Monarch of the Sands (13 page)

‘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.

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.

T
HERE
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.

‘Let’s rid ourselves of these damned clothes, shall we?’

Frankie’s heart was racing as he brushed his lips negligently over hers. Half of her was afraid to let him go—terrified that he might change his mind and decide that his wretched self-control was more important than this. But the old familiar nerves which she had been dreading had so far failed to make an appearance. ‘Oh, Zahid,’ she whispered. ‘Yes, please.’

With one movement and the swift gleam of a smile,
he tore off his headdress—to reveal the familiar raven-blue gleam of his hair. ‘Lift up your arms,’ he said unsteadily.

Where were all those paralysing insecurities now? she wondered. Banished by the urgency of her desire for him, that was where. She did as he commanded, so that he was able to skim off her tunic, and then the silken trousers were removed in one fluid movement. She realised that her mediocre bra and panties were on show and that maybe this was the point where she should have felt self-conscious. Yet the hot look of approbation which glittered from his eyes made her thrill with a potent kind of pride and suddenly she forgot the fact that she was wearing chain-store underwear.

Impatiently, he pulled off his own clothing and suddenly Frankie felt a wave of shyness as she realised that he was completely naked beneath it. The robes fell to the ground in a whisper and her cheeks flamed as she saw the hard, lean body and the proud evidence of his arousal.

‘You like what you see?’ he murmured.

Too dazed to speak, she nodded her head, even though she was certainly no expert. But she liked what she saw in Zahid’s body—all burnished skin covering honed and powerful muscle. More importantly, she liked the man inside it—in spite of his outrageously outdated attitudes and cavalier air.

Her skin and her body felt as if they were on fire as, impatiently, he pushed aside a cashmere throw and drew her down onto the smooth, satin surface of the bed.

‘Zahid …’ She closed her eyes as he peeled off her bra and panties and brought her close to his naked body.

‘Mmm?’

‘It’s …’ His fingers were tiptoeing over her breasts—teasing the achingly aroused and puckered nipples and then letting his palms spread deliciously over them, covering them like a warm blanket.

‘What is it,
anisah bahiya
?’ he murmured. ‘Is it like a little piece of heaven that we have found here on earth?’

‘Yes,
yes
—that’s exactly it! Oh! Oh!’ Now his lips were on her breasts and his fingers were snaking their way down over her belly as the feeling of warmth grew into one of molten heat.

She should have felt shy when he touched her where she most longed to be touched, but how could she be shy about entering the little piece of heaven he had so rightly described? And should she be touching
him
?

What would a man like Zahid expect from his lover?

Tentatively, her fingertips reached down to brush against his manhood. It felt like silk and steel, she thought, before her hand was swiftly removed from his flesh as if she had been caught pick-pocketing.

‘No,
anisah
,’ he murmured regretfully as he kissed each finger in turn. ‘Not this time—for you have made me so aroused that I do not trust myself. I am like a novice in your arms and if you touch me again like that, it will all be over.’ It was, he realised with a sudden start, the most intimate thing he had ever said to a woman. But his thoughts reminded him of one vital omission and he reached into the cabinet beside the bed to extract a condom, stroking it on with a strange and unmistakable reluctance. And there was a conversation he still needed to have with her …

He moved over her, his arousal pressing provocatively between her thighs, but he forced himself to say
what he knew he owed her, even if it meant that the mood might be destroyed and the moment lost for ever.

‘Francesca …’

Her eyes fluttered open in question; she was terrified that he might be about to change his mind. ‘What?’

‘It is not the right time to say this—and yet if I wait, it will be too late.’

‘S-say what?’

‘You … you do not expect this to lead to something permanent?’ he questioned unevenly. ‘Because it can never be. You do realise that?’

Frankie stared up into the shifting shadows of his face, momentarily cursing his sense of timing. The heartbreaking words left her in no doubt of his feelings for her, but that didn’t change a thing. ‘Of course I don’t. I just want …’ What did she want? To feel as other women felt? To experience pleasure with a man she had always adored? Should she tell him the secret she had kept buttoned up inside her? She looked up at the bowed outline of his lips—so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face.

And if she told him, then what? Would he stop? Yes, she realised, with an instinct she instantly trusted. He
would
stop. Even if it took a supreme effort of will which would defeat most men—Zahid would somehow manage it.

‘What do you want, Francesca?’ he murmured.

No. She would not tell him. At least, not yet. ‘I want …
you
.’

‘Then you shall have me.’ His lips grazed hers as he moved over her, his fingers moving between her thighs to part her moist flesh in readiness. Grasping his manhood,
he brushed provocatively against her honeyed heat. ‘You shall have me right …
now
.’

Urgently, he thrust inside her—but the warning bells rang too late. It happened before Zahid properly realised what was happening—before his disbelieving senses could piece together all the facts. The brief barrier. The momentary resistance to his deep thrust before he broke through into a place of such sweet, wet tightness that he groaned aloud. The tiny whimpering sound of pain she made confirmed his worst suspicions but by then it was too late and anger melded with passion and became an unstoppable mix.