The Sheikh Who Married Her: One Desert Night / Strangers in the Desert / Desert Doctor, Secret Sheikh

‘I do … I believe everything you say, Farida. But your brother …? He doesn’t believe in the prophecy?’

‘He does not. I have tried to talk to Zahir many times about it, but he will not listen. Because my parents married for love, and my father pined for my mother so much when she died that he himself passed away shortly after, and then I sadly lost Azhar, he is scared to experience a love so profound in case he will be a broken man if he should lose it. There is no convincing him otherwise. He can be very stubborn at times—especially when he thinks he is right!’

‘So he would rather marry someone he barely knows or cares about instead?’

The other girl sadly dipped her head. ‘It would seem so.’

Walking in a semi-daze down the corridor later, her notes clutched to her chest, Gina didn’t even register a door opening until a deep male voice uttered her name.

‘Gina.’ Holding the study door wide, Zahir commanded her with his piercing dark gaze.

‘Don’t you mean Dr Collins, Your Highness?’ It was almost impossible to keep the hurt from her voice when all she could think was that he was marrying a woman he hardly knew, purely for dynastic alliance. Of all the things she had ever suffered, surely this was the hardest to bear of all?

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘I WISH to speak with you.’

‘I’m sorry, but I can’t spare the time right now. I have too much work to do.’

Gina barely knew where she found the temerity to speak to him like that, but she supposed hurt and anger instigated it. The fiercely warning glance Zahir gave her in return was enough to quell the courage of Ghengis Khan himself, and she couldn’t deny that her legs weren’t shaking.

‘How dare you address me in such a manner? Such disrespect would be enough to have you incarcerated. In future I would advise you to think twice before succumbing to it. Come into my study … now.’

Closing the door behind them, Zahir gestured to Gina to take a seat. She was glad of it. Laying down her papers on a lavish brocade-covered couch, she folded her hands in her lap, took a deep breath, then made herself meet his glowering gaze.

‘I apologise sincerely if I was rude, Your Highness. It won’t happen again. What is it you want to talk to me about?’

Hands behind his back, he paced the marble floor, his handsome profile ominously formidable as his boot heels rang out against the stone. When he came to a stop, but still didn’t speak, a jolt of fear zigzagged through her.

‘What’s wrong? Are you in pain?’ she asked.

A curse violently left his lips. Striding up to her, he hauled her to her feet. Suddenly finding herself on the most personal and intimate terms with his flashing eyes, warm breath and steely strength as he gripped her arms, Gina was shocked by how faint with longing for him she was.

‘Yes, I am in pain! I am in pain not because of a gunshot wound but because I have had to endure not having the taste of your mouth whenever I desire it, not having your body naked beneath mine! Can you even imagine what I am going through because you deny me these things? Or are you so heartless that you don’t even care?’

‘Zahir, I do care. I—’

Any words she had been about to say were cut off by the hot pressure of his mouth on hers. Groaning, Gina wound her arms round his neck, and he was like a rock or the trunk of a tree she could hang on to for dear life were she in danger of being swept away by a hurricane.

In turn, Zahir held her fast as his tongue tangled hotly with hers, moving his hands up and down her back as he tried to position her closer, even closer, until there was no space between them and they were but one passionate beating heart. Reaching up, he freed her hair, and it spilled curling and golden round her shoulders.

He had said that he had had to endure surviving without the taste of her lips, the intimacy of her body against his … Gina didn’t even know how to start telling him she felt the same. All she could do was demonstrate her wildly hungry feelings by matching him kiss for ravenous kiss, her hands as greedy for the touch of his skin as his for hers. His body was hard as iron beneath his flowing robes, his mouth a passionate burning brand that left her heart no choice but to be enslaved by him for ever.

Breathing hard, he broke off the kiss to cup her face between his hands. ‘I must have you in my bed tonight. After this, can you still deny me?’

Thinking was hardly possible right then, while Gina’s body still throbbed from the delicious intimacy of Zahir’s passionate embrace, and her senses were frustrated at not having her craving for him completely fulfilled. But, like a serpent in paradise, an unhappily wounding thought reared its dangerous head and wouldn’t be ignored.

‘Release me.’

‘What?’ Confusion and not a little frustration filled his eyes.

‘You have to let me go. I—I need to sit down for a minute.’

As soon as Zahir set her free Gina sank down onto the brocade couch, her mouth drying uncomfortably at the question that had reared commandingly inside her head—a question she desperately needed an answer to.

‘Your sister told me today that you are soon to be married. She said it is to be an arranged marriage to an Emir’s daughter. Is that true, Zahir?’

His glittering gaze considered her bleakly for a moment, then he spun away to pace the floor again. A couple of feet away from her he stilled. A shaft of sunlight beaming in through a narrow window alighted on the mane of long hair that spilled across his shoulders, and the copper lights deep within the fiercely glossy ebony strands glinted like dark fire. In her wildest dreams Gina couldn’t have dreamed up a man more magnificent—or more unattainable.

‘It is true … But what has that to do with us? I am not marrying her for her beautiful body, or her wit and charm, so there is nothing to be jealous about if jealousy is what you feel—not when you possess all those attributes in abundance. It is, as you say, merely an arranged union for dynastic purposes only. The arranged marriage is common enough amongst titled landowners in these parts.’

