Читать книгу The Desert Kings: Duty, Desire and the Desert King / The Desert King's Bejewelled Bride / The Desert King - Jane Porter - Страница 12

AS THE limousine pulled away from the hospital, Zayed tipped his head against the leather seat and closed his eyes. Now that he knew his mother was fine, that she’d only collapsed to force him to her side, he could turn his attention to other matters. Like the coronation ceremony. And the wife he still needed—a wife his mother said she could conjure tomorrow if need be. And Rou.

Rou.

Why did he kiss her? What on earth possessed him to kiss Rou Tornell? Dr. Tornell?

She wasn’t a woman he’d ever found particularly attractive. He hadn’t ever wanted to kiss her, and yet the kiss …

The kiss surprised him. It was hot.

Explosive.

Nothing like he’d imagined. But then she wasn’t quite what he’d imagined, either.

And she’d known about his e-mail to Sharif following Pippa’s wedding. She knew he’d rejected her, and while he didn’t recall the exact words he’d used, he knew the tone of his e-mail had probably been sarcastic, if not mocking.

Zayed winced in the darkness. He shouldn’t have behaved so unkindly. He certainly hadn’t meant to hurt her. If anything, he’d been making a dig at Sharif. Sharif and his geeky little protégée. Sharif and all his lost causes.

Zayed briefly closed his eyes, ashamed of himself. But this was nothing new. He lived with shame. He’d brought the curse on himself. It was his actions that had cursed them all.

The guilt was often unbearable and for the past fifteen years he’d tried to destroy himself, make dust out of dust but nothing he did, nothing he took, nothing he tried worked. He failed at failing. God wouldn’t let him die.

But God didn’t let him live, either.

Instead, his world was one of jaded material pleasures—fast cars, fast times, fast women. He indulged every whim, partook of every vice, and enjoyed none of it.

But now he was back in Isi, Sarq’s capital city, back in the place he’d grown up. He was here to take the place of his brother. Here to make amends. If he could make amends.

If only he could break the curse. Save what was left of his family.

If only.

Ten minutes later, the limousine turned down the long drive leading to the palace gates. Zayed shifted restlessly.

He’d have to go see Rou. He’d told her he’d stop by when he returned. If only he hadn’t kissed her.

If only he’d kept his distance he wouldn’t have discovered that her icy scientist image was just a facade.

Slim, blond Rou Tornell wasn’t a cold-blooded scientist. She was a woman. A woman he’d very much enjoyed kissing.

Back at the palace, Zayed headed straight to Rou’s suite. The lights were still on and, descending the steps into her sunken living room, he saw the living room was empty but a series of heavy silver trays covered the low table. He lifted the lids on the dishes, discovering little pots of aromatic rice; plates of grilled, skewered meats; a copper bowl of sizzling, sautéed prawns; platters of steamed, seasoned fish; cooked vegetable dishes of potatoes, peas and artichoke hearts. All untouched. Had she eaten nothing?

He was just about to walk out when he heard a rustle of paper. Turning, he spotted her at her desk. She’d fallen asleep while working, her right hand still on the keyboard, her left arm and cheek resting on her stack of notebooks.

Zayed took a step toward her and then another. She still wore that hideous gray suit, but her hair was unpinned and it spilled over her arm in a sheet of silver and pale gold. Asleep, her face was soft, her lips full and curved. Asleep, she looked alarmingly vulnerable.

He never took advantage of vulnerable women. He never took advantage of any woman.

Why had he kissed her?

Perplexed, he nearly left her as she was, but then guilt battered his conscience. She was here because he’d asked for her help. The least he could do was send her to bed.

He placed a light hand on her shoulder. “Dr. Tornell, wake up. You need to go to bed.”

She barely stirred and didn’t waken. He touched her shoulder again, shook her gently. “Rou.”

This time his voice registered and she sleepily lifted her head to look at him. “Hi.”

Hi. So American, so informal, so unlike who he thought Rou Tornell was.

His gaze skimmed her bare face, with the soft, full mouth and the long eyelashes that were surprisingly dark and thick. Without thinking he brushed the side of his hand across her cheek. Her skin was as warm and soft as it looked. “It’s after midnight. Time for you to go to bed.”

She sat up abruptly, remembering. “How’s your mom?”

“Brittle. Hysterical. Exhausting.” He shrugged. “But then she’s always been that way.”

She yawned and pushed a wave of pale hair from her face, her cheeks still flushed pink from sleep. “That doesn’t sound very nice.”

“She’s not what I’d call nice.”

Rou now frowned. “You don’t have a good relationship with her?”

