Читать книгу A Diamond For The Sheikh's Mistress - Эбби Грин - Страница 8
ОглавлениеSHEIKH ZAFIR IBN HAFIZ AL-NOURY, King of Jandor, was oblivious to the exquisite mosaics on the path under his feet as he paced restlessly, and he was equally oblivious to the water burbling from the ornate central fountain. The tiny multicoloured birds darting between the lush exotic blooms also went unnoticed in this, just one of the many stunning courtyards of his royal palace in Jahor, the imposing capital city of his kingdom, which ran from snow-capped mountains in the east, across a vast desert to the sea in the west.
Zafir was oblivious to it all because all he could think about was her. It was getting worse. He’d had to call an important meeting to a premature end because he’d felt constricted and claustrophobic, aware of the heat in his blood and the ache in his core. An ache he’d largely managed to ignore for the last eighteen months.
Liar, whispered a voice, those first three months were hell.
Zafir scowled in remembrance. But then his father had died, and all his time and attention since then had been taken up with his accession to the throne and taking control of his country.
But now it was as if he finally had time to breathe again, and she was back. Infiltrating his thoughts and dreams. Haunting him.
Zafir loosened his robe at his neck with jerky movements. Sexual frustration, he told himself, momentarily coming to a halt on the path. It was just sexual frustration. After all, he hadn’t taken a woman to bed since...her, and that incensed him even more now.
It wasn’t due to lack of interest from women. It was due to Zafir’s single-minded focus on his job and his commitment to his people. But he was aware of the growing pressure from his council and his people to find a suitable Queen and provide heirs, so they would have faith and feel secure in their King and future.
Zafir issued a loud curse, scattering the birds around him in a flurry. Enough. He whirled around and strode back out of the courtyard, determined to set in motion the search for an appropriate match and put her out of his head once and for all.
He stopped in his tracks, though, as he passed the overgrown entrance to the high-walled garden nearby. None of the gardeners had touched it in years, and Zafir hadn’t had the heart to enforce its clean-up since taking power. He knew that his staff viewed it almost superstitiously; some believed it was haunted.
Maybe it was, he thought bleakly, his thoughts momentarily diverted.
He went and stood at the entrance and looked at the wildly overgrown space and realised with a jolt that today was the anniversary. The anniversary of his sister’s death. Nineteen years ago. He’d been thirteen and she’d been just eleven. He stepped in, almost without realising what he was doing.
Unlike the rest of the pristinely manicured grounds, there was no water trickling into the circular pool that could barely be seen under greedy weeds. There were no lush flowers or exotic birds. It was dormant. Still. Dead.
He could still remember hearing the almost otherworldly scream of his brother Salim, Sara’s twin. When Zafir had burst into the garden he’d found his brother cradling Sara’s limp body, her head dangling over his arm at an unnatural angle. Her face had been whiter than white, her long black hair matted with the blood which had been dripping into the fountain’s pool behind them, staining the water.
Salim had screamed at him to do something... Save her... But Zafir had known instinctively that she was gone. He’d tried to take Sara out of Salim’s arms to carry her into the palace, to find help, see if there was any chance, but Salim, sensing Zafir’s grim assessment, had only tightened his hold on his twin sister’s body and shouted hoarsely, ‘If you can’t help, then don’t touch her... Leave us alone!’
Sara had died from a massive head and neck injury after falling from the high wall around this garden where they’d used to play and climb, in spite of Zafir’s protests. Salim hadn’t spoken for weeks afterwards...
To Zafir’s shame, the dominating thing he now recalled was the awfully familiar disconnect between him and his siblings. The sense of isolation that had pervaded his whole life. He’d always been envious of Salim and Sara’s very special and close bond, which had been to the exclusion of everyone else. But right then he would have gladly given up his own life to see his sister’s brought back...
‘Ahem... Sire?’
Zafir tensed. Very few people managed to catch him unawares and he didn’t appreciate this intrusion into such a private moment.
He didn’t turn around as he responded curtly, ‘Yes?’
