Her attempts to resist him were futile. The blows she rained on him with her bunched fists had no impact. Finally she laid her hands flat on his chest, unable to fight him any more. He must have sensed her submission, because he eased the pressure of his lips a fraction and the stroke of his tongue inside her mouth became a slow, sensual exploration.
Suddenly each of her senses seemed acutely alive. She could feel the heat of his body through his fine silk shirt, and the mingled scents of his cologne and male pheromones caused a curious weakness in her limbs. Her anger was dissipating, giving way to another emotion she had never experienced before: a slow, insidious excitement that unlocked her taut muscles so that she stopped trying to pull away from him and instead melted into him.
Her eyes flew open in shock when she felt the hard ridge of his arousal push insistently against her belly. What was the matter with her? she wondered, appalled at her shaming weakness. Zahir was a tyrant—a man used to always having his own way, according to Gordon Straker. She despised his arrogance. But the pressure of his hand on her spine was forcing her body into intimate contact with his, and nothing else seemed to matter except that he should carry on kissing her.
She felt his hand slide down to her bottom and then round, over her hip, smoothing a tantalising path up to her ribcage, where it came to rest just below her breast. Heat flooded through her veins and she felt her breasts swell, felt her nipples tighten in anticipation beneath her tee shirt. He only had to move his hand a little further…In an agony of excitement she pressed closer to him, her body trembling with desire.
Nothing existed but the firm pressure of his mouth on hers, the sensual sweep of his tongue and the warm weight of his hand resting so close to where she wanted him to touch her. Lost in this new world of sensory pleasure, she shifted closer still, rubbed her pelvis against his—and then suddenly, shockingly, he wrenched his mouth from hers, his fingers biting into her flesh as he thrust her from him.
The ensuing silence throbbed with a sexual tension that was almost tangible, and for a few mad seconds Erin wished he would draw her back into his arms and kiss her again and again, until they were both mindless with wanting. But then he spoke and she wished instead that she could curl up and die of humiliation.
‘I see that my assessment of your nature was spot-on,’ he drawled in a hatefully sardonic tone. ‘My brother has been in his grave barely three weeks and yet you’re already clearly sexually frustrated. How long, I wonder, will it be before you invite a steady stream of boyfriends into the house? And what sort of care will Kazim receive then, when you are too busy for him?’
‘I want you to leave,’ Erin said tightly, her chest heaving as she fought to drag oxygen into her lungs.
She could not bring herself to look at him. It was pointless trying to defend herself—pointless to explain that she’d never had a proper boyfriend in all her twenty-two years. Zahir clearly believed she was the Mata Hari of the Yorkshire Moors, and after the shameful way she had responded to him she couldn’t really blame him.
Shaking with reaction, she yanked open the library door and stood aside for Zahir to pass—then gasped when he caught hold of her arm and slammed the door shut again, the blaze of anger in his eyes filling her with trepidation.
‘I came here to collect my brother’s child, and I’m not going anywhere without him,’ he warned her savagely.
‘So what are you going to do? Kidnap him? Take him from me by force?’ Erin demanded shakily.
Ingledean was eight miles from the nearest village, and she had always loved its remoteness, but Zahir was strong and powerful and she and Alice would be no match for him if he chose to snatch Kazim.
‘If you don’t leave now I’ll call the police,’ she told him with a bravado she did not feel, aware even as she spoke of the emptiness of her threat. He could carry Kazim out to his car, parked on the driveway, and disappear into the dusk before the local constable even had cycled out from the village. ‘You say you want what is best for Kazim, but how can scaring him out of his wits be good for him?’
‘Of course I do not mean to scare him,’ Zahir snapped impatiently. But her words had hit a chord, and he stared at her, his conscience prickling when he glimpsed the fear in her eyes.
He had not meant to lose his temper, and he was furious with himself for his loss of control. He shouldn’t have kissed her like that—but she had made him angrier than he could ever remember, and she had responded to him, damn it. He could still taste her, could remember that moment of scalding sweetness when she had stopped fighting him and parted her lips beneath his while her body relaxed into him so that her soft breasts had pressed against his chest.
With a muttered curse he swung away from her and raked his hand through his hair. She was his brother’s widow, he reminded himself grimly, and out of respect for Faisal she was off-limits.
‘I have no intention of taking my nephew away from you,’ he growled. He’d witnessed how the little boy had clung to Erin when he had injured himself, and in all honesty he knew he could not separate Kazim from the woman he regarded as his mother.
‘You don’t?’ Erin murmured dazedly, a little of her tension draining away. A moment ago he’d told her that he would not leave without Kazim.
‘No.’ Zahir’s jaw tightened. The last thing he wanted was to take this woman who was playing havoc with his hormones back to his homeland, but he had no choice. ‘I appreciate that he needs you, and for that reason it’s clear that you will have to come to Qubbah too.’
