Defying her Desert Duty

Nonsense. What was there to fear? Any woman would be ecstatic with the news he’d come to take her back to marry the Emir of Bakhara. If Hussein’s character weren’t enough to attract any woman, his personal wealth, not to mention his position of supreme authority, were bonuses few women could resist.

Soraya Karim had nothing to fear and everything to gain.

‘He does.’

Zahir watched her shift in her seat. Her shoulders straightened, banishing the hint of a slump. Her chin lifted and her posture morphed into one of cool composure. Like the woman who’d stalked away from him in the club.

His heart gave a kick of appreciation and the dormant fire in his veins smouldered anew.

Hell! Since when had any woman had such an effect on him? Not even his last lover, naked and eager in his bed, would have garnered such an instantaneous response.

He rubbed his hand across his jaw, noting the stubble he hadn’t bothered to remove. Lack of sleep was the problem. He’d been awake for thirty-six hours—eager to get here and get this over quickly so he could return to the new challenge that awaited him.

His reactions were haywire.

‘The Emir has asked me to escort you home.’ He curved his mouth in a reassuring smile and reined in his impatience—as if he had nothing better to do with his time than act as her minder on the trip from Paris to Bakhara.

Yet he couldn’t begrudge Hussein this favour. Soraya Karim would soon be his bride—of course he wanted her kept safe on the journey.

A pity no-one had thought to keep an eye on her while she partied in Paris!

‘I thank the Emir for his kindness in providing an escort.’ Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘However, it would have been helpful if you’d contacted me before you arrived. That would have given me time to prepare.’

Zahir frowned at the hint of disapproval in her carefully polite tone.

What was there to prepare? Surely, as an eager bride, she’d jump at the chance to return to Bakhara and the opulent bridal gifts Hussein would shower upon her.

After years of delay Hussein was finally ready to proceed with the wedding. His chosen bride should be grinning with delight.

Instead she surveyed Zahir coolly.

‘I’m here to assist. You can leave the details to me.’ Winding up the lease on her apartment and organising a team of removalists would be the work of a few phone calls.

She nodded. ‘I’m obliged to you. However, I prefer to make my own arrangements.’ She paused. ‘When is the Emir expecting me?’

‘I’ve organised a flight tomorrow night. The royal jet will fly us back.’ A day to complete his nursemaid duties and deliver her safely to Hussein. Then Zahir could make his way to his new post. He’d been itching to get to it for weeks.

‘The Emir expects me tomorrow?’ Her face leached of colour, leaving her looking unexpectedly fragile.

Zahir opened his mouth then shut it again.

This wasn’t going to plan. He’d envisaged her eager to return to Bakhara and embrace her new life as wife of the country’s ruler. He’d expected excitement, gratitude, even.

Instead she looked horrified.

A thread of curiosity curled within him till he blanked it out. He wasn’t interested in understanding Soraya Karim, especially as he had a fair idea he wouldn’t like what he found on closer inspection. He prized loyalty above all things and Hussein deserved better than a fiancée who couldn’t be trusted to keep away from other men.

‘There’s a problem with tomorrow?’ He didn’t bother to hide his disapproval.

His nostrils flared with distaste as he wondered if she needed extra time to say goodbye to that lanky fool from the nightclub. Surely she wouldn’t delay her departure for him? Or had he been a ploy? Perhaps she’d been trying to make the handsome blond guy at their table jealous.

He’d observed the covetous glances she’d attracted in that bar. Anger stirred at the notion she’d played fast and loose with Hussein’s trust.

‘No, tomorrow’s not convenient.’ Just that. No explanations, no apologies, just a shimmer of defiance in those fine eyes and a hint of mulish wilfulness in her down-turned mouth.

Despite himself, Zahir felt a spark of appreciation for the way she stonewalled him. The negotiators this last week could have done with some of her spunk. They might have come out of the joint-venture deal with a better share of the profits.

But that didn’t negate the fact that she disrupted his plans. True, Hussein hadn’t specified a date for his bride’s return, but Zahir wanted to conclude this task and move on to his new role. He hadn’t been so eager for anything in years.

‘And when will it be convenient?’

Colour rose in her cheeks and her lips parted as if to protest his curt tone. Zahir’s pulse missed a beat and heat combusted deep in his belly as he watched her mouth turn from sulky to an enticing O. With his jacket pulled around her shoulders and her hair coming down in soft curling tresses, she looked inviting, available, tempting.

Not like the fiancée of his mentor and best friend.

Her eyes widened as if she read his response despite the savage control he exerted to keep it hidden.

The tension between them notched higher. It trembled in the air, a pressure that had more do with his reaction to her than with the subject under discussion.

This couldn’t be!

It wouldn’t be.

By hook or by crook he’d have her back in Bakhara, safe with her fiancé and out of his life, before her feet could touch the ground.

CHAPTER THREE

SORAYA knew disapproval when she saw it.

Despite his almost expressionless face, that flat, accusing stare said everything his words didn’t.

If it hadn’t been imprinted on her so early perhaps she’d never have recognised it. But nothing, not time or distance, could erase the memory of her father’s relatives whispering and tutting over the sordid details of her mother’s misdemeanours—or their certainty that, if unchecked, Soraya would go the same way to ruin. Even the servants gossiped in delighted condemnation.

Stifling the urge to lash out, Soraya withdrew into herself. What did she care if the Emir’s lackey didn’t approve of her? Even if, far from being a lackey he was one of the most powerful men in the country?

She had more on her mind than winning his approval. His news changed her life.

‘Give me tomorrow,’ she said, her voice husky with tension that threatened to choke her. ‘Then I’ll have a better idea.’

How long to pack her gear, say her goodbyes and, above all, get her research in some sort of order? She feared however long it took wouldn’t be enough.

Anxiety welled and she beat it back. Time enough to give in to fear when she was alone. She refused to let this man see her weak.

Abruptly she stood. He rose too, dwarfing the booth and crowding her space. Instantly she was transported to the club where his touch had sapped common sense. Where just for a moment she’d wanted to lean close to his powerful frame rather than escape his hold. Fear closed around her.

‘I want to go home.’ Even to her own ears her voice held a betraying wobble. Paris had become her home, a haven where she’d been able to spread her wings and enjoy a measure of freedom for the first time. The idea of returning to Bakhara, to marriage …

‘I’ll see you back.’ Already he was ushering her through the café, one hand hovering near her elbow as if to ensure she didn’t do a runner. He dropped payment on the counter where the waitress beamed her approval.