Defying her Desert Duty (6 page)

‘I’m rather fond of shopping, actually. Paris is a real treat for that—everything from haute couture to street markets.’

Soraya looked down at her shoes, but instead of remembering her thrill at getting such a bargain it was a different thrill entirely that rippled through her. Had she imagined the heat in Zahir’s stare? He’d made her feel
sexy
with that casual reference to her footwear.

Her skin tingled and her blood throbbed with that weird, unfamiliar blast of heat. Unfamiliar till three days ago, that was. Till Zahir had singled her out in that bar.

She lifted her head.

‘That night in the bar. Why did you stare at me like that?’

Zahir read the curiosity in her gaze and knew he’d seriously underestimated her. She had a sharp intellect as well as a strong streak of independence—characteristics he admired.

Yet he hadn’t wanted to like her since the moment he’d seen her with another man. Had he let that blind him to other aspects of her character? Had he rushed to judgement?

‘I was assessing the situation. You wouldn’t have liked me interrupting your night out.’

Her head tilted to one side. Her brow wrinkled and her mouth pouted in a moue of concentration.

Zahir’s breathing shallowed as he stared at those lush lips. He dragged his gaze to her dark eyes.

‘No, that’s not right.’ She shook her head. ‘You had no compunction about interrupting my night out. Once you decided to make your move, that was it.’

If he’d decided to ‘make his move’, that night would have ended very differently.

The thought exploded out of nowhere as he imagined doing what he’d been tempted to do on the dance floor—not release her, as she’d demanded, but sling her over his shoulder and carry her somewhere private where he could ravage her sultry mouth and possess her seductive body with the thorough attention they deserved.

A flash of incendiary heat roared through Zahir’s veins, tightening his body to instant, painful readiness. His hand clenched so hard on the tiny coffee cup, he feared he’d break
the handle. With stiff fingers he released it and slid his hand from the table.

With one casual remark she’d accelerated his pulse from zero to the speed of sound in an instant. It was unprecedented. It was
dangerous
.

‘Zahir?’ Dark eyes searched his. This time the throb of electricity between them was more than sexual. It struck right at his core, as if she could do the impossible and delve into his psyche. ‘Why did you watch me like that?’

She was persistent. And naïve, he realised with shock, if she really had to ask. If she had any sense, she’d leave such questions safely unspoken. Was she more naïve than he’d assumed? The notion disturbed him.

Or was this a double bluff from a woman who knew her sexual power and was trying to toy with him?

Resentment surfaced. He was no woman’s pawn.

‘I assumed you wouldn’t want me approaching the table and discussing your business in front of everyone.’

He saw from her frown she wasn’t satisfied with his answer.

‘But you sat there for
ages
.’

Silently he held her gaze. He had no intention of pandering to her ego by explaining a response that shouldn’t be: his instant, logic-destroying attraction to Hussein’s chosen bride.

Damn it. Why couldn’t Hussein have sent someone else—a whole team of someone elses—to bring his fiancée home?

His heart plunged. The answer was easy. Because Zahir was the one Hussein trusted above all.

Shame drenched him.

Abruptly he shoved his chair back across the gravel and shot to his feet.

‘Did you want to see the grounds?’

‘You don’t need to stay. I’ll meet you back at the hotel.’ From the corner of his eye he saw her spring to her feet. Eager for more sightseeing? Or for another chance to escape his vigilance?

For the first time in years Zahir felt unsure. Usually instinct
combined with thorough research gave him all the certainty he needed. With Soraya he’d skipped the research, believing this a quick, simple task. As for instinct … He firmed his lips against a bitter laugh. He no longer trusted his instincts where she was concerned.

‘I have no other pressing business.’ He slipped some cash under his cup and gestured for her to lead the way, ignoring the flash of dismay in her dark eyes. ‘I’m curious to see what the place has to offer.’ Especially if it meant getting to know the real Soraya Karim.

S
ORAYA
told herself she was disappointed he didn’t give her the choice to explore alone. Yet disappointment didn’t explain the curling awareness in the pit of her stomach, nor the tingle of heat between her shoulder blades where his gaze rested as she led the way down the path beside the wide sweep of lawn.

