Chapter 112

[ 865 words ]

Katia’s POV

Julian groaned, a raw, guttural sound of approval at the added

pressure. I started shaking beneath him, my core tightening and snapping as the

climax hit. I felt him pulse against my thigh, his seeds spilling hot across my

skin as we both came at the exact same moment, our bodies tensed into hard

lines against the cooling sand.

We lay on the dunes for a long moment, tangled and breathless,

watching the final sliver of the sun disappear.

Slowly, we stood and began to dress, restoring our attire piece

by piece.

“We should go down to the camp,” Julian said, his voice a jagged

rasp as he straightened his kandura.

I looked at him, my heart still racing, the scent of the desert

and Julian Windsor all over me. I had no idea why I thought I could survive

him.

We stood on the ridge and watched the sunset happen.

Below, Hassan had returned to the camp. The lanterns were

brighter now against the deepening sky. The smell of the coffee was stronger.

“The camel,” Julian said.

I turned. Hassan was leading a camel up the far side of the dune

toward us — a large, extraordinarily unimpressed animal that moved with the

specific gait of something that had decided long ago that the opinions of

humans were largely irrelevant.

I looked at Julian.

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“I have ridden exactly zero camels in my life,” I said. “This

feels like an aggressive starting point p>

“All the more reason,” he said.

I looked at the camel. The camel looked at me with the profound

indifference of its species.

“I wasn’t concerned about the challenge,” I said. “I was

concerned about the dignity p>

“Your dignity is completely intact,” he said. “Hassan will take

a photograph p>

“That is significantly worse p>

But I got on the camel.

It stood up in the lurching sequence of a camel standing — back

legs first, then front, a motion that required holding on with both hands and

abandoning any pretence of composure. I held on. I did not fall. The camel

reached its full height and stood there, enormous and indifferent, while the

desert spread around us in the last of the extraordinary light.

Julian, standing below with his phone, apparently Hassan was not

needed for the photograph after all, looked up at me.

“Intact,” he confirmed.

“I hate you,” I said pleasantly.

He laughed.

The real one. The unguarded one that arrived before he could

decide whether to let it, the one I had been cataloguing since the first time I

heard it and had never quite managed to stop cataloguing since.

The camel exhaled in what sounded like agreement.

The Bedouin camp was everything the dunes had promised and more.

Hassan’s family received us with the complete hospitality of

people for whom hosting was not a performance but a philosophy. Small cups of

bitter Arabic coffee with cardamom. Dates. The low cushioned seating inside the

tent, the lantern light, and the sound of the desert outside reduced to a soft

wind against the tent walls.

Julian’s POV

We sat across from each other on low cushions, the coffee

between us, the camp quiet around us. The rest of Hassan’s family were present

but at a respectful distance – the particular cultural intelligence of people

who understood when guests needed space.

Katia held her coffee cup in both hands the way she held

everything that mattered — with complete attention, nothing casual about it.

“This week,” she said. Not a question. Just placing the words in

the air between us.

“This week,” I agreed.

She looked at her coffee. “Julian. Whatever this is p>

“I know what it is,” I said.

“Do you p>

“No,” I said, after a moment. “But I know what it isn’t.” I

looked at her. “It isn’t nothing. It hasn’t been anything since the first time

you walked into my boardroom.” I looked at her and then spoke again. “And I’m

done pretending it is p>

The lantern light moved between us. Outside the tent the desert

was completely dark now, the stars beginning — the kind of stars that only

existed this far from city light, more of them than seemed possible, the sky

dense with them.

She looked at me for a long time.

“The race is in two days,” she said.

“I know p>

“After the race, everything goes back to p>

“I know that too p>

She was quiet. The coffee cooled between us.

“So this week,” she said finally.

“This week,” I said, grabbing her neck and kissing her so hard

and breaking the kiss.

Hassan drove us back to the hotel in the full dark, the city

rising out of the desert ahead of us, the towers blazing against the night sky.

The transition back — sand to road, silence to city — happened as quickly as it

had when leaving.

Katia was quiet in the backseat beside me.

I put my hand over hers in the dark. She turned her hand over

and held it.

Neither of us spoke.

The Yemeni necklace was still in my jacket pocket.

Tomorrow I would give it to her.

We had time.

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