Читать книгу Desert Sheikhs: Monarch of the Sands / To Tame a Sheikh / Sheikh Protector - Dana Marton - Страница 13

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 a steely resolve that she didn’t doubt for one minute. Yet the irony was that his words had left her with a dull and aching feeling of disappointment—even though she knew they made perfect sense.

As the plane came to a halt Frankie unclipped her seat belt. ‘I wonder how my appearance is going to go down?’ she questioned tentatively. ‘Whether your people will approve?’

‘I have given up trying to please everyone,’ Zahid said in a suddenly harsh tone as he remembered his early days on the throne, and how he had not known whom he could trust. The previous sheikh had been very traditional and Zahid found that most of those old advisors were just as resistant to modernising the country as his uncle had been. ‘I must just be true to myself and let myself be judged by my actions.’ He stood up and gestured for her to follow him. ‘But I am not anticipating many problems when it comes to your appearance—for let’s not forget that you have a famous surname.’

‘I’m not famous, Zahid,’ she protested.

‘No. But your father is. His name is taught in our schools as the man who discovered our rich resources. He’s a little bit of a national hero—surely you realised that?’ He saw the pleasure in her eyes, and a brief smile touched the edges of his lips. ‘There will be a delegation waiting to meet me, but you’ll soon get used to that. So do as I told you on the plane. Just keep your eyes averted—and walk a few paces behind me.’

She smoothed down the silk tunic top, with its matching narrow trousers. ‘And my outfit … is it okay?’ she questioned.

Reluctantly, Zahid studied her, allowing his eyes to linger on her youthful form. Cool, practical and decent, her clothes met all the necessary criteria which the country’s strict dress-code required. Yet in spite of that they managed to make her look incredibly sexy—something he hadn’t really been expecting. Was that because it hinted at the firm flesh which lay beneath—or because he knew he could never have her in the way he wanted?

Feeling the unwilling heat of desire begin to build, he turned away. ‘It’s fine,’ he said abruptly as the aircraft steps were lowered. ‘Now let’s go.’

She followed him out into the cooling air of the Khayarzah evening, to see a row of officials waiting to greet their king. And it seemed that their initial looks of wariness were softened when she was introduced to them and the ‘O’Hara’ connection was made. Through the butterfly build-up of nerves, Frankie suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of pride in her father and what he had done for this country.

They journeyed to the palace in a sleek limousine and through the smoked glass of their car window she could see tall palms, their fronds dramatically etched against the perfect blue of the sky. The road was long and straight and smoother than any English road she’d encountered. Behind them she could hear the muffled roar of the outriders—and beside her sat Zahid, his powerful body swathed in white silk, incongruously speaking into a mobile phone in his native tongue.

They skirted the main city of Mangalsutra—with its winding streets and jumble of rooftops—until they reached the gates of the palace itself. The immense white marble building rose up before her, fronted by a long, rectangular space of water fringed by palm trees. Turrets and domes and shadowed arches were contrasted against the darkening sky in which she could already see the faint twinkle of stars. Slowly Frankie expelled the breath she had been holding and Zahid must have heard her because he shot her a glance.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

‘It’s exquisite,’ she answered simply.

And so was she, he thought achingly. Against all the odds—so was she. With those blue eyes widening in wonder and the pert thrust of her breasts filling him with dark and erotic impulses. Would it be so bad if, after a cursory but necessary introduction to key members of his staff, he took her off to his private quarters, stripped the concealing silk garments from her body and laid her bare? If he opened thighs which would inevitably be milky-pale as he thrust hungrily between them?

Angrily, he crossed one leg over another. Had he forgotten where he was? Who he was? More importantly, who she was?

‘Come and meet my staff,’ he said unsteadily.

Frankie was taken to meet another line of robed servants, but her senses were too full of all these new experiences to be able to remember many of their exotic-sounding names. And she was preoccupied with watching Zahid—for he was no longer just the long-standing family friend who had always been kind to her, but the leader of a desert kingdom. He was in charge, she realised—and he radiated an impressive kind of power.

Swallowed up by advisors and aides, she watched as solemn-looking men bowed and began briefing him in his native tongue. Someone handed him a sheaf of papers and then a phone began to ring and was passed to him. He seemed to have forgotten that she was there— for he barely raised his dark head as she left the gilded chamber.

A young girl of about seventeen called Fayruz had been assigned to look after her, and as Frankie was led along a marbled corridor lined with blue and gold mosaic she wondered how on earth she was going to be able to communicate with her. But to her surprise, it transpired that Fayruz spoke good—if slightly tentative—English.

‘I learn it at school,’ she said shyly, in response to Frankie’s question. ‘It is my best subject—which is why I have been brought in to assist you while you are here.’

‘You’re at school still?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Fayruz offered shyly.

