Текст книги "The Desert Blooms "

Автор книги: Iris Johansen

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Iris Johansen

And The Desert Blooms

One

 

Two

 

Three

 

Four

 

Five

 

Six

 

Seven

 

Eight

Nine

 

Ten

 

Copyright © 1985 by Iris Johansen

One

Pandora quickly unfastened the chain of the medallion that hung around her neck. Her hands were shaking slightly as she took it off and placed it in the velvet-lined jeweler's box. She took a moment to draw a deep, steadying breath. It was stupid to be so frightened now. She had planned everything down to the last detail. No, nothing could go wrong.

The round medallion shone against the black velvet lining of the box. The morning sunlight streaming through the hotel room window picked out the design on its surface, a raised rose in full bloom pierced by a sword. She reached out one finger and touched the rose gently. She felt oddly naked without the necklace she had worn for the last eight years. She had a sudden impulse to snatch the lovely thing out of the box and fastenit around her neck again. It was hers, dammit. What if Philip just opened the package and then carelessly tossed the medallion into a drawer?

What if he had forgotten her? It had been more than six years. Undoubtedly there had been a parade of women through his bedroom in that time. Perhaps he'd found one who could provide him with more than temporary satisfaction. Oh Lord, she mustn't think of that. It hurt too much. She wouldn't think about it. He wasn't married or engaged. She knew that for certain. It didn't matter if he had formed a liaison or not. She'd soon take care of removing any woman who had taken his fancy. Philip belonged to her. She had a prior claim and wouldn't hesitate to state it. She knew Philip better than anyone on the face of the earth. Surely that would be a powerful enough weapon to oust any rival. And she had other weapons now as well. She would use them all if she had to.

Philip wouldn't throw the medallion into a drawer. He was the most possessive man she had ever known. When he had given her this medallion he had done so as a gesture of ownership. What belonged to him would never be surrendered easily.

She snapped the box shut and reached for the most recent issue of Rolling Stone magazine. With efficient movements she wrapped the jeweler's box and the magazine in plain brown paper and addressed it to James Abernathy, Philip's London agent. From the gossip columns she knew Philip had spent a good deal of time in Great Britain during the last six years. Even if he wasn't inLondon, Abernathy would know where to reach him.

Just as she finished there was a knock on the door. She stood and snatched up the package and her huge shoulder bag from the chair beside the desk. "Just a minute," she called.

"Take your time," came Neal's deep voice. "I'm in no hurry to listen to you destroy my new lyrics with that sandpaper voice of yours."

A smile tugged at her lips as she crossed the room, and she felt some of her tension ease. Neal Sabine's dry humor always had that effect on her. She couldn't remember how many performances he had made bearable for her in the past two years.

She threw open the door. "Then why don't you sing them yourself?" she asked Neal with a grin. "We both know you've got a better voice." She made a face. "Hell, Kermit the Frog has a better voice."

"But Kermit the Frog doesn't have your sex appeal," he replied as he took her huge shoulder bag and slung it over his shoulder. "And neither do I. You may not be melodious, but you're definitely commercial."

"Thanks a lot," she said. "If I was the least bit serious about all this nonsense, I'd probably be crushed."

"If you were serious, I wouldn't have said it," Neal returned. "I'd be working your ass off to make a musician out of you, instead of just a star." He shifted his guitar case and took her arm. "Come on, let's get on the road. Pauly and Gene are already at the auditorium rehearsing."

One side of his mouth lifted in a lopsided smile. "They're obviously more driven than we are, Iuv."

She knew better than that, but said nothing as she closed the door and started down the hall toward the bank of elevators at the end of the corridor. "I'm afraid we're going to be even later than you think," she remarked finally. "I have to stop at the post office and mail this package."

There was a flicker of curiosity in Neal's eyes as he glanced down at the package. In the four years he had known Pandora he couldn't remember her either receiving or sending any mail. She seemed to live totally in the here and now. "I guess I can handle that. Is it important?"

"Oh yes, it's important." Her hand was trembling again as she pushed the button of the elevator. She deliberately steadied it. She mustn't be so transparent. She could tell by Neal's expression that he'd already noticed something was upsetting her. She'd never be able to fool Philip, who had always been extraordinarily sensitive to her emotional state, if she couldn't control herself better than this.