He sat down on a corner of the desk. “Tonight was the first time I’d seen her in years.”

“Why?”

“She’s controlling. Manipulative. I saw how she treated Sharif and his family. Vowed I’d never allow that in my life.”

“But you went to her tonight?”

He made a soft, rough sound. “She’s my mother.”

Rou’s lips twisted. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were a good man.”

He smiled crookedly. “Fortunately, you do.”

“Fortunately.”

Zayed felt a tug in his chest. The tug was strong and it almost hurt. “I am sorry about earlier—”

“Forgotten.”

One eyebrow lifted. “The kiss, or the e-mail?”

“Both.”

“That easily?”

Her shoulders lifted and fell. “I compartmentalize.”

“Ah, you’re retreating behind the scientist mask.”

“It’s not a mask. It’s who I am. It’s what I do.”

“And the kiss? Means nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing,” she answered firmly. “You’re stressed. I’m stressed. We made a mistake. It’s over, done, behind us.”

“But it was good.”

She colored vividly, blood rushing to her cheeks. “I wouldn’t know,” she answered primly.

He laughed softly, despite the endless, exhausting day. She was so provoking and yet strangely entertaining. And before he could think better of it, he reached out to trace the plane of her face, the cheekbone and jawline, her small straight nose and the curve of her upper lip.

She pulled away. “I’m not one of your three candidates, Sheikh Fehr!”

If she’d hoped to freeze him with her frigid tone and cool lecture she’d failed. “Perhaps you should be,” he answered mildly.

Rou pushed up from the desk. “We’re in the middle of a crisis here—”

“And I should be taking it more seriously?” he finished for her, thinking he liked this Rou Tornell far more than the scientist mask she presented to the world.

Angry, she was fierce and alive, feminine and strong. Prickly, too, but it suited her. Made her volatile. Feisty. Passionate.

“Yes,” she agreed adamantly, her long, pale hair tumbling down her back, her breasts rising and falling beneath the tailored coat.

Make that feisty, passionate and hot, he mentally corrected, letting his gaze slide over her slim figure, down her hips to her bare legs, lingering on those legs. They were even more shapely without heels, and he found himself fantasizing about what he could do with legs like that.

A kiss to the knee. A kiss behind the knee. A kiss to the pulse behind that lovely knee when she trembled.

And she’d tremble. Women always did, but she, Rou Tornell, would most definitely tremble. He knew that now, knew that Rou Tornell was nothing like the image she projected.

“Having spent the past three hours listening to my mother wail, I’m very aware of the current crisis. However, I’m also a man, and you’re a woman—”

“No.”

“No?”

She blushed wildly. “I mean, yes, I am a woman, but not the right woman for you. I’m not your type. I’ll never be your type. It has to do with laws of attraction.”

He could still feel the warmth and softness of her mouth beneath his fingertip. “Laws of attraction?”

“It’s my field of study.” She pushed a long, silvery tendril of hair behind her ear. “The science and chemistry of romantic love. It’s an unconscious drive, something the brain controls through chemicals and hormones.”

“And you don’t think my brain could find you attractive?”

“No.”

The edge of his mouth lifted, quirking. “You know an awful lot about my brain.”

“I know men are prone to impulse, particularly the sexual impulse, but that doesn’t mean true attraction, or compatibility. And that, Sheikh Fehr, is what we’re interested in. Compatibility, synergy, marriage.”

He nodded when she finished, but he wasn’t actually listening anymore. She’d lost him about the time she mentioned sexual impulse because sex was on his mind, and to his way of thinking, she was a woman in desperate need of proper lovemaking. He couldn’t imagine the last time she’d been bedded, and yet that’s exactly what she needed. After a couple hours between the sheets, after a couple orgasms, she’d look entirely different. She’d carry herself differently. Her blue gaze would be softer. Her color would be high. And that mouth, that sweet, full mouth, would be swollen from kisses.

If he weren’t in such a bind, if he didn’t need a wife, he’d enjoy teaching Dr. Rou Tornell about the side of love she didn’t lecture on … and that was the physical. Love was more than textbook science. It was also skill, patience and desire.

“I’m here to find you a wife,” she added shortly. “That is it.”

“Right.” He cocked his head, considered her legs, her silken tumble of hair, the dark pink staining her cheeks and smiled wickedly.

“So we’re in perfect understanding? We will keep our relationship professional. We won’t indulge in any more touches, kisses, flirtations. This is business, and there’s a science to the business—”

“I was wrong about you, you know. You’re very interesting. And very appealing, especially when you’re in a righteous mood.” He smiled. “A man likes a proper challenge. And you, my buttoned-down, uptight, prudish Dr. Tornell, are a proper challenge.” With a last smile in her direction, he left.

