Monarch of the Sands (16 page)

‘Witch!’ With a low growl, he grazed his mouth against her bare shoulder. ‘If I leave it much later, then the servants will be up and if I am seen leaving your rooms …’

His words tailed off, but still he could not quite bring himself to move away from the warm circle of her embrace, or to still the fingers which were stroking between his thighs. How inexplicable was that? Three weeks of sharing her bed every night had proved a curiously potent addiction for a man who was usually averse to constant female companionship. Hadn’t he once said
to his brother that to eat dinner with the same woman two nights running was to define boredom? And hadn’t Tariq given an odd kind of smile and agreed with him?

Frankie bit her lip. ‘And would it be the end of the world if your servants
did
see you?’

‘Of course it would. But, more importantly, it would be the end of your reputation,’ he said fiercely, brushing the silken spill of dark hair away from her cheek. ‘And I don’t want that.’

Frankie swallowed. ‘And what if I told you that I don’t care about my reputation?’

‘Well, you should.’ Her words were the spur he needed and he got out of bed and began to pull on his robes with an economy of movement. ‘Your name is respected in my country and I don’t intend for that to change, Francesca. And if word got out that you were sharing my bed—that is exactly what would happen.’

She nodded as she met the determination which glittered from his black eyes and knew that to object would be pointless. ‘If you say so.’ She yawned as he leaned over the bed and tugged the sheet over her.

‘I do. Now go back to sleep and I’ll see you later.’

And with one last brief and charismatic smile, he was gone, leaving Frankie to drift in and out of sleep before it was time to get up and make her way to the library.

It was an oddly restful place to work. Scented by fragrant roses which stood on her desk and with most of the windows shuttered against the brilliant sunlight outside; she always experienced an immense feeling of peace when she walked into the vast book-lined room each morning.

As happened every day, breakfast had been laid out for her on a table overlooking the palace gardens. Mint
tea, a dish of iced oranges and a selection of the very sweet pastries which the Khayarzah people loved.

She ate a little, then went to the desk and pulled out one of the diaries from an inlaid box which was hundreds of years old—something which had stopped being remarkable, because most things in the palace were ancient and beautiful. What
was
remarkable was how quickly she had settled into such a rarefied existence. Instead of being intimidated by her cloistered desert life, she had quickly settled into the exotic world of Khayarzah as if she had been born to it.

Being surrounded by priceless antiques didn’t faze her—and neither did the presence of the noiseless servants who seemed to haunt the palace rooms and corridors. She’d quickly become used to luxury and comfort and taking long walks in the manicured gardens during the hours of daylight, while Zahid went about his kingly tasks.

And if she spent most of the day alone—she made up for it in the evenings, when Zahid would usually join her for dinner. Afterwards, they would sometimes sit playing cards—just as they’d done all those years ago. Only these days he no longer let her beat him. These days she had to really
try
in order to win. And that wasn’t terribly easy when sexual tension seemed to sizzle in the air around them.

Sometimes, there were nights when Zahid needed to attend some glittering social function and then she would read up on the history of Khayarzah—curled up on an embroidered sofa in one of the less intimidating salons.

‘You don’t mind being left alone?’ he’d asked her
one evening, appearing in the doorway in shimmering robes of muted silver.

Of course she’d minded but, recognising that complaining wasn’t going to get her anywhere, she’d shaken her head. What choice did she have but to put up with it? It simply wouldn’t be done for him to turn up at a formal function with a foreign woman by his side. ‘Not at all. I’m used to my own company.’ And she had seen him nod his dark head with satisfaction, pleased with her reply.

But by night it was a different story. When the moon was high in the star-spangled Khayarzahian sky, he would come to her room and silently ravish her in the warm, scented darkness. Heart hammering like a piston, she would lie awake waiting for him—naked and eager beneath Egyptian cotton sheets as she heard the soft whisper of his clothes sliding to the marble floor. And then he would join her on the bed, his hard, virile body hot and hungry, his kisses full of urgent passion. He would make love to her for most of the night until their bodies were exhausted—slipping away only when the milky light of dawn turned the sky a pale apricot colour.

