скачать книгу бесплатно
She puzzled over why the Emir thought the extra layer necessary. It was true, she was more comfortable with the bare skin of her waist and breasts covered, but from what she’d observed of men, they enjoyed such displays.
Unless the Emir wasn’t interested in women?
The startling thought kept her rooted to the spot. Surely not! Such a waste that would be. Besides, there’d been that shimmer of heat when he’d looked at her before. It had been unmistakable.
She darted a curious glance at the man who would decide her future. He wasn’t looking at her. In fact, he’d shut his eyes, which gave her time to take in more of his appearance, to see beyond that grave masculine beauty to the weariness bracketing his eyes and mouth. The slight droop of his head. The slump of that long frame in the cushioned chair.
The man was exhausted.
* * *
Sayid opened his eyes to see the girl dart into his bathroom. What the devil was she up to?
He was about to follow when she emerged, carrying a bowl of water. She sank to the floor before him in a show of fluid grace that made him wonder if she really was a dancer, as that scanty costume suggested.
Savagely he ignored the scorching trail of desire searing through his belly. He reminded himself he’d learned to master his impulsive, carnal nature.
Yet, to his chagrin the addition of his shirt did nothing to hide her allure. With fatigue testing both his patience and his willpower, it had seemed safest to cover her up so he couldn’t see that too-inviting expanse of honey skin, the alluring dips, swells and hollows of her breasts, waist and hips.
Sayid hadn’t reckoned on her being just as sexy, if not more, wearing his shirt. Because it was his shirt? It conjured a sense of intimacy, as if she were a lover who’d already shared her body with him. The thought snagged in his brain, stirring heat in his groin.
The extra covering hinted at her shape, the fine fabric clinging here and there, teasing with what lay beneath.
‘What are you doing?’ His voice emerged brusque, making her jump, yet she didn’t back away.
‘Helping with your boots, sir.’ She’d put the bowl to one side and reached forward as if to touch him, then halted, clearly waiting for permission.
‘Look at me.’ He was tired of the tradition that deterred people from daring to look their ruler in the face. Besides, it made it more difficult for him to read their thoughts.
Violet eyes met his. A burst of dark colour so deep it seemed Sayid could fall into it. Beautiful eyes, wide and slanted at the corners, giving her the look of a woman with secrets, or whose face was made for smiling.
There was no smile now. She still wore that tense expression, as if her flesh had shrunk around her bones, making her look wary, even scared, except the firm angle of her chin belied fear.
‘How old are you?’ The question wasn’t the one he’d planned.
‘Seventeen, sir.’ She swallowed, then licked her bottom lip as if nervous.
A mere teenager. A judder of regret vibrated through him. Seventeen and scared despite her determination not to show it. While he was twenty-five and, right now, felt old beyond his years.
Sayid couldn’t accept the invitation to let her serve him in any way he wished. Having a woman who’d been ordered to serve him was utterly unpalatable.
Or it should be.
Yet despite exhaustion part of him was disappointed. For Lina, with her pouting lips, her intriguing air of composure despite her nerves, and her outrageously luscious body, made the blood roar in his veins and heat stir. After all, he was descended from generations of marauding warriors, used to taking whatever they wanted, including women.
‘May I help you with your boots, sir?’
‘Very well.’ If it helped her to feel useful, he wouldn’t object. It would be tough getting her to speak if she were frozen into silence.
So he leaned back against the padded chair and stretched out one leg towards her, watching as she scooted closer, cradling the boot in her hands then drawing it off as carefully as if it were something precious and fragile.
Both boots, both socks were removed and set aside. Then she moved the bowl, lifted his legs one at a time and placed them in warm water.
Instantly Sayid felt some of the tension locking his muscles release.
‘Thank you, Lina.’ Her startled gaze told him she wasn’t accustomed to thanks. ‘Now, tell me about yourself.’
Again that flare of confusion in her stunning eyes. Whatever her story, she wasn’t used to being asked about herself. She hesitated then moistened her lips with her tongue in a way that sent tension flicking through him like a whip.
‘My name is Lina Rahman. My father was Headman of Narjif.’
Sayid nodded. He knew the distant town and he’d met her father last year as he toured the provinces. A serious man and a traditionalist, set in his ways. But that didn’t explain why he’d send his daughter as a gift to Sayid’s uncle, a man notorious in his younger days for his womanising, and more lately, for his irascible temper.
‘You have siblings?’
