Bisma looked uncomfortable, and she refused to meet Erin’s gaze as she suddenly became absorbed in her task of folding the mountain of tee shirts that had been delivered for Kazim. ‘I do not know. It was several years ago, and I have only heard gossip from my cousin, who works for the King’s daughter, Princess Fatima.’
Erin nodded. She already knew that Zahir had three older sisters who were all married and had families of their own. But she was intrigued to hear more about Zahir’s near-marriage experience.
Bisma was clearly worried that she had been indiscreet. ‘It is not my place to talk of the Royal Family’s personal affairs,’ she mumbled, and would not be drawn further.
Erin sighed and wandered over to the window. The palace gardens were an exquisite oasis of green lawns and vibrantly colourful plants, but beyond the outer walls the desert stretched as far as the eye could see—a vast, arid landscape that was alien and frightening. The sight of it made her heart sink even further. She had lost all desire for a swim now that she knew she would be relegated to the ‘women’s quarters’. What kind of place was this? she thought dismally. She didn’t belong here in this gilded prison, and nor did Kazim. She was sure Faisal had wanted him to grow up at Ingledean, and despite Zahir’s insistence that he would remain at the palace she was determined to take him home.
‘I have to speak to Zahir,’ she announced tersely. She had already gleaned from Bisma that Zahir’s private quarters were on the opposite side of the palace, but when she marched towards the door, her face set, the nanny glanced up in alarm.
‘You cannot go to the Prince’s quarters alone and uninvited,’ she said anxiously, staring at Erin as though she feared Zahir would have her thrown into the ancient fortress’s dungeons if she dared to disturb him.
But Erin’s mind was made up. ‘Watch me,’ she told Bisma coolly, and, mentally preparing herself for battle, she swept out of the nursery.
It would be easy to disappear without trace in the miles of corridors that wound through the vast palace, she decided some twenty minutes later, when she finally negotiated her way to the east wing.
‘Will I find Prince Zahir here?’ she asked the hapless guard who had followed her from her side of the palace, and who had looked increasingly unhappy when she had steadfastly refused to return to her suite.
He did not reply, but she saw him exchange glances with the two guards standing at the end of the corridor. She was certain she would find Zahir beyond the double doors.
‘I’m here to see the Prince,’ she told them, lifting her chin and glaring at them when they stared straight ahead, their faces impassive. ‘He is expecting me.’ The lie still earned no response, and with an angry toss of her head she stepped forward—only to find her way instantly barred as the guards crossed their swords in front of the doors.
‘It is not permitted for you to enter.’ One of the men finally spoke, and Erin’s brows shot up.
‘Oh, so you can understand me? Well, understand this: I wish to see His Highness, and I intend to see him right now.’
‘You cannot.’
As she put her hand on the door one of the guards caught hold of her arm, his eyes gleaming as he said something in Arabic to his companion that Erin was certain from his tone and the derogatory sneer on his face was not a compliment. A red mist of rage swirled in front of her eyes as she struggled free of his grasp. Her temper had been smouldering like a sleeping volcano since she had arrived in Qubbah, and now it erupted in a cataclysmic explosion.
‘Take your hands off me.’ She spun around, intending to hammer her fist against the door and gain Zahir’s attention, but somehow amidst the confusion she caught the guard squarely on the nose, and he let out a startled howl that echoed along the corridor.
‘What is going on…?’ The doors were suddenly flung open and Zahir appeared, his brows drawn into a thunderous frown as he surveyed Erin surrounded by three angry guards, one of whom was trying to stem the blood pouring from his nose.
‘I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean it—it was an accident,’ Erin gasped, her gaze swinging frantically from the injured guard to Zahir, who was towering over her, the look of stunned disbelief in his eyes turning to one of savage fury. She peered past him into what appeared to be a boardroom, and paled at the sight of six men wearing traditional Arab robes, who had got to their feet and were now staring at her, patently dumbstruck that she’d had the audacity to barge in on the Prince. ‘I need to talk to you,’ she mumbled, her spurt of defiance trickling away and leaving her wishing she could sink into the floor.