She lifted her chin and gave Neal a blindingly beautiful smile. "Very important." Her smile suddenly faded, and a faint frown creased her forehead. "Do you remember last year when you were ill with the flu and I played Florence Nightingale?"

He nodded. "How could I forget? I've never been so bitchin' miserable in my life."

"You said you owed me one."

His eyes narrowed. "Are you calling in debts, Pandora?"

She nodded. "I need a favor." She moistened her lips. Heavens, this was hard. She had taken care of Neai because he was her friend and he needed her. She felt shabby extracting payment now for what she had given freely. "I'll understand if you don't want to do it, but I thought I'd—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, be quiet, Pandora." The doors of the elevator slid open and Neal nudged her into the cubicle. "You're my friend, dammit." His thumb punched the lobby button. "If you want a favor, ask. It's not a crime to need a little help, you know."

"Okay." She drew a deep breath. "I want you to move in with me."

"What!"

The doors of the elevator slid silently closed.

* * *

"Come in, Abernathy."

James Abernathy hesitated a moment before he opened the polished oak library door. He wasn't in any hurry to beard the lion in his den. He had deliberately taken his time getting to El Kabbar's estate from his office in London. Usually it annoyed him to make the long drive when the sheikh wanted to sign papers or relay instructions on the more delicate transactions of his multicorporation empire. In James Abernathy's eyes, London was the only civilized corner of the world, and he couldn't see why the sheikh insisted on living outside its environs. He realized that El Kabbar was a fine horseman and possessed one of the most famous stables in the Middle East. Still, there was Hyde Park in which to ride, and he was sure the facilities were more than adequate. Thistime, however, he was grateful for the delay of the drive before the coming interview.

Even over the phone he had been able to tell that the sheikh was not pleased at the news Abernathy had received in the morning's mail. Abernathy had thought El Kabbar would be relieved that the blasted girl had surfaced at last. After all, they had been searching for her for over six years. Reigning sheikhs were notoriously arrogant and Philip El Kabbar was more difficult than most. However, as his agent, Abernathy was extremely well paid to put up with that arrogance. There wasn't any question that he'd continue to do so, not in today's economy.

When Abernathy entered the library El Kabbar didn't look any more pleased than he'd sounded on the phone. His black brows were knit in a frown over stormy blue-green eyes. "Where is it?" he asked curtly.

"I have it here." Abernathy strode briskly forward and placed the package on the Sheraton desk. "I opened it, as I do everything addressed to you." He paused before adding apologetically, "I had no idea it was anything of a personal nature." He started to turn away. "Now, if you don't need me . . ."

"Sit down and quit trying to escape, Abernathy." El Kabbar was crossing the room with swift strides, his tall, lean body as lithe as a cat's. From his clothes it was evident he had been about to go riding when he'd received the phone call. Abernathy fervently wished the sheikh had continued with the plan. Perhaps he would have expended a little of his anger on his horse.

Abernathy repressed a sigh as he obediently sat down in the wing chair beside the desk. "Of course, Sheikh El Kabbar. I'm only too happy to be of service to you. I merely didn't wish to intrude."

"I doubt that I'm going to be overcome with emotion," El Kabbar said cynically. He flicked on the desk lamp before removing the plain brown paper from the package with impatient hands. "Unless that emotion is anger. You could say I'm a trifle annoyed with our little runaway."

"Not very little any longer, judging by the photograph on the cover of that magazine," Abernathy said mildly. "You must remember that she's no longer the child of fifteen she was when she disappeared."

"Must I?" El Kabbar asked as he opened the jeweler's box. The sheikh's face was impassive when he looked down at the medallion, but his hand suddenly tightened, snapping the box shut. He picked up the copy of Rolling Stone and glanced at the picture. "A rock star. I should have known Pandora would pick a profession suited to her rather bizarre mentality."

"She's turned into quite a raving beauty, hasn't she?" Abernathy permitted himself a small smile. "Who would have thought such a little tomboy could be transformed into the woman in that picture?" He had only seen the girl once, when he had picked her up at the airport some six years before. The next day she had decided to run away. She had left only a sealed note for Philip El Kabbar and a great deal of turmoil behind her. That girl had been thin and wiry, with silver-blond hair that had been brutally chopped into a boy's cut.

