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‘What, so you think you can stand there and insult my fiancé and I’m just expected to take it?’

His eyes lanced her a piercing question. ‘You aren’t even interested why I’ve brought the subject up?’

Something in the way he asked it unsettled her enough to hide behind defiance. ‘To cause trouble?’

‘Funnily enough, my schedule is usually too tight to indulge myself with random acts of interference—especially towards people I care about. I want you to tell me what happened next—after Simon came to see you that first time.’

Frankie was tempted not to reply—or to change the subject completely. But if she had nothing to hide, then why should she shy away from his questioning, no matter how intrusive it seemed? ‘I told him that I didn’t really want to sell the house unless it was absolutely necessary, and that I needed a job.’

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.’

‘The job doesn’t matter, Francesca,’ he grated.

‘You don’t think so? Well, it might just interest you to know that I need to earn money because I need to eat! Most people do.’

He gave an impatient wave of his hand. ‘I can find you a job in the flicker of an eye. I can create some sort of role for you in my organisation and it can be as permanent or as temporary as you like.’

There was a pin-drop silence as Frankie stared at him. What, and make her detachment from reality complete? She could just imagine the hawklike eye he would keep on her if she got involved with his organisation. Governed and bossed around by a powerful man who seemed to have the misplaced idea that his role was to protect her. Long ago, she had abandoned her foolish romantic dreams about him, but wouldn’t enforced proximity and hurt pride make her vulnerable to him again?

She would have to watch from the sidelines while he bedded the glamorous women who were his girlfriends—and how would that feel? There would be all the disadvantages of being closeted with the devastatingly attractive sheikh—but none of the benefits. She would end up feeling completely invisible because to him she was just Francesca—sexless, safe Francesca who had got herself into a laughable situation with a worthless man and now needed rescuing.

‘Thank you, but no, thank you,’ she said tightly, walking over to the table and grabbing her shoulder bag. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do with my future —but before I make any decisions, I’m going to ask Simon Forrester a few questions!’

As he watched her pull the bag over one slender shoulder Zahid knew that he could have restrained her in an instant—and not by confiscating her car keys. For wasn’t there an urgent part of him which wanted to subdue her into forgetting about that worthless creep by simply kissing her? He felt the heavy throb of desire as arrogance and a justifiable pride in his methods of seduction told him that he would have succeeded within seconds. He could show her what it was like to be with a real man.

But deep down he knew that would be wrong. For all kinds of reasons, Francesca O’Hara was not a woman he was ever going to be able to seduce—and ultimately she was free to do what she needed to do. And it seemed that she needed to go and confront the man who had betrayed her.

A faint smile of admiration curved the edges of his lips as he heard the front door slamming shut behind her, and soon after that came the sound of her old car spluttering into life.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘HIS Royal Highness, the Sheikh Zahid will see you now, Miss O’Hara.’ The sleek receptionist indicated the discreet private elevator which was set in the marbled foyer of the luxury hotel. ‘If you’d like to go up?’

‘Thanks very much.’ With a polite smile at the glacial beauty who was the last barrier between her and Zahid, Frankie walked over to the elevator and pressed the button up to the penthouse suite.

Outwardly, she was trying to project a calm and unruffled image, which wasn’t easy, given her rain-swept appearance.

It had been quite an afternoon.

Tracking Zahid down hadn’t been easy. It had come as something of a shock to realise that she had never actually contacted him before. He had mostly only visited with his father—and everything had always been arranged by palace aides. But she knew that his family owned a skyscraper headquarters in a swish central London location, where his brother masterminded the European arm of the Al Hakams’ extensive empire.

Eventually, after she had spoken to a series of suspicious-sounding people who presumably okayed it with Zahid himself, an appointment had been made for her to see him. But instead of it being at the company headquarters, they’d given her the name of the hotel where he was staying. The famous Granchester hotel—the kind of place you only read about in the gossip columns of newspapers, or when a Hollywood superstar happened to be visiting town.

The elevator was so speedy that it made her feel a bit sick and Frankie couldn’t help but notice that her legs were splashed with icy water from the grim November day. She dabbed at them with a tissue pulled from her bag, but by the time the elevator slid to a halt and she rapped on the door of Zahid’s suite she felt even more chewed up with nerves. A feeling which was only increased when she heard his distinctive voice call: “Come!”

Her heart was pounding as she pushed open the door and for a moment she noticed nothing other than the fabulous works of art which lined the walls and the enormous windows overlooking some of the most expensive real estate in the world. The polished floor was as big as a football pitch and strewn with exquisite silken rugs. It was, she realised, the first time that she had ever been in his environment, and it was even more polished and intimidating than she’d thought it would be.

