Monarch of the Sands

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 a

nd 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.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ZAHID 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.