From the photograph it was clear all that had changed. Pandora Madchen's features were by far the most classically beautiful Abernathy had ever seen, and her great dark eyes were truly magnificent. In the white satin Grecian toga that bared one shoulder her slim body was everything a woman's form should be. Her bosom might even be considered a little too voluptuous for her small body. It wasn't likely any man would complain, however. Pandora emitted an aura of sensuality that almost reached out and touched, stroked . . . Abernathy shifted uncomfortably in his chair. It was a very disturbing quality. "Do you suppose that wild orange hair is dyed or a wig? Why would she try to cover her own hair? The color was quite lovely, as I remember."

Philip El Kabbar didn't look up from the magazine. "A wig. But it wouldn't surprise me if she's had her head shaved and is bald as a jaybird underneath the damn thing. There wasn't a note?"

Abernathy shook his head. "Just the magazine and the jeweler's box."

The sheikh picked up the magazine and crossed to stand in front of the fireplace. "I suppose you've read the article?"

Abernathy shrugged. "Most of it. A good deal of it concerns the artistic merits of the group itself. Evidently Pandora and Nemesis are very well thought of by popular musicians."

"Nemesis?" Philip's gaze lifted swiftly.

"That's the name of the group itself. Rather fanciful, isn't it? I wonder if she thought of it herself."

"Probably." Philip looked down into the heart of the crackling fire. "Give me the bare bones of the story. I can do without the critical review."

"No one appears to know her last name in the United States. She's known only as Pandora. Evidently that's the thing to do in rock circles. It adds a certain mystique." His lips pursed disapprovingly. "Most exasperating. Your detectives might have found her if she'd used her surname. She's been in the public eye for almost two years."

"That long?"

Abernathy nodded. "The group had a hit single about that time and became very popular. The men in the group are all British, so it's probable that she linked up with them here in London."

"Then why didn't the fools find her? No city is that large."

"It's understandable. They were looking in the wrong places." Abernathy's expression was faintly reproachful. "You gave us no hint that she was interested in music. You said she had ambitions as an equestrienne."

"I also said that you couldn't put her into any cozy pigeonhole, blast it. There aren't any limits where she's concerned. She doesn't even know they exist." His hand clenched around the magazine. "Why the hell didn't they listen to me?"

"I'm sure they were thorough. Blackwell's is an extremely efficient agency." Abernathy could see that he wasn't getting through and sought for an out. Unfortunately, he had been the one to hire the detective agency when the Madchen girl ran away. "Have you phoned her father in Sedikhan and informed him that she's been located?"

El Kabbar nodded curtly. "Right after you called me. He wasn't at the dispensary so I left word with his assistant."

"Undoubtedly hell be overjoyed when he hears the good news."

"Undoubtedly," El Kabbar said caustically. "He lost a horse-crazy fifteen-year-old and finds an orange-haired twenty-one-year-old rock star. Hell be over the moon."

"She's still his daughter," Abernathy offered quietly.

There was a short silence.

"Yes, she's still his daughter," El Kabbar finally said. "Whatever that means. Madchen never treated her with anything but complete indifference. When I told him she was missing his reaction was a philosophic shrug. No, you can't say they were exactly close."

"Is that why she ran away? I thought she was just rebelling at being sent away from Sedikhan to school here in England."

"No, there was more to it than that." El Kabbar's lips were suddenly a tight line. "Nothing is ever simple when it comes to Pandora."

"Isn't it?" There was a note of speculation in Abernathy's voice.

El Kabbar noticed it, and his lips curved in a cynical smile. "And, no, she wasn't my mistress, Abernathy. I've never indulged myself with teenage Lolitas. I like my bedmates with a degree of maturity and experience."

Abernathy was well aware of that. El Kabbar's latest affair had been with a beautiful opera singer who possessed both of those attributes. Still, he had wondered a bit at the sheikh's reaction when Pandora Madchen disappeared. El Kabbar had flown to London at once and supervised the search personally for almost a year. That, in itself, had been unusual. His demeanor during that period had been even more surprising. There had been moments when the man looked positively haggard. "I would never have intimated such a thing. I know that Dr. Madchen has been in your employ for a number of years. I'm sure you would have been just as concerned for the daughter of any—"

"The devil I would," El Kabbar bit out. "My employees are well taken care of, but I wouldn't go through that hell as part of any fringe-benefit program."