And now, walking in from a room which led off the main living area, came Zahid himself—his face unsmiling and not particularly welcoming as he looked at her. Was he angry that she had flung his job offer back in his face the other day? she wondered.

‘Hello, Francesca,’ he said. His narrowed black eyes were shuttered as he looked at her—taking in the raindrops which glittered like diamonds among the tousled strands of her dark hair. ‘You’d better take off your raincoat.’

Frankie saw that she was dripping rain onto the polished wood floor and so she struggled out of her coat, wondering if he might help her. But he simply watched as she removed it and then pointed to a coat-stand which stood next to the door. She cleared her throat as she looped the damp garment over the peg then turned round to face him. ‘It was good of you to see me, Zahid.’

There was the faintest elevation of his jet-dark brows. ‘I was surprised you wanted to—in view of our last meeting.’

She supposed she deserved that, just as she supposed he deserved an apology for the way she’d reacted to what he told her. Was that why he was being so cool towards her? So distant? ‘I was very … rude to you.’

He shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but, of course, it did—just not in the way she thought. In a funny sort of way he had been glad about her rudeness—because hadn’t it stopped him from ringing her to find out what had happened after she’d gone to confront Simon? He’d convinced himself that it would have been all about self-interest if he’d done so. And told himself that he should stay away from her—for both their sakes. Yes, he had opened her eyes to the fact that she had been involved with some pathetic fortune-hunter—but now that she was presumably free of him, it should have no impact on his life.

Because hadn’t he been disturbed by the rush of lust he’d felt while carrying her into the house? And hadn’t the thoughts he’d had about her subsequently made him realise that she had grown up into a subtle kind of beauty—and that it would be better for both of them if he kept his distance from her? Wasn’t that the reason why he hadn’t helped her with her coat, because he was reluctant to be tempted by her soft scent and even softer skin?

‘Don’t worry about your rudeness, Francesca—it’s forgotten,’ he said coolly. ‘I probably would have felt exactly the same if the situation had been reversed.’

She watched as he walked across the room. She wanted to protest that such a scenario would never have happened—that Zahid was far too clever to be manipulated as she had been. But somehow the words dried in her throat and it was nothing to do with their relevance. No, it was the sight of him looking like some lithe jungle cat who seemed a little too elemental to be at home in these luxurious surroundings.

A silk shirt of palest ivory briefly brushed against the hard contours of his torso and clung like cream to the powerful line of his shoulders. Black trousers hugged at the narrow line of his hips and skated over the cradle of his masculinity. He had loosened his tie and a couple of buttons of his shirt and, catching a glimpse of the dark hair which was arrowing downwards, she felt her mouth dry.

He looked as if he had been engrossed in work and was now relaxing a little. It was a snapshot image of his own, private world—and even more daunting than his physical appearance was the realisation that Zahid had a complete and busy life of which she knew nothing. What was it like being a king? she wondered. Particularly if such a daunting office had been thrust on you out of the blue, as had happened to him. Had it changed him? It must have changed him.

Frankie licked the parchment-dry surface of her lips, trying to concentrate on reality, rather than hopeless fantasy. That was yet another great difference between them, she thought. He had a life, and she didn’t. Well, not any more—no job, a broken engagement and some broken dreams as well.

He slanted her a questioning look. ‘Why don’t you sit down, Francesca? Would you like some coffee? Or tea, perhaps?’

‘No. No, thanks.’ Sitting down felt too relaxed, too informal for what she was about to say—and so Frankie walked over to the massive windows on the pretext of enjoying the view. And for a moment, she didn’t have to pretend. There was the London Eye—its massive circle framing the Houses of Parliament and iconic clock-face of Big Ben. ‘Oh, wow,’ she said.

‘Picture-postcard stuff, isn’t it?’ he offered drily, looking at the stiff set of her shoulders and the hair which today was hanging neatly down her back. Her hand was bare of an engagement ring and she was wearing a navy dress which, despite its plainness, still managed to emphasise every amazing curve of her healthy young body. His eyes focused on the luscious swell of her bottom and her long, shapely legs and he found himself thinking some dark and very erotic thoughts until he reminded himself that this was Francesca. Francesca O’Hara, his childhood friend.

‘So is this a social call?’ he questioned thickly.

She turned around. Was that his way of saying that he was busy? That he might have sat and drunk tea on her territory many times, but on his she was only permitted a very small window in his own busy schedule.

‘No. It’s not.’ He was staring at her, not saying anything, and once again she felt frozen out. Gone was the ease which had always existed between them, even during that last, emotionally charged meeting.

