologies from you. So let’s continue, shall we?”

      He abruptly changed his mind about sitting. And pushed himself back to his feet. “What was it you asked me the other night?”

      “I asked how it was your family ended up being in power. How are they chosen? I’m curious about the history of the Al-Ahmar family.”

      “Yes.” He remembered, of course, but he had wanted her to bring it up again. Had wanted her to feel as though she was directing the flow of the interview. “Yes, that’s right. That