Leaving Frankie to drift off into a dazed sleep. So that sometimes when she opened her heavy eyes in the morning she would wonder whether perhaps she had dreamt the whole thing.

The diaries helped. Having a legitimate reason to be in the palace gave her a sense of purpose and stopped her thinking about what she would do when the affair was over. Because the thought of leaving Zahid was too painful to contemplate. She couldn’t imagine it—didn’t want to imagine it. Much better to remember what it felt
like when he made love to her, when his clever tongue licked all the way up her thigh and then … then …

Frankie closed her eyes with erotic recall. Memories of his love-making always overwhelmed her, but she was aware of something else happening. Something dangerous, deep inside her heart. Because in tandem with the physical flowering of her body had come a new and unwanted emotion and somewhere along the way she had fallen in love with the hawk-faced king. The caring friendship she’d always felt had grown into something much bigger and infinitely more powerful.

She loved him.

Would he be horrified if he knew how she felt?

Frankie stared down at the diary which lay open on the desk but none of the words registered. Of course he would! He’d be more than horrified. Love wasn’t on the agenda and it never had been. He’d told her that in no uncertain terms. This was all about sex—great sex, it was true—but nothing more than that.

‘I’m not paying you to sit there daydreaming, you know.’

A mocking voice broke into her thoughts as Zahid walked into the library and Frankie looked at him, her heart melting as she stared into the black glitter of his eyes.

‘Sometimes I can’t help daydreaming,’ she defended softly.

‘Abo ut?’

About the way you hold me when your body is deep inside mine. About the way you kiss me when it’s all over. About how much I’d love to stay here, by your side, for ever.
But such words could never be uttered. They were forbidden—just as driving was forbidden
and showing affection towards each other in public. And being found in bed together. So, with an effort, Frankie scrambled together her thoughts and gestured towards the open leather journal in front of her. ‘About your father’s diary—it’s a fascinating document.’

‘In terms of content, you mean—or just generally?’

‘Both. A diary is better than an autobiography, don’t you think? Much more personal.’

Zahid nodded. ‘An intimate glimpse into someone’s life, you mean—as well as their thoughts?’

‘Well, yes.’ She could understand why nobody outside the family had ever seen them before—for they were almost painful in their intimacy. ‘Things I already knew, I now see differently. It makes me realise how difficult it must have been for you all, with the war and everything.’ She hesitated, wondering whether this was a forbidden subject, too. Perhaps it was, since they had never talked about it. ‘And then, when your mother became ill.’

Zahid’s face tightened with a sense of inevitability. But maybe he should have realised that by giving her access to his father’s work, he would be opening up a part of himself which he had always kept locked away. For a man so fiercely self-contained, it was a disturbing thought that she was delving beneath the surface of his life and seeing into the hidden depths. But this was Francesca, he reminded himself—a woman who knew him almost better than anyone. He could say things to her that he wouldn’t for a moment contemplate saying to another.

‘It wasn’t easy—especially as my father found it difficult to juggle everything,’ he admitted. ‘As well as my mother’s illness, he was busy helping my uncle repair
the country after so many years of war. And there was too much going on for him to devote much time to his two lively young sons. It was one of the reasons why Tariq and I spent some of our education in boarding school in England—something which gave us a taste of a very different life. It was far worse for Tariq of course, for he was younger and he … he never really got a chance to know our mother.’

He’d never been quite so forthcoming before and Frankie hesitated, afraid that more questions might make the familiar shutters come down. Yet her need to know overrode her natural caution. ‘It must have been a terrible shock for you, when your uncle died.’

There was silence for a moment. Nobody had ever asked him that. His feelings had never been discussed—for his accession to the throne had been a given. And mightn’t the natural doubts he had experienced at the time have been interpreted as weakness if he had dared express them?