She had thought that he’d be eager to hear about her confrontation with Simon. But she had been wrong. There had been no phone call to ask what had happened and even now, face to face, there was only a polite indifference as to why she had come today. Here in the luxury hotel suite, she was simply someone from his past. The daughter of an old friend—in the presence of a very powerful, royal personage. And she was probably wasting his time.

‘So if it isn’t social, then why exactly are you here?’ he queried coolly.

For a moment she felt tempted to make some lame excuse and to walk away, leaving her with her dignity intact and not running the risk of him saying no to what she was going to ask him. Wouldn’t that be easier?

But wasn’t it exactly that kind of grabbing at the easy option which had made it laughingly simple for Simon to make a fool of her?

‘I was wondering if I could take you up on that offer you made?’ She noticed that his body had tensed and her words stumbled over themselves to give him a reasonable get-out clause. ‘You … you mentioned something about giving me a role within your organisation. But if you’ve changed your mind, then I quite understand.’

‘It’s you who seems to have changed your mind, Francesca—since you were adamant that you didn’t want any kind of role in my organisation,’ he returned silkily. ‘Would you care to tell me why?’

She swallowed. It was hateful having to relive scenes she’d sooner forget—and more than a little disappointing that Zahid should have asked her for some sort of explanation. Had she thought that instantly he would become malleable and go along with her wishes as he had done when she’d been growing up? But she was no longer asking him to carry her around on his shoulders or rescue her shuttlecock from the branches of a tree. She needed a far more grown-up favour from him than that.

‘I went to see Simon—and he …’ Briefly, Frankie closed her eyes as she remembered the ugly showdown. Simon’s initial blustering denial and then his sneer when he realised he was cornered. He’d said a few things she would never forget—about the fact that she was about as alluring as a plate of cold porridge and it had been no hardship not to bed her. He told her she was a fool if she thought that Zahid having him followed meant anything other than that the sheikh was an interfering control freak. And that she certainly shouldn’t start reading anything into it. That a man like that might play with her for a while and then discard her like last year’s calendar.

And she wasn’t reading anything into Zahid’s interference, she told herself fiercely. She hadn’t even considered that a man like him might be interested in ‘playing’ with someone like her. He was simply looking out for her, that was all—the way he always had done in the past.

‘He what, Francesca?’ prompted Zahid.

‘He made me realise that I needed to take a good look at my life,’ she said.

And hadn’t she decided that her doomed affair with Simon ought to have some lasting effect other than making her feel like a fool and a failure? That it was time to stop letting things happen to her and to have the courage to reach out to try to grasp them for herself. Wasn’t that the reason why she’d plucked up the courage to come here today—even though her heart had been skittering with nerves from the moment she’d left home?

‘I realised that I’d worked myself into a bit of a deadend,’ she continued slowly. ‘That my life was going nowhere.’

Curiously, Zahid looked at her, remembering the little girl in her father’s laboratory who had been given her own space on the bench, with her own test tubes and an oversized white coat to wear. ‘I thought you wanted to be a scientist, like your father,’ he said slowly.

Frankie shook her head. ‘I was never as talented as he was. But I loved it—that’s why I used to hang around the lab so much when I was young. And when he got ill my school work suffered—not that I’d ever particularly been happy at school.’ She’d been too easy a target for the cruel-tongued girls who loved to mock the odd-looking child whose flighty mother had brought such shame on the family.

‘And then there was the house and the garden to look after,’ she added. Life had caught hold of her like a piece of flotsam and she’d allowed herself to drift around until her father had died and she’d found the job with Simon.

She knew that now she had some experience she might be able to get a job in one of the rival estate agencies—but she didn’t want one. Not any more. She didn’t want to stay in the same small town, but she didn’t want to move just for the sake of it. She didn’t really know what she wanted—just that she wanted something different. Something exciting. Something to make her forget the humiliation of her broken engagement. She looked up into Zahid’s narrowed and watchful black eyes.

‘I can type and I can file,’ she finished. ‘I can deal with people and I can problem solve. And I can cook, of course.’

It was an unusual combination, he mused as he studied her. A woman with a neglected scientific talent who was also a great cook. Though when he stopped to think about it—wasn’t cooking all about chemistry?

And speaking of chemistry … what about the other kind? The kind which was making him notice the pinpointing of her nipples which were thrusting against the navy dress and turning an otherwise commonplace outfit into something which was demanding to be peeled off. He looked into her wide-spaced blue eyes and felt the sizzle of danger in the air.

‘I already have people to cook and to file for me,’ he said evenly.

‘I realise that.’

‘Then what exactly are you asking me for, Fran cesca?’

