Finally arriving at the old souk drop-off, Khayri guided Nikki to her feet, telling her against her ear not to react, still hugging the bag in front of her. Under his instruction, she shifted it onto her back as it should be and they moved towards the front.

Khayri chuckled, claiming her hand and squeezed it. She looked up at him, relaxed, and nudged his arm with her shoulder as if sharing a joke. So she got it. Good on her.

From his books, yet so quickly. He's impressed.

He had known one other who knew Hussein Abdul aka Cobra inside out. Hussein, his friend, his muse. Something he had put throughout his books, that secret message from eye contact or touch.

She was a natural. His chest expanded with pride. That move at the airport had looked familiar and now made sense. He hadn't realised he had taught women how to defend themselves.

That was a bonus, helping her from the water taxi with an offered hand. The boat mirrored the one in the book. Which also explained why she had appeared out of the blue. Also, explained the fan comment from Hussein. It's all beginning to make sense apart from what happened at the airport and on the water taxi.

The pool incident had been about jealous women's reaction who needed to learn their place.

Hussein was waiting for them, where Nikki's eyes widened and smiled, easing her hand free, and went to hug Hussein in greeting. He arched a brow at such a greeting. Hussein shrugged and hugged her back, though stepped back, straightened and released her.

"Sorry, I know," she said, tugging on her backpack, easing off her back to hold at her side.

And always apologised for everything that didn't sit that well on him.

Then turned back to him. "Thank you for helping me. I should be alright from here." Crossing his arms, he eyed her off, his expression contradicting her words, her eyes widening. "No?"

"Do you think that is wise?" Hussein asked. She looked from one man to the other. "It is in our culture to make sure that our womenfolk are safe."

Nikki gulped, nodding, her fingers curling around the camel's straps, stepping closer towards Khayri as the men from the boat jumped off to solid ground and headed off, heads together, didn't even look at her.

"It would be wiser and I'm heading there myself. It would be honoured to show you around," Khayri offered, making eye contact with Hussein. "I need you to do something for me."

Nikki looked from one to the other, forgetting about the men on the boat, which meant nothing, just threw her off guard. They had seemed friendly enough, just hadn't been comfortable about being squeezed between them.

That old uneasy feeling had hit hard.

However, was so glad that Khayri had come to her rescue, popping out of nowhere, and kept her safe, just like Hussein would have done. Book Hussein, eyes resting on the other. So would the man in front of her.

"If you don't mind, that would be lovely," she smiled at Khayri. "As long as it didn't put you out too much. I do plan to spend most of the day exploring."

"Sounds like fun," Hussein noted, to be glared at by Khayri. "Yes, I will see to the other for you. Off you go," He waved them on.

Nikki shifted Hussy onto her back, zipped up, phone in hand. "It if becomes too tedious for you. Please let me know. This is my first time and want to see it all."

"No, it is fine. It has been a while since I have seen such things. However, it's not like shopping in a mall, so be warned. They will shout at you, stand in front of you, walk with you, trying to sell their wares."

"Sounds intriguing."

"Should be interesting seeing things through your eyes, so don't hold back."

"That could be dangerous for you," she smiled up at him and headed into the undercover souk.

The man at her side was dressed in a robe, headdress, hands behind his back, with the most beautiful features she had ever seen. Strong, angular, with deep compelling dark eyes, framed by thick black lashes most women would kill for. 

His sunglasses were removed like hers, being undercover.

The dark stubble enhanced his face. Just like Vincent, yet so different, his was more like a scruff. With this man striking, fingers curling around her phone, dying to take a photo of him, though pretty sure he wouldn't like that.

Also, she didn't feel as uneasy with him as she had with the other men.

They were gone, and she was here to lose herself in the market, assaulting her senses as they approached the old city, listening as Khayri brought the history of the place to life, his low tones hypnotic as they walked through a dark alley, looking up at the wooden posts supporting the roof over them, natural air entering through the exposed sides.

Nikki eased the scarf down, mentally noting to herself to buy a hat. The area beneath was paved, lanterns lighting the way, crammed with small shops filled to the brim with their merchandise, showcasing the region's cultural heritage with a variety of products from craft workers.

There's everything from clothes, materials, pottery, candles, lanterns, international and local. She had to stop and look at every shop, look at everything on both sides.

The sellers were happy to show her their wares. She felt because of having Khayri at her side helped. They hadn't been as pushy. Another thing she noticed, it was filled with tourists wearing Western clothes, yet it felt like she had stepped back in time. 

The alleyway was dark and narrow.

There were no complaints from the man at her side, who was happy to take photos of her with the sellers. 

Nikki didn't know what to buy. It's richer and more magical than she had hoped for.

She wanted to buy something from every seller if she had the room, the money, or an empty suitcase. That choice she had never had before overwhelmed her. They came to her organised by Vincent.

