Monarch of the Sands

He glittered her a cool smile. ‘In that case, it seems to be that your destiny intends you to come to my country and see it for yourself.’

It was what she’d always wanted—but the tug in her heart alerted her to an unfamiliar kind of danger. And something in Zahid’s now shuttered expression made a feeling of apprehension whisper over Frankie’s skin.

CHAPTER EIGHT

HE DIDN’T look so urbane now.

‘What’s the matter, Francesca?’ questioned Zahid softly.

The matter? Frankie stared at him. Did he mean apart from the fact that her heart was racing so fast that she felt dizzy? Or that her knees felt so weak, she was glad she was sitting down? With an effort she quashed the pervasive sense of desire which had hit her the moment he’d emerged from the concealed section situated at the back of his private jet. Because Frankie had never seen Zahid looking like this before.

Just before the Gulfstream jet had landed—descending like a silver bird from the darkening blue of the desert sky—he had disappeared to change. The very act of dressing and undressing on the aircraft had seemed an unbearably intimate act and Frankie was ill prepared for the sight

which greeted her on his return. Because the sleek and sophisticated royal with whom she’d breakfasted in his penthouse suite seemed to be nothing but a distant memory.

Gone was the urbane image of the man he had been in London—the exquisitely cut Italian suit now replaced by robes of flowing white. She’d seen pictures of him in traditional dress before—but nothing on earth could have prepared her for the impact of seeing the real-life version.

The delicate fabric hinted at the hard body beneath and the blanched colour threw his burnished skin into stark relief. Jet-dark hair was covered by a white headdress held in place by a dark and intricately knotted circlet of scarlet.

Frankie couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. Yes, he was a king—but somehow that seemed irrelevant in the light of his blatant masculinity. He looked almost … primitive, she thought as she swallowed down the sudden dryness in her mouth. Elemental. As if he had appeared from some bygone age where men were unashamedly men, and women were …

‘Nervous?’ he questioned drily.

‘Not at all,’ she lied.

‘Then why are you wringing your hands so tightly together? Relax.’

Frankie looked down to see that her knuckles were as white as if she’d been on a roller-coaster ride. Because hadn’t concerns plagued her during the flight from London? Perfectly legitimate concerns which made her question the wisdom of agreeing to accompany Zahid to Khayarzah.

She would be on his territory—and subject to his whim. In close contact with a man she desired. He had assured her that he wasn’t going to seduce an old family friend—and had said it with a steely resolve that she didn’t doubt for one minute. Yet the irony was that his words had left her with a dull and aching feeling of disappointment—even though she knew they made perfect sense.

As the plane came to a halt Frankie unclipped her seat belt. ‘I wonder how my appearance is going to go down?’ she questioned tentatively. ‘Whether your people will approve?’

‘I have given up trying to please everyone,’ Zahid said in a suddenly harsh tone as he remembered his early days on the throne, and how he had not known whom he could trust. The previous sheikh had been very traditional and Zahid found that most of those old advisors were just as resistant to modernising the country as his uncle had been. ‘I must just be true to myself and let myself be judged by my actions.’ He stood up and gestured for her to follow him. ‘But I am not anticipating many problems when it comes to your appearance—for let’s not forget that you have a famous surname.’

‘I’m not famous, Zahid,’ she protested.

‘No. But your father is. His name is taught in our schools as the man who discovered our rich resources. He’s a little bit of a national hero—surely you realised that?’ He saw the pleasure in her eyes, and a brief smile touched the edges of his lips. ‘There will be a delegation waiting to meet me, but you’ll soon get used to that. So do as I told you on the plane. Just keep your eyes averted—and walk a few paces behind me.’

She smoothed down the silk tunic top, with its matching narrow trousers. ‘And my outfit … is it okay?’ she questioned.

Reluctantly, Zahid studied her, allowing his eyes to linger on her youthful form. Cool, practical and decent, her clothes met all the necessary criteria which the country’s strict dress-code required. Yet in spite of that they managed to make her look incredibly sexy—something he hadn’t really been expecting. Was that because it hinted at the firm flesh which lay beneath—or because he knew he could never have her in the way he wanted?

Feeling the unwilling heat of desire begin to build, he turned away. ‘It’s fine,’ he said abruptly as the aircraft steps were lowered. ‘Now let’s go.’

She followed him out into the cooling air of the Khayarzah evening, to see a row of officials waiting to greet their king. And it seemed that their initial looks of wariness were softened when she was introduced to them and the ‘O’Hara’ connection was made. Through the butterfly build-up of nerves, Frankie suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of pride in her father and what he had done for this country.

They journeyed to the palace in a sleek limousine and through the smoked glass of their car window she could see tall palms, their fronds dramatically etched against the perfect blue of the sky. The road was long and straight and smoother than any English road she’d encountered. Behind them she could hear the muffled roar of the outriders—and beside her sat Zahid, his powerful body swathed in white silk, incongruously speaking into a mobile phone in his native tongue.

They skirted the main city of Mangalsutra—with its winding streets and jumble of rooftops—until they reached the gates of the palace itself. The immense white marble building rose up before her, fronted by a long, rectangular space of water fringed by palm trees. Turrets and domes and shadowed arches were contrasted against the darkening sky in which she could already see the faint twinkle of stars. Slowly Frankie expelled the breath she had been holding and Zahid must have heard her because he shot her a glance.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

‘It’s exquisite,’ she answered simply.

And so was she, he thought achingly. Against all the odds—so was she. With those blue eyes widening in wonder and the pert thrust of her breasts filling him with dark and erotic impulses. Would it be so bad if, after a cursory but necessary introduction to key members of his staff, he took her off to his private quarters, stripped the concealing silk garments from her body and laid her bare? If he opened thighs which would inevitably be milky-pale as he thrust hungrily between them?

Angrily, he crossed one leg over another. Had he forgotten where he was? Who he was? More importantly, who she was?