Читать книгу Desert Sheikhs: Monarch of the Sands / To Tame a Sheikh / Sheikh Protector - Dana Marton - Страница 7

BLACK eyes burned into her with a question blazing at their depths and for a moment Frankie felt oddly weak beneath their fierce scrutiny.

‘You’re getting married?’ Zahid queried silkily.

Frankie nodded, her throat parchment-dry, wondering why she was feeling so damned nervous when she should have been feeling proud. ‘Yes. Yes, I am.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘Just—yesterday.’

‘Let me see. Oh, please don’t be coy about it.’ His black eyes gleamed with some dark emotion she didn’t recognise. ‘Come on, Francesca—I thought that all women loved showing off their engagement rings?’

Reluctantly, Frankie extended her hand and as he took it in his she felt the prickle of awareness as the sheikh’s warm flesh touched hers. Hadn’t there been years and years when she’d dreamt of Zahid holding her hand like this? And yet the exquisite irony was that at last it was happening and it meant precisely nothing. All he was doing was holding her hand so that he could examine an engagement ring bought for her by another man!

Zahid frowned as he studied the gem closely, feeling her unmistakable shiver as she pulled her fingers away. And hadn’t he felt the faintest whisper of something himself? Something which, if he didn’t know better, might almost have been the first potent shimmering of desire. Lifting his head, he met her eyes, raising his brows in mocking query. ‘But surely this should be a cause for celebration, rather than secrecy?’

The colour in her cheeks intensified. ‘Oh, but it is.’ So why had she been hiding the ring from him? The unspoken question hovered on the air, but even if he’d asked her Frankie doubted whether she would have been able to come up with a satisfactory explanation. Not to him—not even to herself. And as it happened, he didn’t ask her.

‘So who’s the lucky man?’

‘His name’s Simon Forrester.’

‘Simon Forrester.’ Zahid pulled out a chair from beneath the large, scrubbed oak table and sat down, spreading his legs out in front of him. Idly, he noticed the unusual and fancy display of hothouse roses which were sitting there replacing the hand-picked sprigs from the garden which she normally favoured. Had ‘Simon’ bought her those? Was he the reason for the long hair and the junking of her glasses? The incentive to start wearing sexy jeans and a clinging sweater? Had Simon woken her up to all kinds of new experiences, as well as a new way of dressing?

Inexplicably, he felt the souring flavour of distaste in his mouth. ‘And what does he do, this Simon Forrester?’

Frankie’s smile became fixed. Wasn’t this what she had instinctively been fearing—having to give a detailed account? She felt like telling him that it wasn’t his place to just breeze in after however long it had been and start interrogating her. But she knew that there was no point. Zahid was used to getting exactly what he wanted—and why on earth wouldn’t she tell him?

‘He owns the estate agency I work in. Remember I mentioned I’d started there, in one of my Christmas cards?’

Had she? Zahid frowned. He was certain she knew that Christmas wasn’t celebrated in Khayarzah, but she still insisted on sending him a card every year. And for some reason, he insisted on opening them himself—instead of letting one of his aides deal with it. They were always variations on a theme: images of robins and berry-laden sprigs of holly. Or carol singers singing in snowy villages. And even though he didn’t celebrate Christmas, he did find those cards made him nostalgic for the years he spent in England while he was at boarding school.

‘Maybe you did mention it,’ he said slowly. But it was a surprise. Hadn’t he thought she might follow a scientific route, like her father? ‘Tell me more.’

Frankie bit her lip. He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about! Obviously, he never even bothered to read the chatty accompanying letter she always took the time to tuck inside the annual card. ‘Well, Simon runs a very successful company—’

‘Not about the company, Francesca—about him,’ he butted in. ‘This man you are proposing to marry. This Simon Forrester.’

It wasn’t easy when she felt as if he were spearing her with hostile black light from his eyes and spitting out Simon’s name as if it were some particularly nasty kind of medicine, but Frankie tried to remember all the things she liked best about her fiancé. Those blue eyes and the way he’d dazzled her with his attention. The roses which he’d had sent to her house, week after week—she, who had never received a bunch of flowers in her life!

She licked her lips. ‘He’s not the kind of man I would have normally expected to go out with—’

‘Really? You go out with many men, do you?’ he fired back. ‘And then compare them?’

