Lucy and the Sheikh

by Diana Fraser

  They walked in silence for a few moments until they reached a door out into a leafy courtyard. Aakifah turned to Lucy. “Is it true? All that you said?”

  “Sort of. I stopped hating the baby all right, but it was too late for me. I never stopped hating myself.”

  “Then I think it’s about time you stopped, isn’t it?”

  Was it? Thinking back to the young, terrified woman, she suddenly saw herself, sitting there, terrified and hurting. The girl wasn’t guilty of anything except honesty, just as she hadn’t been guilty of anything. Was it too late to start really living?

  Lucy hesitated in the shadows and her heart went out to Razeen, who stood, unmoving, on the stone balcony. His hands were thrust in his pockets, weariness was evident in the tension of his shoulders, as he gazed blankly out to the violet sky, where the white vapor trail of the plane Lucy should have been on, could still be seen.

  “Razeen…” Perhaps she spoke too softly because while Razeen stiffened a little, he didn’t move, merely shook his head as if to clear it of some thought.

  She stepped toward him but before she could touch him he turned and she stopped dead in her tracks, arrested by the intensity of his expression. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing emerged. He cleared his throat.

  “You didn’t leave then.”

  She shook her head and smiled, feeling suddenly uncertain. “No.”

  “Did you miss your flight? Going tomorrow instead?”

  She shook her head again. “No. Well, I don’t know. I thought that I might, well, stay.” He was silent and she continued, trying to fill the silence with words, any words, anything that might dilute the tension in the air. “I, er, went to the clinic. It was,” she shrugged, blinking, “amazing. They offered me work there. And I thought that I might…” she made the mistake of catching his hot gaze, “stay…”

  “Stay…” His lips quirked but eyes were still sad. “You’d stay for the job. That’s good. I’m pleased. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

  “Yes,” she nodded, wanting to elaborate, wanting to tell him exactly what happened to her in the clinic, but unable to find the words under his intense gaze. “I, umm…”

  “How long will you stay?”

  A direct question she could deal with. “I have no plans to move on.”

  He took a step toward her. “No plans? What happened to the woman who had to keep moving, keep on running. Where did she go?”

  “She stopped running. She found a man who believed in her, made her want to stay.”

  He closed his eyes as if in pain and dropped his forehead to hers. “I thought you’d gone. I thought you’d left me.”

  “No, I’m here. And, if you want me, I’ll stay here. I love you, Razeen.” He picked up her compass and examined it as if trying to buy himself time. For one long moment she wondered if she’d got it wrong, if he didn’t love her after all. But she had to continue; she had to find out. “Razeen, don’t you understand, the compass is pointing to you.”

  “I understand completely. It means, Lucy, you can always find me.”

  “Only if you want to be found.”

  He smiled and slipped his fingers through her hair and brought her face up to his. His breath was warm on her face, the curl of his lips inviting; but it was in his eyes that she finally found the answer she’d been looking for, the answer confirmed by the whispered word pressed against her lips. “Always.”

  Epilogue

  Lucy waded through the shallows and onto the still warm sand. It was early evening—her favorite time of day. The violet haze that held the darkness in check would be gone momentarily and the remote Lodge would be a sole beacon of light in the surrounding darkness. She always enjoyed her solitary swim but only because she knew what awaited her.

  She ran up the short flight of steps onto the wooden verandah, plucked a towel from a pile and quickly dried herself.

  Silently she walked along the dark wooden floorboards and pushed open a door. The twins were fast asleep, the night light showing Taban lying on his front, covers thrown off, his pyjama-clad bottom sticking up in the air, his head covered by a much-loved brontosaurus. She smiled to herself. She imagined Razeen was like their son as a child. On the go from morning until night when he fell asleep in whatever position he was last in. She gently eased him down into the bed, uncovered his head and tucked him in, laying a soft kiss on his cheek. He muttered something incomprehensible and fell straight back to sleep.

  Then Lucy turned to Sabuhi. She lay on her side, both hands tidily tucked under her cheek. She was as dark-skinned as her twin was fair; as serious, as her brother was light-hearted. She stroked the thick, luscious hair and tucked a hot strand away from her face and lowered a kiss to her cheek. Sabuhi’s eyes flickered open, she smiled trustingly and reached for Lucy’s hand and brought it to her lips. “Love you, Ommy.”

  Lucy brought the joint fists to her own lips, in a nightly routine that always seemed to settle her more highly-strung daughter. “Love you more. Sleep tight, baby.”

  She turned at the door and gazed upon her two children, overwhelmed with thankfulness. She jumped as Razeen pulled her hard against his body and slipped his hands around her pregnant stomach in a sweet caress. “So, not twins this time.”

  “No, just the one. Shame.”

  “Why?”

  She pulled the door closed, turned to him and kissed him deeply. “It’ll take us longer to reach the required number.”

  “And that is?”

  “At least one more than Maia. We’re very competitive, you know.” She couldn’t help grinning at his expression. “And she wants at least four.”