There was some throat-clearing. ‘The...ah...Heart of Jandor diamond, Sire. There are things we need to discuss about it, and the upcoming diplomatic tour.’
Zafir closed his eyes briefly, letting the painful past fade back to where it belonged, and when he was ready turned around to survey the young aide he’d taken on after his father’s death almost fifteen months ago—much to his council’s disapproval. They’d wanted him to keep his father’s old guard and not rock the boat, but Zafir favoured a more modern outlook for his country’s future and was slowly but surely implementing his ways.
He started walking back towards the palace, his aide hurrying alongside him, used to keeping up with his demanding King by now.
The Heart of Jandor diamond was a mythically rare gem. Thought for years to have been either stolen or lost, it had been found recently during archaeological excavations outside the palace walls. There had been much rejoicing and fervent whispering of it being a good omen. It was the largest known red diamond in the world, famed for its beauty. When it had first been discovered it had had a natural heart shape, and so had been cut and refined into its current incarnation, retaining its distinctive shape.
It had originally been unearthed in the eastern mountains of Jandor and given as a gift to woo Zafir’s French great-grandmother. The fact that her marriage to his great-grandfather was the only one in his family history which had allegedly been a happy one merely confirmed for Zafir that love within marriage was as much of a rarity as the diamond itself—and about as improbable.
Irritated to find his mind deviating like this, Zafir said now, ‘Well? What are your thoughts, Rahul?’
‘We are starting the diplomatic tour in New York next week, as discussed.’
New York.
No one else would have noticed the slightest misstep in Zafir’s authoritative stride. But he noticed. And he despised himself for it. Suddenly all thoughts of his sister and the lingering grief he felt were eclipsed by her again. The ease with which she could get to him after all this time only made him angrier.
What the hell was wrong with him today?
Manhattan was primarily where their relationship had played out over several months. And in spite of his best efforts his blood simmered, reminding him of just how far under her spell he’d fallen. Until it had been almost too late.
Zafir’s strides got longer, as if he could outrun the past nipping at his heels, but even by the time he’d reached his palatial offices she was still there, those amber-hazel eyes looking up at him slumberously while a sinful smile made that famously sexy and lush mouth curve upwards. As if she’d known exactly what she was doing to him, drawing him deeper and deeper into—
‘Sire?’
Zafir gritted his jaw against the onslaught of memories and turned around to focus on his aide. ‘Yes, Rahul.’
The young man looked nervous. ‘I...ah...have a suggestion to make regarding the jewel.’
‘Go on,’ Zafir bit out, curbing his impatience. His aide was not to know that he’d unwittingly precipitated the storm currently raging inside him.
‘The diamond is being brought on your diplomatic tour as an exhibit and a stunning example of Jandor’s many attractions in a bid to promote business and tourism.’
Zafir’s impatience spiked in spite of his best efforts. ‘I know very well why we’re bringing it on the diplomatic tour. It was my idea.’
The man swallowed, visibly nervous. ‘Yes, and we’d planned on displaying it in each city in a protected glass case.’
‘Rahul...’ Zafir said warningly, coming close to the end of his tether.
His aide spoke quickly now. ‘The suggestion I want to make is this—rather than show it off in a sterile and protected environment, I thought it might prove to be far more dynamic if it were seen up close... We could let people see how accessible it is and yet still exclusive and mysterious.’
Now he had Zafir’s attention. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about hiring someone—a model—someone who will actually wear the jewel and come with us on the tour. Someone who will walk with us among the guests at each function, so they can appreciate the jewel’s full beauty, see how it lives and breathes—just like Jandor’s beauty.’
Zafir looked at Rahul for a long moment. This was why he’d hired the younger man after all—to inject new blood into his father’s archaic council.
The idea had merit, and Zafir assessed it in seconds. However he was about to dismiss it for various reasons—not least of which were to do with security—but just as he opened his mouth to speak an image exploded into his head, turning his words to dust.
He immediately turned away from the younger man, for fear that something would show on his face. All he could see was her, lying on a bed, with her long, sinuous limbs and her treacherously hypnotic beauty, naked but for the jewel that nestled between her high, full breasts. It would glow fiery red against that perfect pale skin.