‘That much is obvious,’ Zahir said coldly. ‘I was in the middle of discussing important matters of state, but don’t let that worry you. I’m sure that whatever you want to say is far more urgent than the drought which is causing such hardship to the people of Qubbah,’ he added sarcastically.
‘I’ll come back later,’ Erin whispered, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. Zahir looked as though he could cheerfully strangle her, and innate honesty forced her to admit that she couldn’t blame him.
Zahir’s hand shot out and gripped her arm, preventing her hurried retreat. ‘Oh, no,’ he growled, ‘after the disruption you’ve caused, you’re not going anywhere.’
He turned his head and spoke briefly in Arabic to the men grouped around the boardroom table, then barked instructions to the still bleeding guard, presumably ordering him to seek medical attention, before he frogmarched Erin across the corridor and through another set of doors into what she guessed was his private office.
Her heart sank still further when Zahir’s personal assistant, Omran, leapt to his feet, a look of avid interest on his face when he glanced at her and then at his master’s thunderous expression.
‘Your Highness, I had not expected your meeting with the committee to finish so soon.’
‘The meeting isn’t finished—merely postponed,’ Zahir informed him through gritted teeth. He did not look at Omran but continued to glare furiously at Erin. ‘We were interrupted by unforeseen circumstances,’ he added harshly.
His assistant looked as though he was about to explode with curiosity, but protocol prevented him from asking further questions and he murmured, ‘Do you wish me to escort Erin back to her quarters, Your Highness?’
‘No, I wish you to make my apologies to the committee and arrange a date for another meeting. I will deal with Erin,’ Zahir said, in a tone that sent a trickle of ice down Erin’s spine.
She had never seen him so angry, and she knew that the most sensible thing to do would be to apologise for disturbing him. But why should she be the one to apologise? He had brought her here under false pretences, and she had every right to demand that he put her and Kazim on the next flight back to England.
Her new spurt of defiance wavered slightly when Omran reluctantly sidled out of the office and closed the door behind him, leaving her alone with a grim-faced Zahir, who suddenly released his hold on her so that she stumbled and fell onto a silk-covered chaise longue. He prowled around his desk like a caged tiger before coming to a halt directly in front of her.
‘I can’t believe you attacked a palace guard, you crazy wildcat. What the hell was all that about?’ he demanded coldly, his jaw tightening ominously when Erin lifted her chin and met his gaze with a boldness she did not feel.
‘I came to tell you that I’m going home,’ she snapped, ‘and to demand that you hand over Kazim’s passport, because I’m taking him with me.’
Black eyebrows winged upwards, and he stared down his nose at her with such disdainful hauteur that her fingers itched to slap him. He was an arrogant pig—but unfortunately he looked like a golden-skinned demi-god in black tailored trousers and a white silk shirt which was so fine that she could clearly make out the ridges of his powerful abdominal muscles beneath it.
She felt a peculiar squirmy feeling low in her stomach, and her breasts suddenly felt full and heavy as she remembered what had happened after she had angered him when they had first arrived at th
e palace. He had kissed her as a means of punishing her, and his mouth had been hard and dominant as he’d sought to subjugate her. But somehow passion had slowly taken the place of his fury, and he had traced his hands and lips over her body as if he could not resist the temptation of her delicately perfumed skin. He had aroused her to a fever pitch of desire, and the memory of how he had caressed her with his hands and mouth was a permanent fixture in her brain.
Frantically she dragged her mind from her wanton thoughts. Her face felt hot, and his narrow-eyed glance warned her that he was well aware of the effect he had on her.
‘We’ve been through this before,’ he drawled in a bored tone. ‘And I have told you that you are free to leave at any time you wish. But Kazim will remain here in Qubbah. It is his rightful place, homeland of his forefathers and his heritage,’ he added coolly, in a tone that warned he did not expect her to argue further.
