Defying her Desert Duty

‘We had an agreement.’ This time she kept her voice low and even. ‘You broke it.’

His dark eyebrows climbed high but he gave no other reaction. ‘Come.’ He gestured for her to precede him.

Instantly Soraya shifted her weight, widening her stance a fraction as if to plant herself more firmly. She had no intention of meekly following him anywhere.

‘I think not. We can talk here.’

Something flickered in those deeply hooded eyes. Something that might have been surprise or annoyance. Frankly, she didn’t care. Instinct told her not to be alone with him. She knew next to nothing about him and looking at that granite-carved jaw, she wouldn’t put it past him to try coercion.

‘This is not the place for our conversation. This is a delicate matter and the person I represent—’

‘Would perfectly understand my preference for meeting you here, rather than in a private room.’

He said nothing, just surveyed her with a look that was impossible to interpret. A look that seemed to take in everything from her too-fast breathing to the laptop she clutched like a shield to her chest.

Finally he nodded. ‘Of course. If that is what you wish.’ He turned and indicated a couple of chairs grouped at the rear of the room. ‘Though perhaps we could go some place where we’re less likely to be overheard.’

He had a point. Soraya nodded stiffly and let him usher her across the room.

Zahir frowned as he followed her. That instant surge of adrenalin in his blood, the momentary fear that something was wrong, had undermined his calm. All because she’d come looking for him when it was the last thing he’d expected.

It was absurd. Clearly she was in no danger. Panic was a weakness he didn’t indulge in. Yet his pulse thundered in his ears as he watched her thread her way across the room.

He didn’t like her, didn’t approve of her, so why the instant, gut-deep need to protect that had made him hurry to her? He wanted to put it down to duty honed by years of training, but it wasn’t that. From the first she’d stirred instincts and feelings that discomfited him. However much he fought it he felt … connected to her. Ever since that first, blinding moment of recognition.

She settled on a gilded sofa and made a production of crossing those long legs. As he seated himself opposite her, Zahir forced his gaze from the way the soft denim clung to each dip and curve.

‘You wanted to see me?’

‘Not really, but I had little choice.’ Her neat white teeth snapped off each word. ‘You weren’t answering your phone.’

Ah. That was why she was in a temper. When she’d wrecked his plans to return to Bakhara today he’d used the extra time to fit in some meetings. Clearly she expected him to be at her beck and call like some underling.

‘As you saw, I had business to conduct.’ He refused to apologise for not being available at her whim. ‘How can I assist you?’

Her eyes flashed ebony fire. ‘By keeping your word.’

Zahir stiffened. ‘That is not in question.’ Did she have any concept of the insult she offered him?

‘Isn’t it?’ She leaned forward and her scent insinuated itself into his nostrils. Light and delicate, like a field of mountain flowers awakening to the day’s first sun. It had haunted him all day, a sense memory he’d tried to forget. ‘We agreed you’d give me today to get organised yet my flatmate rang me at five this afternoon because a team of removalists had turned up wanting to pack my belongings.’

Zahir settled back in his seat and inclined his head. ‘We agreed that you’d have today. We also agreed that I’d take care of the arrangements. I’ve done so. You’ve had your day to organise yourself.’

Colour mounted her cheeks and her eyes glittered with temper. Women could be so predictable when they didn’t get what they wanted. He waited for a blast of ungoverned rage.

It didn’t come.

Instead she sat back against the silk brocade of her seat.

‘You don’t approve of me, do you?’ Her voice was coolly measured. ‘Is that what this is about? Is that why you’re being so high-handed?’

Momentarily he was thrown by her directness. He encountered it so rarely since he’d moved into the diplomatic sphere. It was the sort of tactic he used himself to great effect when others preferred to circle the truth. Cutting through the niceties to the heart of the matter was sometimes the most effective way forward.

He hadn’t expected it from her.

Unwilling admiration stirred.

‘My opinion of you is not in question, Ms Karim. My role is simply to facilitate your safe arrival to Bakhara.’

‘Don’t give me that! You’re more than a courier.’ She nodded to where he’d stood saying farewell to his guests. ‘That’s clear from the leaders who came here to meet you. You’re trying to railroad me for your own reasons.’

She was clever too. Obviously she’d recognised the man tipped to become the next French foreign minister.

But what disturbed him was her accusation he was pushing her to hurry because it suited him.

He should have contacted Hussein this morning and voiced his concerns about Soraya Karim. But he’d baulked at the notion. That sort of conversation had to take place man-to-man, not long distance. It had the added advantage that Zahir could then walk away from her and concentrate on the work he’d been preparing for all his life.

‘What is it about Paris that keeps you delaying? What’s more important than your promise to marry?’

The colour faded from her cheeks and for a second he saw something flicker in the rich depths of her pansy-dark eyes. Something that looked like genuine pain. It surprised him for it seemed at odds with his image of a selfish pleasure-seeking woman.

‘I have things to wrap up before I go.’

Things or relationships? His jaw tightened.

‘Surely it won’t take more than a day to say goodbye to your special friends.’ He nodded curtly to her laptop. ‘And no doubt you’ll stay in contact.’ Was she the sort who suffered withdrawal if disconnected from social media?

Her smooth forehead puckered then she shrugged. ‘I have some work to finish too.’

Soraya almost laughed aloud as a flash of disbelief widened his eyes. Clearly he thought her some dilettante who used university as an excuse for a holiday in Paris.

He recovered quickly. ‘It’s summer. University break.’

‘Have you heard of summer school? Between semesters?’

‘I applaud your diligence.’ But his tone belied his words. ‘Are you saying you have to be here to complete your work? Surely alternative arrangements can be made?’

Circumstances being the fact that she was expected to return home meekly and marry a man, a virtual stranger, more than thirty years her senior.

Cold wrapped itself around Soraya’s chest and seeped into bones that seemed suddenly brittle and aged. She drew a deep breath, willing away the panic that threatened whenever she thought too far ahead.

That was the problem; she’d forgotten to think ahead. For too long she’d assumed the future was nebulous and unreal. From the moment at fourteen, when her father had explained the honour bestowed on their family by the Emir’s interest in her, through every year when Emir Hussein had remained a distant yet benign figure.

At fourteen the betrothal had been exciting, like something from an age-old tale. Later it had grown less and less real, especially when her fiancé had shown little interest beyond polite responses to her father’s updates on her wellbeing and educational progress.

Now it was suddenly all too real.

‘It’s not just the work,’ she blurted out. ‘I’d planned to be here longer and I want to make the most of my time in France.’