As red as his blood—which wasn’t simmering now. It had boiled over.
He’d allowed the floodgates to open, and right at that moment Zafir knew there was only one way to rid himself of this ache and move on. And he had to move on. His country depended on it.
Zafir’s mind reeled as the idea took root and embedded itself deep inside him. Was he really considering revisiting the past and the one person he’d vowed never to think or speak of again?
A spurt of rebelliousness and something much more ambiguous ignited inside him.
Why not?
This could be the perfect opportunity to sate his desires before he committed to his full responsibilities and the people of Jandor owned him completely. And there was only one woman Zafir wanted.
She owed him, he told himself grimly. She’d lied to him. She’d betrayed him by not revealing her true self, her true nature. She’d walked out of his life eighteen months ago and he hadn’t had enough of her. She’d left him aching and cursing her.
The fact that he’d once considered her suitable to be in his long-term future was a reminder that was unwelcome. This time when he took her he would know exactly who she was. And he would feel nothing but lust and desire. He would have her long legs wrapped around him again and he would sink deep enough inside her to burn away this irritating lingering lust.
He turned back to Rahul, who was looking nervous again.
‘Sire, it was just a—’
Zafir cut him off. ‘It was a brilliant suggestion and I know exactly who will be our model.’
Rahul frowned. ‘Who, Sire?’
Zafir’s pulse thundered in his veins. ‘Kat Winters—the American supermodel. Find out where she is. Now.’
A week later, Queens, New York
Zafir observed her from the back of his car, with the window rolled down. He couldn’t quite believe his eyes—that Kat Winters was working in a busy midrange restaurant in Queens. But, yes...one of the world’s arguably most beautiful women was currently wearing skinny jeans and a white T-shirt with a black apron around her small waist. Her hair was piled up in a messy knot on her head and there was a pencil stuck through it, which she was now fumbling for as she took an order.
Everything in Zafir recoiled from this very banal scenario—except it wasn’t disgust he was feeling, seeing her again. It was something much hotter and more urgent. Even dressed like this and without a scrap of make-up she was exquisite. A jewel such as she could not be hidden in a place like this. What the hell was she doing here? And what the hell was she doing going under another name—Kaycee Smith? And how dared she refuse to even consider the offer he’d sent to her via her agent?
Her agent had sent back a terse response:
Kat Winters is no longer available for modelling assignments.
Please do not pursue this request.
No one refused Zafir. Or warned him off. Least of all an ex-lover.
He issued a curt instruction to his driver now, and his window rolled up silently as he got out of the car and stretched to his full height of six foot four. He recalled Kat in vertiginous heels, the way it had put her mouth well within kissing distance. The way her added height had aligned their bodies so perfectly. He watched her walk away from the table and grimaced when he saw she was wearing sneakers.
Not for long, he vowed as he moved forward to the door of the restaurant. Soon she would be in heels again, and soon that lush mouth would be his again. All of her would be his again.
He had no idea what she was playing at, with this meek little game of being a waitress, but he was certain that once she heard what he had to say she’d be demonstrating her gratitude that he was prepared to give her another chance to be in his life and in his bed again, even just for a few brief weeks, in the most satisfactory way.
* * *
‘Kat.’
It took a second for the significance of that word to sink in. No one here called her Kat. They called her Kaycee. And then there was the voice. Impossibly deep. And the way Kat had been pronounced, with the flat inflection that had always made it sound exotic. And authoritative—as if her name was a command to look at him, give him her attention.
It took another second for the realisation to hit her that there was only one person who could have spoken.
With the utmost reluctance, vying with disbelief, she looked up from the countertop.
Zafir.
For a moment she simply didn’t believe it. He couldn’t be here. Not against this very dull backdrop of a restaurant in Queens. He inhabited five-star zones. He breathed rarefied air. He moved in circles far removed from this place. This man was royalty.
He was a King now.