‘N-no.’ Why on earth was he looking at her so darkly? ‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘So what do you mean?’

Frankie swallowed as she filled the kettle from the big, old-fashioned sink and put it on to boil. Why was he tying her up in knots with his clever line in questioning and, furthermore, why was he being so … aggressive? As if he had some sort of right to question her. Resisting the impulse to tell him it was none of his business, she forced her mind back to Simon and an image of his face popped into her mind. She thought of the thick lock of hair which flopped onto his forehead unless he brushed it back, which he did—rather a lot, as it happened. ‘Well, he’s blond and very good-looking.’

Zahid scowled. ‘I’m disappointed in you, Francesca,’ he said. ‘Are you really so superficial that physical attributes matter most?’

‘That’s rich, coming from you!’ said Frankie quietly, before she could stop herself.

There was a short and disbelieving silence. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Oh, but it does.’ His voice dipped to a tone of menacing silk. ‘Tell me.’

Frankie met the flash of annoyance which sparked from his eyes. Why shouldn’t she tell him? He didn’t think twice about foisting his opinion on her. ‘You’re not such an angel yourself, are you, Zahid? Don’t you use your so-called “business” trips to Europe and the United States as a cover-up for your affairs with women?’

It would have been laughable if it were not so insulting and Zahid felt a mounting fury that Francesca—whom he had known all her life—could think so poorly of him. As if he were nothing more than some brainless stud. ‘And just where did you acquire this fascinating piece of information?’

‘The gossip columns are always full of your exploits—though I notice that they’ve tailed off since you became King. But prior to that, you were always being seen with some woman or other!’

‘How very naïve you are, Francesca.’ With a faint sigh of impatience, he shook his dark head and subjected her to a look of chilly censure. ‘Do you really believe everything you read in the papers?’

‘I believe the evidence of my own eyes! I’ve seen enough photos of you wit … with …’ To her fury and consternation, Frankie found that her breath was catching in her throat and that her mind was now being plagued with images far more vivid than that of Simon’s face.

Zahid with a Hollywood hottie gazing up at him, with naked adoration on her face. Zahid being papped with a sexy international lawyer who had been representing one of his rivals in some complicated court case. Except that she was pretty sure it wasn’t written into a legal code of conduct that a legal representative should look at her own client’s adversary as if she’d like to eat him up for breakfast. ‘With all kinds of women!’ she finished hotly. ‘Making you look like some sort of international playboy!’

Zahid winced and, to be fair, he conceded that she did have a point. He had always enjoyed a colourful and varied sex-life until the constraints of his unexpected new role as King had forced him to employ a little more prudence. But even so …

‘And you think that’s the only reason I travel?’ he demanded. ‘To have affairs with women?’

As his tone of indignation washed over her Frankie forced herself to remember all his humanitarian work. She thought about the money he’d poured into a world peace project and the well-received speeches he had made on the subject. Just because she had experienced the green-eyed monster when she’d seen the photos didn’t mean that she should make him out to be some kind of uncaring brute who was only interested in bedding members of the opposite sex.

She shook her head. ‘No, of course I don’t and I shouldn’t have implied that I did,’ she said stiffly, tipping boiling water into a pot containing two mint tea bags and glancing up to find his eyes on her. ‘But even you wouldn’t deny that it’s probably one of the perks of being away from all the restrictions in Khayarzah.’

He gave a brief nod. How well she knew him. Or maybe it was just that she was permitted the rare freedom to be able to voice such thoughts because of her long association with his family. And because of the great debt he owed to her father …

‘I’m sorry about your father,’ he said suddenly. ‘And I’m sorry I couldn’t get to the funeral.’

Frankie puckered her lips tightly as she picked up the teapot. Don’t show emotion, she told herself fiercely. It’s counterproductive because it will only get you upset—and it really isn’t done to break down in front of the sheikh, no matter how well you think you know him.

‘I understand,’ she answered, her voice sounding like a child’s squeaky toy. ‘You explained in your letter that you had only just acceded to the throne, and that you c-couldn’t get away.’

Zahid nodded, remembering back to those troubled days—when the crown he had never imagined he would wear had been placed on his head. ‘I couldn’t,’ he said simply.

‘It was good of your brother to come in your place. And that wreath you sent,’ Frankie added, with a gulp. ‘It was absolutely b-beautiful.’

