Dana Marton - Desert Sheikhs - Monarch of the Sands / To Tame a Sheikh / Sheikh Protector

She shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Writing it became a kind of refuge for him,’ he continued. ‘Particularly in the troubled years during the wars and then when my mother became ill. And it suddenly occurred to me that you might be just the person to type them up for me.’

‘But I can’t speak your language,’ she objected.

‘He wrote them in English.’ He met her uncomprehending expression and shrugged. ‘It ensured their privacy—since most of my people don’t speak the language. I’ve been meaning to make them into a formal record for some time—the difficulty was in finding someone I could trust to do it.’ His black eyes gleamed. ‘And you, my dear Francesca, will be absolutely perfect for the task.’

Frankie blushed with pleasure—because praise from Zahid felt like the very best sort of praise.

‘Does that sort of role appeal to you?’ he questioned.

She nodded, trying not to be affected by the silken texture of his voice, but it wasn’t easy. ‘I’d like that very much.’ She hesitated. ‘You know, you haven’t even mentioned why you’re here—in England.’

He thought back to the working breakfast he’d had that morning with England’s leading horse-racing experts—and the similar meetings which had taken place in every major city in Europe. With an effort, he switched his attention away from the soft rose-pink of her cheeks and the sapphire gleam of her eyes.

‘I’ve been promoting the new horse-racing track and stadium we’ve almost completed in Khayarzah,’ he said. ‘One which will put us firmly on the international equestrian circuit. But this particular trip has also been personal.’ He walked over to the window and stared at a rusty barge which was chugging its way down the heavy grey waters of the Thames. He wouldn’t have discussed such a matter with anyone else, but his inherent trust in Francesca made him more candid than was usual. And didn’t it come as a kind of liberation—to be able to speak his mind for once? ‘I needed to meet with my brother,’ he said as he turned back to face her. ‘To see if he’s really been behaving as badly as the media suggest.’

Frankie saw the sudden tension which had tightened his face and she wrinkled her nose in question.

She’d only met his brother Tariq on a few occasions—and one of those had been at her father’s funeral, when she’d been too fogged down in grief to be able to think straight.

Like Zahid, Tariq had enjoyed a mixed and fairly liberal upbringing—some of it spent far away from his homeland. But the destinies of two princes could be so radically different …

When Zahid had become King, his life had changed immeasurably—while Tariq was still able to behave pretty much as he always had done. Frankie knew that the younger prince was known for being outrageously gorgeous and had been dubbed ‘The Playboy Sheikh’ by the more extravagant sections of the western press.

‘Why, what has he done?’ she questioned.

‘That’s just the point. He hasn’t done nearly enough.’ Zahid gave a little click of irritation. ‘Well, that’s not entirely true, since Tariq possesses the uncanny ability to produce excellent results with the minimum amount of work. He just needs a little reminding from time to time that he is a royal prince with an obligation to his country—and not simply an habitué of the gambling tables and an object of slavish female desire. But let us not talk about that now. You will fly with me to Khayarzah at the end of the week—do you have a passport?’

She nodded, aware how parochial his question made her sound. ‘Of course.’

‘And we need to get you settled. In fact, we’d better find you a room here.’

Taken aback, Frankie blinked at him. ‘You mean I’m going to be staying here , at the Granchester?’

Something in the innocent way she framed the question sparked an unwanted hunger deep inside him—so that for a moment Zahid forgot that she was almost like one of the family. Forgot that his groin was not supposed to tighten and throb as he looked at her. Because when her pink and unpainted lips opened like that, he suddenly found he could think of a much better use for them than talking …

Unwanted lust made him tease her—trying to make his arousal go away but wondering idly whether she would respond. And how would you react if she did? Would you take her in your arms and taste her? Treat you both to a sweet interlude of mutually satisfying sex?

‘Of course you’re going to be staying here,’ he murmured, shifting his position slightly, which did precisely nothing to relieve the deep ache at his groin. ‘You’ll need to make a few preparations before we fly to Khayarzah. You’ll need a visa. Security clearance—that kind of thing—and it will all have to be done in London. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?’

It took a moment for Frankie to answer because her body was responding crazily to the way he was looking at her. She could feel the prickle of her breasts and a strange pooling of heat at the pit of her stomach so that she felt all light-headed, and vulnerable. Was this something he did to all women—made them feel all kinds of stuff they weren’t supposed to be feeling—leaving them aching and unsettled and wanting more?

But Frankie was determined to appear professional. He had seen her being made a fool of by her ex-fiancé—and her pride was hurting because of that. She must show him that she could be strong—that she wasn’t some vulnerable little girl who jumped every time somebody made a loud bang.

‘No, not a problem at all,’ she said calmly. ‘I’m very adaptable.’

‘Good. Then come and meet the rest of my staff. I’ll introduce you to my bodyguards and they’ll explain a few simple guidelines to you.’ He glanced down at her rain-spattered legs and the shoes which didn’t quite match the plain blue dress. ‘And we’d better organise some clothes for you. You’ll need something appropriate to wear—especially in Khayarzah, where it’s very hot but women cover their legs and their arms at all times. Something which befits a staff member to the sheikh.’

Frankie looked down at the dress she’d bought specially for this meeting—wondering if he had any idea of all the angst which had gone into choosing the neat garment. ‘You mean there’s something wrong with what I’m wearing?’

Did he protect her from the truth, or did he give it to her straight? Zahid’s mouth hardened. Hadn’t she already been lied to enough by one man? And she would never learn about life’s harsh realities unless somebody taught her. He looked her straight in the eye. ‘There’s nothing fundamentally wrong with it, Francesca—other than that it’s cheap.’ He gave her a regretful shrug as he reached out to pick up the phone. ‘And I’m afraid I don’t do cheap.’

PLONKING herself down on the bed, Frankie kicked the shoes from her aching feet and fell back against the snowy bank of pillows. It had been a long day. Even longer than yesterday, when she’d travelled back down to Surrey, packed some essentials and locked up the house—ready to embrace her new role as a member of Zahid’s staff. Already, her world seemed to have altered out of all recognition. She’d been given a luxurious room in one of London’s smartest hotels, a list of all the people who worked for the sheikh—as well as his busy schedule for the weeks ahead.

And today she had been sent off to see a stylist and to acquire the clothes which Zahid had told her were essential for her working trip to his homeland.

She hadn’t realised that shopping could be so exhausting—but then she didn’t usually buy an entire wardrobe at one fell swoop. The swish store was situated in a side street, not far from the Khayarzah Embassy, and Frankie was put in the hands of an elegant woman who seemed to know exactly the kind of clothes she needed for her forthcoming trip.