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

Zahid nodded. ‘So he gave you a job, a makeover and a proposal in quick succession and when you agreed to marry him, he somehow persuaded you that it was in your best interests to sell the house?’

Frankie flushed to the roots of her hair. He was making it all sound so … so mercenary . As if Simon had planned it all. ‘These things happen.’

‘I bet they do,’ he drawled. ‘But I’m right, aren’t I?’

‘Yes, Zahid—I expect you’re always right.’

‘And you don’t think it’s slightly suspect behaviour?’

‘Why should I? Maybe I’m not as suspicious as you are! Maybe I like to think the best of people! And Simon loves me!’

‘Does he?’

Frankie stilled as something in his sombre tone iced her skin with a terrible sense of foreboding. ‘Of course he does.’

‘How much do you think he loves you?’

‘What kind of a question is that?’ She eyed him warily. ‘Enough to want to marry me.’

There was, he realised, no diplomatic way to do this. No way of telling her which wasn’t going to hurt her. ‘I wonder,’ he said quietly.

‘Will you please stop talking in riddles? What do you wonder?’

There was another pause. Like the split-second pause before a marksman fired a bullet from a gun. And then he spoke. ‘He’s got another woman.’

Frankie’s heart began to pound. ‘What did you say?’ she whispered.

‘Simon’s got another woman. There’s someone else.’

She shook her head, her fingers flying to her cheeks. ‘No! You’re making it up!’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘I don’t know !’

Her face had gone completely white and she swayed so that Zahid’s hand automatically went out to steady her, his body tensing. Had he been so brutal with the facts that she was about to faint? Wasn’t he supposed to have been diplomatic? Protective? Surely there was a way he could have told her which wouldn’t have made her face looked so bleached and transparent.

Uttering a short curse in his native tongue, he bent and scooped his arms underneath her knees, despite her ineffectual protests to push him away. And as the firmness of her young body imprinted itself on his mind he was aware of the blood in his own veins growing hot and heavy. He could feel the curved definition of her thighs beneath his fingers, the soft weight of her breast as she slumped against his chest—and he felt a wave of guilty pleasure as he carried her into the house.

Some of her strength must have returned because by the time he had deposited her on the old sofa in the sitting room, she had begun half-heartedly punching against his chest—and he let her. He crouched down in front of her, holding his palms up in front of him—like a man trying to quieten a fractious horse. ‘Francesca—’

Her hands fell like stones into her lap. ‘Go away!’ she whispered.

‘You don’t want the truth?’

‘It isn’t true! Why would he want someone else when he’s engaged to me?’ But mightn’t that explain why Simon had been so unbelievably cautious about making love to her? Was it really nothing to do with respect for the old-fashioned morals she’d been brought up to believe in? Had the truth of it been that all along he had another woman and didn’t find Frankie attractive after all—makeover or no makeover?

‘You want proof?’ he demanded.

Recovering some of her composure, Frankie sat up. ‘Yes, I want proof! Except you probably haven’t got any, have you? This is all because he got a bit drunk and you’re making a value judgement because you don’t think he’s good enough for me!’

‘Damned right he’s not,’ he said grimly, rising to his feet and going outside to retrieve a package from the passenger seat of his car, before carrying it back inside—still hoping that she might have changed her mind and just take his word for it. But one look at her face when he returned—a mutinous expression written on it that he’d never seen before—and Zahid knew that there was no alternative but to show her.

Reluctantly, he pulled out a series of black and white photos and silently handed them to her.

With fingers which felt frozen and a heart which was numb, Frankie looked down at the glossy images in her hands.

There was Simon, locking his car—an innocent enough shot, but if she looked a bit more closely Frankie could see someone standing in the doorway of a house, waving to him. A rangy blonde wearing one of those skirts which only just about covered her knickers.

The next image showed Simon warmly embracing the same woman and Frankie sought refuge in yet more denial.

‘She might just be his sister, or a relative,’ she croaked.

‘Really?’ questioned Zahid as she pulled out the third photo. ‘Pretty close family, if that’s the case.’

This one was the killer. There could be no mistake or misunderstanding about a close-up where Simon appeared to be going for a new world record in how much tongue it was possible to shove down a woman’s throat. Frankie shuddered with revulsion as she compared it to all the chaste kisses he used to share with her. But didn’t it all make sense now? The reason he’d never touched her had not been because he’d respected her—but because he had someone else. Someone he really cared for and desired—rather than someone he just wanted to milk for all she was worth.

With a ragged little cry, she let the photos slip from her fingers, her hurt and dismay making her turn on Zahid.

‘You had him followed!’ she accused as she felt hot tears of humiliation fill her eyes. ‘What right did you have to do that?’

‘Francesca,’ he admonished softly. ‘Aren’t you turning your anger on the wrong person here? I did it for your own good.’

‘B-but why ?’ Frankie sobbed. ‘Why did you do it? Couldn’t you have just let me be happy for a while?’ she cried as tears of humiliation and shame began to slide down her cheeks.

‘You really think you can be happy in a relationship which is based on a tissue of lies? And then what?’ he flared, when still she didn’t answer. And for a moment, he acknowledged the irony of him dishing out advice on relationships. ‘You’d have discovered even further down the line how duplicitous he was being—and found yourself even more hurt! Is that what you want from your life, Francesca?’

What kind of a question was that to ask her at a time like this? Scrambling to her feet, she pushed him away, her thoughts spinning round and round. But some small and stupid hope was still flickering in her heart, stubbornly refusing to be extinguished. Maybe there was some kind of explanation for it, after all. Something which Simon would explain and then she could turn round to Zahid and tell him that for once in his life he’d been wrong ! ‘I’m going to ask him!’

He shook his head. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ he warned her grimly. ‘You’ll only regret it.’

But she turned on him—and part of her terrible pain was that Zahid should have borne witness to her humiliation. The man she had idolised for all her life should have seen her made a complete fool of. That she regretted.

‘So if it’s true—and we haven’t even established that it is—you think I should just walk away and let him get away with it? Just fade away into the background as if I never really existed and let him get away with making a fool of me?’ she raged as a sense of justice and determination began to replace her hurt and mortification.

In that moment she realised that there was going to be no mistake. That the photos told the truth and that Simon had lied to her—but one thing she was sure of was that she was not going to be some sad little victim . Especially in Zahid’s eyes. ‘Obviously, I no longer have a job—so I might as well tell him exactly what I think of him.’