‘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.