Just then he looked up, and his eyes locked with hers, held for a heartbeat-until she jerked back from the window, embarrassed that he had caught her staring at him.
Moments later Kazim burst through the door. ‘Erin, I rode on a camel, and I stroked him,' he told her, his face glowing with excitement as he rushed across the room into her waiting arms.
‘How wonderful,' she murmured, lifting him up and rubbing her cheek against his silky curls. ‘Did you wear a hat when you were out in the hot sun?' She glared at Zahir, who had followed Kazim into the room and now stood in front of her, his hands on his hips and his head thrown back, looking utterly devastating in lightweight cotton trousers and a white shirt that contrasted with his bronzed skin.
‘He was well protected,' he informed her curtly. ‘I am not so irresponsible that I would take him out without a hat.'
His casual dismissal of her concerns fired her temper. He was so arrogantly confident that he could do whatever he liked, but Kazim was her responsibility, and she needed to lay down some ground rules. ‘In future I would like you to inform me before you take Kazim out,' she said stiffly. ‘Perhaps I need to remind you that he is my son. Faisal entrusted him to me.'
Zahir's eyes narrowed at the criticism in her tone. ‘So he did,' he agreed silkily. ‘And I wonder what methods of persuasion you employed to entice him to marry you? Did you respond to him as eagerly as you responded to me when I kissed you? Faisal was a lonely widower, and I imagine he stood no chance against you-young, beautiful … ' he gave a mocking laugh ‘ … sympathetic-and indispensable to his motherless baby son. No wonder he couldn't resist you.'
‘What you're implying is … disgusting,' Erin snapped, scarlet-cheeked. ‘In no way did I set out to seduce Faisal. Our relationship wasn't like that-' She halted abruptly beneath Zahir's cool stare. There was no need for him to know that her marriage to his brother had been anything but a conventional one.
‘What was it like, then?' Zahir taunted, wondering why he was pursuing the subject. He didn't want to know the intimate details of her relationship with his brother. The image in his head of Faisal making love to her, touching her, caressing her pale limbs, caused acid to burn in the pit of his stomach, and he despised himself. Faisal was dead, for pity's sake! How could he be jealous of him?
Erin shook her head so that her flame coloured curls danced on her shoulders-silky, sensuous. He wanted to touch her hair, bury his fingers in the fiery mass and then tilt her head so that he could claim her mouth in a searing kiss that would drive all thoughts of Faisal and her other previous lovers from her mind.
With considerable effort he tore his eyes from the temptation of her lush pink mouth and said coolly, ‘My father has requested to see you and Kazim. I will come back in an hour to escort you to his private quarters.' He paused and studied her pale blue sundress. She was standing with her back to the window, and in the bright sunlight the outline of her body was clearly visible through the gauzy material, while the narrow straps revealed slim white shoulders. Somehow she managed to look innocently virginal and at the same time gut-wrenchingly sexy, and his mouth thinned as he fought the insidious hunger that had taken up permanent residence in his loins. ‘You will need to change into something more suitable for an audience with the King,' he said harshly. ‘In Qubbah it is not respectful for a woman to reveal so much bare flesh in public.'
Erin's face flamed. Admittedly her dress left her shoulders exposed, but the hem of the skirt fell to her knees, and to her mind it was perfectly respectable. Zahir made her feel like a tart, and mortification made her voice sharp. ‘What do you suggest I wear? A sack that covers me from head to foot? Or do you expect me to dress in robes and a veil?' she snapped.
‘My father is a liberal-minded man who would not expect you to wear clothes that are not part of your culture,' Zahir said tersely. ‘But out of respect for him I expect you to dress and act with a little decorum-and to restrain your insolent tongue.'
On that parting shot he strode out of the room and slammed the door behind him with such savagery that Erin was surprised great cracks did not appear in the palace walls.
‘Why is Zahir cross?' Kazim turned his huge brown eyes on her and his bottom lip quivered.
‘He's not cross with you, darling,' Erin quickly reassured him. ‘He would never be angry with you, Kazim.'
‘Zahir's my friend.' The toddler nodded and his grin reappeared. ‘Is he your friend too, Erin?'
Oh, hell! ‘Kind of,' she muttered. She needed to change the subject fast, and heaved a sigh of relief when Kazim wriggled out of her arms and raced over to his train set.
Erin was determined not to be overawed when she met the King, but her heart was thumping as she clutched Kazim's hand and followed Zahir along the rabbit warren of marble-floored corridors to His Majesty's private quarters.
She had been unable to disguise her shock when Zahir had swept into her sitting room an hour after their last confrontation, no longer wearing western clothes but dressed in traditional white Arab robes. He looked-spectacular. There was no other way to describe him. He was exotic and mysterious and supremely masculine, and she found herself fantasising about the muscular, olive-skinned body concealed beneath the thin cotton garment.
‘I hope my outfit meets with your approval?' she hissed-aggression was her only defence against the feelings he aroused in her-when he halted outside the door of his father's sitting room, where two uniformed guards stood, holding fearsome-looking swords. Her white blouse had long sleeves and a high collar, and teamed with a plain navy blue skirt she could have passed for a Victorian governess. Surely he could not find fault now, when the only bit of her body on display was her ankles?
Zahir trailed his dark eyes over her in cool appraisal and pictured unfastening each of the tiny pearl buttons that ran down the front of her blouse slowly, one by one, revealing inch by inch her creamy skin and the firm swell of her breasts. Then he would remove the clasp that secured her hair in a knot on top of her head and spread her vibrant, silky curls over her shoulders, slide his hand to her nape and angle her mouth for his possession …
‘You'll do,' he grated, as the guards stood aside to allow them to pass. ‘Just remember to keep your mouth shut every time you're tempted to speak your mind, and hopefully you won't upset anyone.'
Erin gave him a saccharine smile and resisted the temptation to slap his haughty face. ‘I'll do my best, My Lord.'
But her angry retort faded when she stared around the sumptuously decorated room. At the far end, sitting on a gold brocade sofa, was an elderly man, his grey hair and long silver beard just visible beneath his headdress.
Zahir had told her that his father was seriously ill, and too frail to travel to Ingledean, but King Kahlid stood up and walked towards them with surprising vigour. From the corner of her eye Erin saw Zahir bow, and she quickly dipped her head, but Kazim grinned at his grandfather.
‘I went on a camel,' he told the King cheerfully. ‘And I saw a pea-green falcon.'
‘A green falcon?' King Kahlid looked confused.
‘A peregrine falcon,' Zahir gently corrected his nephew, and the King chuckled and ruffled Kazim's hair.