Rou tumbled into the living room and down onto the white couch the moment Zayed disappeared and reached for a ruby pillow to squeeze against her chest. Buttoned-down. Uptight. Prudish?

How dare he? How crass. How arrogant. How perfectly Zayed Fehr!

There was no way she could find a good wife for him. No decent woman would take him. He was horrible. Arrogant. Sexual.

Sexual. And then she bit her lip and closed her eyes and tried to block out the way he’d kissed her and the way her body had responded and the way she imagined making love would be.

It’d be good.

Maybe even great.

Oh, God. She had to get out of here.

In bed, it took forever for Rou to relax. She tossed and turned so long that she eventually turned the light on and reached for a book, but even the book couldn’t hold her attention.

The problem was Zayed. The problem was his kiss. The problem was she still felt too warm and so emotionally and physically stirred.

That kiss was unlike any kiss she’d ever experienced. It had made her ache and burn. Made her want to take things further. She’d never enjoyed sex before, but with Zayed she knew it’d be different. Everything with him was different.

With him she didn’t feel frigid. She felt. She wanted. She needed. Desired. Hungered.

She’d always been accused of being so cerebral, and maybe it was her own fear that kept her emotions and desires in check, but her body hadn’t ever been important. Yet tonight when Zayed kissed her, her body stunned her by coming to life, expressing needs. Wants. Demands.

She found the revelation both wonderful and awful. Wonderful because she relished feeling alive. Wonderful because she’d never felt this way before. And yet awful because she knew once she left here, she’d never feel this again.

It was close to three before she fell asleep, and nearing eight when she woke. Her head ached and she groggily stumbled from bed to the living room to look out the French doors where the sun was still rising and painting the sky shades of pink and rose.

Still wearing her cozy, pale blue pajamas, Rou pulled her hair into a messy ponytail, plopped on her glasses and grabbed her laptop. She carried it to the couch and opened her e-mail to see if she’d gotten any responses yet.

None of the three women she’d contacted last night had responded to her e-mail yet, and instead of being disappointed she felt relief. Not that she was supposed to feel relief. She was here to do a job and she was failing. That wasn’t good.

To combat her guilt, Rou wondered if she should send another batch of e-mail invites, but then admitted that her efforts were futile at best.

There was no way she was going to come up with a bride for him in twenty-four or thirty-six hours. No way a sane woman would hop on the royal jet, arrive here, talk to Zayed for sixty minutes and agree to marriage.

Instead there had to be someone else, someone closer, someone already familiar with Zayed Fehr. An ex-girlfriend perhaps. A friend of the family’s. A second or third cousin.

She was just opening one of her spiral notebooks to begin brainstorming when a soft knock sounded outside her suite.

“Come in,” Rou called, hoping it was Manar with coffee and some biscuits.

Instead a pretty brunette in a simple belted cream dress appeared between the columns. She stood at the top of the stairs and smiled wanly at Rou. “I haven’t been a very good hostess. I’m so sorry. I should have welcomed you earlier. I’m Jesslyn Fehr—”

“Queen Fehr!” Rou was on her feet and rushing forward to greet Sharif’s wife, who was descending the stairs into the sunken living room. Rou didn’t know if she was expected to bow or curtsy. “I don’t expect you to play hostess while I’m here. Never. I already feel bad intruding during this time. I know you have so much to deal with right now.”

Jesslyn’s hand lifted, fell. She looked dazed, lost. “Unfortunately, I don’t actually have enough to do. I’m finding it hard to stay busy. Nothing lets me forget. Not even the children.”

Up close, Rou saw the strain in the queen’s face, her pallor, and the deep shadows beneath her eyes and lines at the creases. “How are you?”

Jesslyn tried to smile and failed. “He has to come back. I can’t do this without him.”

“Come, sit.” Rou gestured to the couch. “And I’m sorry I’m not dressed. I was enjoying working in my pajamas.”

“The best way to work,” the queen answered. “When I was a teacher I spent entire weekends in my pajamas grading papers.” Jesslyn took a seat on the couch opposite Rou’s. “Have you had coffee? Anything to eat?”

“I’m fine—”

“I haven’t had breakfast, either, and would enjoy sitting here, talking to you, while we had a bite.” She paused. “If you don’t mind.”

Rou could see why Sharif loved Jesslyn, and her heart squeezed with grief. Jesslyn was beautiful but real, humble and down-to-earth. “I wouldn’t mind. Not at all.”

