Desert Sheikhs: Monarch of the Sands / To Tame a Sheikh / Sheikh Protector. Dana Marton
really thought through. That he hadn’t expected desire to rear its powerful head—and maybe it was best if she did go. Yet to Zahid that smacked of failure, and he didn’t do failure—not in any sphere of his life.
Now his gaze skated over the swell of her breasts, which seemed to transform the demure grey dress into a garment of shocking provocation. Wouldn’t it be a formidable and life-affirming challenge to resist the temptation she represented? Like the times when he and his brother had travelled into the arid centre of the desert and denied themselves the soft comforts of palace life. Such deprivation had been imposed on them by their elders as a deliberate means of making them strong and tough. Wouldn’t this simply be a variation on the same kind of denial?
‘I am loath to let you go,’ he admitted slowly. ‘And the reasons for giving you the job haven’t changed.’
‘No.’
‘But …’ He hesitated. Didn’t they know each other well enough to dispense with coy hints and get straight to the truth? He gave a rueful shrug of his shoulders. ‘We’re worried because something has changed and we’ve discovered that we are sexually attracted to each other.’
At this, she blushed. How anatomical he made it sound. ‘Zahid!’
‘Oh, come on, Francesca—don’t play the outraged innocent.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘It’s what we’ve both been thinking—or are you going to deny this rather inconvenient desire which has flared up between us?’
His black eyes were lasering into her and beneath their intensity she felt positively weak. Inconvenient? Was that how he saw it? She shook her head, because surely she could be honest, too. ‘No, I’m not going to deny it.’
‘The trouble is that you’re no longer the innocent little girl I remember,’ he observed. ‘You’re a beautiful and experienced young woman who’s just come out of a bruising bust-up.’
Experienced? He thought she was experienced? Frankie gave a weak smile in response. Well, of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? Most modern engaged women were having fantastic sex with the man they were going to marry. The fact that she and Simon hadn’t progressed much beyond ‘first base’ she’d put down to some pathetic idea that he was a gentleman—never realising that it was because he was enjoying an illicit passion with somebody else. Should she tell Zahid that? Should she come right out and say it?
Zahid, I’m still a virgin.
Wouldn’t that make her look like a complete loser?
Of course it would.
He leaned back in his chair, watching the play of emotions which shadowed her face. ‘In fact, if it were anyone other than you, I’d be pulling you into my arms and kissing you right now and then dragging you off to the nearest bed before making love to you. But for all kinds of reasons, we both know that isn’t going to happen,’ he added, with a careless air which his protesting body didn’t quite endorse. ‘So you see, I completely understand why you don’t want to come to Khayarzah. The question is whether or not you would be a fool not to do so?’
His words fell between them like a challenge—and Frankie suddenly felt as if he’d tied her up in verbal knots. Hadn’t she been the one who had told him that she didn’t think the job was such a good idea, after all? And wasn’t he the one who had somehow managed to turn it around to make her want to reconsider her opinion?
Yet there was enough substance behind his question to make her reconsider. Because the truth of it was that it had been a long-time dream of hers to see the land which her father had helped mould with his discovery of its oil. A land which he had visited on many occasions and had enthused about with most uncharacteristic passion.
Frankie had always longed to see for herself the fabulous palace at Mangalsutra, the country’s capital—with its beautiful, scented gardens which he had talked about so often. And hadn’t she longed to eat some more of those crystallised walnuts she’d once tasted—bought from the colourful and bustling market which was held in the main square of the city?
‘I’ve always wanted to go there,’ she said truthfully, her eyes shining as she remembered the stories she’d grown up with. ‘My father used to tell me all about the place. He said that in springtime, fields of poppies sprang up overnight—turning the landscape into a scarlet haze. That at night-time the moon was so big that you felt you could almost reach out and lasso it from the sky. And that leopards lived in the high mountains in the east—and sometimes a very lucky traveller might be able to spot one.’
‘Well, then.’ Zahid listened to the faraway note in her voice—and found himself ridiculously touched by her knowledge and obvious love of his country. So many people dismissed the east as just a prolific provider of oil—as if Khayarzah consisted of nothing but refineries and gilded palaces! The only thing she had got wrong was the leopard—for he’d never known anyone who had seen the elusive creatures which were reputed to live on the eastern heights. But he had no intention of telling her that. Why destroy someone’s dreams unless you had to?
He glittered her a cool smile. ‘In that case, it seems to be that your destiny intends you to come to my country and see it for yourself.’
It was what she’d always wanted—but the tug in her heart alerted her to an unfamiliar kind of danger. And something in Zahid’s now shuttered expression made a feeling of apprehension whisper over Frankie’s skin.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HE DIDN’T look so urbane now.
‘What’s the matter, Francesca?’ questioned Zahid softly.
The matter? Frankie stared at him. Did he mean apart from the fact that her heart was racing so fast that she felt dizzy? Or that her knees felt so weak, she was glad she was sitting down? With an effort she quashed the pervasive sense of desire which had hit her the moment he’d emerged from the concealed section situated at the back of his private jet. Because Frankie had never seen Zahid looking like this before.
Just before the Gulfstream jet had landed—descending like a silver bird from the darkening blue of the desert sky—he had disappeared to change. The very act of dressing and undressing on the aircraft had seemed an unbearably intimate act and Frankie was ill prepared for the sight which greeted her on his return. Because the sleek and sophisticated royal with whom she’d breakfasted in his penthouse suite seemed to be nothing but a distant memory.
Gone was the urbane image of the man he had been in London—the exquisitely cut Italian suit now replaced by robes of flowing white. She’d seen pictures of him in traditional dress before—but nothing on earth could have prepared her for the impact of seeing the real-life version.
The delicate fabric hinted at the hard body beneath and the blanched colour threw his burnished skin into stark relief. Jet-dark hair was covered by a white headdress held in place by a dark and intricately knotted circlet of scarlet.
Frankie couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. Yes, he was a king—but somehow that seemed irrelevant in the light of his blatant masculinity. He looked almost … primitive, she thought as she swallowed down the sudden dryness in her mouth. Elemental. As if he had appeared from some bygone age where men were unashamedly men, and women were …
‘Nervous?’ he questioned drily.
‘Not at all,’ she lied.
‘Then why are you wringing your hands so tightly together? Relax.’
Frankie looked down to see that her knuckles were as white as if she’d been on a roller-coaster ride. Because hadn’t concerns plagued her during the flight from London? Perfectly legitimate concerns which made her question the wisdom of agreeing to accompany Zahid to Khayarzah.
She would be on his territory—and subject to his whim. In close contact with a man she desired. He had assured her that he wasn’t going to seduce an old family friend—and had said it with