Defying her Desert Duty

Defying her Desert Duty by Annie West Page B

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Authors: Annie West
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them.
    Just one touch did that.
    ‘Go,’ she said hoarsely, her hand dropping. ‘Please.’ She needed time alone to regroup. So much for her innocent belief that things were easier between them. On the surface their relationship was pleasant, friendly, even. But beneath the surface lurked emotions she didn’t want to stir.
    ‘If you wish.’ He stripped his jacket off and handed it to her. ‘Unless you’d prefer to play?’
    That made her smile. ‘It’s you they want. Go.’ Studiously she ignored the warmth of his jacket over her arm. She made a production of waving him off then leaned against a tree, watching him lope down to the field.
    It didn’t surprise her that he sided with the younger players who seemed outclassed by their more experienced rivals. Soraya had seen him with children before. He was a natural, treating them as equals, yet with a patience that made him a good teacher and role model.
    She watched him sprint across the field, take the ball almost to the goal and deftly avoid several tackles till a boy of thirteen or so had time to join him. Zahir passed him the ball, then applauded as the boy’s shot at goal missed by a whisker.
    Pride surfaced. She
liked
Zahir, admired him. She wondered what he’d be like with his own children. She guessed he’d be fiercely loyal and supportive, a true friend. He’d be the same with the woman he loved.
    Soraya caught the direction of her thoughts and slammed them shut with a gasp of horror.
    Fixing her gaze on the river glinting beyond the playing field, she focused on the last few licks of her ice-cream and the sound of music filling the dusk.
    A tentative voice intruded. ‘Would you care to dance?’ The man’s smile was open and the hand he extended marked byhard work. She guessed he was a farmer with his craggy, sun-bronzed face. The music beckoned.
    Why not? She’d promised herself she’d make the most of these last precious days of freedom. Placing Zahir’s jacket and her bag of purchases on a nearby seat, Soraya took the stranger’s hand.
    Zahir felt like a kid again, light-hearted and spontaneous. He was even showing off for the girl in the floaty, floral dress standing in the shade at the edge of the square, as if he had nothing more on his mind than making the most of the day.
    He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this way. As if life was simple and full of pleasure, rather than a complicated series of manoeuvres to be plotted carefully, a contest to be won. More and more he felt it, the infectious joy of being with Soraya. As if weighty matters of state weren’t the be-all and end-all of his existence. As if, imperceptibly, his priorities had changed.
    The sensation was alluring. Like Soraya.
    He glanced up, expecting to see her there, watching, but she’d gone. She was fine, he told himself. She’d be in the square, tasting local delicacies or chatting with someone. But a few minutes later he excused himself and jogged over to where he’d left her.
    His jacket lay folded on a chair beside her cloth bag that was filled to the brim with her haul of goodies from the market stalls. He turned and surveyed the crowd. Sure enough, there she was, smiling as she danced with a husky young man. Her joy was infectious, even from this distance, and he wished it was him holding her as they danced over the cobblestones.
    But discretion was the better part of valour. Holding Soraya would be inviting trouble. Instead he folded his arms and watched as the sky darkened and the woman who filled his thoughts moved from partner to partner.
    ‘Time to stop?’ Zahir’s words interrupted her partner’s thanks as the music ended. Soraya swung round, breathing heavily after that last mad polka. In the dim light Zahir loomed. Was that disapproval in his voice? His face was set in harsh lines she hadn’t seen in days.
    Instantly resentment stirred. And disappointment. She’d thought they were past the disapproval.
    ‘Why?’ She tucked a strand of

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