They stopped at a model of a spiral blade for a flying machine, big enough for a person to stand beneath and turn the handle to make it rotate.

‘It’s more elegant than the modern design.’ She tried hard to focus on the model rather than the man beside her. Her nostrils twitched appreciatively at the scent of his warm skin with a hint of desert spice. She’d carried that scent on her own skin after wearing his jacket. It disturbed her how much she relished it.

‘Personally
I
don’t care how it looks,’ he drawled. ‘So long as it keeps me in the air. I’d rather a modern chopper that works than one that looks elegant.’

Soraya huffed with amusement and looked up at the sail turning above her head. She didn’t want to relax with Zahir, for there was an undercurrent between them that unsettled her. These tiny hints of dry humour appealed to her too much. It was far easier not to like him.

‘That’s my line. I’m supposed to be the one focused on functionality.’

She smiled as a big family group arrived with children eager
to experiment, then she led the way downhill to where more models of inventions studded the wooded grounds.

‘Because you’re a scientist?’

‘Engineer. I qualified before I left Bakhara.’ She flashed a look over her shoulder but no hint of surprise marred those indecently attractive features.

Swiftly she looked away, stopping before a model of a paddle-wheel boat and pretending to survey it closely.

The other group caught up with them again and children of all ages swarmed over the model, while some tiny tots crouched by the stream, playing a complicated game with sticks and leaves.

‘That explains why you asked for directions to a power plant.’ Zahir’s words drew her attention.

‘Sorry?’

‘The concierge showed me the places you were interested in seeing.’

‘Oh.’ She’d forgotten to ask how he’d found her. Zahir must have searched for hours, yet instead of being angry he’d shown only curiosity. Every time she thought she had him pegged, he surprised her again.

‘I visited a chateau instead. Far more
opulent
and appealing than a utilitarian power station.’

His chuckle surprised her, sneaking across her skin like a caress. A traitorous part of her enjoyed sharing a joke with him, wanted to see him smile at her.

Abruptly she turned and moved away down the path. She couldn’t remember ever being so responsive to a man.

Or was it simply that she’d never spent time alone with such an attractive man? Had lack of exposure made her susceptible? She’d had no trouble keeping her head around her colleagues. But from the moment her gaze had locked with Zahir’s she’d felt a zap of high-voltage connection. She couldn’t shake it and that made her nervous.

‘Somehow I suspect that’s not why you changed your mind about visiting it.’

‘It’s not a state-of-the-art facility so I didn’t bother.’ Especially as nuclear power wasn’t her field.

Not that she’d
have
a field once she became wife to the Emir.

‘Is what you were doing in Paris? Engineering?’

‘Yes. I was lucky enough to land work as assistant in a research project. Mainly I was just calculating data.’

‘You must be good to be taken on.’

His simple statement warmed her. In the Women’s University in Bakhara there’d been few interested in engineering. Most people viewed her choice as a misguided attempt to prove herself in a male domain. Or proof that she was unfeminine. Many in Bakhara clung to tradition.

‘My professor recommended me. She thought even if I was in Paris for the cultural experience it would be a crime not to take advantage of the opportunity.’

‘She was right. Opportunities are there to be grabbed. Did you enjoy the work?’

‘Loved it! The team was excellent and I learned so much. I—’ She looked down at her hands, clenched too tight before her.

‘You …?’

She shook her head. What was the point of saying she’d planned to take part in the project’s next phase—that the team leader had asked her to take on more responsibility? That she’d begun to see a future for herself that had nothing to do with a royal marriage and everything to do with her own interests and professional skills?

Ruthlessly she cut off the regrets that churned under the surface. No point going there.

‘Look at this.’ She quickened her pace to circle a large wooden shell. ‘An early model for a war tank. Who’d have thought it?’

Zahir watched her duck her head and step up into the structure. A flash of shapely legs drew his eye but he managed not to stare. Her dress was light and summery rather than revealing,
but the way she filled it in all the right places would be pure distraction to any red-blooded man.

