A Diamond for the Sheikh's Mistress

Not yet.

* * *

The setting sun bathed Jahor in warm golden light. Kat couldn’t believe how overwhelmed she was to be back here again, but she told herself it had nothing to do with learning about Zafir’s sister and brother or her renewed intimacy with Zafir.

She’d once had a very real fantasy of becoming Queen of this land, humbled and awed by Zafir’s belief in her, but that fantasy had been cruelly shattered. She felt it keenly now, though—the sense of loss—even though she knew that it was better this way.

She wouldn’t have known the first thing about being Queen. She would have let Zafir down. And she went cold now, thinking of how much worse it would have been if her past had come out after she had become Queen.

Zafir was sitting beside her in the back of a chauffeur-driven car, speaking on his phone in a low, deep voice as they wound their way through the ancient streets and up to the palace on the hill, overlooking the ancient city.

She was glad his attention wasn’t focused on her for this moment. During the flight from Paris she’d found his gaze resting on her every time she’d looked at him, and by the time they’d disembarked her senses had been jangling with awareness.

She just had to resist him. That was all.

She could see people through the tinted windows of the car, bowing reverently as they passed by. And then a gaggle of gap-toothed boys chased the car, waving manically even though she knew they couldn’t see her or Zafir. She felt an impulse to open her window and reach out to touch their hands, and it shocked her.

It was another reminder of how she’d never have had the decorum to be Queen. So why didn’t that thought comfort her? Why did it leave her feeling hollow?

They were sweeping through the palace gates now, and into the majestic forecourt. Nerves fluttered in Kat’s belly as Zafir ended his phone c

all and said enigmatically, ‘You might find some things a little changed since last time.’

When she got out of the car she could see several aides waiting, and Rahul, looking as efficient as ever. Staff greeted them, dressed in long, light-coloured tunics and close-fitting trousers. They were smiling as they took her luggage and Zafir’s.

The last time she’d been there the staff had been dressed in black, and they’d had a dour air. There’d also been an oppressive atmosphere, but now there was an air of infectious joyousness.

A smiling young woman came forward to greet Kat, saying in perfect English, ‘I’m Jasmine. I’ll be your maid while you’re here, Miss Winters. If you’d like to follow me?’

Kat looked over to where Zafir was still watching her, and he said, ‘Go—settle in and rest. I’ll come and find you.’

Then he was striding away, his aides and Rahul hurrying in his wake. And, in spite of Kat’s intentions to put some distance between herself and Zafir, all she felt right then was bereft. But, she told herself sternly, that this was a good thing if it reminded her of how out of place she’d felt here before. It would help her to resist Zafir.

She was led over to a nearby golf buggy and the younger woman indicated for Kat to get in. Kat did so, and soaked up the glorious lingering heat and the beautifully cultivated gardens as Jasmine carefully drove them round to where Kat’s suite was located, at the other side of the palace.

On her first visit, Kat remembered walking miles and miles through vast corridors behind a silent woman as she’d been led to her quarters, feeling as though she was being punished for something she hadn’t done.

Her rooms were different this time—which she was grateful for. She had enough memories bombarding her brain without adding more to the mix. Memories of long hot nights when Zafir had crept into her bed and woken her up with his mouth on her...

‘You’ll see here, Miss Winters, that your wardrobe is fully stocked with clothes from our finest designers.’

Kat’s cheeks burned as she diverted her mind away from X-rated memories, and her mouth fell open as she took in the acres of sumptuous fabrics hanging in the massive wardrobe. She put out a hand, touching an emerald-green gown reverently, and breathed, ‘This is too much.’

But Jasmine was already opening drawers nearby, showing her a vast collection of brand-new lingerie and more casual wear. Everything and anything Kat could possibly need.

Except Zafir’s trust and love.

She cursed herself for even thinking it. She might have had his trust, before she’d broken it, but she’d never had his love.

She thought of what he’d said before they’d left Paris, and wondered with a pang if any woman would be able to entice him out from behind the rigid wall he maintained around his heart.

Jasmine left Kat alone after she’d given her an exhaustive tour of the vast suite and shown her where a tray had been laid out with mouth-watering refreshments and a jug of iced water infused with lemons and limes.

After eating a little, Kat explored the bathroom, and was alternately shocked and moved to find that someone—Zafir—had obviously given instructions to have the shower made more accessible for her, with a chair and rails.

After a refreshing shower, she put her prosthesis back on and slipped into a long kaftan she’d found among the clothes hanging in the wardrobe. It was dark gold, and it glided over her body like a cool breeze. She lifted her hair up and off her neck, twisting it into a knot on her head, and went outside the French doors to explore the grounds.

The sun was setting in a blazing ball of orange on the horizon and Kat watched it for a long moment, a sense of peace she hadn’t experienced in a long time stealing over her. She took a deep breath, revelling in the heat and the rich, exotic scents around her.