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

Their footfall and the soft swish of Zahid’s robes brushing over the marble floor were the only sounds to be heard as they made their way through the long passageways. That and the loud thunder of Frankie’s heart as she followed him.

She forced herself to register landmarks along the way even though the arching pillars and intricate mosaics all looked very similar. And then Zahid came to a halt by her room and turned, his eyes glittering ebony in the dim light.

‘Here we are. Safely delivered to your door.’

‘Thank you very much.’ But she didn’t feel safe as she stared up into the hawklike features and the lash-framed shards of his black eyes. She felt … what? As if danger and excitement were shimmering in the air around them, as tangible as any aura. One step and she could be in his arms, locked in the powerful circle of his embrace. And wasn’t that what she yearned for—the culmination of all those years of wistful longing?

Afterwards, she wondered if she communicated something of her desire to him—for why else did he lift his hand to her cheek and lay it there, like a blessing?

‘Goodnight, Francesca,’ he said softly.

‘Goodnight,’ she whispered back. The warmth of his hand against her skin was beguiling and she turned her head, just by a fraction—but enough for her lips to graze against his palm. It hadn’t been intentional—or at least, she didn’t think it was—but it was enough to make him expel a sudden, shuddering breath of air.

‘Are you trying to test my resolve?’ he demanded unsteadily, but he left his hand exactly where it was and he could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin as she mouthed a single word.

‘No.’

Slowly, his thumb began to trace the trembling outline of her lips. ‘I’m not sure that I believe you.’

‘I’m no … no … liar, Zahid.’

‘No.’ He knew that. But suddenly he wanted her to be. He wanted her to be devious and manipulative so that his conscience would allow him to pull her into his arms and start making love to her. He wanted her to be something —something other than this fresh-faced and blue-eyed girl he’d known for ever, who was making him feel a desire he had no earthly right to feel.

He gave a low laugh as he tilted her face upwards, but his mood was dark as well as anticipatory for deep down he knew this was wrong. And shouldn’t he be the one to stop it—stop it now, before it was too late?

‘Zahid?’

Her tentative question crept into the stillness of the night and hung there.

‘Maybe we should stop torturing ourselves and just give into the inevitable,’ he bit out. ‘Because what’s the point of fighting something neither of us has the heart to fight?’ And without giving her a chance to respond, he pulled her into his arms and drove his mouth down on hers in a kiss which had been much too long in the waiting.

Caught off guard by the heated pressure of his lips, Frankie swayed, but he pulled her even closer, so that she could feel the hardness of his body and the wild beat of his heart through the silk of his robes. She should have been daunted by all that unashamed masculinity—but somehow she wasn’t. How could she be when he was kissing her with a passion which was overwhelming her— swamping her with a rush of pure pleasure? Simon had never made her feel like this .

She felt both weak and strong—any lingering doubts vanquished by the sheer potency of Zahid’s hungry male body as it pressed against hers. It was as if she’d accidentally fallen into a stream and been taken up by a powerful current—then finding that she was too helpless to fight against it. And she didn’t want to fight against it. She wanted this, and more of this. More of him.

‘Z-Zahid.’ With another breathless moan, Frankie reached up—wanting to tangle her fingers in the thick darkness of his hair. But his head was covered and as her fingers met the barrier of his headdress they halted there—unsure of what to do next.

Zahid froze. The soft yielding of her body was intoxicating—but a woman touching his headdress was a rare enough action to make him jerk back and stop kissing her. He only ever made love in western clothes, he realised—and the irony of that didn’t escape him.

For once he would not have the tiresome unzipping of trousers and unbuttoning of shirts—because the loose form of his silken robes would allow him almost instant access to her …

And for once it was not going to happen …

Reaching up, he caught hold of her hand and pulled it away from his head, aware of the pulse which hammered so frantically through the delicate skin at her wrist. What had he been thinking of? Did all the noble pronouncements he’d made about women at dinner count for nothing?

Yet as he stared down at the disappointed trembling of her lips he recognised how easy it would be to take her. One swift and seamless de-robement and he could be deep inside her, driving into her moist warmth and spilling his seed. Was she as easy as this for all men? he wondered, his mouth tightening with fury.

‘This wasn’t supposed to happen!’ he ground out as he took a step away from her.

Distractedly, she nodded—aware of the soft pooling of desire which was making her feel as weak as a kitten. ‘No, I know it wasn’t,’ she whispered. ‘B-but—’

‘No buts, Francesca,’ he put in fiercely. ‘Definitely no buts.’ With an angry growl, he opened the bedroom door, his hands infinitely more gentle than his words.

‘Just go to sleep,’ he said roughly—and with that, Zahid pushed her inside the gilded bedroom and firmly closed the door behind her.

‘SO WHERE exactly are we going?’ Frankie injected what she thought was just the right amount of polite interest into her voice as she sat back in the passenger seat of the enormous four-wheel drive.

To hell and back, thought Zahid grimly. Sharply, he turned the key in the ignition and eased away into the shining brightness of the desert morning. ‘To the new horse-racing stadium, so that you can see it for yourself before you start work on the diaries. I want you to give me your opinion on how well you think the women’s facilities are being catered for—as honestly as only you can, Frankie.’

Great, thought Frankie, blinking her eyes furiously behind the welcome covering of her shades, not knowing if she was trying to hold off tears or tiredness. You get rejected by yet another man and spend a long sleepless night thinking about him—and then he tells you that your day will be spent inspecting the ‘women’s facilities’ at Khayarzah’s new racing track. It really didn’t get much worse than that, did it?

‘Fine with me.’ Forcing a neutral smile, she risked a glance at the hawklike profile and hard, unsmiling lips. ‘Why are you driving—and not one of your chauffeurs?’

Zahid’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. Why did she think he was driving? Wasn’t it obvious? To give him something to do other than give into the temptation of finishing off what they’d started last night. Something to look at other than the soft temptation of her lips and thinking about where on his body he would like them to be placed. He glanced in his mirror to see the dark shape of the security car behind, which was shadowing them.

‘I like to drive. Especially in the desert. The roads are flat and straight and you can put your foot right down in a way you can’t do anywhere else in the world.’

‘Right.’ Frankie settled back in her seat. Think positive, she told herself. Don’t let him realise that you’re hurting, or that you can’t stop thinking about the hot brush of his lips and the way he made you feel when he held you in his arms last night. She forced herself to concentrate on the road ahead. ‘Well, I quite like driving myself—so maybe later on, I can have a go.’