Monarch of the Sands (17 page)

‘I need to talk to you,’ he said.

Something in the tone of his voice unsettled her. ‘That sounds ominous,’ she joked, but a little shiver of apprehension began to whisper its way down her spine.

‘Does it?’

‘Yes.’ She watched as his face became shuttered and her sense of trepidation mounted. ‘Why did you bring me here today, Zahid?’

He traced a butterfly circle on her palm with the tip
of his finger and then looked up at her. ‘We need to talk about the future.’

She felt the flare of both hope and fear in the sudden leap of her heart as she stared into the dark gleam of his eyes. ‘D-do we? What about it?’

‘None of this has been as I planned it,’ he said suddenly. ‘I never planned—foolishly, as it happens—to take you as my lover. I told you back in England that I thought I could resist you—but now it seems that was an arrogant and unrealistic assessment of my own will power.’

In spite of all the intimacies they had known in bed, she found herself blushing at his growled admission.

‘Yes.’

‘Of course, if you had told me that you were a virgin, then I
would
have resisted you.’ There was a heartbeat of a pause. ‘But you didn’t tell me, did you?’

‘No.’ Frankie bit her lip—because now she could definitely hear
reprimand
in his voice. ‘No, I didn’t.’

‘And once I’d possessed you, it was too late,’ he added. ‘For by then I was ensnared.’

She looked at him, unsure of how to respond. Was that supposed to be a compliment, or some kind of territorial boast? ‘Ensnared?’ she echoed.

‘You don’t like the word? Would captivated suit you better?’

She nodded, still not certain where any of this was leading. ‘Maybe.’

He gave a short laugh. How refreshingly honest she was. And how beautiful. All that sweet promise which could never be his. Soon, her delicious, scented body would no longer grace his sheets at night. With any other woman, it would have been a simple matter to
dispatch her—but surely Francesca deserved the truth. ‘Maybe you want me to say that I love you?’ he questioned quietly. ‘As I think you love me.’

She felt her stomach twist itself up into little knots because words of love weren’t usually accompanied by a heavy weariness of the voice. And there was something dark written on his face which was filling her with foreboding. ‘Not if it isn’t true.’

‘Because I do,’ he said, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘You see, I do love you, my
anisah bahiya
.’

Her lips were trembling so much that her stammered response was barely audible. ‘You
d-do
?’

Grimly, he nodded his dark head. ‘Yes. Unfortunately, I do. And it’s because I love you that I’m afraid I have to send you away from here.’

T
HERE
was a dense and heavy silence while Frankie’s emotions took a trip on some demented roller coaster, which rocked her to the core. ‘You say you love me, yet you’re sending me away?’ she whispered.

Zahid nodded, determined that the sapphire swim of her eyes would not sway him. Didn’t she realise what such an admission of love had cost him? ‘I have to.’

Perhaps pride should have stopped her from interrogating him—but what price pride when her whole future lay at stake? ‘I don’t understand.’

‘You will if you think about it, Francesca. The longer you’re here—the more I risk compromising your reputation. You say you don’t care about such a thing, but I do. More than that, we both risk getting deeper and deeper into a relationship which has no future—not now and not ever. I must marry a woman from my own country,’ he said bitterly. ‘I told you that at the very beginning and nothing has changed.’ Except that he had behaved like an impetuous and thoughtless fool and they would now both pay the price for that behaviour. ‘I must take a wife—or two—maybe even three.’

The bizarre conversation they were having now took
on an even more surreal aspect. ‘Three?’ she echoed as she snatched her hand away from his. ‘Three wives?’

He met the disbelieving blue blaze in her eyes. ‘I am allowed four by law, although I doubt whether I—’

‘Zahid,
please
!’ Frankie interrupted and her sorrow was replaced by an indignant kind of fury. ‘Please don’t stand there and make out that we have no future because you’re following some kind of
moral
code—and then add that you’re going to take what amounts to almost an entire football team of wives!’

