Monarch of the Sands

Beside her, Zahid simmered with unspoken rage as he drove and she was aware that she was witnessing a

very royal sulk. Well, let him sulk! And did he really have to drive that fast?

‘You’re driving very fast, Zahid.’

‘And?’

She bit back a smile at his unashamed arrogance—and yet that made her even angrier. She didn’t want to smile. She wanted to … Her fingertips strayed to her mouth.

‘Don’t bite your nails, Francesca.’

‘Why, are women forbidden to do that, as well?’

He swallowed. She really was outrageous. Feisty and fearless and not afraid to say what was on her mind. Shifting a little, he tried in vain to dispel some of the dull ache he felt deep in his groin. He was aware of her own body language, which was making her sit so rigidly in the passenger seat, even if he hadn’t been able to detect the steadily escalating sexual tension in the air around them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her cross one slim and silk-clad leg over the other and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t prevent himself from imagining her naked. What would her nipples be like? he wondered distractedly. Like tiny, puckered rose-buds crowning a soft and creamy breast? Or large pale pink discs which he could slowly encircle with his tongue?

His erotic imaginings proved too much and suddenly the barriers he had erected between them came tumbling down. His fingers gripped the steering wheel as his mind and his body went to war. Who was he trying to protect by not making love to her—when she was clearly a feisty woman who had made it plain that she despised inequality?

She didn’t want protection. She wanted him.

And he wanted her.

He glanced in the driving mirror to see the tail-car behind them and as he pressed down hard on the accelerator he saw it begin to retreat until it was nothing more than a tiny black dot in the distance.

He drove with a new sense of purpose, the powerful vehicle eating up the undemanding miles of the desert road, until at last he turned left, down a big2 track lined with tall cacti, and Frankie was certain that she could see the distant gleam of water in the distance.

Her forehead creased in a frown and she felt the sudden prickling of her skin. ‘Where … where are we going, Zahid?’

He recognised that it was a loaded question—and he was careful not to be evasive as he slowed the car down. She should have the opportunity to reject him, even if he knew, deep down, that she wasn’t going to.

‘I have my own, private house nearby. It’s where I go to escape sometimes.’ He paused, meaningfully. ‘I thought you might like to see it.’

Something in the silky darkness of his tone washed over her senses and Frankie’s heart began to hammer as she recognised the unmistakable desire which underpinned his question. This wasn’t a guided tour of one of his properties he was offering—his intention was made perfectly clear by the hot sparking of his black eyes.

For a moment she felt intensely vulnerable—but the feeling quickly melted away as she recognised that this opportunity might never come again. That this was the culmination of all her dreams. She bit her lip. She had wanted Zahid for as long as she could remember—and years of wistful fantasy now stood a chance of coming true.

‘I’d love to see it,’ she said steadily.

CHAPTER TEN

THERE was no finesse. No honeyed words which preceded a leisurely and sophisticated seduction. There was barely even time to take in the surprisingly modern building—for no sooner had the door of Zahid’s private house closed behind them than he pulled Frankie into his arms. For a moment, his hands framed her face as he looked down into the wide-spaced blue eyes and the high colour which was splashed over her cheekbones.

‘Francesca,’ he grated. ‘God help me for doing this.’

‘Then God help me, too,’ she whispered.

And then they were in each other’s arms and kissing as if it had just been invented. Only for Frankie, maybe it just had—because no kiss could ever have prepared her for this. Her arms wrapped themselves tightly around his neck and she clung to him like some kind of rampant vine while their mouths locked and their tongues played intimate little dances. With a groan, he pulled her closer into his body. She could feel the hot throb of his need pressing urgently against her and, although she should have found it daunting, it did nothing but make her wriggle her body impatiently against his.

With an effort, he tore himself away from her and saw the dark bewilderment in her eyes.

‘What is it?’ she whispered.

He shook his head. ‘Not here. Come with me. I want to do this properly.’

Properly. It was a word steeped in both sensuality and formality and Frankie gave a shiver of anticipation as he took her hand in his and led her into a room off the main area which was dominated by an enormous bed. She was dimly aware of an extraordinary light from outside—which was quickly muted when Zahid pressed a button recessed into one of the walls and blinds floated down to blot out the day.

‘Now …’ Lifting his hands, he tangled his fingers in the satin spill of her dark hair and could feel the soft butt of her breasts as he pulled her close to kiss her again. And it was torture. The sweetest and most exquisite torture he could imagine. If it had been anyone else, he would have taken her swiftly and left the slow love-making until afterwards, when his urgent hunger had been satisfied. But he did not want to take her like that. Not Francesca. He wanted to do it slow and he wanted her naked. To see every glorious inch of her.