How had she never done this before?

Sensing her distress, Khayri eased her off to the side and asked what was wrong and told him. "I want to buy everything, but can't. What do I buy? I need to bring all this back with me," she looked at him searching, hoping he would understand her dilemma. Still not sure that she did. "What do I buy that's Dubai?" She released a long drawn-out breath.

"Gold," he smiled, eyes twinkling.

Her mouth dropped, not what she had expected. She couldn't afford gold and not what she wanted. She wanted a piece of the country, the culture, not the bling and said so, nose twitching.

He brushed back a tussle of hair from the face back over her shoulder. "I think you are finding all this too much. Take a step back. Don't think about buying anything, enjoy, absorb and you will find something that you want, like your camel."

"Yes," she beamed. "Love at first sight. I had to have it no matter what, you brilliant man," hugging him, then stepped back. "Sorry." Pushing her mouth off to the side. "I had no idea I was a hugger until I met you two."

"Two?" he asked, dark brow arched, not offended by the hug, she noticed.

"Hussein and you. I can't believe how kind you have been to me since I arrived. I have read how generous you people are. It's all true."

"Mostly, but you still need to be aware. And travelling by yourself isn't the wisest idea," he said, leading her back on the path and back to looking over what was on offer. "Have you thought of doing tours with your people?" She looked at him blankly.

"My people." She looked at him strangely. "I thought I already was. Aren't we all human?"

"Ah, Nikki, you steal my breath away, your innocence. Only if everyone thought as you did, it would be a much better place to live in. What were your parents thinking, releasing you out on your own?"

She brushed a hand over her hair, and looked over the scarfs, reaching out to touch one of the finest quality, drawn to one full of colour with bursts of sun yellow and orange with a deep purple backdrop.

"I like this one," she looked up at Khayri.

"Yes, it is stunning. You have a good eye for such things." Turning to the seller, speaking in Arabic, soon to be paid and placed around her neck, after removing the other and shoved into the backpack. "My treat," he said as her lips parted when he paid. "In memory of this day."

Her heart soared and struggled to find the words how she felt. Special, so only said Thank you. Yet didn't seem enough.

"Shukran," he said. "It means thank you in Arabic."

She tried the word that sounded so strange on her tongue, yet rich in texture that she repeated often as they went through the souk, buying a hat to wear under the sun, adding a camel or two, made out of ceramic, even a toy one, and one made out of wood, all placed in a hand-woven bag, adding some Moroccan tea cups.

Entering the main area of the spice market, that had opened up to a large market area. 

The aroma of spices piled high in woven baskets and stacked in large hessian bags, a vibrant array of colours bombarded them. Amazed by the variety of colours and exotic fragrances. There's so much to pick from cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, saffron, turmeric, sumac and many more herbs and spices.

All those descriptions came to life, explaining how she had read all this, yet couldn't find all the spices to match to enrich the scenes, remembering, closing her eyes, living it. It's better than she ever thought possible, clutching at Khayri's arm, opening her eyes to him. 

"Come with me, I have a better idea," claiming her arm and led her away. Heat rippled through her at his touch, with a tingling buzz she had never felt before. Even Hussein's touch didn't do this to her, nor did Vincent.

How can a stranger make her feel like this?

So aware of her body, guiding her closer to his body as they weaved their way through others who were visiting the souk, only aware of him. All other scents and sights faded into the background, dazed by it all. How was that possible, eyes on him, following his led to find herself at a table, seated outside a cafe, yet in full sight of the souk.

Then he was gone.

Blinking, focusing back to now, looking around. Nothing had changed. Still the same, she felt different, looking back at the man who settled in a chair beside her.

"I think it is time to taste what we have on offer."

She stared at him. "I thought I already have," she waved at the spices on display that were all around them, not just for tourists. The locals came for their fresh produce and spices, as did chefs, surrounded by the old world. Men seated at tables, playing board games like chess and backgammon, sipping coffee, and smoking from a hookah, adding to the ambience.

"The sights and scents, yet to taste it."

"I had afternoon tea," she pointed out, intrigued by what he was going to offer for her to taste.

"Very English. This is very Arabic. We're known for our desserts."

"Dessert?" she asked. "Before lunch, interesting."

"How about pre-lunch?"

"Morning tea," she smiled. She had them at home, Cook was excellent at such things and did like indulging her, especially when she was in her special nook on the bay window sill, lost in her book.

Here she was, lost in the proper place, not somewhere lost in the pages. Just as Walker had described. The place became a part of her as had Cobra. 

It's richer, vibrant, and so alive.

Cobra had stayed hidden in the shadows. She was out in the open, breathing it in, absorbing it.

"Morning tea it is," he said, drawing her gaze back and attention.