"Then why—" Abernathy broke off. He was coming dangerously close to exhibiting a curiosity that he knew would not be welcomed. He had learned long ago that one ventured past the sheikh's wall of reserve only at his own express invitation. "She appeared to be an unusually appealing child. A little quiet, but very polite."

"It must have been one of her better days," El Kabbar said dryly. "Pandora was seldom quiet and never polite. She was wild as a hawk." His lips twisted. "From the looks of this photograph I'd say she hasn't changed all that much."

"You have to admit she's made a success of herself, in a rather offbeat manner."

"She could never have done it any other way. She hears a different drummer." El Kabbar turned away from the fireplace and strode briskly toward the desk. He dropped down into the massive leather executive chair and tossed the magazine carelesslyon the blotter In front of him. "Does Blackwell's have a branch in the States?"

"I believe so," Abernathy said cautiously. "If not, I'm sure they can make arrangements with a suitable counterpart." He frowned. "But why? We already know where Miss Madchen is located. Since she used a return address it's obvious she wanted us to know her present whereabouts. It's not likely shell disappear again."

"Pandora never does what's likely. I have no intention of losing her again." He met Abernathy's eyes steadily. "Besides, at last I have some work that your very thorough detectives can sink their teeth into. Not only are they going to keep Pandora under surveillance, but they are going to protect her as well. Who knows what kind of weird element she's surrounded herself with?" For an instant there was a flicker of humor in his eyes. "Though I doubt if anything could be worse than the tiger she was cuddling before she left Sedikhan."

"Tiger?" Abernathy asked in bewilderment.

El Kabbar made an impatient motion with his hand. "Never mind, it's a long story. Just see that she's protected. I also want a complete dossier drawn up on her, down to the brand of toothpaste she's using at present."

"How soon do you want it?"

"Tomorrow afternoon." He ignored the other man's stifled exclamation. "Did you say she's playing in San Francisco day after tomorrow?"

"According to the list of concert dates in the magazine. It's the last concert on the tour."

"I have some loose ends to tie up here, but I should be able to get away by tomorrow morning. Have your man report to me at the Fairmont tomorrow afternoon at five."

"They might not be able to complete a dossier that quickly."

"They'll do it," El Kabbar said grimly. "They've been milking me for the last six years—it's time they produced. I'm extremely displeased with them."

Abernathy swallowed nervously and stood up. "I must get back to the office and make a few telephone calls. Do you have any further instructions?"

"That's all." Then, as Abernathy started for the door, he added, "No, wait. Find a way of contacting Mrs. Zilah Seifert. I believe she and Daniel are cruising in the Caribbean on their yacht Windsong. " He smiled sardonically. "Let her know the lost lamb has been found. She has a peculiar fondness for this particular lamb."

Abernathy nodded briskly. "I'll see to it. If there are any problems. I'll phone you in San Francisco. Good day, Sheikh El Kabbar." He strode hurriedly toward the door. This time he was allowed to leave and he closed the door behind him with a sigh of relief.

It was foolish to be nervous around the man after so many years in his service, but the sheikh could be a very intimidating man. Abernathy wouldn't like to be in the detective's shoes if he didn't come through with that dossier on schedule. For that matter, he wouldn't want to be in Pandora Madchen's place either. The sheikh's emotions were exceptionally strong and volatile where she was concerned. Personally, he found it muchmore comfortable to be ignored by the man except when needed.

Philip leaned back in the chair, his eyes going compulsively to the magazine he'd thrown so carelessly on the desk. Lord, she was beautiful now. Even in that grotesque wig she shimmered with allure. But then, he had known she would be beautiful eventually because as a child she had possessed an enchanting grace and loveliness. Strange that he hadn't noticed it more often when she had tagged around after him like an eager little puppy. He supposed he'd always been vaguely conscious of that glowing promise, but it had been all but obscured by her fire and intensity. He wondered cynically if that intensity was still as strong. Perhaps she had found, like most beautiful women, that society requires nothing more of her than a tempting body and an accommodating nature.

