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

There was the split second of a pause. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible,’ he said pleasantly.

‘Really? I’m sure that as Sheikh you can get me emergency cover on your car insurance, Zahid.’

He bit back a reluctant smile. ‘It’s nothing to do with the insurance. It’s a very powerful machine.’

If she hadn’t been feeling so pent-up and rejected she might have just let that go. But now Frankie was pleased to have something to concentrate on other than the fact that for the first time in her life she was experiencing an intense kind of frustration.

‘Fortunately I passed my driving test on the first attempt,’ she said sweetly. ‘And not just the section for “delicate little women who shouldn’t be allowed behind the wheel of a big car”.’ A new sense of determination filled her. ‘So I’d like to have a go at driving, if that’s all right with you.’

‘Actually, it is not,’ he said, flexing his fingers as he anticipated her reaction to his next statement. ‘I’m afraid women aren’t allowed to drive in my country.’

This time the pause was longer. ‘You are kidding?’

He shot her a glance. Today she was wearing a tunic and trousers in ice-blue—a cool and untouchable contrast to the hot question which burst from her lips. ‘No, I’m not.’

‘Women aren’t allowed to drive?’ she verified, and when he gave a terse nod she raked her fingers back through her hair in agitation. ‘Why not?’

Zahid’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. He had brought her here to type his father’s diaries—not to challenge him or the laws of his land!

‘Don’t ask me, the laws have been in place for decades.’ Frankie’s lips fell open as she turned her head to look at him.

‘I keep thinking that you’re going to come out with some sort of punchline and tell me that it’s some kind of joke.’

‘I know it seems outdated to you—and to me in fact. But the previous sheikh was not a moderniser. His view—which is still shared by many—was that men and women should not mix freely. At the moment it’s just the way things are.’

‘I realise that now—and I assume that’s the same reason you won’t let women go to university.’ She saw him nod his head before turning on him angrily. ‘But why would you stop women from mixing freely with men?’

‘Because it is felt that women need to be protected.’

‘From who—or what, exactly?’

‘From men, of course—and from themselves!’

‘And you call that protection?’ Frankie shook her head. ‘Some people might reasonably describe it as a kind of prison.’

‘It depends on your point of view.’ Zahid put his foot down on the accelerator. ‘Proximity equals sex—and sex before marriage isn’t always a good thing. You should know that better than anyone, Francesca—since the man to whom you gave yourself is no longer a part of your future. What a waste of time that was.’

If he hadn’t made her so angry then she might have told him that he was leaping to false conclusions. As it was, his arrogant statement so irked her that she turned the accusation on him .

‘So you go away on your foreign trips and have as much sex as you want, on the clear understanding that you will one day return home to marry a Khayarzahian virgin?’ she demanded as a hot little spear of jealousy lanced through her like a sabre.

He shrugged. ‘I am now the king,’ he said quietly. ‘And that is what is expected of me.’

And despite knowing that he was a victim of his own circumstances, Frankie could not bite back her burning sense of injustice. ‘Meaning that it’s one rule for men and another for women?’

He looked in his rear mirror. ‘I’m afraid so,’ he answered, softly. ‘And it has always been that way, no matter how much the feminists might protest.’

Frankie stared out of the window as the car shot along the long and straight desert road and tried to quell her rising tide of indignation. What century did he think he was he living in?

‘Well, if men and women should not be mixing freely in Khayarzah—then why on earth did you bring me here?’

Behind his shades, Zahid’s eyes narrowed as the roads became fringed with towering date trees, and he slowed down to pass a horse-drawn cart which contained sacks of rice. He felt the familiar flicker of lust licking at his groin. ‘You think I haven’t already asked myself that very question and realised that I was mistaken in doing so?’

‘In what way mistaken?’ she flashed back.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. But was there any point in pretending, after what had happened last night? One stupid little kiss which had dominated his thoughts ever since, no matter how hard he tried to push it aside. One kiss which had made him wonder whether there was any point in holding back any more. One kiss which had kept him hard and aching all night long and which was making him hard right now …‘Thinking that I could resist you. That resisting you would be a useful test in self-control.’

‘But you did resist me,’ she pointed out. ‘So you’ve passed your stupid test.’

He gave a short laugh. ‘I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you.’

‘Neither can I.’ But even as she said it Frankie realised that it wasn’t quite true. Because despite the fundamental disagreements which lay at the heart of their heated discussion, she was aware of an intimacy which existed between her and Zahid, which had never been there with Simon. Was that because she’d known the sheikh for so many years that she felt she could be herself with him, no matter how huge the differences in their circumstances? Because she’d known him as a person before this inconvenient sexual attraction had reared its seductive head?

‘Look over there,’ he said suddenly. ‘We are skirting the outskirts of Calathara, which is our second biggest city—famous for its diamonds and carpets and the sweetest oranges on the planet. And if you look carefully you’ll see the stadium in the distance.’

She was relieved to be able to change the subject and as they approached the stadium it was difficult not to be impressed by the amount of money and work which had clearly been poured into the new building. A gleam of chrome and glass rose up to greet them and Frankie studied the sleek design as she stepped from the car to greet the now-familiar deputation which awaited them.

Walking just behind Zahid, she marvelled at the state-of-the-art racetrack, whose lush grass track curved like an emerald snake—made all the more startling by its stark desert location. She’d once gone to a Boxing Day race meeting in England with her father—but the racecourse had been nothing like this.

Here, no expense had been spared. Not anywhere. Everything was brand-new and the very best that money could buy. There were dining rooms and function rooms—as well as fabulous facilities for the horses and their jockeys. The women’s section was separate and lavish, filled with beautiful containers of showy orchids, and there was a dazzling array of French perfumes and soaps in the washrooms.

In one of the executive dining rooms, they drank strong, sweet coffee from dinky little cups and ate cake which had been flavoured with honey and cardamom. And Frankie thought how animated and proud Zahid seemed as they sipped at their coffee.

‘I want to make this track part of the international circuit,’ he said. ‘And for the Khayarzah Cup to be one of the most treasured trophies of the twenty-first century—on a par with the prizes offered at Ascot and Cheltenham and Melbourne.’ He put down his cup and looked at her. ‘So what do you think of it?

‘I think it’s superb.’