"I can't believe I'm here," she breathed, taking a long breath. "It's more beautiful than I imagined, well, what I have read," she corrected.

"You have read a lot?" he asked, leaning back into the seat, elbow on the back, facing her, drawing her closer, captured by his dark gaze.

"Yes," she didn't add Walker books that were based here that were often brutal, yet so full of hope and love for his country, beyond the bling. That had started as a trading post and pearl culture, pirates, growing into this, out of dreams, grounded in sand. "There is a magic in these lands. Heroes fighting the good fight, yet always portrayed as the bad guys."

"You don't see it that way?"

"No, not at all," she shook her head. "Different cultures, different beliefs, tarnished by extremists, which are everywhere. I'm not here for that." Lowering her gaze, brushing at the skirt of the dress, flicking away imaginary lint, then rose her eyes. "I just want to enjoy the city."

A dark brow arched, edging towards the headdress, the sides held back into the black agal, draped back over his broad shoulders. "Just the city?"

"Oh, no, the desert as well. Hopefully, see a camel, and visit an oasis. I have a list to see all these things." She patted the pocket that held her notepad that she reached for only to pause because it wasn't the right one. "I left it at the hotel. Today is about all this," she waved a hand around.

"And you're not disappointed?"

Her eyes widened at such a question. "No, never. It's everything I hoped for and more. And it is only day two!" she beamed.

The hand resting on the table, his fingers flexed against it, drawing her gaze, taking in the long taped finger with short neat nails, yet smooth, not rough, not like her messy ones, even if kept short.

Never painted in nail polish. No matter how Vincent had tried her to get to have a manicure, adding long nails, seeing no point. When there's a function she attended for Vincent's sake, they were clean, and neat and didn't have any desire to change that, even if he had people in to see to her hair and makeup, feeling like a dressed-up doll on display.

She preferred her long skirts, and loose shirts full of colour and design, which were few and far between, finally realising there was no reason she couldn't buy what she wanted here.

And the souks would be the perfect place, looking around with fresh eyes.

She needed to come back just to buy clothes.

"How long are you staying?"

She looked up, startled. "Two weeks," she blurted out. "Well, twelve days now. Flying in and out wastes two days, which is a pity, so ten days in reality."

"Then you should have added that to your two weeks," he noted.

"That was what I had said, only to be shot down in flames," she bemoaned in the end.

The only way she could keep the peace with Vincent. He had been firm about the two weeks, no longer, including the days flying, so reworked the schedule that she had not shared. Not to be redone. If he knew about why she was doing it, he would've lost it.

Lately, he had been losing it with her more and more, with patience, even with her reading, when before he used to encourage her to do such things. Now it's about image. The way she looked, how she presented herself, how she was seen.

When all she had wanted was to find a job and have her own money. His only offer was work for him, which lasted a week. She had wanted to learn to be a part of the team, instead of his go-to girl, so started looking at doing courses online. 

Everything costs money. She didn't have any and also wasn't sure what she wanted to do.

Vincent had always looked after her needs and saw that she lacked for nothing, yet it wasn't the same as living one's life on their own two feet. Hadn't she already lost enough? He had pointed out.

This trip was her big adventure, finding her feet, and still had some money hidden away. She gave a wan smile. "I have commitments." It's easier to say than the truth, like her parents, that she had ignored. Vincent had always seen her as a lost baby in the woods, one he had to protect against the big, bad world, while she wanted to fly, escape her gilded cage.

Cobra had strengthened her and made her believe in herself that she could do this, always in her head, tapping her shoulder, warning her because of the books.

Which was probably all bullshit, looking up as a man approached placing on the table a large plate filled with delights to tease the scents and sight, and two small white handless cups where strong coffee was poured into it.

Nikki looked over what was on offer, while Khayri talked to the man, and exchanged greetings, and then they were alone. Those walking the market, their chatter was a dim noise in the background. 

She pointed at one piece. "I know that," she told him with pride. "Baklava." Layers of flaky pastry, filled with chopped nuts, sweetened with syrup, giving it a harmonious blend of textures and flavours.

"Ah, but have you had ours? There are many varieties. I'm sure you have an Australian twist on it."

She nodded in agreement. "Cook, she makes it often for me," she whispered because it had been a secret, leaning closer. "Even had pistachio nuts. A favourite, I gather," going by what was in the books. 

Walker had brought this world alive with their scents, foods, and culture that had flamed her imagination.

"So true," he smiled. "The coffee is tradition, very strong. I also organise tea. It can leave a bitter taste if you are not used to it. It is a required taste."

"Just like our Vegemite," she beamed. She loved it but was frowned upon.

Cook aka Kelly Jones, had introduced it to her and never looked back, loving it on her toast, spending a lot of breakfasts in the kitchen that freed Vincent, happy to leave her in the hands of the staff, while he headed to work.

