by Penny Jordan
She screwed up her eyes against the brilliant glare of the sun and scanned the palace gardens. But only the peacocks that lived in the grounds were strutting along the paths, and there was no sign of a man or a small boy.
She’d spent the previous night plagued by memories of her shameful response to Zahir, and worrying over his shocking statement that he would never let her take Kazim back to England. Eventually she’d fallen into a restless sleep, and consequently had woken late. The sun had already been streaming through the blinds when she’d hurried to the nursery where Bisma, the nanny Zahir had appointed, had explained that ‘His Royal Highness’ had taken ‘Prince Kazim’ for a camel ride in the desert.
How dared he take Kazim out without checking with her first? She was his legal parent and, like it or not, Zahir had to respect her role in his nephew’s life. And how much longer were they going to be? she fretted anxiously. They had been gone for two hours. Surely Zahir would not have taken a three-year-old far into the desert? It must be easy to get lost amid the towering dunes, and what if Kazim suffered from sunstroke or became dehydrated?
The sound of voices drifted up from below, and relief washed over her when she saw Zahir striding along by the ornamental pool with Kazim balanced on his shoulders. Kazim’s joyful laughter carried up to her window and she felt a pang of jealousy. She had devoted her life to him for three years, but how could she compete with the roomful of wonderful toys Zahir had provided and camel rides? How could she compete with a man who was Kazim’s blood relative? Especially when that blood was royal—a discovery she was still reeling from. Rich was one thing, but how could she compete with royalty?
Her eyes followed them as they walked beneath her window. She despised herself for the way her heart-rate accelerated at the sight of Zahir. He looked relaxed this morning, almost boyish, and she felt a little twinge of longing that he would smile at her the way he was smiling at Kazim. His hair gleamed like raw silk in the sunlight, and even from a distance it was impossible to ignore the impact of his blatant virility. He was a man unlike any other she had ever met, and although she hated to admit it she was utterly fascinated by him.
Just then he looked up, and his eyes locked with hers, held for a heartbeat—until she jerked back from the window, embarrassed that he had caught her staring at him.
Moments later Kazim burst through the door. ‘Erin, I rode on a camel, and I stroked him,’ he told her, his face glowing with excitement as he rushed across the room into her waiting arms.
‘How wonderful,’ she murmured, lifting him up and rubbing her cheek against his silky curls. ‘Did you wear a hat when you were out in the hot sun?’ She glared at Zahir, who had followed Kazim into the room and now stood in front of her, his hands on his hips and his head thrown back, looking utterly devastating in lightweight cotton trousers and a white shirt that contrasted with his bronzed skin.
‘He was well protected,’ he informed her curtly. ‘I am not so irresponsible that I would take him out without a hat.’
His casual dismissal of her concerns fired her temper. He was so arrogantly confident that he could do whatever he liked, but Kazim was her responsibility, and she needed to lay down some ground rules. ‘In future I would like you to inform me before you take Kazim out,’ she said stiffly. ‘Perhaps I need to remind you that he is my son. Faisal entrusted him to me.’
Zahir’s eyes narrowed at the criticism in her tone. ‘So he did,’ he agreed silkily. ‘And I wonder what methods of persuasion you employed to entice him to marry you? Did you respond to him as eagerly as you responded to me when I kissed you? Faisal was a lonely widower, and I imagine he stood no chance against you—young, beautiful…’ he gave a mocking laugh ‘…sympathetic—and indispensable to his motherless baby son. No wonder he couldn’t resist you.’
‘What you’re implying is…disgusting,’ Erin snapped, scarlet-cheeked. ‘In no way did I set out to seduce Faisal. Our relationship wasn’t like that—’ She halted abruptly beneath Zahir’s cool stare. There was no need for him to know that her marriage to his brother had been anything but a conventional one.
‘What was it like, then?’ Zahir taunted, wondering why he was pursuing the subject. He didn’t want to know the intimate details of her relationship with his brother. The image in his head of Faisal making love to her, touching her, caressing her pale limbs, caused acid to burn in the pit of his stomach, and he despised himself. Faisal was dead, for pity’s sake! How could he be jealous of him?