‘And then what—university, I suppose?’

There was a pause. ‘In my country, women are not encouraged to go to university.’

Frankie frowned. ‘You’re kidding?’

Fayruz shook her head. ‘It’s thought women make better mothers than scholars.’ She gave a small sigh and then shrugged her shoulders. ‘I will unpack for you now.’

‘No, honestly—I can do that for myself,’ said Frankie, shaking her head in slight disbelief. Women not encouraged to go to university? This was much worse than she had imagined.

‘Then let me draw a bath for you,’ said Fayruz eagerly. ‘Please. You must be hot after your long journey and the Sheikh will be displeased if I do not show you Khayarzahian hospitality.’

Frankie nodded, recognising that she must learn to adapt to a different way of living, to graciously accept a slower pace and help when it was offered. And wouldn’t it be good to freshen up and relax before dinner? ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘That would be lovely.’

Lovely turned out to be something of an understatement—because when Fayruz called to say that the bath was ready, Frankie could hardly believe her eyes. A wide, square bath—big as a child’s swimming pool—was filled with warm, rose-scented water on which floated fresh petals.

After the servant had gone, Frankie stripped off her clothes and slowly submerged herself in its scented depths, the silky water lapping over her. This was heaven. Bliss. She closed her eyes. The closest she’d ever come to pure indulgence. Lulled by the warm water and the total silence, she relaxed for a while before reluctantly climbing out of the cooling water to get ready for dinner.

Skimming her fingers over the row of silk outfits which now hung in the wardrobe, she picked a long dress of pure white. People often wore white in desert countries, didn’t they? And Zahid had been robed in white earlier …

She’d just finished dressing when Fayruz tapped at the door and led her through a maze of intricate corridors to what was described as the ‘small’ dining room—but this proved to be yet another understatement. It was bigger than any dining room she’d ever seen and decorated lavishly in gold and lapis lazuli. Intricately tooled hanging lamps filled the room with a soft radiance and the scent of cinnamon and sandalwood wafted through the air. The table itself was low and, instead of chairs, there were brocade cushions heaped around it.

At that moment, Zahid swept into the room—a small, accompanying retinue of stern-faced men walking close behind him. Across the exotic room, their eyes met, and Frankie felt a sizzle of awareness warming her skin, beneath the silk gown.

‘Hello, Zahid,’ she said softly.

Lulled by the soft familiarity of her voice, Zahid slowly let his gaze travel over her. She was wearing white—pure and virginal white—and he felt his body clench with instinctive jealousy. Did she not realise the bitter irony of her choice—she who no longer had the right to wear the traditional hue of innocence? A black tide of rage rose up in him as he remembered that it had been the rogue Simon who had taken her virginity.

He could see his advisors standing, waiting for his command. He had intended to invite them to stay—for their English was certainly good enough. And it might dilute Frankie’s undeniable appeal if he was faced with the subtle censoring of his aides. Yet now, on impulse he found himself raising his hand to dismiss them and they filed obediently from the room. Settling himself on a pile of cushions so that his groin was shielded by a thick swathe of his robes, he indicated that she too should sit.

‘Your room meets with your approval?’ he questioned.

Frankie sank down onto soft brocade. ‘How could it not? It’s amazing.’

‘And you are hungry, I hope?’

She couldn’t possibly tell him that her interest in food had been eclipsed by the man sitting opposite her. With an effort, she tore her eyes away from the shockingly sensual outline of his mouth and glanced around the room with the rapt interest of a tourist. ‘I’m looking forward to tasting some of your fabled Khayarzahian cuisine,’ she answered politely.

Zahid narrowed his eyes. This was not the Francesca he knew, the one whose sharp wit he had always secretly admired. Why, she sounded like one of the many visiting ambassadors who regularly mouthed their platitudes!

‘Then let us begin,’ he said, nodding to the silent servants who were standing unobtrusively at the sides of the room and who then began to bring dishes of food in.

Frankie could only pick at the gleaming rice studded with pistachios and the dried fruits and soft cheeses—though she enjoyed the slightly fizzy date juice which Zahid called Nadirah. And all the time she tried to keep her eyes fixed on the plate in front of her, not daring to raise her face to his—fearful of what he might read in her eyes.

‘You seem very … nervous tonight,’ he observed softly. ‘Or is there some special reason why you won’t look at me?’

Reluctantly, she lifted her head to find his ebony stare burning into her like dark fire. She wondered how he would react if she told him the truth—that she longed for him to take her in his arms. To kiss her and never stop kissing her. All the things he’d told her weren’t going to happen were all the things she wanted to happen. She forced her lips into the upward curve of a smile. Maybe a variation on the truth would suffice. ‘I can’t quite get used to seeing you here, being a king.’

