Banished to the Harem

‘No.’ Natasha shook her head, her face flushed, more than a little embarrassed at the fuss she had made. ‘That won’t be necessary.’

And Rakhal watched her blush, visible even in candlelight. ‘Perhaps I could have somebody write down the ingredients so you can check through them …’ He was enjoying this now.

‘Of course not. I’m sure it will be lovely. It is more that I thought you were choosing for me …’

‘I am,’ Rakhal said, and watched her rapid blinking. ‘Tonight you are my guest, and you should not be worrying about making decisions. Say I were to come to your house tomorrow for dinner …’ He watched the red darken on her cheeks as she pictured it. ‘Perhaps you would ask my preferences, but you would not give me a menu.’ He leaned forward a little. ‘You would prepare dishes that you thought might please your guest. Well, I do not cook, but I have asked my chef to do the same … to cook with foods that are fresh and flown in from my country.’

‘You have food flown in?’ How spoilt was this man? she wondered, taking a sip of her drink.

‘And water too …’ Rakhal responded without a qualm. ‘I am served water that is sourced from my home.’

She paused as she raised the glass to her lips. French champagne probably cost less. And then, as he had since the moment they met, he surprised her again.

‘If I am to give wise counsel then I should be nourished by my land …’

A waiter topped up her glass as the first course was brought: a selection of dips and breads and fruits. Rakhal explained his selections.

‘The water is from a spring deep in the desert, and this is what I always start with.’ He picked up a date and a small silver knife. ‘Usually they are served quartered, but I prefer to pit my own.’

He slid the knife through the shiny fruit and exposed the stone. She felt her stomach curl as he inverted the date and popped the stone out. How, Natasha tried to fathom, could slicing a date be seductive?

Dates were something her grandmother served at Christmas.

Dates were prunes.

Dates were not sexy.

He dipped it in some oily goo and she watched his long slender fingers swirl it around. Then he lifted it to her mouth and she accepted, trying to touch only the fruit. But her lips met his fingers and she had to force her mouth not to linger, to take the fruit, not to capture his hand and taste his fingers. It scared her, the effect he had on her, the places he took her mind to. And she knew that he knew it as he pulled his hand away.

As Natasha chewed the rich fruit, she amended her thoughts.

Dates were sexy.

‘It is called haysa al tumreya.’

His voice was low and for her ears only, and she tasted the hot sauce around the sweet date as she listened.

‘The date tree is the most important. It provides shade around the spring …’

As they ate he told her about the oasis in the desert, about the fruits and ripe peaches for nectar and about the aubergines that made the baba ganoush she tried next. It held a smoky flavour that had her closing her eyes in bliss as she tasted it. He told her about the foods that grew beneath the tall date trees, and she ate and she listened and she looked, and he was intriguing rather than spoilt, and at each turn more beautiful still.

Rakhal was right. It was nice to be spoiled, not to have to make any decisions, simply to listen and to talk as they shared the sumptuous food. He told her a little about his land, about his life in Alzirz, and she told him a little about herself too—or rather he asked her about her family.

‘My parents were killed last year in a motor accident,’ Natasha said. She waited for the flurry of sympathy, but he simply stared and waited for her to go on. ‘I have an older brother. Mark.’

‘And he takes care of you?’

‘I take care of myself,’ Natasha answered. Aware her response might have been a little brittle, she softened it. ‘It’s been a difficult year, but I manage.’

She was relieved when they were disturbed by the waiters bringing another impressive course, and then he told her more about the land from which he came. About the palace that looked out to the ocean and the desert abode to which he escaped.

‘It sounds beautiful.’

‘You would love it,’ Rakhal assured her, and for a moment he glimpsed her there—the jewel in his harem.

They ate more food from his country, and she could taste the sun. When he could not hear something she said he moved his chair around the table until he sat next to her. Dessert was a shared plate, and he fed her fruit from his fingers again. Sometimes Natasha forgot she was in a busy restaurant. Sometimes she forgot her own inexperience under the gaze of this very experienced man. For his voice made her ears ache to hear him, had her inching a little closer to him.

For Rakhal too this night was different. There was candour—he normally would not tell a woman such things about his home, about his life and his thoughts, but with her conversation was pleasing. Now they were speaking of traditions, and he was honest—telling her that one day he would marry, that he would return to Alzirz and select his bride. Though he was not completely honest, for he did not tell her it would be soon.