Erin shook her head so that her flame coloured curls danced on her shoulders—silky, sensuous. He wanted to touch her hair, bury his fingers in the fiery mass and then tilt her head so that he could claim her mouth in a searing kiss that would drive all thoughts of Faisal and her other previous lovers from her mind.
With considerable effort he tore his eyes from the temptation of her lush pink mouth and said coolly, ‘My father has requested to see you and Kazim. I will come back in an hour to escort you to his private quarters.’ He paused and studied her pale blue sundress. She was standing with her back to the window, and in the bright sunlight the outline of her body was clearly visible through the gauzy material, while the narrow straps revealed slim white shoulders. Somehow she managed to look innocently virginal and at the same time gut-wrenchingly sexy, and his mouth thinned as he fought the insidious hunger that had taken up permanent residence in his loins. ‘You will need to change into something more suitable for an audience with the King,’ he said harshly. ‘In Qubbah it is not respectful for a woman to reveal so much bare flesh in public.’
Erin’s face flamed. Admittedly her dress left her shoulders exposed, but the hem of the skirt fell to her knees, and to her mind it was perfectly respectable. Zahir made her feel like a tart, and mortification made her voice sharp. ‘What do you suggest I wear? A sack that covers me from head to foot? Or do you expect me to dress in robes and a veil?’ she snapped.
‘My father is a liberal-minded man who would not expect you to wear clothes that are not part of your culture,’ Zahir said tersely. ‘But out of respect for him I expect you to dress and act with a little decorum—and to restrain your insolent tongue.’
On that parting shot he strode out of the room and slammed the door behind him with such savagery that Erin was surprised great cracks did not appear in the palace walls.
‘Why is Zahir cross?’ Kazim turned his huge brown eyes on her and his bottom lip quivered.
‘He’s not cross with you, darling,’ Erin quickly reassured him. ‘He would never be angry with you, Kazim.’
‘Zahir’s my friend.’ The toddler nodded and his grin reappeared. ‘Is he your friend too, Erin?’
Oh, hell! ‘Kind of,’ she muttered. She needed to change the subject fast, and heaved a sigh of relief when Kazim wriggled out of her arms and raced over to his train set.
Erin was determined not to be overawed when she met the King, but her heart was thumping as she clutched Kazim’s hand and followed Zahir along the rabbit warren of marble-floored corridors to His Majesty’s private quarters.
She had been unable to disguise her shock when Zahir had swept into her sitting room an hour after their last confrontation, no longer wearing western clothes but dressed in traditional white Arab robes. He looked—spectacular. There was no other way to describe him. He was exotic and mysterious and supremely masculine, and she found herself fantasising about the muscular, olive-skinned body concealed beneath the thin cotton garment.
‘I hope my outfit meets with your approval?’ she hissed—aggression was her only defence against the feelings he aroused in her—when he halted outside the door of his father’s sitting room, where two uniformed guards stood, holding fearsome-looking swords. Her white blouse had long sleeves and a high collar, and teamed with a plain navy blue skirt she could have passed for a Victorian governess. Surely he could not find fault now, when the only bit of her body on display was her ankles?
Zahir trailed his dark eyes over her in cool appraisal and pic
tured unfastening each of the tiny pearl buttons that ran down the front of her blouse slowly, one by one, revealing inch by inch her creamy skin and the firm swell of her breasts. Then he would remove the clasp that secured her hair in a knot on top of her head and spread her vibrant, silky curls over her shoulders, slide his hand to her nape and angle her mouth for his possession…
‘You’ll do,’ he grated, as the guards stood aside to allow them to pass. ‘Just remember to keep your mouth shut every time you’re tempted to speak your mind, and hopefully you won’t upset anyone.’
Erin gave him a saccharine smile and resisted the temptation to slap his haughty face. ‘I’ll do my best, My Lord.’