Soraya was a captivating mix. She made a show of keeping him at arm’s length but regularly forgot and relaxed into unguarded moments. She was intelligent and sexy, a woman he enjoyed crossing swords with.

Until he remembered pleasure was an emotion he shouldn’t feel around Hussein’s fiancée.

Yet that didn’t prevent him wondering what she’d been going to say. She didn’t hide her emotions as well as she imagined and he had no doubt she’d changed the subject rather than pursue a line of thought that bothered her. Something about the team she worked with in Paris.

‘Your friends at the club the other night—are they engineers too?’

‘Sorry?’ She looked up, her eyes wide as if surprised at the change of subject.

‘The guy you danced with. Does he work on the same project?’

Was it imagination or did her lips tighten?

‘No. They’re from the university but not in my field.’

Zahir waited for her to elaborate but she said nothing.

‘So you don’t have a passion for engineering in common?’

‘Who? Me and Raoul? Hardly.’ She stepped down, pretending not to notice the arm he extended to steady her.

‘What do you have in common? You seemed
very
close.’

Her head jerked up and her eyes clashed with his. Sparks of sensation flared and burst across his skin like a brush fire igniting from a summer-lightning strike. It disturbed him that he’d never known such a reaction to a woman. Even in the throes of first and only love, it had taken more than a look to set his blood simmering.

‘That’s none of your business.’ Soraya’s breathing shallowed. Zahir became tantalisingly aware of her breasts’ jagged rise and fall as she struggled to remain calm.

‘It is, when I’m taking you home to marry Hussein.’ He let
the words crash out, harsh and honest, as if saying them would break the strange spell she wove around him.

Something had to.

Her eyes rounded and her mouth formed an ‘O’ of shock. Finally she found her voice.

‘Is that what you were doing all that time? Spying on me?’ Her voice rose in outrage.

Zahir said nothing. He’d had no plan that night other than to track her down and tell her about Hussein’s request that she return. It had been the shock of seeing her. The shock of recognition that had rooted him to the spot. As if he
knew
her, not as the subject of his next mission, but as someone intrinsically important to
himself
.

For once he hadn’t known how to proceed. Not when his overwhelming impulse had been to ignore his mission and stake a personal claim on her.

Guilt pooled in his belly. No wonder he’d made a hash of everything that night.

‘I don’t spy,’ Zahir said at last. ‘But I won’t shy from telling Hussein anything I feel he should know.’

‘Like the fact that I had the temerity to
dance
with a man in a public place?’ She shook her head. ‘What century did you crawl out of, Zahir?’

‘If it was only dances, I’m sure Hussein won’t be concerned.’ He paused, telling himself his urgent need to know was pure altruism. A favour to a friend. ‘Is that all there was, Soraya?’

Colour seeped across her cheekbones and her eyes snapped a warning. ‘My personal life is just that. Personal. If the Emir has questions, he can ask me himself.’

Her chin jutted belligerently as she faced him toe-to-toe. He applauded her backbone. Few men in Bakhara or elsewhere would have stood up to him this way.

‘What about your friend’s invitation when you got home?’ The words slipped out before he could reconsider. ‘She asked you to join her and her lover in bed. Does your bridegroom have
a right to know if you make a habit of sharing so
intimately
with your flatmate?’

Her head jerked back, her cheeks leaching of colour as she goggled up at him.

He opened his mouth to speak again—to say what, he didn’t know—when her laughter erupted. It had a ragged, raw quality that spoke of disbelief, amusement and something else that made him wish he’d kept his mouth shut.

‘You heard that?’ She shook her head, wiping her eyes. ‘Then it’s a shame you didn’t hear Lisle mention her twin sister was visiting and they were in her room having a catch-up since her boyfriend had left.’ Her hand dropped and her eyes sizzled defiantly.

‘Don’t presume to judge me by the standards of others. Or are they your standards, Zahir?’ She raised a hand when he’d have spoken. ‘No, don’t tell me. Contrary to your lurid imaginings, I didn’t lead a life of debauchery in Paris, nor did I develop a taste for threesomes.’