Jesslyn leaned over and pressed a nearly invisible button on the leg of the low coffee table. Almost immediately a robed attendant appeared. “Yes, Your Highness?”

“Mehta, could we perhaps have coffee for two? And if Cook has any of his breakfast pastries, a few of those would be nice, too.”

Jesslyn glanced around the living room after her attendant left. “I haven’t been here in a while. This is where I stayed when I first came to the palace. But it’s still beautiful with the courtyard and the morning sun.”

Rou followed the queen’s gaze. “It’s an extraordinary suite.”

“Have you been outside yet? Explored the garden?”

“No, but I should. I’ll make sure to go out later this morning.”

The queen nodded absently. “It was their room, you know.”

“Whose?”

Jesslyn turned to look at her, her eyes filled with sadness. “The girls. The twins. Jamila and Aman. These rooms are rarely used. I think you and I have been the only ones to stay here since they died.”

Rou was shocked. She’d had no idea. “You were friends with them?”

“Best friends. We met in school and then later shared a flat. We were all on holiday in Greece when the accident happened.” Her lips tightened. “They died a week apart. It’s how I met Sharif. At the hospital, the day before Aman died.”

She blinked, looked across at Rou. “I can’t lose him. I can’t live without him. He’s everything. He’s my hope and my heart.” Tears filled her eyes but she blinked them back, and forced a smile as well as a turn in the conversation. “I understand you know Sharif.”

Rou had to blink back tears of her own. “Yes. I earned the Fehr scholarship when I was at Cambridge. Over time I got to know your husband, the king. He was a wonderful mentor, very kind, very generous.”

Jesslyn’s expression cleared. “You’re the psychologist?”

Rou nodded, a lump in her throat. “Yes.”

“And now you and Zayed have found each other. How wonderful. Isn’t it funny how the world works? Sharif once told me that good can always come of bad, and maybe he’s right. Maybe good will somehow come out of all of this.”

Mehta arrived with a tray of coffee, and Manar was right behind her with a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice, a plate of fragrant, flaky pastries, and bowls of thick creamy yogurt.

They were still together, sipping coffee and talking about the children and how two-year-old Tahir, Sharif and Jesslyn’s son, was into everything, when Zayed arrived a half hour later.

Zayed immediately went to Jesslyn and kissed her on each cheek and then he turned and greeted Rou. “What? No gray suit today?”

Dressed in dark slacks and a white linen shirt, his dark hair damp and jaw freshly shaved, he exuded cool and sophistication, which only made Rou feel even more frumpish.

“I just haven’t had a chance to put it on yet,” she answered, painfully self-conscious. It was bad enough to receive the queen of Sarq in her pajamas and glasses, but now Zayed, too?

“As much as I like the gray suit, you might want a change of clothes. It’s going to be very hot today and I’d thought perhaps I’d show you around the palace gardens later.”

“You two have much to do, so I’ll leave you now,” Jesslyn said, setting aside her cup and rising. She kissed Zayed and then smiled warmly at Rou. “I’ll be taking the children swimming later. If you get a moment free, you’re more than welcome to join us. The children are dying to meet their new aunt.” And then with another smile she left, leaving Zayed and Rou staring at each other.

“What did she just say?” Rou choked, as soon as Jesslyn was well out of earshot. “Aunt?”

Zayed’s forehead creased deeply, and he glanced toward the corridor where Jesslyn had disappeared. “I heard that, too.”

“It was a mistake. I’m sure she didn’t even know what she was saying.” Rou reached up to tug the elastic from her hair, letting the pale strands fall loose over her shoulders. “Right?”

Zayed’s hands went to his hips and he continued to stare off in the direction Jesslyn had gone. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? How could she think we … I …” She took a quick breath. “She knows I’m a psychologist, a relationship expert, she knows I’m here working with you.”

Silence stretched until Rou’s nerves felt close to breaking, and then he turned and looked at her and shrugged. “Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she believes you’re my fiancée.”

“How can that be?”

He shrugged calmly. “I said the next time I returned, I’d come with my fiancée.”

Rou stared at him, horrified. “Does everyone think that?”

“I don’t know. It would explain why you’re here in my sisters’ rooms. These rooms are reserved for immediate family only.”

“Oh no.” Rou covered her eyes, not wanting to imagine what Jesslyn was thinking as they sat here having breakfast together, talking about life and children, work and the future. Had Jesslyn imagined that Rou was her future sister-in-law? Oh, so awkward, especially as Jesslyn already had so much to cope with.

