Modern Romance July 2018 Books 5-8 Collection. Annie West
away. He’d dismissed her and that meant she must go.
Except Lina couldn’t.
‘Well?’ Ebony brows angled down above that imperious nose and his dark-shadowed jaw was set at an angle that warned his hold on patience was precarious.
She tilted her face higher, meeting his narrowed gaze. ‘I have no home to go to, sir. Not any more. Or any family.’ She bit her lip, refusing to let it tremble. ‘Could I be allowed to remain in the palace? I’m a hard worker. I can make myself useful at any task. In the kitchens, the laundries, the...’ She paused, racking her brain, wondering what the multitude of royal servants did all day. ‘I can sew and embroider too.’ Not well enough, as her aunt was fond of reminding her. But then she didn’t do anything well enough for her aunt.
‘You must have a home. Where did you come from?’ No softening in the austere masculine beauty of that sculpted face. But at least he’d paused to listen. Her heart throbbed a hopeful beat.
‘From the home of my father’s brother, sir. But that door is no longer open to me.’ It took everything Lina had to stand erect, meeting his gaze headlong, when harsh memories bombarded her. Of becoming little more than a slave in her own home.
The Emir sighed and lifted his hand to rake his fingers through his short hair. Intriguingly, the movement made muscles swell and tug in his arm, shoulder and chest. Lina had never before realised that such a simple movement could be so spellbinding.
But then she’d never seen a man like the Emir, naked or clothed.
He sighed and turned away. Abruptly her straying thoughts focused sharply. He was walking away, leaving her to her fate. Fear and despair vied with indignation. Lina was sick of fate, in the form of the men who had ruled her destiny, ignoring her.
Yet instead of continuing to the bathroom, he merely flung open a wardrobe and withdrew a shirt.
‘Here.’ The white garment flew through the air towards her. ‘Put that on and sit down.’
Lina’s fingers tightened convulsively on soft white cotton. So finely woven it was translucent. Only the finest material for the leader of the nation.
‘Go on.’ He nodded at the garment in her hands, then turned towards the bed. For a second she thought he was going to sit there, till he abruptly changed direction and headed for an armchair, sinking onto it with a sigh.
Hurriedly, Lina lifted the cotton over her head, pulling it down till it covered her almost to the knees. She had to roll up the sleeves to free her hands.
No doubt she looked like a child playing dress-up.
She puzzled over why the Emir thought the extra layer necessary. It was true, she was more comfortable with the bare skin of her waist and breasts covered, but from what she’d observed of men, they enjoyed such displays.
Unless the Emir wasn’t interested in women?
The startling thought kept her rooted to the spot. Surely not! Such a waste that would be. Besides, there’d been that shimmer of heat when he’d looked at her before. It had been unmistakable.
She darted a curious glance at the man who would decide her future. He wasn’t looking at her. In fact, he’d shut his eyes, which gave her time to take in more of his appearance, to see beyond that grave masculine beauty to the weariness bracketing his eyes and mouth. The slight droop of his head. The slump of that long frame in the cushioned chair.
The man was exhausted.
* * *
Sayid opened his eyes to see the girl dart into his bathroom. What the devil was she up to?
He was about to follow when she emerged, carrying a bowl of water. She sank to the floor before him in a show of fluid grace that made him wonder if she really was a dancer, as that scanty costume suggested.
Savagely he ignored the scorching trail of desire searing through his belly. He reminded himself he’d learned to master his impulsive, carnal nature.
Yet, to his chagrin the addition of his shirt did nothing to hide her allure. With fatigue testing both his patience and his willpower, it had seemed safest to cover her up so he couldn’t see that too-inviting expanse of honey skin, the alluring dips, swells and hollows of her breasts, waist and hips.
Sayid hadn’t reckoned on her being just as sexy, if not more, wearing his shirt. Because it was his shirt? It conjured a sense of intimacy, as if she were a lover who’d already shared her body with him. The thought snagged in his brain, stirring heat in his groin.
The extra covering hinted at her shape, the fine fabric clinging here and there, teasing with what lay beneath.
‘What are you doing?’ His voice emerged brusque, making her jump, yet she didn’t back away.
‘Helping with your boots, sir.’ She’d put the bowl to one side and reached forward as if to touch him, then halted, clearly waiting for permission.
‘Look at me.’ He was tired of the tradition that deterred people from daring to look their ruler in the face. Besides, it made it more difficult for him to read their thoughts.
Violet eyes met his. A burst of dark colour so deep it seemed Sayid could fall into it. Beautiful eyes, wide and slanted at the corners, giving her the look of a woman with secrets, or whose face was made for smiling.
There was no smile now. She still wore that tense expression, as if her flesh had shrunk around her bones, making her look wary, even scared, except the firm angle of her chin belied fear.
‘How old are you?’ The question wasn’t the one he’d planned.
‘Seventeen, sir.’ She swallowed, then licked her bottom lip as if nervous.
A mere teenager. A judder of regret vibrated through him. Seventeen and scared despite her determination not to show it. While he was twenty-five and, right now, felt old beyond his years.
Sayid couldn’t accept the invitation to let her serve him in any way he wished. Having a woman who’d been ordered to serve him was utterly unpalatable.
Or it should be.
Yet despite exhaustion part of him was disappointed. For Lina, with her pouting lips, her intriguing air of composure despite her nerves, and her outrageously luscious body, made the blood roar in his veins and heat stir. After all, he was descended from generations of marauding warriors, used to taking whatever they wanted, including women.
‘May I help you with your boots, sir?’
‘Very well.’ If it helped her to feel useful, he wouldn’t object. It would be tough getting her to speak if she were frozen into silence.
So he leaned back against the padded chair and stretched out one leg towards her, watching as she scooted closer, cradling the boot in her hands then drawing it off as carefully as if it were something precious and fragile.
Both boots, both socks were removed and set aside. Then she moved the bowl, lifted his legs one at a time and placed them in warm water.
Instantly Sayid felt some of the tension locking his muscles release.
‘Thank you, Lina.’ Her startled gaze told him she wasn’t accustomed to thanks. ‘Now, tell me about yourself.’
Again that flare of confusion in her stunning eyes. Whatever her story, she wasn’t used to being asked about herself. She hesitated then moistened her lips with her tongue in a way that sent tension flicking through him like a whip.
‘My name is Lina Rahman. My father was Headman of Narjif.’
Sayid nodded. He knew the distant town and he’d met her father last year as he toured the provinces. A serious man and a traditionalist, set in his ways. But that didn’t explain why he’d send his daughter as a gift to Sayid’s uncle, a man notorious in his younger days for his womanising, and more lately, for his irascible temper.
‘You