Dana Marton – Desert Sheikhs: Monarch of the Sands / To Tame a Sheikh / Sheikh Protector (страница 17)

‘So no.’ Go on, she urged herself fiercely. Say it! Acknowledge the reality of his life instead of your own wishful fantasy version of it. ‘No girlfriends?’ she finished, as carelessly as she could.

He shook his head.‘Certainly not—for I would consider that disrespectful.I indulge my very natural appetites when I am abroad, never here, and always in the utmost privacy. One day, of course, I will marry. And then my bed will be shared by my….wife.’

The question she’d asked and the answer she’d dreaded now caused her pain, but somehow Frankie’s polite smile didn’t slip. ‘You seem to have your future all mapped out.’

‘Of course. It comes with the territory.’ He shrugged. ‘Though in a way, it is easy for me. I do not have the luxury of choice—for it is my destiny. I will take a wife of pure Khayarzahian stock and thus ensure the continuation of the noble bloodline.’

‘But isn’t that a little … old-fashioned?’

He ate another grape, his teeth biting into the flesh, and a little rush of juice sweetened his mouth. ‘More than a little—but I do not take issue with that. I am, as has been acknowledged many times, an old-fashioned man. It is the way things are here and, besides, much of modern life is flawed—you know that as well as I do, Francesca.’

‘So you don’t resent it?’ she questioned, as some vital need to know drove her on. ‘The fact that for you there is no choice—that you must take a bride who is expected of you, rather than choosing one of your own free will?’

His eyes glittered as he leaned back against the mound of brocade cushions. ‘There is no point in railing against the inevitable. And choice can be a poisoned chalice,’ he added softly. ‘It inspires greed and makes people discontented with their lot. Couples seek perfection in relationships, something which is simply not possible—and when that perfection fails to materialise, they go looking for it elsewhere. Look at your divorce rate in the west and ask yourself whether choice is such a good thing.’

It was not the answer that Frankie had secretly been hoping for—for wasn’t it true that deep down she had wanted him to rail against his fate? To shake an angry fist at the empty air and admit that he longed to follow his heart. But he had done the very opposite and had sounded as if he meant every word of it. She bit her lip as she stared down at her hands, which lay clasped in her lap. Because surely she wasn’t stupid enough to consider herself a candidate for his heart?

‘And besides,’ he continued softly, ‘I will make sure that my bride is beautiful, as well as suitable—so it will be no hardship to spend my life with her.’

The truth hurt, she realised—it hurt like crazy.

She raised her head to look at him. His face was illuminated by the light from the lamps and his high cheekbones cast angled shadows upon his burnished skin. And suddenly she wanted the evening to end and to be alone with her aching heart in the privacy of her room. ‘Am I supposed to wait until you retire—or am I allowed to go to bed now?’ she asked.

Silently, Zahid cursed her question, wondering if it was as innocent as it sounded—for he knew a million women who would have asked it with something other than sleep on their minds. ‘You are tired?’ he queried coolly.

‘Very.’ She kept her voice brisk, knowing that this was how it was going to have to be. She was going to have to remain crisp and bright and professional—and bury all those stupid romantic dreams once and for all. ‘It’s been a long day.’

‘Indeed it has.’ Gracefully, he rose to his feet in a shimmer of silk, shaking his head emphatically at one of the servants who immediately stepped forward. He rapped out an order in his native tongue before gesturing to Francesca. ‘Come, I will take you there myself.’

Smoothing down her tunic, Frankie scrambled to her feet. ‘There’s no need for you to do that, Zahid.’

‘There is every need—for you will only lose yourself in the vast corridors of my palace,’ he drawled, without stopping to ask himself why he had not let the servant accompany her.

Their footfall and the soft swish of Zahid’s robes brushing over the marble floor were the only sounds to be heard as they made their way through the long passageways. That and the loud thunder of Frankie’s heart as she followed him.

She forced herself to register landmarks along the way even though the arching pillars and intricate mosaics all looked very similar. And then Zahid came to a halt by her room and turned, his eyes glittering ebony in the dim light.

