Monarch of the Sands

‘In what way mistaken?’ she flashed back.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. But was there any point in pretending, after what had happened last night? One stupid little kiss which had dominated his thoughts ever since, no matter how hard he tried to push it aside. One kiss which had made him wonder whether there was any point in holding back any more. One kiss which had kept him hard and aching all night long and which was making him hard right now …‘Thinking that I could resist you. That resisting you would be a useful test in self-control.’

‘But you did resist me,’ she pointed out. ‘So you’ve passed your stupid test.’

He gave a short laugh. ‘I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you.’

‘Neither can I.’ But even as she said it Frankie realised that it wasn’t quite true. Because despite the fundamental disagreements which lay at the heart of their heated discussion, she was aware of an intimacy which existed between her and Zahid, which had never been there with Simon. Was that because she’d known the sheikh for so many years that she felt she could be herself with him, no matter how huge the differences in their circumstances? Because she’d known him as a person before this inconvenient sexual attraction had reared its seductive head?

‘Look over there,’ he said suddenly. ‘We are skirting the outskirts of Calathara, which is our second biggest city—famous for its diamonds and carpets and the sweetest oranges on the planet. And if you look carefully you’ll see the stadium in the distance.’

She was relieved to be able to change the subject and as they approached the stadium it was difficult not to be impressed by the amount of money and work which had clearly been poured into the new building. A gleam of chrome and glass rose up to greet them and Frankie studied the sleek design as she stepped from the car to greet the now-familiar deputation which awaited them.

Walking just behind Zahid, she marvelled at the state-of-the-art racetrack, whose lush grass track curved like an emerald snake—made all the more startling by its stark desert location. She’d once gone to a Boxing Day race meeting in England with her father—but the racecourse had been nothing like this.

Here, no expense had been spared. Not anywhere. Everything was brand-new and the very best that money could buy. There were dining rooms and function rooms—as well as fabulous facilities for the horses and their jockeys. The women’s section was separate and lavish, filled with beautiful containers of showy orchids, and there was a dazzling array of French perfumes and soaps in the washrooms.

In one of the executive dining rooms, they drank strong, sweet coffee from dinky little cups and ate cake which had been flavoured with honey and cardamom. And Frankie thought how animated and proud Zahid seemed as they sipped at their coffee.

‘I want to make this track part of the international circuit,’ he said. ‘And for the Khayarzah Cup to be one of the most treasured trophies of the twenty-first century—on a par with the prizes offered at Ascot and Cheltenham and Melbourne.’ He put down his cup and looked at her. ‘So what do you think of it?

‘I think it’s superb.’

Zahid gave a satisfied smile. ‘It is, isn’t it?’

‘I also think it’s a contradiction.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘I’m sorry?’

Frankie wondered whether she would have been saying all this if he’d come into her room last night and made love to her. Would she have been quite so keen to find fault if that had been the case? But it wasn’t fault, she told herself fiercely. It was a legitimate opinion—and one which he had asked for.

She clasped her hands together. ‘You’re hoping to attract an international clientele?’

‘Of course. It won’t work without one.’

‘Well, I can tell you right now, Zahid, that independent women will not tolerate being forbidden to drive. How are you proposing they get around?’

‘There will be taxis. Chauffeurs.’ He gave a soft laugh. ‘Show me a woman who doesn’t like having a driver—though I doubt you will be able to produce one.’

Impatiently, she shook her head. ‘You’re missing the point. Women may like being chauffeured around but they will see the driving ban as completely unreasonable. They won’t want their liberty being curtailed.’

‘Then let them stay away!’

‘Meaning their powerful husbands might stay away, too—and then where will you be? You won’t have successful horse races if you’re playing to an empty stadium!’

Zahid tensed. Why had he thought that bringing her out here was a good idea? It was supposed to be as a favour to her—to give her a break after the demise of her disastrous relationship. And yes, he had tailor-made a job for her, but for that he expected her unquestioning loyalty. He certainly hadn’t expected to have to endure a tirade of criticism. A nerve flickered at his temple. ‘You are perfectly entitled to your opinion, Francesca. Just don’t expect me to agree with it.’

‘So you only employ people who tell you what you want to hear?’ she suggested softly.

Zahid stilled. Enough was enough! Why, he was according her all kinds of privilege and yet she could not show him even a modicum of common courtesy! He stood up.

‘Let’s go,’ he said abruptly.

She knew he was angry, but she didn’t care; she was angry herself—she just wasn’t sure why. Or maybe she was and she didn’t want to admit it.

She heard him saying something terse in his native tongue to the bodyguards who had followed them and then, having made their farewells to the various dignitaries, the two of them made their way to the car in complete silence.

As the car pulled away Frankie stared out of the window at the startlingly clear line of the distant horizon and deep blue of the desert sky. She saw the sizzle of heat shimmering off the sand and wondered why her heart felt as if it had been plunged into ice-water.