Jane Porter – The Desert Kings: Duty, Desire and the Desert King / The Desert King's Bejewelled Bride / The Desert King (страница 8)
“Very.”
She waited for him to say more but he didn’t. “They died together, didn’t they?” she asked, hoping he’d elaborate.
“Car accident in Greece. They were young, early twenties.” His voice betrayed no emotion, but she saw the small muscle tighten in his jaw and his right hand curled into a fist, fingers clenching air.
“Their deaths were hard for the family?” she persisted.
He shot her a hard look. “How is this relevant?”
“It’s part of you, part of your family….”
“I’m not looking for a love match, Dr. Tornell. I’m looking for a wife. She doesn’t have to understand my every dark secret. She’ll never be my soul mate.”
Rou’s gaze lifted from his fist to his face. His handsome features were utterly expressionless and yet those tightly bunched fingers gave him away. “You don’t want a soul mate?”
“No. I just want a practical relationship. One that works.”
She looked at him levelly. “Not many women will find your idea of marriage palatable.”
“I’m sure there are practical women out there.”
She arched her eyebrows but said nothing more as she scribbled in the margins of his notes that yes, his sisters’ deaths had profoundly impacted him. He feared love because he feared loss.
“Did you ever want to be king?” she asked, wondering what it’d be like to lose three of your four siblings. She’d been an only child, couldn’t imagine having a brother or sister to love, although she’d wanted one desperately. It was what she’d asked Santa Claus to bring her for years until her mother finally told her that Santa wasn’t real. He was just a fat old man in a red cloth suit.
“No. It wasn’t part of my ambition or my life plan.” He hesitated. “But things change, and the situation is what it is now, and I cannot let my brother down. I must be there for him so that when he returns …” He didn’t finish the thought.
“Do you think he will be found alive?”
“Yes.”
Rou felt a wave of sympathy for him. He had to be aware that after ten days Sharif might not be found, or if he was, he might not be alive. “What if he’s not?”
“Sharif isn’t dead.”
She nodded once, realizing that she and Zayed had at least this in common: both refused to believe that Sharif was dead. They wouldn’t, not without firm proof, not without a body.
She shivered inwardly at the thought, and quickly changed the direction of her thoughts. “Would you like to work? Or do you need some time?”
“No, let’s work. I need to work.”
She nodded again and reached for her briefcase, which she’d slid beneath her leather seat. Work had always been her salvation. Work would help both of them now.
The flight attendant arrived and unhooked the table attached to the wall, setting it up between Zayed and Rou’s club chairs, and offered to serve them lunch.
Zayed looked at her. “We have a fully stocked kitchen with a chef on board.”
“Just tea,” she answered. “I don’t think I could eat a bite right now.”
“I feel the same way,” he answered. “One tea, one coffee,” he instructed the flight attendant and she disappeared to prepare their beverages.
Rou had found the paperwork she wanted, and with pen in hand she looked at Zayed. He was tall and powerfully built and blessed with almost godlike beauty, and yet there was pain in his eyes, in the press of his beautiful, sensual mouth, and she drew a deep breath.
She was not immune to him. But then, she’d never been immune to him, which was incredibly foolish as he was handsome and wealthy and oozed sensuality, while she was at best a smart little church mouse.
Rou knew her strengths and her weaknesses, and while she was brainy, she was far from beautiful. Perhaps if she’d been blessed with more curves she might have felt more sexually confident, but she’d inherited her mother’s extreme slimness, which meant she was rather narrow hipped and disappointingly small on top.
No, men like Zayed Fehr never noticed women like her. They wanted sirens—voluptuous beauties with thick glossy hair, full lips and come-hither eyes.
Rou wouldn’t know a come-hither expression if it smacked her in the face.
But on the positive side, it was good that Zayed was oblivious to her as a woman. She couldn’t have handled his attention otherwise. As it was, he wreaked havoc on her emotions and her control, making her jumpy and nervous. Making her heart skitter and race and her hands shake.
They were shaking now and she tried to hide her anxiety by shuffling the paperwork until she found the page she needed. “We’re to the part where I ask you to describe your ideal woman,” she said coolly, gratified by the firm tone of her voice. “Can you give me five adjectives that would describe her?”