‘And he is heir to the throne—a little fact that you forgot to mention at Ingledean, when you persuaded me to bring him here,’ she said icily. ‘I suppose you were too busy making up all that rubbish about your father being on his deathbed—so ill that he could not possibly fly to England to visit his grandson. You lied to me.’ She rounded on him bitterly. ‘You led me to believe that the King might only have a short time left and that he was desperate to see Kazim before he died. But your father is no nearer to death than I am,’ she snapped. ‘For a man of eighty he looks as fit as a flea.’
Burning up with anger because Zahir had manipulated her into doing his bidding, she missed the warning glint in his eyes. ‘You tricked me into bringing Kazim here, but you are not keeping him. It was his father’s wish that he should spend his childhood at Ingledean with me. I know what Faisal wanted,’ she flung at him, pushing her tumbling flame-coloured curls over her shoulder with an impatient flick of her hand.
Zahir’s body clenched in rejection of her last statement and he felt the same, humiliating jealousy that always gripped him whenever he though of Erin with his brother. I know what Faisal wanted. She had been referring to Faisal’s wishes for Kazim’s upbringing after his death, but the words swirled in his head, taunting him. Had she learned what Faisal wanted in bed and enjoyed pleasing him? Or had she cleverly pandered to his desires as part of her plan to persuade him to marry her, knowing that her willingness between the sheets would one day earn her ownership of Ingledean House?
He wanted her gone, he thought darkly—out of the palace, out of Qubbah, and out of his head. He hated the hold she had on his hormones—hated the fact that, despite wanting her more desperately than he had ever wanted a woman in his life, he could not make love to his dead brother’s wife. It was bad enough that he had kissed her when she had angered him yesterday. If he had not been interrupted by Omran’s phone call had he was ashamed to admit that he would not have been able to pull back. He would have taken her with all the finesse of a callow boy, he acknowledged grimly. For reasons that were beyond him Erin had a devastating effect on his self-control, and he despised himself for his weakness.
‘If you allow me to take Kazim back to Ingledean, I promise I will bring him back to Qubbah for regular visits,’ Erin said in a quieter tone. ‘You deliberately deceived me about your father’s state of health, and if you continue to prevent me from taking Kazim I will appeal to the King. I can’t believe he asked you to lie about him. He is an honourable man, and I’m sure he would not stoop to “playing dirty”,’ she added, recalling Zahir’s unashamed confession that he would go to any lengths to get his own way.
Zahir felt his anger ignite at her implication that she believed his father to be honourable but that he, Prince Zahir bin Kahlid al Muntassir, lacked that most valued virtue. ‘I suggest that you keep away from my father—unless you want to suffer the full force of my anger,’ he growled furiously. ‘Despite what you think, the King is no longer physically strong. He hates anyone to know it, and has only allowed me to take on some of the workload of running the kingdom after considerable persuasion. I will not allow him to be troubled by a hot-tempered, violent gold-digger,’ he continued in that same hard voice, ignoring Erin’s outraged gasp. ‘At Ingledean I offered you a considerable sum of money to give up Kazim.’
‘Money that I refused,’ Erin said sharply. ‘I agreed to bring him myself, in good faith, believing that it was only for a short visit.’
‘But Kazim is happy here, and you cannot deny that. If you return to England alone and sign over full custody of him to me I will treble the offer I made to you.’
Nausea surged in Erin’s stomach, and her face twisted as she swallowed the bile in her throat. How could she possibly be so attracted to this man? It was said that the eyes were the mirrors of the soul, and Zahir’s eyes were cold and so pitiless that she shivered.
‘You don’t get it, do you?’ she grated, her throat feeling as if someone had taken a piece of sandpaper to it. ‘I wouldn’t part with Kazim if you offered me the moon and the stars and the whole world. Kazim is my son. You can keep your filthy money—he is not for sale!’ She jumped to her feet, breathing hard at his assessment of her character as a hot-tempered, violent gold-digger. Oh, she was hot-tempered, all right—and as for violent! Acting on impulse, she snatched up the heavy paperweight on his desk and flung it at him. ‘I hate you—do you hear me?’ And she hated herself more, for her humiliating fixation with him.