And yet her agent had told her only a couple of days ago that he’d asked for her, so she should have been prepared. But she’d blocked out any possibility of this happening. And now she was sorry, because she wasn’t remotely prepared to see the man she’d loved with such intensity that it had sometimes scared her.
She blinked, but he didn’t disappear. He seemed to grow in stature. Had he always been so tall? So broad? But she knew he had. He was imprinted on her brain and her memory like a brand. The hard-boned aristocratic features. The deep-set dark grey eyes that stood out against his dark olive skin. The thick dark hair swept back off his high forehead. That perfect hard-muscled body without an ounce of excess fat, its power evident even under a suit and overcoat.
He was clean-shaven now, instead of with the short beard he’d worn when she’d known him, and it should have made him look somehow less. But it didn’t. It seemed to enhance his virility in a way that was almost overwhelming.
She hadn’t even realised she’d spoken his name out loud until the sensual curve of those beautifully sculpted lips curved up slightly on one side and he said, ‘You remember my name, then?’
The mocking tone which implied that it was laughable she could have possibly forgotten finally broke Kat out of her dangerous reverie and shock. He was here. In her space. The man she’d had dreams and nightmares about meeting again now that her life had changed beyond all recognition.
In her nightmares he looked at her with disgust and horror, and to her mortification she woke up crying more often than not. Her dreams were no less humiliating—they were X-rated, and she’d wake up sweating, believing for a second that she was still whole...still his.
But she was neither of those things. Not by a long shot.
Her pulse quickened treacherously, even though his presence heralded an emotional pain she’d hoped had been relegated to the past but which she was now discovering not to be the case.
She spoke sharply. ‘What are you doing here, Zafir? Didn’t you get my agent’s message?’
He arched a brow and Kat flushed, suddenly aware of how she’d just addressed a man before whom most people would be genuflecting. A man who had two conspicuous bodyguards dressed in black just outside the main door.
She refused to be intimidated. It was almost too much to take in, thinking of the last time she’d seen him and how upset she’d been, and then what had happened...the most catastrophic event of her life.
‘I got her message and chose to ignore it,’ Zafir said easily, his tone belying the curious punch to his gut when he registered Kat’s obvious reluctance to see him again.
Kat folded her arms, as if that could protect her from his all too devastating charisma. Typical arrogant Zafir. He hadn’t changed.
Tersely she said, ‘I’m working, so unless you’ve come here to eat this isn’t appropriate.’ It’ll never be appropriate. But she stopped herself from saying that with some desperation.
Zafir’s smile faded and those unusual dark grey eyes flashed. ‘You refused to engage with my offer, which I do not accept.’
‘No,’ Kat said, feeling the bitterness that was a residue from their last tumultuous meeting, when she’d left him. ‘I can well imagine that you don’t accept it, Zafir, because you’re used to everyone falling over themselves to please you. But I’m afraid I feel no such compulsion.’
His eyes narrowed on her and she immediately felt threatened. She’d always felt as if he could see right through her—through the desperate façade she’d put up to try and convince people she wasn’t a girl who had grown up in a trailer with a drug-addicted, mentally unstable mother. A girl who hadn’t even graduated from high school.
Yet Zafir hadn’t—for all that she’d thought he might. Until he’d had the evidence shoved under his nose and he’d looked at her with cold, unforgiving eyes and had judged and condemned her out of his life.
‘You’ve changed.’
His words slammed into her like a physical blow. He was right. She had changed. Utterly. And this was her worst nightmare coming to life. Meeting Zafir again. And him finding out—
He wouldn’t, she assured herself now, feeling panicky. He couldn’t.
‘Is this gentleman looking for a table for one, Kaycee?’
Kat looked blankly at her boss for a second, but she didn’t mistake the gleam of very feminine appreciation in the older woman’s eyes as she ogled Zafir unashamedly.
Galvanised into action, she took the menu out of her boss’s hands and said firmly, ‘No, he’s not. He was just looking for directions and now he knows where to go.’ She looked at Zafir, and if she could have vaporised him on the spot she would have. ‘Don’t you, sir?’