Zahid nodded. Hadn’t it taken time for him to get used to wearing the crown—to being the ruler of all he surveyed and the inevitable intoxication which came with it? Yet power came at a price, too—particularly when it came out of the blue.

When the plane carrying his uncle the king and his only son had crashed during a storm, Zahid had been crowned the new king—a role he had never expected, nor particularly wanted. But it was a role he was determined to fulfil to the best of his ability, even though many had looked on him suspiciously. He was still working hard to earn the faith of the key palace advisors—and push forward his agenda to modernise the country. But it would take time to get consensus and to earn the trust of the government and the people of Khayarzah. But that kind of trust had always existed between him and Francesca—and he didn’t ever want to jeopardise it. ‘But I am a king and have been for some time,’ he said softly. ‘You knew that. So nothing has changed, Francesca.’

Frankie stared into the gleaming depths of his ebony eyes. ‘Yes, intellectually I knew all that. But seeing it for myself is a little dazzling—the robes and the palace and the servants. I’m used to seeing a more casual version of you back in England.’

He picked up a grape and ate it. ‘If it makes you feel any better, it’s pretty strange for me to have a woman sitting here like this.’

‘But there must have been women here before,’ she probed.

‘Very occasionally, yes—of course—but they are always married women, accompanying their husbands. Never …’ Never a woman whose scent of rose and jasmine was filling his senses. ‘A single woman,’ he finished unevenly.

‘So no.’ Go on, she urged herself fiercely. Say it! Acknowledge the reality of his life instead of your own wishful fantasy version of it. ‘No girlfriends?’ she finished, as carelessly as she could.

He shook his head.‘Certainly not—for I would consider that disrespectful.I indulge my very natural appetites when I am abroad, never here, and always in the utmost privacy. One day, of course, I will marry. And then my bed will be shared by my….wife.’

The question she’d asked and the answer she’d dreaded now caused her pain, but somehow Frankie’s polite smile didn’t slip. ‘You seem to have your future all mapped out.’

‘Of course. It comes with the territory.’ He shrugged. ‘Though in a way, it is easy for me. I do not have the luxury of choice—for it is my destiny. I will take a wife of pure Khayarzahian stock and thus ensure the continuation of the noble bloodline.’

‘But isn’t that a little … old-fashioned?’

He ate another grape, his teeth biting into the flesh, and a little rush of juice sweetened his mouth. ‘More than a little—but I do not take issue with that. I am, as has been acknowledged many times, an old-fashioned man. It is the way things are here and, besides, much of modern life is flawed—you know that as well as I do, Francesca.’

‘So you don’t resent it?’ she questioned, as some vital need to know drove her on. ‘The fact that for you there is no choice—that you must take a bride who is expected of you, rather than choosing one of your own free will?’

His eyes glittered as he leaned back against the mound of brocade cushions. ‘There is no point in railing against the inevitable. And choice can be a poisoned chalice,’ he added softly. ‘It inspires greed and makes people discontented with their lot. Couples seek perfection in relationships, something which is simply not possible—and when that perfection fails to materialise, they go looking for it elsewhere. Look at your divorce rate in the west and ask yourself whether choice is such a good thing.’

It was not the answer that Frankie had secretly been hoping for—for wasn’t it true that deep down she had wanted him to rail against his fate? To shake an angry fist at the empty air and admit that he longed to follow his heart. But he had done the very opposite and had sounded as if he meant every word of it. She bit her lip as she stared down at her hands, which lay clasped in her lap. Because surely she wasn’t stupid enough to consider herself a candidate for his heart?

‘And besides,’ he continued softly, ‘I will make sure that my bride is beautiful, as well as suitable—so it will be no hardship to spend my life with her.’

The truth hurt, she realised—it hurt like crazy.

She raised her head to look at him. His face was illuminated by the light from the lamps and his high cheekbones cast angled shadows upon his burnished skin. And suddenly she wanted the evening to end and to be alone with her aching heart in the privacy of her room. ‘Am I supposed to wait until you retire—or am I allowed to go to bed now?’ she asked.

Silently, Zahid cursed her question, wondering if it was as innocent as it sounded—for he knew a million women who would have asked it with something other than sleep on their minds. ‘You are tired?’ he queried coolly.

‘Very.’ She kept her voice brisk, knowing that this was how it was going to have to be. She was going to have to remain crisp and bright and professional—and bury all those stupid romantic dreams once and for all. ‘It’s been a long day.’

‘Indeed it has.’ Gracefully, he rose to his feet in a shimmer of silk, shaking his head emphatically at one of the servants who immediately stepped forward. He rapped out an order in his native tongue before gesturing to Francesca. ‘Come, I will take you there myself.’

Smoothing down her tunic, Frankie scrambled to her feet. ‘There’s no need for you to do that, Zahid.’