But her angry retort faded when she stared around the sumptuously decorated room. At the far end, sitting on a gold brocade sofa, was an elderly man, his grey hair and long silver beard just visible beneath his headdress.
Zahir had told her that his father was seriously ill, and too frail to travel to Ingledean, but King Kahlid stood up and walked towards them with surprising vigour. From the corner of her eye Erin saw Zahir bow, and she quickly dipped her head, but Kazim grinned at his grandfather.
‘I went on a camel,’ he told the King cheerfully. ‘And I saw a pea-green falcon.’
‘A green falcon?’ King Kahlid looked confused.
‘A peregrine falcon,’ Zahir gently corrected his nephew, and the King chuckled and ruffled Kazim’s hair.
‘No formality today, Zahir,’ he murmured, resting his hand briefly on his son’s shoulder before he turned his gaze to Erin. ‘And you must be Erin. I understand that you were married to my son Faisal and you are Kazim’s adoptive mother?’ He glanced down at Kazim—who had turned suddenly shy and was clinging tightly to her, with his face buried in her skirt—and added softly, ‘I can see that Kazim is very fond of you.’
‘As I am of him,’ she replied fiercely. ‘I love him as if he were my own child, Your Highness.’
The King’s dark eyes seemed to look into her soul, as if he could read her innermost thoughts. The silence stretched Erin’s nerves to breaking point, but then he smiled warmly and ushered her over to the sofa. ‘Come and tell me all about him. You have cared for him since he was a few months old, I believe, so you must know him better than anyone…’ his voice faltered ‘…now that my son is dead.’
Tears glistened in the elderly King’s eyes and his voice was gruff when he spoke again. ‘I will regret to the end of my days that I was not reconciled with my son before his death. Faisal spent his last years estranged from his family and in a foreign land, but I am comforted by the knowledge that he was not alone. He had you,’ he said simply, smiling gently at Erin. ‘Did you love my son, Erin?’
Taken aback by the question, Erin did not know how to answer. She could feel Zahir’s dark eyes boring into her and knew what he was thinking—that she had callously married Faisal knowing that she would soon be a rich widow. It wasn’t true, of course, and as she thought of the man she had married a year ago she suddenly relaxed and met the King’s gaze.
‘Yes, I loved him,’ she said honestly. She had not been in love with Faisal, but he had been like a big brother to her. He’d been the only person apart from her foster parents who had been prepared to give her a chance and accept her for the woman she had become, rather than the unhappy and rebellious teenager she had once been.
She had met him fresh from the humiliation of being sacked from her first job as nanny to the Fitzroy children, and Faisal had believed her when she’d explained that, far from flirting with Giles Fitzroy, she had hated his revolting sexual innuendoes, and his suggestion that she could improve her career prospects by sleeping with him. When she’d finally found the courage to accuse the balding, middle-aged barrister of sexual harassment she’d been fired on the spot, and the furious Giles Fitzroy had insisted to his wife that it had been Erin who had wanted an affair. The story had quickly circulated among the Fitzroys’ social group, and her chances of finding another job had seemed non-existent until Faisal had chosen her over several other applicants to care for his baby son, explaining that he believed Erin would give Kazim the love and attention he would have received from his mother.
‘Faisal was a very special man,’ she told the King softly.
King Kahlid nodded. ‘And now you have been left alone to bring up his son. Some would say that that is quite a burden on such young shoulders. You have your whole life ahead of you, and although you loved Faisal, I’m sure you will not wish to be alone for ever. One day you may fall in love and even wish to marry again.’
What had Zahir been saying? Erin wondered furiously, recalling how he had accused her of planning to satisfy her sensual nature by taking lovers. Had he suggested to the King that she was an unsuitable mother for Kazim? She glanced across to where he was sitting, with the toddler on his knee, but his shuttered expression gave no clue to his thoughts. ‘I have no plans to marry again, Your Highness,’ she told the King steadily. ‘When I adopted Kazim I vowed to devote my life to him, and that is exactly what I intend to do.’
King Kahlid nodded. ‘I see that my son was very lucky to have found you,’ he said gravely. ‘And at least we, his family, can help you in your task now that you have brought Kazim to live here at the palace.’
