Monarch of the Sands (9 page)

Maybe that wasn’t so surprising. She was with two members of a royal family and they spent a lot of the evening speaking—and arguing—in their native tongue. Consequently, she found herself sipping at the rich red wine without really noticing and before she knew it she was halfway through a second glass. Her cheeks had begun to burn and Zahid was frowning at her across the table—and suddenly she found herself lost in the judgemental razoring of his gaze. Her tongue snaked out to encircle lips which had suddenly become bone-dry and she could have sworn she saw his eyes darken in response.

‘Don’t have anything more to drink, Francesca.’

She hadn’t been intending to—at least, not until he clipped out that peremptory order. ‘Why, are you
rationing
me now?’ she questioned. ‘This is only my second glass.’

Zahid felt irritated. It had been bad enough that his younger brother was stubbornly refusing to listen to reason and take his advice—without Francesca suddenly throwing her inhibitions to the wind. Why the hell had Tariq foisted that wine on her—and why had she let him?

‘You’re clearly not used to it. Come on,’ he said abruptly, rising to his feet. ‘It’s time we were going.’

‘But I haven’t had any pudding!’ she protested.

‘Wasn’t the chocolate you were eating earlier enough to satisfy your sweet cravings?’ questioned Zahid acidly.

‘But I only had one—and I missed lunch!’

Dark eyes looked positively
frozen
now. ‘You can order something from room service when we get back,’ he snapped. ‘And fascinating as this conversation is, I feel we must deprive my brother of any more of it.’

But Tariq was laughing. ‘Oh, please don’t let me stop you—I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sounding quite so
domesticated
, Zahid.’

Frankie’s feisty mood had evaporated by the time she retrieved her cashmere wrap from the cloakroom, and Tariq slid it round her shoulders with automatic courtesy. Why couldn’t Zahid do a gentlemanly thing like that, she wondered wistfully—instead of glaring at her as if she had suddenly become radioactive? She stepped out into the cold night and the drop in temperature was so dramatic that she stumbled a little until Zahid caught her elbow and steadied her.

She could feel his fingers burning through the fine cashmere of her wrap and she saw his mouth grow taut,
before he gently manoeuvred her into the limousine as it slid to a halt beside them.

He turned to his brother, his face tense and his voice low. ‘Just remember what I said. You are now the brother of the sheikh—the heir. You shouldn’t be associated with a woman like that, a woman who is …’

Frankie had been listening intently to their conversation but rather annoyingly he had said the last word in his native language—or rather, he hissed it out like a cornered snake she had once seen at the zoo.

‘Who’s Tariq going out with who you obviously don’t approve of?’ she questioned, after they’d said goodbye and the car was pulling away.

‘Nobody,’ he answered tersely.

‘But I just heard you say—’

‘Well, you shouldn’t have done. You should have blocked the sound out. Don’t you know what they say about eavesdroppers?’

‘If I’m supposed to be working for you, and if you’re supposed to trust me, then don’t I need to know these things?’

‘Not
now
, Francesca! You will know what I wish you to know and when I wish you to know it. But top of the list of my requirements is an assurance that you do
not
persist with a line in questioning when your sheikh has expressly forbidden it. Do you understand?’

He had never spoken to her like that before. Never. Not once had he ever pulled rank—and Frankie shrank back against the seat of the car as she realised that this was the price she must pay for working for him. She was no longer to be indulged and protected by him—but to be treated as he would treat any other member of his staff. And didn’t a stupid and stubborn little part of
her suddenly long for some of the slightly indulgent and caring attitude which he’d always shown to her before? ‘I think you’ve made yourself very clear,’ she said, in a small voice.

He turned towards her, his mood made sombre by his younger brother’s stubbornness—but something in the crestfallen expression on her face wiped the anger clean out of his head and replaced it with something entirely different.

Her lips were trembling and her face was pale. Framed by the soft cashmere of her wrap, the dark green silk of her dress seemed to be straining against the weight of her luscious breasts. And legs. He swallowed down the sudden hot surge of lust. What about her legs? When she crossed them like that, was she aware that the delicate silk moulded against the outline of her thighs and that her shapely ankles would drive any normal, hot-blooded man crazy with desire?