He guessed that now was not the time to point out that her numbers were out by about seven. He reached towards her again but she shook her head, stepping back from him as if he were contaminated. ‘Francesca—’

‘Don’t touch me.’ She was aware that her eyes were swimming with tears but she didn’t care. ‘Why did you bring me here today—so far from the palace? Why didn’t you just tell me back there?’

Because he had wanted to avoid someone overhearing exactly the kind of scene they were having now. The kind of scene he’d never had with a woman—because no woman had ever got this close to him before. And if he was being honest, hadn’t he thought that he might win her round with kisses and soft caresses? Hadn’t there been a stupid, unrealistic part of him which had hoped that she might agree to continue their affair back in England? With him visiting her as often as he could—showering her with gifts and luxuries as if that might in some way compensate for his absence?

But he could not do that, he recognised. Not to Francesca. He could not offer her so little because that would devalue the kind of person she was. And it would sully what they had both shared.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said simply.

‘Don’t—
don’t
apologise,’ she said fiercely. ‘I’m not some kind of
victim
, Zahid. So will you please take me back to the palace now? And then I’d like to return immediately to England.’

Zahid tensed up, for he was unused to anyone laying down furious demands like this—yet even he could see that she had a right to be angry. But surely they needn’t part on terms of such bitterness. Couldn’t they end this affair the same way they’d started it—consumed and comforted by the act of love?

‘You can, of course, return to England,’ he said smoothly. ‘And my jet will take you there, but I’m afraid that we’ll have to go via Morocco.’

Suspiciously, she stared at him.
‘Morocco?’

‘Indeed,’ he said, with a shrug. ‘I have a friend named Raffaele de Ferretti—we go back a long way. I’ve arranged to spend the weekend with him in Marrakech and he’s expecting us. We will leave tonight.’

‘Do I have any choice?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

Zahid began to pick up the picnic hamper. He had planned to surprise her with a trip to the exotic north African city. But that had been when he’d thought their affair could continue without consequence. Before he’d been forced to acknowledge that something between them had changed …

But pride would not let him turn up without the woman he had told his Italian friend about on the phone last week. And surely she wouldn’t be able to resist him, when the two of them were sharing a luxury suite in a romantic
riad
?

The journey back to the palace was completed in
silence and when they arrived Frankie went straight to her suite of rooms to pack. At least she wouldn’t have to wear any more of these stupid tunics with their matching narrow-legged trousers, she thought—until she sat down on the edge of the low divan and bit her lip.

She
liked
wearing those silky-soft tunics—whose very qualities of concealment meant that a woman could feel curiously liberated when she had them on. It made quite a change not to have to worry about whether your bottom looked big or whether you were showing too much cleavage, or sitting in a ladylike fashion.

She was still sitting there, gulping down the threat of tears, when a perplexed-looking Fayruz arrived to tell her that the car was waiting to take them to the airport and the servant turned to Frankie with a troubled face.

‘You are leaving Khayarzah?’ she questioned.

‘I’m afraid that I’ve got to go back to England, Fayruz.’

‘But …’

The girl’s words tailed off miserably but Frankie knew it was inappropriate to ask what was troubling her. She
knew
exactly what was troubling her, because she was experiencing similar feelings of misery herself. Fayruz didn’t want her to go—and Frankie herself didn’t
want
to go. But she had to. The dream she had always nurtured had come true and Zahid had told her that he loved her. And hot on the heels of that wonderful revelation had been her banishment from his kingdom. How on earth could she tell the young servant
that
without compromising the king and breaking down in floods of tears?

So she embraced Fayruz and said goodbye, promising to send her an English dictionary when she arrived
home. And then, with one last look round, she went out to the car, where Zahid was seated in the front, in the passenger seat.

He gave her only the most cursory of greetings and spoke to his driver all the way to the airport. And even though that didn’t surprise her, it didn’t stop her from hurting.

Even on the lavishly appointed Gulfstream jet, Zahid sat working at a table some distance away from her and Frankie wondered if he was going to ignore her the entire weekend. How was he going to introduce her to his Italian friend?
Hello, this is Francesca—you’re very welcome to speak to her, but I’m afraid I won’t be doing the same.