‘Oh, but I haven’t—’ Erin broke off, her heart plummeting. The King was beaming at Kazim, and he was clearly delighted when the little boy slid off Zahir’s lap and trotted over to him.
‘He fills my heart with joy,’ the elderly monarch murmured in a choked voice. ‘He is the image of his father, and God willing I will have a few years yet to watch him grow up.’
How could she break it to the King that she planned for Kazim to spend his childhood in England? Erin wondered frantically. It would break the old man’s heart if she took the little boy away from the palace. She felt as though she had fallen into a trap from which there was no escape, and it was all Zahir’s fault, she thought bitterly. He had tricked her into bringing Kazim to Qubbah, and now the King believed that his grandson was going to stay for ever.
Kazim had brought a toy fire engine from the nursery and, having grown bored with the conversation going on above his head, was now whizzing the vehicle across the marble floor and through the legs of the King’s chair. His grandfather chuckled and turned to Zahir. ‘He’s a fine boy, isn’t he, Zahir? A boy any man would be proud to call his son.’
‘Indeed,’ Zahir replied stiffly, forcing a smile that he hoped disguised his irritation from his father. Before he had left for England he’d spoken to the King of his intention to bring Kazim to Qubbah and raise him as his own child. He was more than willing to be a father to Faisal’s son, and he already loved the little boy, but now there was an unexpected problem in the form of Faisal’s second wife. It was customary under Qubbah’s ancient traditions for a man to become the head of his dead brother’s family and to marry his widow—but if his father believed there was any chance that was going to happen he had better think again!
‘If you will excuse me, I have some work to attend to,’ he said, bowing his head to the King. ‘I believe Erin has brought some photographs to show you of Faisal, and of Kazim when he was a small baby. I’ve already seen them,’ he added, in response to his father’s querying gaze.
‘Then go now. But I would like to see you later. There is something I wish to discuss with you,’ the King said, in a genial tone that did not fool Zahir for a minute. He could always tell when his father was up to something. With a curt nod he strode from the room.
On the flight from England he had flicked through the album he’d found in Faisal’s study, and his throat had ached with suppressed emotion at the pictures of his brother, whom he had not seen for six years. The photos recording Kazim’s development were delightful, but there were other shots of Erin and Faisal, pictures that were clear evidence of a shared warmth between them he had not expected.
Could he possibly have misjudged her? Or was she simply a talented actress
who had been lying through her back teeth when she’d told his father she had loved Faisal? And why the hell did he feel as though he’d been kicked in the stomach at the idea that she really had married Faisal because she had been in love with him? Anger formed a tight knot in his chest—anger, and incomprehension of the violent jealousy that made him want to hit something.
He must look at it rationally, he told himself impatiently. Erin was a beautiful woman and he desired her. End of story. He had desired many women in his time, and without fail had persuaded them into his bed with an ease that had become almost boring. If Erin had been any other woman he would have wasted no time in bedding her—but, whatever her reasons for marrying Faisal, she was his widow and he could not seduce her.
Perhaps it was the knowledge that she was forbidden that made her even more alluring? Wasn’t it human nature to desire most the thing you could not have?
Living under the same roof as her threatened to be purgatory, he acknowledged grimly, even taking into account the vastness of the palace. Even worse, he had promised his father that he would cut back on his trips abroad so that he could spend more time attending to matters of state. It would be many years before Kazim could rule Qubbah, and King Kahlid had already made it clear that on his death he expected Zahir to rule until Kazim came of age.
Zahir loved his homeland, but he was going to miss his freedom. He had always enjoyed spending time at his homes in London, St Tropez and New York, and up until recently he’d kept mistresses at all three locations. Out of respect to his father he’d always kept his affairs discreet, and he certainly could not invite his lovers to the palace. But he had a healthy sex drive, and he could see that it would not be long before he was climbing the walls with frustration—a situation made a hundred times worse when he was tormented by X-rated fantasies about his sexy sister-in-law.
