Monarch of the Sands

‘In Khayarzah we have an expression—“if you give me your thought, I will give you an almond”.’

‘In England we say—a penny for your thoughts.

Yours is much more poetic.’

‘And do you like almonds?’

‘I love them.’

‘So?’ His gaze roved over her questioningly.

‘Who’s Katya?’ she asked suddenly.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Katya?’

The question she had buried now came bubbling to the surface. ‘The woman who rang that day in London, in the hotel. The one who was very sniffy with me.’

Zahid frowned. He wanted to tell her that Katya was none of her business, but something in the way s

he was biting her lip made him relent—and he had asked. ‘Just a woman.’

Just? Somehow Frankie kept her expression ambiguous, wondering if she too was just a woman. Would someone one day refuse to let her speak to the sheikh when she telephoned—some smart and confident female who was currently the star in his firmament? She saw the future flash before her eyes and felt her heart sink. ‘I can’t think that any woman would care to hear herself described like that.’

‘Okay, perhaps that wasn’t the most diplomatic way to put it. She’s a Russian model I had an affair with. Satisfied?’

It wasn’t the best word to use in the circumstances and Frankie hated the next stupid and insecure question which seemed to blurt from her lips. ‘And was she … was she very beautiful?’

He smiled at the predictably feminine response. ‘No, she was as ugly as an addax.’ He saw her lips wobble and lowered his voice. ‘She was a model, Francesca—ergo, she was beautiful. But it’s over. The affair is over—it’s been over, ever since I became Sheikh. And anyway, why are you doing this, anisah—and why now? We’re not going to spoil a beautiful affair with petty jealousies, are we?’

She shook her head, trying to ignore the dark claws of envy which were scrabbling at her heart. And hard on the heels of envy came the even more paralysing feeling of fear, even though Zahid had done nothing but speak the truth. This was an affair—nothing more, she knew that because he’d told her that right from the start. If she wanted more from the relationship, then not only would she be disappointed, but she would risk ruining what they already had. Somehow she dredged up a smile and hoped it looked more convincing than it felt. ‘No, of course we’re not.’

‘Good. I am very pleased to hear it.’

So she played her part of being the polite guest rather than the jealous lover—and began asking him about the eastern mountains and the fabled leopards which lived there. And it wasn’t until tiny little cups of thick, sweet coffee had been brought to the table that she slanted him a look.

‘Zahid?’

‘Mmm.’ Steeling himself against another bout of female possessiveness, he arched his dark brows in question.

‘What’s an addax?’ she asked.

‘It’s a desert antelope—famous for its ugliness.’ He smiled with a sudden, comfortable indulgence. Her sense of humour and quickness of mind stimulated him, but not nearly as much as the soft thrust of her breasts. ‘Go to bed, Francesca,’ he commanded, in a soft and urgent tone. ‘And I will join you as soon as the moon has risen.’

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE soft light of dawn crept through the shutters of her bedroom and, lazily, Frankie stirred beneath the rumpled sheet, her legs willingly trapped beneath the weight of the sheikh’s hair-roughened thigh. ‘Don’t go,’ she murmured—a request which seemed to have become a morning ritual.

‘I have to go, anisah bahiya.’ Zahid’s voice was regretful, but resolute. ‘Don’t make this any harder for me than it already is.’

‘But I thought that’s what you liked …’ Her fingers drifted down to tiptoe over the heavy throb of his arousal.

‘Witch!’ With a low growl, he grazed his mouth against her bare shoulder. ‘If I leave it much later, then the servants will be up and if I am seen leaving your rooms …’

His words tailed off, but still he could not quite bring himself to move away from the warm circle of her embrace, or to still the fingers which were stroking between his thighs. How inexplicable was that? Three weeks of sharing her bed every night had proved a curiously potent addiction for a man who was usually averse to constant female companionship. Hadn’t he once said to his brother that to eat dinner with the same woman two nights running was to define boredom? And hadn’t Tariq given an odd kind of smile and agreed with him?

Frankie bit her lip. ‘And would it be the end of the world if your servants did see you?’

‘Of course it would. But, more importantly, it would be the end of your reputation,’ he said fiercely, brushing the silken spill of dark hair away from her cheek. ‘And I don’t want that.’