He thought for a moment. “Intelligent. Accomplished. Successful.” He thought another moment. “Confident, loyal. And preferably beautiful.” He hesitated. “But that’s six, isn’t it?”
“It’s okay. Six is good, too.” Of course he’d ask for beauty. All men did. And Zayed Fehr was famous for squiring the world’s most beautiful women about town. “So a model, maybe?”
“No. Definitely not a model. Or an actress. Nothing like that.”
Rou lifted her head in surprise. “Really?”
He didn’t seem to register her surprise as he added to his description of his ideal woman. “Most important is intelligence. I admire women who are accomplished. And successful. But she must be kind. A woman that’s compassionate. Maybe a teacher or a nurse.”
Rou checked her frown. A teacher or a nurse? “Like Sharif’s wife? Jesslyn was a teacher, too.”
He nodded. “Khalid’s wife is very kind, too. They’re always thinking of others. I like that, respect that.”
“Right.” She scribbled a few more words onto the form, although she couldn’t help thinking that he was steering her in a very different direction than she might have gone on her own. But this was why they went through the process. “What about sense of humor? Sense of adventure? Introvert? Extrovert? Do you see yourself doing a lot of entertaining? Should she be comfortable as a hostess? Will she need to have public speaking skills? Are you expecting her to be a leader in fashion, or be artistic?”
“It depends on the woman. Oh, and she needs to be strong.”
“Mentally … emotionally. I don’t want a subservient woman. She must be able to hold her own with me, as well as my family. It can be an intimidating family and although Sarq is more modern than many of our neighbors, it is still a Middle Eastern kingdom and quite different from our Western friends and allies.”
Rou’s pen hovered in midair. He was describing a woman she would never have picked for him. She would have thought he’d want a gorgeous bimbo, or a sultry beauty who’d make him look good in public. But beauty was sixth on his wish list. Intelligence was number one. Interesting, but puzzling, which made her realize she knew far less about Zayed than she’d thought.
The flight attendant returned with a tray holding their cups and her pot of tea, along with a plate of light biscuits and fruit and cheese.
Rou found herself reaching for a dark red grape and then a small wedge of cheese and realized she hadn’t eaten since last night. She’d been so nervous this morning she’d only drunk coffee. A little food was good. A little food now would go a long way.
She glanced up and saw Zayed studying her again, his brow furrowed. She reached for the linen serviette and brushed at her mouth. “What’s wrong? Do I have something on my face?”
“No. It’s good to see you eat. You’re so very thin—”
“My mother was thin,” she interrupted, “Unfortunately I inherited her fast metabolism instead of her stunning cheekbones.” Rou smiled at her own joke but Zayed didn’t smile back.
“I suspect you don’t eat enough.”
“Sharif used to say the same thing. But I have this terribly sensitive stomach. When I’m nervous, or anxious, I can’t eat anything. My throat just closes up and tea is about all I can manage.”
His golden gaze had darkened at the mention of Sharif’s name. “You knew my brother well?”
Rou glanced down at her lap where she spread the linen cloth flat. “I think you know I earned the Fehr scholarship at Cambridge. It’s what helped me pay for all my graduate studies.”
“And that’s why you’re so devoted to Sharif?”
She felt herself blush. “No. But Sharif became a friend as well as a mentor during my years at Cambridge. It wasn’t until after I’d earned my advance degrees that I realized he helped me because of his sisters.”
“How did he help?” Zayed persisted.
“He offered advice and wisdom. He listened to my goals. He made introductions when he could.” She looked at Zayed, saw the skepticism in his expression and shrugged. “I know it sounds strange. Your brother is a powerful man, a very wealthy man, but he’s also a compassionate man, and I think in his own way, he needed me as much as I needed him.”
“Sharif needs no one. He’s the rock of the family. Invincible.”
Rou wrinkled her brow. “You think so?”
“From birth he’s been groomed to lead. From the start he’s known what is expected of him and he’s done it, without complaint.”
“But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t felt loss, or pain. Or worry, or doubt.”
“You’re not describing my brother—”