‘Here we are. Safely delivered to your door.’

‘Thank you very much.’ But she didn’t feel safe as she stared up into the hawklike features and the lash-framed shards of his black eyes. She felt … what? As if danger and excitement were shimmering in the air around them, as tangible as any aura. One step and she could be in his arms, locked in the powerful circle of his embrace. And wasn’t that what she yearned for—the culmination of all those years of wistful longing?

Afterwards, she wondered if she communicated something of her desire to him—for why else did he lift his hand to her cheek and lay it there, like a blessing?

‘Goodnight, Francesca,’ he said softly.

‘Goodnight,’ she whispered back. The warmth of his hand against her skin was beguiling and she turned her head, just by a fraction—but enough for her lips to graze against his palm. It hadn’t been intentional—or at least, she didn’t think it was—but it was enough to make him expel a sudden, shuddering breath of air.

‘Are you trying to test my resolve?’ he demanded unsteadily, but he left his hand exactly where it was and he could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin as she mouthed a single word.

‘No.’

Slowly, his thumb began to trace the trembling outline of her lips. ‘I’m not sure that I believe you.’

‘I’m no … no … liar, Zahid.’

‘No.’ He knew that. But suddenly he wanted her to be. He wanted her to be devious and manipulative so that his conscience would allow him to pull her into his arms and start making love to her. He wanted her to be something—something other than this fresh-faced and blue-eyed girl he’d known for ever, who was making him feel a desire he had no earthly right to feel.

He gave a low laugh as he tilted her face upwards, but his mood was dark as well as anticipatory for deep down he knew this was wrong. And shouldn’t he be the one to stop it—stop it now, before it was too late?

‘Zahid?’

Her tentative question crept into the stillness of the night and hung there.

‘Maybe we should stop torturing ourselves and just give into the inevitable,’ he bit out. ‘Because what’s the point of fighting something neither of us has the heart to fight?’ And without giving her a chance to respond, he pulled her into his arms and drove his mouth down on hers in a kiss which had been much too long in the waiting.

Caught off guard by the heated pressure of his lips, Frankie swayed, but he pulled her even closer, so that she could feel the hardness of his body and the wild beat of his heart through the silk of his robes. She should have been daunted by all that unashamed masculinity—but somehow she wasn’t. How could she be when he was kissing her with a passion which was overwhelming her—swamping her with a rush of pure pleasure? Simon had never made her feel like this.

She felt both weak and strong—any lingering doubts vanquished by the sheer potency of Zahid’s hungry male body as it pressed against hers. It was as if she’d accidentally fallen into a stream and been taken up by a powerful current—then finding that she was too helpless to fight against it. And she didn’t want to fight against it. She wanted this, and more of this. More of him.

‘Z-Zahid.’ With another breathless moan, Frankie reached up—wanting to tangle her fingers in the thick darkness of his hair. But his head was covered and as her fingers met the barrier of his headdress they halted there—unsure of what to do next.

Zahid froze. The soft yielding of her body was intoxicating—but a woman touching his headdress was a rare enough action to make him jerk back and stop kissing her. He only ever made love in western clothes, he realised—and the irony of that didn’t escape him.

For once he would not have the tiresome unzipping of trousers and unbuttoning of shirts—because the loose form of his silken robes would allow him almost instant access to her …

And for once it was not going to happen …

Reaching up, he caught hold of her hand and pulled it away from his head, aware of the pulse which hammered so frantically through the delicate skin at her wrist. What had he been thinking of? Did all the noble pronouncements he’d made about women at dinner count for nothing?

Yet as he stared down at the disappointed trembling of her lips he recognised how easy it would be to take her. One swift and seamless de-robement and he could be deep inside her, driving into her moist warmth and spilling his seed. Was she as easy as this for all men? he wondered, his mouth tightening with fury.

‘This wasn’t supposed to happen!’ he ground out as he took a step away from her.