  “Four? But that means—”

  “Six, at least six. Can’t have an odd number.”

  “And you know what that also means?”

  She shook her head.

  “Practice. Lots of practice.”

  He slipped his hands to her bottom and he drew her tight against his hips and kissed her in a way that made her forget about numbers, about everything except the power of the love that existed between them: a power greater than any magnetic force on earth.

  THE END

  Diana Fraser’s Books

  —Desert Kings—

  The Sheikh's Bargain Bride

  Lucy and the Sheikh

  King Tariq of Ma’in—coming soon

  —Italian Lovers—

  The Italian’s Perfect Lover

  The Passionate Italian

  —The Mackenzie Brothers—

  The PA’s Revenge

  Callum & James Mackenzie's books—coming soon

  ***

  The Sheikh’s Bargain Bride

  A Devil's Bargain...

  Anna Whitman has yearned for freedom and independence her whole life but she's forced to accept a marriage of convenience so she can live with her son.

  Sheikh Zahir Al-Zaman is a ruthless desert warrior who believes the only way he can control his obsession with Anna is to possess her. And he'll do almost anything--even kidnap her son--to have her.

  But Zahir will not force her into his bed. He has his strategies for seduction--strategies Anna finds increasingly hard to resist. But she won't have a relationship based on lies. And how can she reveal her secrets when they will shatter the beliefs he holds most dear?

  Excerpt:

  Sheikh Zahir al-Zaman narrowed his eyes against the glare of the sun-bleached stony plains and focused on the slowly materializing dark speck. Within minutes the helicopter’s low rhythmic thrum filled the overcast spring sky like an angry locust intent on devastation.

  She hadn’t wasted any time. But then he’d made sure she couldn’t refuse his invitation. He banished a flicker of discomfort with practiced ease. Sometimes you had to lure the prey to you. Sometimes, in a way that wasn’t palatable.

  But the ends always justified the means. She would be his and he was prepared to do whatever it took to make it happen.

  He watched the helicopter alight in a cloud of
dust before the palace. The pilot lifted out a small case and began to open the door before it was pushed open abruptly from within and two long, jean-clad legs emerged. A tall blonde jumped down and looked around the palace, her head twisting and turning impatiently.

  She’d changed. She was thinner, her hair longer, her face no longer sun-kissed but as pale as the desert under moonlight. Still, his body responded the same to her now, as it did when she visited him in his dreams.

  He’d lived with his obsession with her for four long years: cursing and nurturing the anger at her deceit and betrayal while still longing to relive the passion of their one night together. But his brother’s death meant he no longer had to live with the madness.

  Then, with an imperceptible movement of her head, she looked up and caught his gaze. Zahir frowned and his breath caught unexpectedly in his chest. Ice blue eyes stared at him, challenging him, demanding an explanation from him. How could eyes so cool and northern spark such fire? She turned away suddenly and slid the door of the helicopter shut with a force that belied her fragility. The metallic crash echoed around the palace, destroying its peace and order.

  He’d get what he wanted but he knew, without a doubt, that it wasn’t going to be easy.

  ***

  Praise for The Sheikh’s Bargain Bride

  “Zahir is definitely all alpha male and will have your heart beating a little faster... I like a character with depth, and Zahir fits this description perfectly.” (bookwenches.com)

  “…powerful and unadulterated romance leaps off of the page and transports the reader to a different world. The chemistry between Anna and Zahir is exquisite and the descriptions of the scenery and settings are breathtaking. A must for fans of classic, passionate true romance.” (coffeetimeromance.com)

  “The writer has crafted the characters with a deft hand, allowing readers to literally sense the emotions, the connections or the disconnects, the strong maternal feelings and the erotic couplings that are a part of this romance.” (drjsbookplace.blogspot)

  ***

  The Italian’s Perfect Lover

  by Diana Fraser

  Falling for the perfectly handsome Alessandro Cavour, Count di Montecorvio Rovella, is the last thing archaeologist Emily Carlyle needs as she recovers from the physical and emotional scars inflicted by an ex-boyfriend. But she can't avoid him when she finds out he now owns the estate where she's discovered an ancient Roman site.

  Restoring one particular mosaic on the site has become an obsession with Emily—one which Alessandro can't understand. He has no interest in digging up the past because, despite appearances, he bears his own scars. Consumed by guilt over the death of his wife and son, commitment-shy Alessandro lives only for the pleasures of the present. But he hadn’t reckoned on falling in love. And love, he discovers, forces difficult choices...

  — Excerpt —

  …She shivered as he sat down beside her and turned to look at her closely, questioningly, his hand trailing slowly up her leg.

  “You looked lost in your thoughts, Emily. Tell me what you were thinking about?”

  “You can’t expect me to think as you run your hand up my leg.”

  “Umm. That’s tricky. Do I want your mind, in which case I should stop distracting you or do I want your body?”

  “Better choose my mind. In case you hadn’t noticed we’re in a plane with people working just the other side of that door.”