He wanted to kiss her.

He wanted to tear away the silk-satin to see those breasts for himself before tasting their rosy tips. He wanted to slide the dress still further up her legs and make her hot and sweet and wet for him.

He must be out of his mind!

Shifting his position further along the seat, Zahid stared at her with an expression which would have made his sage old advisors back in Khayarzah shiver with apprehension if they’d seen it. But his fury was directed at himself.

What the hell was he playing at?

‘Cover your legs!’ he bit out.

His furious words crashed in and shattered Frankie’s pensive mood and she sat up and returned his angry
stare, her eyes bewildered. Her
legs
? Why, there was hardly any of her legs on show—barely even a flash of ankle! Perhaps she
hadn’t
been sitting in a way which was very ladylike, but even so—there was no need for him to shout. She leaned forward to tug at her skirt but that didn’t seem to please him either.

‘Is this the way you behave when you go out for dinner with a man?’ he demanded. ‘Quaffing wine by the glass and wriggling around in the back of a car with a dress which looks at least one size too small?’

‘No!
No!
I told you—I hardly drink a thing. And the dress is a perfect fit! Don’t be so old-fashioned, Zahid!’

‘But I
am
old-fashioned!’ he thundered, before the hypocrisy of his own words hit him. He wasn’t
usually
old-fashioned when it came to women, was he? Usually, the more outrageous the outfit, the more he enjoyed it. He thought of Katya the other night, turning up in nothing but her glittery panties and a fur coat and his mouth thinned. He hadn’t enjoyed
that
very much, had he?

‘We are almost at the hotel,’ he said in a cold voice. ‘Do you think you can possibly manage to make it upstairs on your own, without stumbling?’

She’d never heard him sound quite so
frosty
before—or so angry—and Frankie puckered her lips together, afraid that she might top off the evening with something unforgivable—like bursting into tears. Had she had made another serious misjudgement, thinking that the answer to her problems had been to grab at this job? Had she really thought that working for Zahid might be some sort of
adventure
?

Well, she had been wrong. Now they seemed to do nothing but rub each other up the wrong way and she would tell him so. She would tell him that she had made
a mistake and that she would be staying in England after all. But not tonight. She wanted tonight to end as soon as possible. She would inform him in the cold, clear light of day that it was probably better if she looked elsewhere for a job. ‘Of course I can,’ she answered flatly.

Their little convoy of cars drew to a halt and they travelled up in the lift together—an awkward little group which consisted of a stony-faced Zahid, a Frankie who was trying very hard not to let her lips wobble and two bodyguards who were built like bulldogs.

And when they reached their floor and Frankie had extracted her key-card, her fumbling fingers somehow prevented her from getting the door open and Zahid plucked it from her with a click of irritation.

For a moment their fingers brushed together and her eyes widened in startled recognition of the sudden warm thrill of that brief, physical contact. Irresistibly, their gazes locked and she saw the sudden darkening of his eyes. For one crazy second she observed the soft parting of his lips and the breath froze in her throat.
Was Zahid attracted to her—as she was to him?
Was he leaning forward as if he was about to
kiss
her?

But then the moment passed and he turned away. Her heart was beating frantically as he swiped the key-card and this time the light went on.

‘Ah, I’m getting the green light again,’ he said sardonically, unable to resist the sensual taunt—but she made no response to it. And he found himself wondering what he would have done if she had taunted him right back …

Frankie set her face into a frozen little smile. Was he laughing at her? Making fun of her? Her heart gave a painful lurch but she kept her face completely
expressionless. ‘Goodnight, Zahid,’ she said quietly. ‘Thank you very much for dinner.’

Her dignified statement filled him with a sudden feeling of guilt and Zahid wasn’t quite sure what had provoked it. Perplexed, he watched as she closed the door behind her and he was left standing outside Francesca’s bedroom with a distinctly rare feeling of frustration.

Z
AHID
slept restlessly for much of the night. He was troubled by the stubbornness of his brother and the life he seemed to be leading. But he was troubled by something else, too—and that something was desire.