‘The last time you explained about that you hadn’t found anyone suitable. Obviously things have moved on quickly since then?’

‘Look … whether I marry this woman or not has nothing to do with what we share. Absolutely nothing! Why can you not see that?’

Capturing a strand of the bright hair that drifted round her shoulders, Gina coiled it round her finger, then let it spring free. ‘Why can’t I see that?’ A soft, wounded sigh escaped her. ‘Perhaps because I firmly believe that marriage should be one man for one woman, and that the relationship should have love as its foundation … not convenience or—or sex!’ Gathering up her scattered papers from the cushion beside her, she pushed to her feet. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I must get on. I’ve promised to meet up with your sister again, and I need to pop up to my room for a book first.’

Zahir was back in front of her in an instant. A myriad of passionate emotions swirled and flickered in the silken depths of his long-lashed eyes. ‘Know this … I do not ask you to become my mistress because I do not care for you. Even though you hurt me with your false promise to return, there is no other woman I desire or want to be close to but you, Gina.’

Biting down on her lip, she resisted the strongest urge to touch her hand lovingly to his high-contoured cheekbone. She hadn’t forgotten that he’d recently been shot at and might have lost his life. ‘I believe you, Zahir.’

‘Then why shut me out as you clearly are doing?’

‘Because even though you say you care for me, it’s not enough to persuade me to either share your bed again or become your mistress. I don’t want to play second fiddle to another woman, even though you might not hold her in high regard and your marriage would be just a formality … a convenience. I would be betraying my own integrity and hers if I do that, and that’s important to me. I’m sorry, Zahir, but that’s just how I feel.’

Leaving him standing there, his expression stunned and sombre, she moved across to the door and went out.

After Gina had so shockingly deserted him, Zahir bellowed for Jamal and gave him orders to get his Arabian stallion saddled up, ready for his immediate use. Less than half an hour later, ignoring his concerned manservant’s plea to not ride too far lest he tear open his wounds, he mounted the magnificent ebony steed and rode off into the hills.

What else could he do with all the restless and unsatisfied desire that thrummed through his veins? He had to burn some of that raging fire in him away or else he would certainly go mad. And he couldn’t abide staying at the palace and twiddling his thumbs for the afternoon just because his doctor had advised him to rest … not after Gina’s unbelievable rebuff.

Why was the woman being so stubborn? It seriously perplexed him. There was an old saying: patience is beautiful … Right now he was far too frustrated and furious to contemplate the wisdom it was no doubt meant to impart. What would entice her to become his mistress, to realise it would give her far greater access to his body and his time than any plain, unimaginative eighteen-year-old wife, who would rather giggle with her girlfriends and feed her face than learn how to pleasure a man?

When Zahir glanced round to see a palace bodyguard following him on another steed, he let loose an oath. Giving the horse his head, he stirred him into a brisk canter. Then, when they were out in more open country, into a full heart-pounding gallop.

‘Turn around.’ Farida’s look of quiet concentration was endearing as she watched Gina model the black hijab and dress that she’d loaned her, so that she could accompany herself and a male servant to the market.

After that emotional scene with Zahir in his study earlier, the unexpected trip Farida had suggested was the perfect antidote to the melancholic feelings that kept washing over her. It hurt deeply that she was apparently good enough to be Zahir’s mistress but not his wife. Yet, underlying the sensation of despondency, she held on to the fact that he had at least declared he cared for her. Maybe that knowledge would give Gina something to work with? Thinking of the personal search she had started in the library, she yearned to get back there soon.

‘From behind you will look just like any other young woman visiting the marketplace. It is only when people see your fair skin and sapphire-blue eyes they will know you are not a native from Kabuyadir.’

‘I rather like the anonymity these clothes give you,’ Gina remarked thoughtfully, running her hand down over the smooth black silk. ‘Back at home women are bombarded daily by the media with what we should look like, what size we should be and what clothes we should wear—usually revealing ones. It’s a refreshing change not to worry about that for once.’

‘Well, I am glad they make you feel more at ease. We will have a good visit … You will enjoy it and so will I. This will be my first outing for a long time. Now, if there is anything you want at the marketplace—for instance souvenirs or a length of silk or brocade to make a dress—let my servant barter for you. That is how it is done here, and it will ensure you get a good price.’

The marketplace was a sensation overload. Turning her head this way and that, Gina endeavoured to absorb as much of the sights and sounds as possible. When she was back in the UK, doing her weekly shop at the supermarket or visiting some soulless shopping mall for some so-called ‘retail therapy,’ buying clothes she didn’t really want that would disappear amongst similar impulse buys in her wardrobe, she would certainly long for Kabuyadir and all the fascinating goods that made the market so much more exotic and appealing—so much more authentic, somehow.

Staying close by her side, Farida was the best guide she could have had. As well as pointing out various stalls that might be of interest—whether their vendors were selling colourful silks, yarns and brocades, handmade rugs or the beautifully crafted ceramics that so many visitors made a beeline for—she often added humorous little anecdotes that made Gina smile.