She bit her lip, some of her nerve deserting her—until she remembered that if she wanted to take control of her own life, then wasn’t this the first step? She had to reach out and ask—not be deterred by the first obstacle which was put in her way. ‘I have no idea, Zahid. You were the one who made the offer that you could find me a job, remember? Although perhaps you didn’t mean it at the time.’

There was a moment’s silence before Zahid walked over to a book which lay open on the walnut writing desk, giving himself time to think. Was she trying to insult him by implying that he had made an empty offer—or was she simply calling his bluff?

He closed the book and looked up, still not saying anything. He could see anxiety vying with bravado on her face. Such a pale face, he thought and in amid his own warring feelings he felt a twist of concern; of the old, familiar protectiveness. Didn’t she deserve a break? A chance to get away from the scurrilous Simon and the bad memories he’d helped create?

But it wasn’t that easy.

He’d recognised that offering Francesca such an opportunity had been a mistake, for many reasons. It was unheard of in his country for a woman to work closely for a member of the ruling family. Perhaps he could have swung it if he’d been remaining in England for a while, but he wasn’t. He was due to go home to Khayarzah within the next few days, and how could he possibly take her with him—a single Englishwoman living within the strict confines of palace life?

But Zahid also recognised that these reservations were all easily overcome and that the main stumbling block was the fact that he had begun to desire her with a hunger which at times had overwhelmed him. And he couldn’t afford to do that.

Since that last meeting, hadn’t he been thinking about her in a way which was most uncharacteristic? He enjoyed women and they enjoyed him—but he didn’t get hung up about them. Not ever. Sometimes not even when he was thrusting into them and watching dispassionately as they orgasmed around him and squealed their joy. One of his own perceived strengths was emotional detachment and it had always served him well.

Yet for days now he’d been remembering Francesca’s firm body and her soft, unpainted lips. The way she made him smile when he least expected it. Those deep blue eyes, which had stared at him from the confusion of his unusually restless and troubled dreams. Even when his sometime Russian lover Katya had arrived the other night—wearing nothing but a fur coat and a pair of tiny, crotchless panties—he had sent her away without making love to her.

Why the hell had he done that?

Wouldn’t the best thing of all be for him to send Francesca away, too?

Because Zahid recognised that something had changed between them—and changed for ever. He no longer saw her as simply Francesca, his innocent childhood friend. He saw her now as a woman—a sexy and experienced woman who had just emerged from a bruising experience. And wasn’t that dangerous?

Wouldn’t she be feeling very natural frustration now that her relationship with Simon had ended? Wasn’t there a danger that close confinement might prove too much of a temptation for them both?

He saw her reach out to touch the petals of a spray of orchids with light, tentative fingers and he was just imagining how delicate her touch might be on his aching skin when the telephone rang.

The sound ruptured his reverie. ‘Answer it,’ he said abruptly.

‘But—’

‘I said, answer it.’

Frankie’s heart was thudding as she walked over towards the bureau and picked up the phone. Should she announce that it was the sheikh’s phone? Probably not. It could so easily be the press. ‘Hello?’

A woman’s sultry and faintly disgruntled voice came down the line. ‘Who the hell are you?’

Frankie’s fingers tightened around the receiver; she felt fired up by some unknown instinct which had the little hairs on the back of her neck prickling. She wanted to say, “Who the hell are you?”, but something stopped her and that something was Zahid watching her very closely. ‘May I help you?’ she questioned politely.

‘Sure you can. I want to speak to Zahid.’

There was the briefest of pauses before Frankie spoke. ‘I’m afraid that the sheikh is unavailable at the moment.’ From the other side of the room, she saw Zahid raise his eyebrows in silent question. ‘But if you’d like to give me your name and number, I’ll make sure he gets it.’

‘My name is Katya,’ snapped the voice. ‘And he already has my number—tell him to damned well use it!’

The connection was broken abruptly and Frankie replaced the phone, looking up to find Zahid’s now inscrutable expression fixed on her. Her heart was thudding fiercely and she wondered who the woman with the sultry voice was.

‘Who was it?’ he demanded.

‘Katya.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘You didn’t bother checking whether I wanted to speak to her?’

Awkwardly, Frankie wriggled her shoulders. Had she overstepped the mark and allowed her feelings of undeniable jealousy to influence her reaction?

‘She sounded slightly … angry,’ she explained, in a sudden rush. ‘And I thought that the call might be of a personal nature, which you probably wouldn’t care to take in front of me. Alternatively, if I’d asked you whether you wished to take the call and you’d declined—then that would have been embarrassing for all three of us. I made a judgement, Zahid—which is presumably the reason you asked me to answer your phone.’ Tentatively, she chewed on her lip as he continued to stare at her in that expressionless way. ‘Was it the wrong one?’