A dimple appeared in her cheek as if she bit it. ‘Sadly no. My parents weren’t blessed with sons, only me.’ Clearly she repeated something she’d heard many times. Yet Sayid was pleased to see she met his gaze, not so shy now.
‘He sent you to my uncle? To the old Emir?’
‘No!’ She shook her head and another long strand of dark hair slid over her shoulder to fall in a sinuous curve over her breast. ‘My father is dead. It was his brother who sent me. He and his wife.’
Sayid frowned. ‘And your mother?’
‘She died years ago. If she’d been alive she would not have sent me away.’ Her voice grew stronger with an echo of what might have been indignation. Lina took a small towel from her shoulder and laid it neatly across her knees. Then she lifted his foot and placed it on the towel, her movements sure and deft.
Sayid watched as she patted his foot dry then propped it, heel down on her thigh. With a firm, rhythmic movement she rubbed her thumbs over his sole, finding and working pressure points. Sayid felt warmth rise and spread, not only through his foot but his whole body. His tired eyes flickered and his aching muscles eased as pleasure rushed through him.
‘You’ve done this before.’
‘For my father.’ Her features softened a fraction.
‘Not your uncle?’
Instantly she stiffened, her mouth turning down at the corners and her forehead crinkling. ‘No. It would not be appropriate. My aunt specifically forbade me to touch any of my male relatives.’
‘There is more than your uncle?’
Her thumbs pressed so hard that the massage bordered on pain rather than pleasure. ‘My uncle and aunt have three sons.’
‘And you wanted to touch them?’ For some reason Sayid disliked the idea.
‘Ha! I’d rather touch a flea-ridden, spitting camel with diarrhoea than one of them.’
Sayid bit down a smile, weariness abating as curiosity rose. His demure little gift wasn’t nearly as demure as she seemed.
‘I see. They wanted to touch you.’
Lina nodded, her nostrils flaring in distaste. Her breasts rose high against his shirt as she breathed hard.
‘They accused me of leading them on! Of tempting and teasing, when I never even looked at them. I avoided them as much as I could. But that wasn’t enough. They said I wore perfume deliberately to entice them. That they could smell it when I left my room and it was an invitation for them to follow me.’
In her indignation Lina had forgotten to be cowed or careful. Fire flashed in her fine eyes and her cheeks blushed a soft rose.
Though he deplored their behaviour, Sayid understood too easily why her cousins found her such a temptation. Nervous and cowed she was lovely. Animated, she was glorious.
Even he, bound by his obligation as her ruler, as her host, and by his own honour, felt the dangerous undertow of attraction.
She was young, vulnerable and in his care. Unlike his dead uncle, Sayid didn’t believe people should be given as gifts or treated as expendable.
No wonder her relatives had packed her off to the capital. To keep temptation away from the males of her family. He guessed there was little love lost between Lina and her aunt and uncle.
‘Were there no other relatives willing to take you in?’
Her gaze dropped. She concentrated on drying his other foot and massaging it. Again Sayid felt the tug and release of taut muscles and tendons, and a glorious feeling of well-being. He’d never had a foot massage and was rapidly suspecting it might be addictive. Yet to his consternation the stirring in his loins indicated an inconvenient but growing arousal at odds with that wave of relaxation.
‘My uncle moved his family into my father’s house. And I have no other relatives. Even if there were, my mother...’
She paused so long Sayid wondered if she’d continue.
‘My mother had been a dancer. Much younger than my father. She was not...approved of locally. No one else came forward to offer me a home when my father died.’
Sayid stared at her downcast face, at bone-deep beauty that even tightly pursed lips and a scowl couldn’t mar.
With a nation to rule, a government to revamp and peace to establish, Sayid didn’t have time for one lost girl.
Yet nor could he dismiss her. An orphan, without a family who’d care for her and, by the sound of it, a town that didn’t want her, that was biased against her because of her mother, she’d been given away like a commodity. That easy disregard for people without the means to protect or support themselves was something he abhorred. He’d seen it too often under his uncle’s rule.
He thrust aside the weary voice that protested responsibility for the nation was enough, without taking personal responsibility for a stray female too. A female who, given his powerful reaction, was surely trouble.
Yet she had no options, no home.
Who else would take responsibility if not her Emir?
Sayid took his obligations seriously.
‘Thank you for the massage, Lina.’ He withdrew from her touch, ignoring the tingle along his skin and the urge to let her minister to him with those supple hands.
