Monarch of the Sands

And hadn’t she decided that her doomed affair with Simon ought to have some lasting effect other than making her feel like a fool and a failure? That it was time to stop letting things happen to her and to have the courage to reach out to try to grasp them for herself. Wasn’t that the reason why she’d plucked up the courage to come here today—even though her heart had been skittering with nerves from the moment she’d left home?

‘I realised that I’d worked myself into a bit of a deadend,’ she continued slowly. ‘That my life was going nowhere.’

Curiously, Zahid looked at her, remembering the little girl in her father’s laboratory who had been given her own space on the bench, with her own test tubes and an oversized white coat to wear. ‘I thought you wanted to be a scientist, like your father,’ he said slowly.

Frankie shook her head. ‘I was never as talented as he was. But I loved it—that’s why I used to hang around the lab so much when I was young. And when he got ill my school work suffered—not that I’d ever particularly been happy at school.’ She’d been too easy a target for the cruel-tongued girls who loved to mock the odd-looking child whose flighty mother had brought such shame on the family.

‘And then there was the house and the garden to look after,’ she added. Life had caught hold of her like a piece of flotsam and she’d allowed herself to drift around until her father had died and she’d found the job with Simon.

She knew that now she had some experience she might be able to get a job in one of the rival estate agencies—but she didn’t want one. Not any more. She didn’t want to stay in the same small town, but she didn’t want to move just for the sake of it. She didn’t really know what she wanted—just that she wanted something different. Something exciting. Something to make her forget the humiliation of her broken engagement. She looked up into Zahid’s narrowed and watchful black eyes.

‘I can type and I can file,’ she finished. ‘I can deal with people and I can problem solve. And I can cook, of course.’

It was an unusual combination, he mused as he studied her. A woman with a neglected scientific talent who was also a great cook. Though when he stopped to think about it—wasn’t cooking all about chemistry?

And speaking of chemistry … what about the other kind? The kind which was making him notice the pinpointing of her nipples which were thrusting against the navy dress and turning an otherwise commonplace outfit into something which was demanding to be peeled off. He looked into her wide-spaced blue eyes and felt the sizzle of danger in the air.

‘I already have people to cook and to file for me,’ he said evenly.

‘I realise that.’

‘Then what exactly are you asking me for, Fran cesca?’

She bit her lip, some of her nerve deserting her—until she remembered that if she wanted to take control of her own life, then wasn’t this the first step? She had to reach out and ask—not be deterred by the first obstacle which was put in her way. ‘I have no idea, Zahid. You were the one who made the offer that you could find me a job, remember? Although perhaps you didn’t mean it at the time.’

There was a moment’s silence before Zahid walked over to a book which lay open on the walnut writing desk, giving himself time to think. Was she trying to insult him by implying that he had made an empty offer—or was she simply calling his bluff?

He closed the book and looked up, still not saying anything. He could see anxiety vying with bravado on her face. Such a pale face, he thought and in amid his own warring feelings he felt a twist of concern; of the old, familiar protectiveness. Didn’t she deserve a break? A chance to get away from the scurrilous Simon and the bad memories he’d helped create?

But it wasn’t that easy.

He’d recognised that offering Francesca such an opportunity had been a mistake, for many reasons. It was unheard of in his country for a woman to work closely for a member of the ruling family. Perhaps he could have swung it if he’d been remaining in England for a while, but he wasn’t. He was due to go home to Khayarzah within the next few days, and how could he possibly take her with him—a single Englishwoman living within the strict confines of palace life?

But Zahid also recognised that these reservations were all easily overcome and that the main stumbling block was the fact that he had begun to desire her with a hunger which at times had overwhelmed him. And he couldn’t afford to do that.

Since that last meeting, hadn’t he been thinking about her in a way which was most uncharacteristic? He enjoyed women and they enjoyed him—but he didn’t get hung up about them. Not ever. Sometimes not even when he was thrusting into them and watching dispassionately as they orgasmed around him and squealed their joy. One of his own perceived strengths was emotional detachment and it had always served him well.

Yet for days now he’d been remembering Francesca’s firm body and her soft, unpainted lips. The way she made him smile when he least expected it. Those deep blue eyes, which had stared at him from the confusion of his unusually restless and troubled dreams. Even when his sometime Russian lover Katya had arrived the other night—wearing nothing but a fur coat and a pair of tiny, crotchless panties—he had sent her away without making love to her.

Why the hell had he done that?

Wouldn’t the best thing of all be for him to send Francesca away, too?

Because Zahid recognised that something had changed between them—and changed for ever. He no longer saw her as simply Francesca, his innocent childhood friend. He saw her now as a woman—a sexy and experienced woman who had just emerged from a bruising experience. And wasn’t that dangerous?

Wouldn’t she be feeling very natural frustration now that her relationship with Simon had ended? Wasn’t there a danger that close confinement might prove too much of a temptation for them both?

He saw her reach out to touch the petals of a spray of orchids with light, tentative fingers and he was just imagining how delicate her touch might be on his aching skin when the telephone rang.

The sound ruptured his reverie.

‘Answer it,’ he said abruptly.

‘But—’

‘I said, answer it.’

Frankie’s heart was thudding as she walked over towards the bureau and picked up the phone. Should she announce that it was the sheikh’s phone? Probably not. It could so easily be the press. ‘Hello?’