The plane landed in the warm spiciness of the Moroccan night, where the indigo sky was peppered with bright stars. Immediately, they were whisked through passport control—but when Frankie raised her head after putting away her passport with trembling fingers, it was to see Zahid subjecting her to a narrow-eyed look.

‘You’ve never been to Morocco before, have you?’ he questioned.

She shook her head. ‘Never.’

Another wave of unwanted guilt washed over him at the sight of her pinched and unhappy face. Had he done that to her? Brought her out here to heal the pain of her broken engagement and then ended up hurting her much more? And himself, he realised. He was hurting with a pain he’d never experienced. ‘It’s a very beautiful city,’ he said heavily. ‘As you will discover for yourself in the morning.’

Frankie tried to concentrate on the loveliness of her
surroundings and the pleasure of this brand-new experience as their car drove them through the walls of the ancient city.

The place where they were staying was stunning. It was situated right in the very heart of Marrakech and not far from the hustle and bustle of the lively market they called the Medina. Here, in their
riad
was a perfect blend of Middle Eastern opulence with every modern convenience you could ever want. There was a massage room and sauna—as well as a floodlit courtyard swimming pool, which glittered gold and turquoise in the moonlight.

And a sumptuous suite with an enormous, low bed.

She stood looking down at it as if it had been covered with a writhing nest of vipers and then Zahid turned to look at her.

‘We could have our first full night together,’ he said softly.

‘We could—but it isn’t going to happen.’

‘Francesca—’

‘I can’t,’ she said simply, because she was only just about holding it together as it was. Imagine if he kissed her—if she let him enter her body again after everything which had happened? ‘I’ll sleep on that divan over there.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘Yes, I do. You’re much too tall to be comfortable on it.’

‘Very well.’ His voice was cool, remote. ‘If that is what you wish.’

‘It is.’

But that didn’t stop her heart from aching as she lay sleepless in the big2 hours while Zahid slept, his
hawklike face looking oddly soft in sleep as it lay, pillowed by his forearm.

Raffaele arrived next day with his fiancée—but Francesca was too exhausted from lack of sleep to meet them until dinner. She spent most of the day reading while Zahid worked and they communicated with a cool politeness she found far more distressing than the row they’d had in the desert.

Unfortunately, she fell asleep while she was supposed to be getting ready—and so by the time she stumbled downstairs the others were already assembled on the rooftop terrace, drinking from heavy red goblets and nibbling at pistachios.

Zahid’s face was a mask of disapproval as she walked onto the terrace.

‘You are late,’ he said.

Frankie shot him a reproving glance. ‘Zahid, aren’t you going to introduce us?’

Zahid made no attempt to hide his frown. Was there no
end
to her stubborn behaviour? he asked himself angrily. She had refused to share a bed with him and now she was
late
. ‘This is Raffaele de Ferretti, a business colleague, and this is his fiancée, Natasha—’

‘Phillips,’ butted in the woman with silky-looking hair and a rather anxious look on her face.

‘This is Francesca,’ Zahid said.

‘Hello,’ said Francesca, and smiled—even though it seemed to take a monumental effort to do so. Just as it took an even bigger effort to get through the meal without breaking down. Especially since Raffaele and his fiancée were clearly on some sort of high. The air was heavy with the sexual tension which seemed to flow
between them and which made even more mockery of Frankie’s own life and her situation with Zahid.

By the time the evening was over and she and the sheikh were back in their suite, she stared at him as he closed the door.

‘Count me out for any further encounters like that,’ she said quietly.

‘We have a whole weekend to get through,’ he objected coldly.

‘And I’ll spend it in the suite.’

‘You can’t do that.’

‘Oh, but I can.’ She stared at him, defying him to challenge her. ‘I can do exactly as I please, Zahid. I’m a free agent, aren’t I?’

And that was that. Frankie stayed in their suite for the rest of their stay and Zahid presumably made excuses for her absence—because as soon as was decently possible the whole miserable visit was cut short.

‘Get your clothes packed,’ he bit out. ‘We’re leaving.’