She dropped her hands. “You have to go explain,” she said urgently. “You have to go now and make sure everyone knows I’m not your fiancée, but here working to help you get one. Especially the queen. She’s so stressed already. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable when your future fiancée does arrive.”

“And when is that, Dr. Tornell? This morning? Tonight? Tomorrow? We’re no closer to finding a wife for me now than we were in Vancouver five days ago.” He dropped onto the couch where Jesslyn had been sitting, folded his arms behind his head and gazed steadily at Rou. “Perhaps it’s time to rethink our search.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Rou reached for her notepad, ready to take notes. “There must be someone close to you, already in your life, who would be suitable. A former girlfriend. A second or third cousin. A family friend.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “A family friend. Yes. Someone that knows us, someone with a history with us. That would make the most sense.” Zayed leaned forward, snagged a pastry from the nearly full tray and took a bite. “Be ideal, actually.”

“Good. I’m glad we’re in agreement,” she said, making a few more notes on her pad of paper. “But tell me, I’m curious. Sharif has four children, three girls and a boy, two-year-old Tahir. Why wouldn’t one of them inherit the throne? Why does it pass to you?”

“It’s due to our old Sarq laws. In many ways we’re a modern country, but in other ways, we have changed very little in the past four hundred years, and Sarq tradition dictates that it must be a male ruler, and he must have reached the mature age of twenty-five, as well as be married with at least one wife—”

“At least one wife?” Her head jerked up. “How many wives are kings expected to have?”

“My father and grandfather were forward-thinking men and they both only took one wife. My great-grandfather had three.”

“But a king today could have more than one wife?”

“Legally, yes. Morally? No. For the past one hundred years, Fehrs have taken just one wife, and loved one wife. We are loyal to our women, and I—despite what you may have heard about me—will be loyal, too.”

“I suppose that would be a relief for your future wife.”

He smiled. “I thought so, too.”

“Now, do you have someone in mind, or are we to brainstorm and start a list?”

His expression turned lazy. “Oh, I have someone in mind.”

“Excellent.” Now they were getting somewhere, and she smiled at him expectantly.

He smiled back even more pleasantly. “I think you’ll be surprised.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’ve decided on you.”

Her pulse did a funny little flutter. Clearly she wasn’t following his logic. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve decided on you, Dr. Tornell. You’re perfect. Educated, accomplished, successful. And best of all, you’re an old family friend. Brother Sharif’s protégée.”

Rou stumbled to her feet, putting distance between them. “Have you been drinking?”

“I had a coffee, but it wasn’t an espresso.”

“Sheikh Fehr—”

“Perhaps it’s time you called me Zayed.”

Her voice hardened. “Sheikh Fehr—”

“We are virtually betrothed.”

Rou’s head swam. She sat down abruptly on the stone steps. “No. No, we’re not. Absolutely not. Under no condition, in any situation.”

“But I’m afraid Jesslyn and the children already believe it to be the case.”

She pointed down the hall. “Then go clear up the misunderstanding. I am here to help you find a wife, and that’s the only reason I am here.”

“I’ll still fund your research center. The money would still be yours.”

She, who never swooned, nearly fainted now. Was he serious? And had he really just mentioned money? That he’d give her money to marry him?

Rou grabbed the edge of the step with both hands and held on for dear life. Her stomach was doing crazy somersaults. In fact the room was spinning wildly. “We. Are. Not. Marrying.”

He just regarded her with lazy calm. “You know you’re the perfect solution. You’re exactly what I want. You know my situation. You know I need an arranged marriage and am not planning on a love match. You’re highly qualified as candidates go, you’re smart and interesting and our children would be very bright—”

“Good God! Children?”

“We could wait a year before trying to get you pregnant to see if Sharif is found, because if he returned, I’d of course free you from your obligations….”

“You’re serious.” Her voice fell to a whisper, and she once again was staggering to her feet, rushing for the privacy and sanctity of her bedroom and bath.

“There’s no reason to panic,” he called after her. “We’ll have the courtship. We’ll just begin after the ceremony.”

Rou turned in the doorway to her bedroom to look at him. He was still sitting where she’d left him, cool and calm and as confident as could be.

The worst thing was, she couldn’t even pretend he was insane. She knew the signs of insanity. He didn’t display those. But he was totally, completely out of touch.

She wasn’t the marrying kind. She’d never be the marrying kind. Thanks to her parents, she was committed to a life of celibacy. “If you won’t talk to Queen Fehr, I will,” she said fiercely. “Far better to clear the misunderstanding now than ruin all our lives.” She entered the bedroom and quietly but firmly shut the door.