For some reason that thought sent a surge of rage through him, and he reached impulsively for the jeweler's box on the far side of the desk. He flipped it open and stared down at the medallion, trying to subdue his anger.

He had given her the medallion to safeguard her when she was a child running wild around the village and encountering danger at every turn. Everyone recognized the rose and sword as the insignia of his house, and it had placed her automatically under his protection and possession. She had accepted the fact that she belonged to him. She knew he didn't give up what was his. Not ever. Yet she had returned the medallion without even the courtesy of a note. What the devil did she mean by that gesture?

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he reached out to touch the gold of the rose. With the Pandora he had known six years ago, he would have been able to guess. Sometimes he had felt so close to her, he could almost read her thoughts. Now he couldn't be sure. Beauty had a way of corrupting anything it touched, and Pandora had lived with the knowledge of her own exceptional beauty for years now. Perhaps she had changed.

If that was the case, her sending the medallion could mean any number of things. Invitation, rejection, reconciliation.

Of course she had changed. Everyone changed with time and experience. And the Pandora who was smiling out of the picture with such smoldering sensuality had obviously gained a lot of experience along the way.

Well, he'd find out how those changes would affect him very soon. Because, even if she didn't realize it, she still belonged to him. He had only to decide in what capacity.

Two

The rectangular jeweler's box was lying on her vanity table when she walked into her dressing room after rehearsal the next evening.

Pandora recognized it at once, and for a moment the breath stopped in her lungs. So soon? Philip never hesitated once a decision was made. She had known he'd react at once—she'd even counted on it. Still she was stunned. She walked slowly across the room and flipped open the lid of the box, already knowing what she'd find there. There was a small card lying on top of the medallion. Her hands were shaking as she picked it up and read the bold script.

"It's not that easy. There's a car waiting in the alley outside the stage door. Don't keep me waiting."

No signature. There was no need for one. Both the tone and the handwriting itself were poignantly

familiar. It's not that easy. She would have laughed aloud if she hadn't been afraid she would burst into tears. There was nothing easy about this situation. She had never been so frightened in her life. Yet beneath that fear was an exuberant joy that was growing with every second. She was going to see him. Dear, sweet heaven, after six years without him she was going to see him again!

She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. She mustn't get so excited. She had to convince Philip she was as sophisticated and blase as the other women he took to his bed.

She'd be fine in another moment. She had learned to disguise her feelings in the past two years. She would be able to fool Philip if the masquerade didn't last too long. She would have to accomplish her purpose quickly.

She opened her eyes. Her reflection in the lighted vanity mirror was not reassuring. Her dark eyes were enormous in her white face. What if Philip didn't think she was even pretty? Other people seemed to, but beauty was a matter of taste. She felt panic rise in her. What if—No, she wouldn't let herself have these doubts. Move. Philip was waiting. The game was about to start. She wished she hadn't thought of that. She had always been too impatient to be any good at games. Philip was the one who excelled at them.

She unpinned her wig, threw it on the vanity, and took off the nylon wig cap. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders in a silver cloud. That was better. She must concentrate on being alluring and block out all those doubts. She turned and strode hurriedly toward the tiny adjoining bathroom.

Thirty minutes later she stood before the mirror again, gazing at herself critically. The makeup was just right, enough to accentuate her features and give her an air of sophistication, but not enough to look cheap. The square neckline of the black velvet gown she was wearing was so low that it barely covered the tips of the breasts swelling from its soft folds. Too sexy? It was a little obvious, but there was no way it could be too sexy for what she had in mind. She turned away from the mirror before any more doubts could weaken her resolve and walked quickly from the dressing room.

In a short time she was standing before the door of Philip's suite at the Fairmont. The door swung open at her first knock. He was dressed in white slacks and a collarless shirt in a forest green shade that turned his eyes to deep turquoise. He was just the same: the high cheekbones, the sensual mouth, the tanned hardness of his lean, tough physique. The air of leashed power that surrounded him was the same as well. She felt a curl of excitement in the pit of her stomach and had to stifle the impulse to walk into his arms and nestle there. Home. She was home again.

"That orange monstrosity is a wig, thank God. Abernathy was wondering if you'd dyed your hair," Philip said tersely. "At least you look civilized." His glance touched on her creamy breasts. "If not precisely modest."