He heard her voice wobble and he glared, getting up from the table to take the teapot from her trembling hands. ‘Here. Let me take that.’

‘You can’t pour your own tea.’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ he returned. ‘I can just about upend a pot of boiling water. Or do you think I have people waiting on me every second of the day?’

‘Pretty much.’

A faint smile edged the corners of his mouth. ‘Impertinent woman,’ he murmured, and as he said it found himself looking into her startled blue eyes as one word leapt out and hung in the air surrounding them. He felt a pulse of heat deep in his groin. Woman. He swallowed. He would never have said that to her before. Nor found himself looking at her lips and wondering what it would be like to kiss them—even though they weren’t wearing a scrap of make-up. Did Simon not like her wearing make-up? he wondered heatedly.

Frankie took one of the mugs of tea and quickly moved away—the fact that it was burning her hand hardly noticeable when measured against the hot burning in her cheeks which had followed that curiously intense moment back then. ‘I’ll … I’ll get some honey,’ she said.

Glad to have the distraction of moving away, she walked over to one of the cupboards. Her fingers were trembling as she brought out a half-filled jar and handed it to him, and she watched as he spooned a teaspoonful of honey in each cup, seeing it melt in a golden puddle into the pale green liquid.

He looked up then, a careless question in his eyes. ‘So when do I get to meet him?’

‘Meet him?’ Francesca’s heart thudded. Surely he didn’t mean what she thought he meant? ‘Wh-who?’

‘Simon.’

She stared at him, trying to disguise her horror—some instinct telling her that Zahid and Simon should be kept apart at all costs. ‘Wh-why on earth would you want to meet him?’

He shrugged and her obvious reluctance to have him do so only fired up his sense of determination that he should. ‘Why wouldn’t I? My country owes a great debt to your father and I am an old family friend. Since you don’t have any senior male relative to look out for you, I consider it my duty to meet the man you are intending to marry.’

Frankie hoped that her face didn’t betray her appalled reaction to his suggestion—and not just because he had painted a rather grim image of himself as a “senior male relative”. The last thing she wanted was for him to meet Simon—because surely Zahid would make any man look hapless in his presence.

‘Well, perhaps we can arrange something for the next time you’re in town,’ she said, with the confident air of someone who knew that tight royal schedules made such casual meetings almost impossible.

‘But aren’t you seeing him tonight? Aren’t you planning to cook him dinner?’

She wondered how on earth he could have known that until she saw him looking at the covered dish of chicken and the little heap of potatoes waiting to be peeled; the box of unopened candles which lay next to them. Perhaps he had been a detective in another life, she thought crossly. ‘Yes, I’m cooking him dinner. I’d ask you to join us except that you’re probably busy.’ She gave a weak smile. ‘And I’ve only got two chicken breasts.’

Zahid almost laughed at the sheer banality of her statement, but the truth of it was that her attitude was firing him up even more. He wasn’t used to people saying no to him. And his curiosity had been aroused. What was she trying to hide? ‘No woman should have to cook a meal when she’s just got engaged—she should be freed from the drudgery of domesticity and left to enjoy the romance,’ he said silkily. ‘So I’ll take you and Simon out to dinner instead.’

‘No, honestly—’

‘Yes, honestly,’ he mocked. ‘I insist. What’s the name of a good local restaurant?’

‘Le Poule au Pot is pretty good—but you’ll never get a table this late.’

‘Please don’t be naïve, Francesca—I can always get a table. I’ll meet you in there at eight-thirty,’ he said implacably, as—pushing away his untouched tea—he got up from the table.

Frankie scrambled to her feet, aware of the sheer power of his body as she stared up into his hawklike features. ‘I suppose there’s no point in me trying to change your mind?’

‘No point at all.’ Black eyes bored into her. ‘And why would you want to?’

This silky challenge she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—answer. All she knew was that the thought of subjecting Simon—and herself—to the distracting company of the powerful man she’d known since childhood was filling her with trepidation.

Zahid looked down into her upturned face and those strangely kissable lips, which her tiny white teeth were currently digging into as she turned anxious blue eyes up at him. And in that moment she looked so vulnerable yet so damned sexy that he began to wonder whether fate might not have had a hand in bringing him here today.

‘Just don’t be late,’ he added softly.