It was the truth. He read it in every outraged bone in her stiffly held body. In the shock shadowing her eyes and the distaste twisting her full lips.

More than that, he felt it deep within, a truth he’d deliberately ignored.

Why? Why draw conclusions on such flimsy evidence when he’d spent a lifetime learning balanced judgement?

Because he’d needed a reason not to like her.

Because from the instant he’d clapped eyes on her he’d felt an attraction so strong he’d sought any excuse to pretend it didn’t exist. It had rocked his world, as if the earth’s tectonic plates had shifted beneath his feet.

Because distrusting her gave him a reason not to acknowledge that inexplicable attraction. He’d hidden behind it rather than face the truth.

‘Do you always leap to conclusions about people?’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Never.’

‘Just with me?’ Her sceptical look froze as she read his face.

‘Yes.’ Shame burned him. Soraya was right. He’d taken one look at her and his judgement, his brain, had shut down. ‘I’m sorry, Soraya.’ He held her gaze, restraining himself against the impulse to step forward and comfort her. As if she’d welcome his touch! ‘That was crass of me, as well as wrong. I apologise unreservedly. The accusation was unworthy of you.’

‘So now you pretend to know me? That’s rich.’

‘I don’t know you. That’s why I’m here now, because I want to understand you.’

‘To spy for the Emir.’

‘No!’ What a mess he’d made of this. No one would ever believe him the same man who brokered multinational deals on a regular basis.

‘Then why?’ The anger had gone from her eyes, replaced by a searching curiosity as strong as his own.

Zahir drew in a fortifying breath. He owed her the truth, no matter how vulnerable it made him.

‘For myself. Because I need to.’

Her eyes widened and his heart crashed faster as he read comprehension in her eyes. Soraya stared so hard she didn’t even seem to notice the straggling group of families pass by—adults, a couple of teenagers and younger children.

‘No,’ she said at last. ‘I don’t want you here.’

‘Soraya, I’m truly sorry. I—’

‘It’s not because of what you … assumed about me. I’d just rather be alone.’ Zahir’s stomach knotted as he read awareness in her dark gaze and a flicker of fear.

He should be relieved one of them was behaving wisely.

She turned away. ‘I’ll see you back at the hotel.’

Zahir knew it was the right thing to do. Some things were better hidden and never acknowledged. Yet not following her took far more will-power than it should.

He stood, watching her go, until a curve in the path brought the family group back in view. He saw two empty prams and one of the toddlers holding the hand of an older child.

Frowning, he surveyed the group, checking his recollection from when their paths had crossed before.

His heart kicked up a pace as adrenalin surged. He wasn’t mistaken: the group wasn’t complete. It was the sort of detail he’d been trained to notice. He breathed deep, double-checking.

The toddler in the yellow T-shirt was missing.

Even as the thought formed in his head, Zahir loped onto the track, cutting across Soraya’s path.

‘Zahir, I’d really rather—’

He quickened his pace, away from the families and back in the direction they’d come. The area was lightly forested and open enough to see for some way. Unless the child was down near the tempting little rivulets that meandered through the grounds.

Zahir’s neck prickled as he jogged forward.

‘Zahir?’ She must have followed him.

Then he saw it: a flare of sunshine-yellow in the shadows.
In the glinting water.
His heart seemed to judder to a stop mid-beat even as he broke into a run.

‘Here,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Ambulance!’ He didn’t pause to see if she caught the phone he tossed.

‘Soraya? Are you okay?’

She looked up, tugged from her thoughts by Zahir’s rich baritone. Around them the discreet chatter of the hotel restaurant resurfaced, the sense of being with others, even if in a secluded corner of the great gilded dining salon. The sky glowed with the sun’s last syrupy, pink light as indigo darkness closed in from the forest, cutting off the chateau from the outside world.

It was peaceful and pleasant. So different from the scene branded on her brain. The toddler’s face, that awful waxen colour. The screams of his mother. The dreadful, wrenching terror that had reduced everything to slow motion.