"Am I allowed to come in, or would you like me to stand out here so that you can continue tearing my appearance to shreds?" Her voice was light and mocking. She only hoped her expression wasequally composed. "Hello. Philip. It's good to see you again."

"Come in." He turned away. He was angry. Six years ago that fact would have devastated her and it disturbed her even now. "And while you're at it you can dispense with the polite chitchat. If you were so happy to see me, it wouldn't have taken you six years to renew our acquaintance."

"There were reasons." She followed him into the room and closed the door. She laid her black evening bag on the low chest to the left of the door and smiled sweetly at him. "Isn't it enough that I'm here now? I may have been a little slow, but I did contact you eventually."

"No, it's not enough." He crossed the room and dropped into the cane chair by the window. "And what the devil did you mean by sending me the medallion? I don't take back that particular emblem. You know that. It's not just a pretty piece of jewelry."

She nodded serenely. "Yes, I know. That's the reason I returned it. We both know it's a symbol of possession. I found I didn't like the idea of being owned." She shook her head reprovingly. "Really, Philip, the system you have in Sedikhan is feudal. I wonder that I didn't object before to wearing it like a meek little vassal."

"The vassalage system evolved because it was beneficial to both parties. It provided service to one and protection to the other." His lips tightened grimly. "I don't recall that you objected to being under my protection when it suited you."

"But that was because I was a child." She smiled again. "I understand the barter system much better now."

His eyes narrowed. "Was that supposed to be loaded with implications? Don't try to be subtle, Pandora. You never were able to pull it off." There was a quick leap of anger in his eyes. "You never used to want to play word games."

"I never was capable of it. There's a difference."

He studied her for a long moment. "You've changed," he said slowly.

"I've grown up. We all do eventually."

"Let's find out just how much you've changed." He held out his hand. "Come here and let me look at you."

She felt her heart give a little jerk. She only hoped her reaction hadn't shown in her face. She moved forward, swaying with deliberate grace. She felt a little shock as she slipped her hand into his. "I hope you think I've improved," she said lightly. "That little scarecrow had a long way to go."

"Oh, I don't know," he drawled. "I had a certain fondness for that scarecrow." He pulled downward with sudden force, and she found herself on her knees before his chair, looking up at him with startled eyes. His gaze was suddenly on the lush cleavage revealed by the low neck of her gown. "Though I can see a couple of advantages to the new you."

She wouldn't blush. "I'm glad. I suppose old habits are hard to break." She met his eyes. "I still want to please you."

His thumb began tracing a lazy pattern on the sensitive flesh of her inner wrist. "That's not an old habit, that's a new development. I don't recall your ever caring whether I was pleased or not."

Her lashes lowered. "I cared." Oh Lord, how she'd cared.

There was a sudden note of anger in his voice. "Look at me, dammit. You remind me of a blasted Khadim."

She kept her eyes fixed on the middle button of his shirt. "But you like Khadims." Her tone was gently teasing. "I remember that very well. There was always one on the horizon or one disappearing into the sunset. From what I read in the newspapers, you still use their services or that of their Western counterparts. Some of them are very lovely. Am I as pretty as they?"

His thumb abruptly ceased its movement on her wrist. "Are you inviting comparisons?"

She didn't answer. Her throat was so tight she didn't think she could speak.

"I take it silence is assent?" His voice was no longer curt, but a silky drawl. "That puts a different light on our little meeting. Interesting. But then you were always that, Pandora." He released her wrist and leaned back in his chair. "Why don't you get up and go sit on that couch across the room? I think putting a distance between us would be a good idea at the moment. A proposition like that has a distinct physical effect on a man that tends to cloud his judgment. I believe we need to resolve a few points before we take up the issue you've raised."

"If you like." She stood and crossed the room. "Though I'd have thought you would be accustomed to this sort of thing." She sat down on the couch and gave him a brilliant smile. "It's not as if I'm asking for any kind of commitment from you. We're both adults and know what we want."

"Do we?" He smiled cynically. "I know what I want. I've known since you walked into the room, but I'm not sure I know what you want." He paused. "Are you going to tell me why you ran away six years ago?"

She shrugged. "I left a note."