  “True. It is a beautiful mind and an interesting mind—a rare combination—but one mustn’t forget the body. It can have a profound effect on one’s mind.” His hand didn’t stop moving up towards her thigh.

  She clamped her hand on top of his. “It’s having one on mine. It’s telling me that we’ll be landing soon. There’s no time.”

  “We have half an hour yet before we land.”

  He pushed his hand further up her thigh and she felt her hand slip away from his, allowing him freer access. Her body melted under his touch, her mind ceased to function as she felt the soft drag of his nails climbing further up her inner thigh. She felt herself quiver with anticipation and longing.

  She swallowed hard. The light was too bright up here. She just couldn’t. Not yet.

  “I’ve got, well, reading to do.”

  He laughed. “Reading? Are you mad?” He kissed her long and slow on her lips, his finger now sliding between the elastic of her panties and her super-sensitive skin.

  She gasped. “Alessandro! Someone might come in.”

  “No, they won’t. It would be more than their life or their job is worth. But we can go to the bedroom if you like. I’ll take off your clothes one by one and make love to you under the brilliant sun of the Alps.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ll stay here if you don’t—”

  “That’s fine with me.” With one swift movement he yanked down her panties. “Don’t move an inch. I promise not to rumple your beautiful new clothes.” He flicked back her seat and she landed on her back on the cushions with a yelp, that turned into a sigh, that turned into a small cry of ecstasy that was drowned by the thrum of the jet as it flew high across Europe...

  Praise for The Italian’s Perfect Lover

  “Dark, Dramatic and Dynamite! I read this book in one day—it was an emotional and compelling read and completely impossible to put down.” (Amazon)

  “Hooked me from the start! The chemistry was intense...loved it.” (Goodreads)

  ***

  The Passionate Italian

  by Diana Fraser

  Passion wasn’t high on Rose’s agenda growing up in poverty: survival was, independence was, but not the crazy, elemental passion that she’d found with Giovanni Visconti. But, after a year together, the passion had twisted into jealousy and control and Rose had disappeared—seemingly unable to deal with her husband’s passionate nature.

  But, two years later, Giovanni tracks Rose down. He’s discovered something that makes him realize that there was more to Rose’s departure than he’d first thought, and he’s determined to control his jealous passions in order to prove to his wife that she can trust him. But Rose is keeping secrets from him—secrets with the potential to destroy more than just their relationship…

  — Excerpt —

  “...So you don’t want me to work. How exactly do you propose we spend the next 20 hours or so?”

  He dropped his hand and she released her breath, not realizing that she’d been holding it.

  “I need to know you again.”

  His voice sent chills down her spine. There was an uncertainty evident in the rougher tone that she’d never heard before.

  Her pulse raced at the implications of his words, their ambiguity, their potential.

  “Why?”

  He shook his head. “No more questions.”

  “It can’t all be on your terms. Tell me. What do you need to know about me, that you don’t already?”

  His brow dipped into a brief frown, his dark eyes darkening even further as if a shadow had passed over them.

  “Consider it an interview—a prolonged interview. There are things I wish to know and which I will discover. We’ll begin now but it won’t end tonight.”

  “When then?”

  “When I discover what I need to know.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “It is my question I wish answered. Now get back into bed again.”

  She shivered, confused and doubtful.

  “Ask me whatever it is. Let’s get this over with.”

  “There is no rush.” He moved to the phone and ordered some drinks. “We have all the time in the world.”

  She sat down before her legs gave way beneath her.

  “That time is gone, Giovanni, don’t you understand? The time for talking, for listening, for understanding—it’s gone.”

  “You refused to do talk to me before, you gave us no time. Now, here is your chance.”

  “A chance I don’t wish to take.”

  “You h
ave no choice.”

  A discrete knock at the door was followed by the steward bringing in drinks and snacks. He laid them out on the coffee table and left without raising his eyes or talking. He was too well trained and well paid—too used to attending to his boss in a bedroom with sundry women—to make small talk, Rose supposed. Besides, the tension in the air was palpable.

  “Drink?”

  She shook her head. “One question then. Just one for tonight.”

  He laughed, “You’ve misunderstood. There will be no questions. I can get my answers without questions.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “I wouldn’t what? Touch you?” He pushed the cover back off her. “Yes, Rose, I would.”

  “What can you hope to gain by violence?”

  “Have I ever been violent with you?”

  “No. Of course not—”

  “Then I suggest it’s unlikely I ever will be.”

  “Then what question are you trying to answer? Tell me that.”

  “A question that only your body can answer. Not your mind, not your voice, nothing else.”

  Heat simmered deep inside. She gasped at the intimation, the suggestion of what he was about to do to her.

  “You would not take me by force.”

  “You are not listening to me. I am interested only in your body’s responses to me, not in satisfying any physical needs of my own. No matter how pressing.” He didn’t smile, didn’t move, simply held her gaze, watching, assessing, alert.