At the Sheikh's Bidding(15)

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.