Page 6 of At the Sheikh's Pleasure
He blinked.She’d got to him.She stepped away, unable to keep up the pretense a moment longer.
“Goodnight,” she said.
She didn’t wait for a reply, but turned and walked away, refusing to look back, but aware with every step she took his eyes were fixed on her.But, while each step took her farther from him, it did nothing to ease the churning in her stomach and the clenching of her breath, as if her body had received a blow.She blinked back the pricking in her eyes.She refused to appear weak before these men.She refused to become the woman she’d once been in her own homeland.She’d thought she’d progressed.She’d thought the men had progressed.But, it seemed, nothing had changed.She was still a woman, unwanted and disregarded, not worthy of respect, and, she suspected, she always would be in their eyes.
He watched her walk away,unable to take his eyes off her.She had that kind of aura, despite hiding her figure under the voluminous abaya.She had a power and intensity which was magnetic.
He sighed.He’d done what he rarely did.He’d lied.She was no more a spy than him.But he’d used it as an excuse.He desired her.And he would be with her every step of the way because he wished to be.Because how else could he seduce her?
Chapter3
Rosana hadn’t expected to have slept so well, considering the agitation Zaire had created within her.She had chosen not to examine the cause.But as soon as she’d lain down on that vast bed, her eyes had closed against the shifting gauzy curtains which draped her four-poster bed and she’d sunk into the most contented sleep she’d had in a long time.
And now, feeling more rested than she had in years, she stood on the small balcony of her bedroom and looked out to the city, the desert and the mountains beyond.She gripped the rail of the balcony, trying to control the wayward instincts which assailed her.She measured her breathing, forcing it to be calm, to quieten her quickened heartbeat.Because she’d forgotten.Forgotten the light.The sound.The fragrances.She closed her eyes to ward off the pain which such beauty had uncovered deep inside.She’d thought she’d buried it deep.She’d thought wrong.
She’d run from these lands eight years ago without a backward glance and made the life for herself that she’d wanted in England’s green and misty lands.But, it seemed, she’d left something behind—a feeling of home.A feeling she hadn’t even known she’d possessed until she’d returned yesterday.She tried to isolate the thoughts, to dissect them like a good academic, to prevent the emotion from overwhelming her.
She blinked as she opened her eyes.The best she could come up with was that it was a connection, as real as if she had an invisible thread tying her to these lands.All the time in Oxford, she’d thrown herself into her studies, ignoring the absence she’d felt at her center.But now?There was no absence.Something had slid into it, and filled it.
As the sound of the muezzin’s call to prayer faded and the sun rose higher, piercing the shadows of the gardens through branches and lattice work, she shrugged and forced herself to turn away.Absence or presence—what did it matter?The truth about her homelands was that they were no place for a woman.And there was no changing that.
She glanced at her phone to check the time.King Zaire had been clear he would send someone to escort her to him, but she refused to wait for anyone.She’d always been one step ahead.It was how she survived her family, and it would be how she’d survive here.Because she didn’t fool herself, it would be no less challenging here than in her home country.
Zaire glaredat his younger brother, Amare.Sure, he appreciated his work, and, if he were pressed, he’d even say he loved his brother.But, really, he wished he’d stop trying to organize him.He was beginning to think he’d be glad when he and his new wife, Janey, returned to Paris.
“Amare!Will you stop?Sheikha Rosana is here for a purpose, and I have no intention of putting myself out to entertain her.”Or, at least, not in the way Amare was suggesting.
Whatever, he had a country to run and, contrary to Amare’s suggestions, he had no interest in forming a lasting liaison with a high-maintenance princess.Especially one who belonged to a family who’d been a thorn in the side of Sifra for centuries.
Amare sat back in his chair and grinned.“That shrug,” he said.“I know what it means.”
Zaire shot him an irritated glare.Amare sat forward, placed his hands on the table, and stared Zaire right in the eyes like no one else would dare to.Except his other brother, of course.
“Come on, Zaire, I’ve seen the way you look at her.You’re attracted to her and don’t deny it.”
“She’s arrogant, angry, and as cold as ice.Why would I be attracted to her?”He realized he’d avoided the question.But wasn’t he a politician and a king now?”
Amare shrugged.“I don’t know, but it’s clear youareattracted to her.You can’t deny it.”
“I have no need to either confirm or deny anything to you.”He jumped up.“Despite what you think, I am not answerable to you or to Darrius.Now, I believe you have a plane to catch.So don’t let me hold you up.”
Amare’s grin morphed into something equally galling.Sympathy.He shook his head as if pitying his big brother.“I know what you’re doing.I remember Galila, too, you know.”
A lump shot up into Zaire’s throat from nowhere.No one ever talked about Galila.Darrius knew better.But it seemed Amare hadn’t been informed.Zaire shook his head and held up his hand.“Don’t.”It was all he could say as a wave of emotion swept over him.He couldn’t remember the last time this had happened to him.It was usually okay so long as her name wasn’t mentioned.“Just don’t.”He swallowed the lump down hard, but it refused to leave.He blinked rapidly, and fearing he was going to break down in front of his brother, he twisted around and raked his hair from his face.
“I won’t,” said Amare, “if you go ahead with my plans.To tell you the truth, both Darrius and I are worried about you.”
He spun around to face Amare.It was the first he’d heard.“Worried?Why?”
Amare stood silent, his eyes conveying what he wasn’t allowed to say.“You know why,” he said eventually.
Zaire would do anything not to talk about this.Haddone anything.And now, he could either talk, or pull rank and block out his brother.But Amare had got to him, weakened him where it counted.He met his brother’s gaze and knew he couldn’t deny what Amare was accusing him of.
“You’ve never recovered from her death,” Amare continued.“And you never will if you continue to deny yourself close relationships with women.”
“Ihaveclose relationships.”
“You have sex with women who pose no danger to your emotions when you’re out of the country.You don’t have relationships.You need to face facts, Zaire.”