‘There is every need—for you will only lose yourself in the vast corridors of my palace,’ he drawled, without stopping to ask himself why he had not let the servant accompany her.

Their footfall and the soft swish of Zahid’s robes brushing over the marble floor were the only sounds to be heard as they made their way through the long passageways. That and the loud thunder of Frankie’s heart as she followed him.

She forced herself to register landmarks along the way even though the arching pillars and intricate mosaics all looked very similar. And then Zahid came to a halt by her room and turned, his eyes glittering ebony in the dim light.

‘Here we are. Safely delivered to your door.’

‘Thank you very much.’ But she didn’t feel safe as she stared up into the hawklike features and the lash-framed shards of his black eyes. She felt … what? As if danger and excitement were shimmering in the air around them, as tangible as any aura. One step and she could be in his arms, locked in the powerful circle of his embrace. And wasn’t that what she yearned for—the culmination of all those years of wistful longing?

Afterwards, she wondered if she communicated something of her desire to him—for why else did he lift his hand to her cheek and lay it there, like a blessing?

‘Goodnight, Francesca,’ he said softly.

‘Goodnight,’ she whispered back. The warmth of his hand against her skin was beguiling and she turned her head, just by a fraction—but enough for her lips to graze against his palm. It hadn’t been intentional—or at least, she didn’t think it was—but it was enough to make him expel a sudden, shuddering breath of air.

‘Are you trying to test my resolve?’ he demanded unsteadily, but he left his hand exactly where it was and he could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin as she mouthed a single word.

‘No.’

Slowly, his thumb began to trace the trembling outline of her lips. ‘I’m not sure that I believe you.’

‘I’m no … no … liar, Zahid.’

‘No.’ He knew that. But suddenly he wanted her to be. He wanted her to be devious and manipulative so that his conscience would allow him to pull her into his arms and start making love to her. He wanted her to be something—something other than this fresh-faced and blue-eyed girl he’d known for ever, who was making him feel a desire he had no earthly right to feel.

He gave a low laugh as he tilted her face upwards, but his mood was dark as well as anticipatory for deep down he knew this was wrong. And shouldn’t he be the one to stop it—stop it now, before it was too late?

‘Zahid?’

Her tentative question crept into the stillness of the night and hung there.

‘Maybe we should stop torturing ourselves and just give into the inevitable,’ he bit out. ‘Because what’s the point of fighting something neither of us has the heart to fight?’ And without giving her a chance to respond, he pulled her into his arms and drove his mouth down on hers in a kiss which had been much too long in the waiting.

Caught off guard by the heated pressure of his lips, Frankie swayed, but he pulled her even closer, so that she could feel the hardness of his body and the wild beat of his heart through the silk of his robes. She should have been daunted by all that unashamed masculinity—but somehow she wasn’t. How could she be when he was kissing her with a passion which was overwhelming her—swamping her with a rush of pure pleasure? Simon had never made her feel like this.

She felt both weak and strong—any lingering doubts vanquished by the sheer potency of Zahid’s hungry male body as it pressed against hers. It was as if she’d accidentally fallen into a stream and been taken up by a powerful current—then finding that she was too helpless to fight against it. And she didn’t want to fight against it. She wanted this, and more of this. More of him.

‘Z-Zahid.’ With another breathless moan, Frankie reached up—wanting to tangle her fingers in the thick darkness of his hair. But his head was covered and as her fingers met the barrier of his headdress they halted there—unsure of what to do next.

Zahid froze. The soft yielding of her body was intoxicating—but a woman touching his headdress was a rare enough action to make him jerk back and stop kissing her. He only ever made love in western clothes, he realised—and the irony of that didn’t escape him.

For once he would not have the tiresome unzipping of trousers and unbuttoning of shirts—because the loose form of his silken robes would allow him almost instant access to her …

And for once it was not going to happen …

Reaching up, he caught hold of her hand and pulled it away from his head, aware of the pulse which hammered so frantically through the delicate skin at her wrist. What had he been thinking of? Did all the noble pronouncements he’d made about women at dinner count for nothing?

Yet as he stared down at the disappointed trembling of her lips he recognised how easy it would be to take her. One swift and seamless de-robement and he could be deep inside her, driving into her moist warmth and spilling his seed. Was she as easy as this for all men? he wondered, his mouth tightening with fury.

‘This wasn’t supposed to happen!’ he ground out as he took a step away from her.

Distractedly, she nodded—aware of the soft pooling of desire which was making her feel as weak as a kitten. ‘No, I know it wasn’t,’ she whispered. ‘B-but—’

‘No buts, Francesca,’ he put in fiercely. ‘Definitely no buts.’ With an angry growl, he opened the bedroom door, his hands infinitely more gentle than his words.

‘Just go to sleep,’ he said roughly—and with that, Zahid pushed her inside the gilded bedroom and firmly closed the door behind her.