Her boss was pulled aside at that moment by another member of staff, and Zafir just looked at Kat for a long moment, before saying silkily, ‘I’ll be waiting for you, Kat. This isn’t over.’
And then he turned and walked out.
* * *
Kat really didn’t want to leave the restaurant when her shift was over, because Zafir’s car was still outside. As was the very conspicuous black four-by-four undoubtedly carrying his security team.
She was more than a little shocked that he was still waiting for her. Two hours later. The Zafir she’d known a year and a half ago had never waited for anyone—he’d been famously restless and impatient. Fools had suffered in his presence. He’d cut down anyone wasting his time with a glacial look from those pewter-coloured eyes.
As Kat dragged on her coat and belted it she felt a sense of fatalism settle over her. If Zafir had ignored her agent and tracked her down this far, then he wouldn’t give up easily. She should know more than anyone that when he wanted something he pursued it until he got it.
After all, he’d pursued her until he’d got her. Until he’d dismantled every defence she’d erected to keep people from getting too close. Until she’d been prepared to give up everything for him. Until she’d been prepared to try and mould herself into what he’d wanted her to be—even though she’d known that she couldn’t possibly fulfil everything he expected of her.
Her hands tightened on her belt for a moment. He’d asked her to be his Queen. Even now she felt the same mix of terror and awe at the very thought. But it hadn’t taken much to persuade him of her unsuitability in the end.
She steeled herself before walking out through the door, telling herself that she was infinitely stronger now. Able to resist Zafir. He had no idea of what she’d faced since she’d seen him last...
As soon as she walked outside though, the back door of Zafir’s sleek car opened and he emerged, uncoiling to his full impressive height. Kat’s bravado felt very shaky all of a sudden.
He stood back and indicated with a hand for her to get in. Incensed that he might think it could be this easy, she walked over to him, mindful of her limp, even though disguising it after a long evening on her feet put pressure on her leg.
‘I’m not getting into a car with you, Zafir. You’ve had a wasted evening. Please leave.’
She turned to walk away and she heard him say,
‘Either we talk here on the sidewalk, with lots of ears about us, or you let me take you home and we talk there.’
Kat gritted her jaw and looked longingly down the street that would take her to her apartment, just a couple of blocks away. But if she walked away she could well imagine Zafir’s very noticeable car moving at a snail’s pace beside her. And his security team. Drawing lots of attention. As he was doing now, just by standing there, drawing lingering glances. Whispers.
A group of giggling girls finally made Kat turn around. ‘Fine,’ she bit out. ‘But once I’ve listened to what you have to say you’ll leave.’
Zafir’s eyes gleamed in a way that made all the hard and cold parts of Kat feel dangerously soft and warm.
‘By all means. If you want me to leave then, I’ll leave.’
His tone once again told Kat that that was about as likely as a snowstorm in the middle of the brutally hot Jandor desert, and that only made her even more determined to resist him, hating that his visit was bringing up memories long buried. Memories of his beautiful and exotic country and how out of her depth she’d felt—both there and in their relationship. Zafir had been like the sun—brilliant, all-consuming and mesmerising, but fatal if one got too close. And she had let herself get too close. Close enough to be burnt alive once she’d discovered that the love she’d felt had been unrequited.
She’d been prepared to marry him, buoyed up by his proposal, only to discover too late that for him it had never been a romantic proposal. It had been purely because he’d deemed her ‘perfect.’ Her humiliation was still vivid.
She stalked past him now and got into the car, burningly aware of his gaze on her and wondering what on earth he must make of her—a shadow of her former self. The fact that she didn’t seem to be repelling him irritated her intensely.
Zafir shut the door once her legs were in the car and came round and got in the other side, immediately dwarfing the expansive confines of the luxurious car. For a moment Kat felt herself sinking back into the seat, relishing the decadent luxury, but as soon as she realised what she was doing she stiffened against it. This wasn’t her life any more. Never would be again.
‘Kat?’
She looked at Zafir, who had a familiar expression of impatience on his face. She realised she hadn’t heard what he’d said.