Sayid sat straighter. He would not act on this burgeoning desire.
‘Now.’ He rose and she did too, again with that sinuous grace that drew the eye and made him think inevitably about a soft female body moving against his. His groin tightened. ‘You can retire.’ His voice was gruff. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. My secretary will schedule a time.’
Her fine eyebrows arched in surprise. Then she smiled, a real smile, unlike that stilted curve of the lips she’d given him originally. The effect was instantaneous. Heat blasted him, feeding an urgent hunger he should be too worn out to experience.
Yet now he didn’t feel worn out. He felt aroused.
‘Thank you, sir. You won’t regret this.’ She actually bounced on the balls of her feet, as if from excitement.
Then she bowed herself out, a diminutive figure who should have looked comical with his shirt hanging loose over those filmy skirts. Instead his gaze locked on her in a mixture of fascination and pure, searing lust.
Seventeen. She’s only seventeen.
Yet there was no mistaking that electric energy, the thunder in his blood and the heaviness in his groin.
Sayid raked his fingers across his scalp and swore.
Apart from her stunning looks, Lina wasn’t like the women he chose for himself.
They were experienced and independent. Passionate enough to appreciate his demanding sex drive and sophisticated enough not to linger. He allowed himself no more than a week of intense carnal pleasure at a time before returning to his onerous responsibilities. It was part of his stringent private control system—giving free rein to his erotic appetites once in a while, then sublimating them while he focused on his work.
Mostly his lovers were foreigners wanting a taste of the exotic in the form of a hereditary prince. And most were blonde. His tastes didn’t run to country-bred brunettes.
Until now.
Sayid swore again, exhaustion forgotten as he remembered those beguiling eyes and that curious mix of innocence and fire that made Lina far too alluring to a man who should know better.
He had to come up with a plan for her. A place for her to live.
Lina couldn’t stay in the palace indefinitely.
His self-restraint only went so far.
CHAPTER THREE (#u0fe47d5d-4754-52c5-bbac-0767c9cea2c3)
LINA SHIFTED IN her seat. It was a very comfortable seat, but she’d been sitting in it for ages. The Emir’s serious-eyed secretary had looked down his nose at her and warned she’d have a long wait, since the Emir had many important appointments. Far more important, he implied, with a comprehensive glance, than dealing with some tawdry dancing girl.
Lina wanted to tell him the clothes she wore weren’t her choice. She hadn’t been permitted to bring her own clothes with her to the palace, only the outfits her aunt had provided.
She’d stared straight back at the secretary, refusing to drop her gaze, and let him huff and puff. Eventually he’d led her into the library, motioned to a chair and left.
Now, finally, Lina could stand the temptation no more. She’d never seen so many books. They lined three walls. Surely that was more than any person could ever read in a lifetime.
Quietly, she got up and tiptoed to the nearest shelf. The covers were beautiful, leather and fabric in all the hues of a rainbow. Some tall and slim. Others short and stumpy. She reached out and trailed her fingers over one, then another, then another.
Imagine all the secrets hidden in these books. All the nuggets of knowledge. All the explanations of scientific marvels and history. And stories, so many stories contained in this massive collection. Wonderful stories such as her mother had told her and many more besides. The idea left her giddy with the possibilities.
With a quick look over her shoulder, Lina selected a book. Its cover was hard and green with gilt lettering. The secretary hadn’t said she couldn’t touch.
Carefully she slid it out, testing its weight on her hands. She opened it to find gorgeously coloured pictures of plants. A few she recognised, ones that grew in the foothills near her home. Others were unfamiliar. Her fingers traced the delicate shape of one beautiful flower. Its petals were a dark red that looked so real it might have been plucked fresh this morning.
Finally, when she’d looked her fill, she put the book back and moved along the shelf, selecting another at random. This one had a cover of red. Inside there were no pictures, but—
‘Lina.’
She spun, almost dropping the precious book as she started.
The Emir closed the door behind him. Last night, in the warm glow of his lamplit bedroom, he’d thrown her off balance. She’d told herself it was shock because she’d seen so much of his handsome, sculpted body. More than any woman expected to see of a man who was not her husband.
Yet that same thrill of excitement ran through her veins as he crossed the room towards her with that easy stride. The same breathlessness at his sheer masculine beauty and that aura of power he wore as surely as the fine white robes. His face, against the pale fabric, was bronze and arrestingly handsome. His eyes dark and penetrating.