Her anger intensified when he caught the paperweight with insulting ease and set it carefully back down on the desk. ‘I honestly think you could be insane. You’re certainly unbalanced,’ he hissed, his eyes flashing fire as he closed in on her. ‘As for hating me…’ His laugh grated on her raw nerves and his mouth curved into a cynical smile as he watched her step back until her legs hit the edge of the chaise longue and she realised she had no way of escaping him. ‘Our mutual dislike of each other is not in dispute, Erin—but neither is the sexual hunger that torments us both. I know from the dark shadows beneath your eyes that you didn’t sleep last night, and I know what kept you awake—because I too tossed and turned between the sheets and fantasised about doing this…’
CHAPTER FIVE
ZAHIR’S dark head swooped and his mouth sought hers with unerring precision. His tongue skilfully traced the contours of her lips, but she twisted her head and braced her hands against his chest, despair sweeping through her when her senses reacted to the sensual heat of his body and the subtle musk of his cologne. She could not let him kiss her—not again, no way, never!
‘You’re mistaken,’ she muttered. ‘I don’t feel anything for you—and the only reason I didn’t sleep last night is because I’m desperate to take Kazim and leave here.’
‘Liar,’ Zahir drawled lazily. One hand cupped her chin and forced her head up while the other anchored in her hair to hold her fast. ‘You assure me you want to leave, but your body tells a different story.’ He trailed his eyes down her body to the visible peaks of her nipples straining beneath her blouse and gave a satisfied smile.
She looked so prim and proper in the high-necked blouse and long skirt she’d worn for her meeting with the King, but her demure appearance only inflamed his hunger for her. He knew damn well that her air of innocence was an illusion, and he preferred his lovers to be confident and experienced rather than timid virgins, but when she blushed and stared at him with her huge, faintly stunned grey eyes he felt a primitive need to claim her as his woman and his alone, to make love to her with such fierce passion that she acknowledged him as her master.
‘I know what you want, Erin.’ His voice had thickened and his warm breath fanned her earlobe, sending a shiver of delicious sensation down Erin’s spine. ‘You want me to strip the clothes from your body, spread you beneath me and take you hard and fast, drive us both to the edge of reason and the very heights of sexual ecstasy.’
‘No!’ She valiantly tried to shut her ears to his seductive voice, to shut her mind to the stark images in her head that his whispered words evoked. His fingers tightened on her chi
n, forcing her head round so that he could claim her mouth, and with a strength born of desperation she kicked him hard on the shin. ‘I’d rather go to bed with a rattlesnake than with you.’
He swore savagely and loosened his grip—but only momentarily. ‘You vicious little vixen—it’s time you were tamed,’ he growled, catching her around the waist when she tried to dart past him, and pushing her down onto the chaise longue. He immediately covered her body with his own, his weight pinning her to the cushions, and the feel of his rock-hard erection jabbing into her belly caused liquid fire to pool between her thighs.
‘Let me up, you barbarian.’ She beat her fists on his shoulders until he captured her wrists in one of his big hands and forced her arms above her head so that she could inflict no further damage.
‘If my father knew what a wildcat you are, I’m sure he would not be so eager for me to marry you,’ Zahir muttered grimly.
The shocked silence that followed his astounding statement was shattered by the sound of Erin’s hysterical laughter. ‘Your father wants us to marry? And you say I’m insane? Why on earth would he make such a ridiculous suggestion?’ she demanded, refusing to be cowed when he glared down at her, his eyes glittering with anger.
‘For Kazim’s sake, of course—what other reason could there be?’ Zahir’s jaw hardened when he recalled his lunch-time conversation with his father, during which the King had referred to Erin’s statement that she had no plans to marry again. She’d vowed to devote herself to Kazim, and as Zahir had pledged to be a father to the little boy a marriage of convenience between him and his brother’s beautiful young widow seemed highly sensible—and indeed his duty.
Besides, it was time he settled down, King Kahlid had pressed, when Zahir had muttered something along the lines of ‘over my dead body’. He was thirty-six, and in a few years from now, perhaps less, would be the interim ruler of Qubbah. He needed a wife—and who better for him to marry than the mother of the future heir of the kingdom?
At the Sheikh's Bidding Page 8