‘Directions? For my driver?’
She swallowed, suddenly bombarded with a memory of being in the back of a very similar car with Zafir, when he’d asked his driver to put up the privacy window and drive around until he gave further instructions. Then he’d pulled Kat over to straddle his lap, pulled up her dress and—
She slammed the lid shut on that memory and leaned forward to tell the driver where to go before she lost her composure completely.
She refused to look at Zafir again, and within a couple of minutes they were pulling up outside her very modest apartment block. Kat managed to scramble inelegantly out of the car before Zafir could help her. She didn’t want him to touch her—not even fleetingly. The thin threads holding her composure together might snap completely.
Her apartment was just inside the main doors of the apartment block, on the ground floor, and Kat could feel Zafir behind her. Tall, commanding. Totally incongruous.
As if to underline it she heard him say a little incredulously, ‘No concierge?’
Kat would have bitten back a smile if she’d felt like smiling. ‘No.’
She opened her door and went into her studio apartment. What had become a place of refuge for the past year was now anything but as she put her keys down and turned around to face her biggest threat.
Zafir closed the door behind him and Kat folded her arms. ‘Well, Zafir? What is it you have to say?’
He was looking around the small space with unmistakable curiosity, and finally that dark grey gaze came to land on her. To her horror, he started to shrug off his overcoat, revealing a bespoke suit that clung lovingly to his powerful body.
When he spoke he sounded grim. ‘I have plenty to say, Kat, so why don’t you make us both a coffee? Because I’m not going anywhere any time soon.’
Kat stared mutinously at Zafir for a moment, and for those few seconds he was transfixed by her stunningly unusual eyes—amber from a distance, but actually green and gold from up close, surrounded by long dark lashes. They were almond-shaped, and Zafir’s blood rushed south as he recalled how she’d look at him after making love, the expression in her gaze one of wonderment that had never failed to catch him like a punch to his gut.
Lies.
It had all been lies. She might have been a virgin, but she’d been no innocent. It had been an elaborate act to hide her murky past. Suddenly he felt exposed. What was he doing here?
But just then something in Kat’s stance seemed to droop and she said in a resigned voice, ‘Fine, I’ll make coffee.’
She disappeared into a tiny galley kitchen and Zafir had to admit that he knew very well why he was here—he still wanted her. Even more so after seeing her again. But questions buzzed in his brain. He put down his overcoat on the back of a worn armchair and took in the clean but colourless furnishings of the tiny space she now called home.
He’d never been in the apartment she’d shared with three other models when he’d known her before, but it had been a loft in SoHo—a long way from here.
She emerged a couple of minutes later with two steaming cups and handed one to Zafir. He noticed that she was careful not to come too close, and it made something within him snarl and snap.
She’d taken off her coat and now wore a long-sleeved jumper over the T-shirt. Even her plain clothes couldn’t hide that perfect body, though. High firm breasts. A small waist, generous hips. And legs that went on for ever...
He could still feel them, wrapped around his back, her heels digging into his buttocks as she urged him deeper, harder—
Dammit. He struggled to rein in his libido.
‘Take a seat,’ she said, with almost palpable reluctance.
Zafir took the opportunity to disguise his uncontrollable response, not welcoming it one bit. He put it down to his recent sexual drought.
She sat on a threadbare couch on the other side of a coffee table. Zafir took a sip of coffee, noting with some level of satisfaction that she hadn’t forgotten how he liked it. Strong and black. But then he frowned, noticing something. ‘Your hair is different.’
She touched a hand to the unruly knot on her head self-consciously. ‘This is my natural colour.’
Zafir felt something inside him go cold when he observed that her ‘natural colour’ was a slightly darker brown, with enticing glints of copper. Wasn’t this just more evidence of her duplicitous nature? Her hair had used to be a tawny golden colour, adding to her all-American, girl-next-door appeal, but in reality she’d made a mockery of that image.
He put down his cup. ‘So, Kat, what happened? Why did you disappear off the international modelling scene and who is Kaycee Smith?’