‘It was an utter shock,’ answered Zahid simply. ‘But the worse thing was that
his
son—the rightful heir—was with him at the time. They should never have been allowed to travel together—and normally they wouldn’t have done. But the light over the mountains was fading, there was only one available plane and the decision was made that they should go on the same flight.’ He paused. ‘And in that split second, their destiny was decided.’

Zahid’s face hardened as he remembered the broken pieces of the aeroplane lying in pieces on the ground. His own father had not long died and then he had to cope with these two new deaths in quick succession—followed by a sombre crowning as he was made King.

He had never wanted to be King and yet he could not have admitted that to anyone. And in time, he had grown into the role which he had at first resented. A role which still carried with it strict boundaries, which he must ensure he never forgot.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Frankie.

He looked at her, her words breaking him from his reverie and bringing him back to the present. Reminding him with an unwelcome shock of just how very un-kinglike his current mode of behaviour was. He had taken his oldest friend as his lover and at times he had expressed concern about what he was doing to her reputation. But what of his?

Wouldn’t his people be appalled if they realised that he was cavorting with a western woman within the palace walls? And could he really hold himself up as some kind of national moral guardian, when he was rejecting all the values which the Khayarzahian people held so dear?

His eyes were drawn to her face—to cheeks the colour of the palest rose and eyes which were bluer than the desert sky. He found himself remembering how sweetly her arms opened for him every night, and how eagerly her body welcomed him. All the pleasures of the body he had taught her, she had embraced with enthusiasm. How he would like this affair to continue—to carry on, just as they were.

But he was not being fair—not to her, and not to his people. Unlike his brother Tariq, he was not a gambling man—but he knew enough about odds and probability to realise that if they continued being lovers, then eventually they would be found out. And then what?

His mouth hardened. He needed to talk to her—and
not in bed where the distractions of her delicious body might cause his resolve to waver. Nor here, where the unseen servants might read their body language even if they could not understand their words. Somewhere away from the palace—a place which she had previously talked about—he needed to say to Francesca the words she deserved to hear.

He glanced at her from between narrowed eyes. ‘Today, my diary is almost empty and I had been intending to catch up on some paperwork. But instead, I shall order the kitchens to make us up a picnic and we will go out somewhere for lunch. Somewhere quiet. Would you like that, Francesca?’

Startled by the unexpected and unfamiliar invitation, Frankie felt the leap of excitement. ‘I’d absolutely love it.’

‘Good. Then it shall be done. We shall be alone.’

‘You mean … your bodyguards won’t be there?’ she ventured, in surprise.

‘They will keep their distance,’ he said softly. ‘Now let me go and organise it.’

They set off just before midday and Zahid drove the big Jeep through the stark terrain. But Frankie was too excited to concentrate on the journey—even when he said that they were heading for the foothills of the eastern mountains. Her father had once told her that it was one of the most beautiful places on earth—and that you could know true peace in a place like that. Yet peaceful was the last thing she felt as she glanced at the sheikh’s hard, hawklike profile and the faint shading of new growth at his jaw.

She was aware of an undeniable feeling of excitement building and building inside her—and she couldn’t
quite work out why. Was it because this was the first time they had done anything remotely normal—like a
real
couple? And did such an action mark a new openness in Zahid’s behaviour towards her?

‘See up there is the mighty
Nouf
mountain,’ Zahid said softly as they drove towards the massive peak which dominated the landscape. ‘Where the mountain’s shadow and the rare waters which trickle from the top make fertile the land beneath. Where the peaks look purple in the sunset and where falcons soar in the thermal winds.’

‘Oh, but it’s beautiful,’ she breathed.

Her genuine awe made his heart ache as he realised that what he was about to do was not going to be easy. Zahid stopped the car and turned to her. ‘Come, we will take our food and our drink and sit in the shade of the rocks awhile—for you must be thirsty.’

Her throat
was
dry, but the sweet, iced melon juice he poured into one of the silver cups which they unpacked from the picnic basket quickly refreshed her. Zahid drank deeply and then put his own cup down, removed hers from her suddenly nerveless fingers and took both her hands in his own.