However, lately, he had insisted she had breakfast with him. She had to sneak into the kitchen to get her daily toast and vegemite, often added to her morning tea.

She also sneaked away to spend time with the cook and the staff, when she wasn't reading or preparing for some function that had become more frequent that she had to attend, no matter how boring she found them.

Without him and his family, she would have been an orphan, lost in the system, having no idea where she would've ended up. They loved her, looked after her, and saw her as part of the family, yet she yearned for more.

Not sure what she wanted until she read Walker.

And she was living it.

No more doubts. No more guilt. Taking a small sip of coffee that she nearly choked on. It's thick and strong with a bitter taste, and placed down, removing a small piece of diamond-shaped Baklava, welcoming the sweetness, and nutty flakiness of the sticky pastry.

Observing that there are two pieces of each. Pointing at the one filled with cream. He went over what was on offer. Starting with the one she pointed at, Basbousa, a semolina cake soaked in rose blossom water, topped with almonds and coconut.

Kafeh, a triangle shape of thin layers of shredded pastry, cradled a rich filling of sweetened cheese, soaked in a fragrant sugar syrup, with a crunchy exterior.

Two little glass cups, filled with Mahalabiya, silky and aromatic rose water pudding, topped with pistachios. And small portions of balls slathered in syrup, called Laquaimat, bite-sized deep-fried dumplings drizzled with honey.

That all looked so good, removing the cup and spoon to dig into the silky pudding that slid down her throat with such texture and ease. Relieved when the tea arrived to be poured into a larger glass cup, served black, taking a sip, with a hint of mint and sweetness, that she did enjoy.

Khayri instructed that her coffee be taken away.

"Sorry, I found it strong. However, these are delicious."

Placing down her cup, she removed Kunafa, biting into the crispy exterior into the gooey creamy middle, moaning, covering her mouth with a hand, her taste buds dancing with excitement, never tasting the likes of it before.

"Oh my god," bust from her. "This is to die for! That's what I love about this place. Texture, taste and the unexpected. I'm in heaven," she moaned, realising she was being stared at.

By the man at her side, probably not the best outburst. Well, it is to die for. For so long she had kept her thoughts to herself, taught it's better if she didn't show her feelings, leaving her exposed.

And this was a country that was more reserved than hers, lips parting...

His finger rose to stop her. "If you say you're sorry, I will slap you."

Her eyes widened. "You will?" she asked, yet didn't buy it.

"No, of course not. Stop apologising for who you are, and what you love. So do I. I want you to enjoy everything in front of you." Oh, she planned to, eyes glowing, going for the balls dipped in honey that melted in her mouth.

"I have to get some of these before I go back to the hotel."

"I hope you're going to eat more than desserts," he asked, suddenly concerned.

"Don't worry, I will. This is a treat. It would be nice to have some in my room to have with coffee or tea before going to bed."

"I'm sure we can have something organised to be sent to the hotel, so you won't have to carry around, and spoil them in the heat. I am sure your day is not done."

"Not at all." She had tasted what was on offer and wanted so much more.

After talking to the owner, a mixture was boxed up and sent off to the hotel. That would wait for her return, with a note to be kept in the fridge until such a time. Paid for and they headed off, walking through the different stalls, where she found the most beautiful hand-stitched bright patterned slippers she bought in purple that matched her scarf.

Adding more treasures, including a caftan style dress with beaded details bodice, belted waist, and wide bell sleeve with bead edging, longer at the back, knowing she had spent over her limit, yet with room service for dinner, it gave her some leeway.

Discovering she enjoyed shopping, also saw how addictive it could become, and she had to take it back with her as well. Might need a bigger suitcase. She had been well under the weight limit when she had arrived.

They stopped for lunch away from the markets to enjoy the water views, before hitting the gold souk that was blinding by the dazzling gold on display. Khayri bought her a single gold chain for her wrist, wrapped around three times and looped through with an arrow and loop, ignoring her protests, saying he had already given her enough with the scarf, desserts, and lunch.

That he had gestured away, saying it wasn't every day he bought something for such a delight like her.

Colour had flooded her cheeks, and left her speechless. No one had ever said that to her before.

She's rarely noticed, and she liked it that way.

Some had tried to cosy up to her to get closer to Vincent. All the flattery had left her cold and ran for the hills. This time she warmed all over, pleased, touching the bracelet, one she would wear all the time. Like Hussy, it's special.

Another treasure to take back with her, her heart aching.

She was going to find it hard to leave such a place when it was time to depart.

Too soon she was escorted back to the hotel, collected her sweets and headed to her room, after hugging Khayri goodbye and thanked him for looking after her so well. Tonight she was going to look over her treasures, order room service, and get ready for her next adventure.

The chances of bumping into Khayri or Hussein tomorrow would be slim.