He opened his eyes. Nothing new there. Desire was as much a part of his life as eating. He had the healthy appetite of a man in his glorious prime and enjoyed sex as much as he enjoyed hunting, or riding—or seeing his beloved falcon soar up into the azure splendour of the Khayarzah skies.

But he had never made the connection between sex and
emotion
before—mainly because the latter did not figure greatly in his life. Early on, he had recognised that it was useful for a king to be emotionally detached. Maybe it was useful for
all
men to be so.

Emotion was messy—and so was depending on only one person—everyone knew that. Wasn’t he grateful that his position as King meant that he would never be required to walk such a potentially explosive path?

Pushing back the sweat-damp sheets, he got out of bed and walked naked into the bathroom, where he stood beneath a cold shower. The icy jets of water lashed
down onto his tense and overheated body to briefly offer some relief. But not for very long.

His erotic dreams of last night had disturbed him—and they disturbed him still—because this time they were not easily fixed. For once, the dreams had not been of some beauty he’d met at some function, whom he could summon at will and have writhing beneath him before the day was out. Someone with whom he could enjoy a sweet, no strings affair—before kissing them goodbye with a significant piece of jewellery to remember him by.

Because the face which had haunted him all night long had been that of Francesca.

Francesca O’Hara.

He groaned as he lathered soap over his hips, feeling the heavy throb of desire at his groin and praying that the ice-water would quickly dispel these useless fantasies. Because they
were
fantasy. She was
completely forbidden
to him—and he had to force himself to remember why.

He had known her all her life.

Her father had trusted him.

Most important of all, there was no future for her with him—because she was English and he was Khayarzahian. The destinies ordained for each of them were radically different—and she meant too much to him to ever want to hurt her. Because although Francesca O’Hara was an experienced woman of the world with one fiancé already behind her, he respected her too much to offer her nothing but a quick fling.

The thought of Simon robbing Francesca of her precious innocence was enough to kill Zahid’s desire stonedead
and abruptly he turned off the shower, towelled himself dry and dressed.

His breakfast laid up on the table beside him, he’d just hit the ‘send’ button on an email when there was a rap at the door—quickly followed by a soft English voice.

‘Zahid?’

‘Come in.’

He looked up as the door opened slowly and Francesca stood there, her expression more than a little anxious, wearing some sort of muted grey dress which seemed to have leached all the colour from her face.

‘Zahid—’

‘You’d better come in and shut the door behind you,’ he commanded softly.

She did as he asked, drawing in a deep breath. ‘I need to talk to you.’

‘Talk away. But at least let’s do it in some degree of comfort.’ He gestured towards the table which was laid with breakfast, in an alcoved window overlooking the city. ‘Have you had breakfast?’

‘No. I’m not … very hungry.’

‘Francesca.’ He gave a slightly impatient sigh as he rose to his feet and walked over to her, taking her firmly by the elbow and steering her towards the table. But he felt the unmistakable tension in her body when he touched her and the answering clamour of his own senses in response. ‘On a current showing, you aren’t impressing me with your daily diet. All this skipping meals simply will not do. Coffee?’

She wanted to tell him that she was leaving but now he was propelling her into a chair and pouring her a cup of inky-dark coffee and somehow had persuaded
her to take a warm croissant from the linen cradle of the bread basket.

Under his fierce gaze, she tore a buttery strip from the pastry and held it in her fingers. ‘Zahid, about last night—’

‘Yes, I’ve been meaning to speak to you about last night.’

‘You have?’’

‘Mmm.’ He sipped at his coffee and looked at her over the rim of the cup. ‘But I’ll hear what you have to say first.’

She thought that was a little unfair, but she was hardly in a position to say so. And it was hard to put anything into words when he was sitting right opposite her like that—managing to appear both relaxed and yet supremely powerful. With his fine silk shirt unbuttoned at the neck and his black hair still glittering from the shower, Frankie could have sat looking at him all day. But wasn’t that precisely
why
she needed to do the decent thing and hand her notice in, before her stupid desire for him got out of hand?