He was deadly serious, Erin realised when she stared at him and recognised the determined gleam in his eyes. ‘I don’t think you understand,’ she began. ‘I’m not going to Qubbah or anywhere else with you, and neither is Kazim…’
‘It is you who does not understand,’ Zahir snapped coldly. ‘My father is desperate to see his grandson.’
‘I told you—your father is welcome to visit Kazim whenever he likes,’ Erin said defensively, flushing beneath Zahir’s hard stare.
‘The journey would kill him.’ He ignored her faint gasp. ‘Two months ago my father contracted a virus that attacked his heart. He has been prescribed medication to control the condition and hopefully prevent full heart failure, but he has to rest as much as possible, and his doctors give him oxygen to reduce any strain on his heart. A long flight is out of the question,’ Zahir said harshly. ‘The only solution is for you to accompany Kazim to Qubbah. And, to be frank, I don’t have much time to waste arguing with you,’ he added in a warning tone when she opened her mouth to protest. ‘My father longed to be reconciled with Faisal, and he was devastated by the news of his death. He is an old man, and his life is in the balance,’ he added gruffly. ‘All he wants is to see his grandson—Faisal’s son. And you want to deny him that one simple joy.’
Erin bit her lip, startled by the raw emotion in Zahir’s voice. Guilt tugged at her conscience. She more than most people understood the importance of family ties. All her life she had longed to be part of a family, and even though her mother had been sadly lacking in any parenting skills, she had still been devastated by the death of her only blood relative.
Supposing the elderly Sheikh died without ever seeing Kazim? From the sound of it Zahir’s father had loved Faisal, had hoped to be reconciled with him, and according to Zahir he was desperate to meet his little grandson. And what about Kazim? she thought fretfully. Would a court battle with Zahir for custody really be in the little boy’s best interests? And how would Kazim feel if he one day discovered that she had prevented him from meeting his grandfather?
The truth was she had a duty to give Kazim the opportunity to meet his family in Qubbah, she acknowledged reluctantly. She could not possibly allow Zahir to take Kazim—she would have to go too. But the prospect of travelling halfway around the world with Faisal’s disturbingly sexy brother filled her with unease.
What if he tried to kiss her again? She would not respond, of course. He had taken her by surprise earlier, that was all
. But she had a feeling that Zahir bin Kahlid al Muntassir was used to women jumping whenever he clicked his fingers, and she would have to make it clear that she was neither available nor interested in him. Her eyes strayed to his mouth and her stomach lurched as she recalled the sensual pleasure of his kiss, the way his warm, firm lips had parted hers with a masterful intent that had demolished her resistance. Definitely not interested, she told herself sharply, her heart jerking unevenly when their eyes met and held and a bolt of white-hot awareness flashed between them.
Faisal had been a kind, gentle man, but she detected neither quality in his brother. Common sense warned her that Zahir, with his stunning looks and brooding sensuality, was out of her league, but for some reason her body hadn’t got the message, and she blushed scarlet when she followed his amused gaze and saw that her nipples were jutting provocatively beneath her tee shirt.
Desperate to distract his attention, she crossed her arms over her chest and voiced the question that had been gnawing in her brain since Gordon Straker’s shocking announcement that Zahir was Faisal’s brother. ‘Why was Faisal estranged from you and the rest of his family?’
Zahir was silent for so long that she risked another glance at him, and was startled by the hardness of his expression. ‘He married a woman who had not been chosen for him,’ he replied at last. ‘Faisal was engaged to the daughter of an influential family in Qubbah, but before his wedding he eloped with another woman and brought great shame to his family.’
‘When you say that his fiancée had been chosen for him, do you mean that it was an arranged marriage?’ Erin queried, shocked. ‘Isn’t that a rather outdated tradition?’
‘It is the tradition in Qubbah,’ Zahir informed her coldly. ‘My father had selected a number of potential brides, and Faisal chose one of them.’
‘But he didn’t love her,’ Erin said, her voice ringing with conviction. ‘He loved Maryam. He talked about her all the time, and I know that her death left him heartbroken. Why did Faisal have to elope with her? Why couldn’t he have married her and stayed in Qubbah?’
‘Because Maryam was promised to another man,’ Zahir said flatly, and something in his tone caused Erin to stare at him curiously.
‘Another arranged marriage?’ she guessed. ‘But Maryam didn’t love the man she was expected to marry—she was in love with Faisal. It’s like something from the Dark Ages. Surely your father wanted his son to be happy? Why couldn’t he have relented and allowed Faisal and Maryam to be together?’
‘Because it would have been an unforgivable insult to his fiancée and her family,’ Zahir explained harshly, his eyes narrowing when he noted Erin’s disapproving expression. ‘Things are done differently in my country. I don’t expect you to understand,’ he told her dismissively.
‘You’re right—I don’t understand,’ Erin told him hotly. ‘I believe that the only reason two people should marry is because they love each other, as Faisal and Maryam did. Yet it sounds as though they were hounded out of Qubbah like criminals…’
‘They were not,’ Zahir snapped furiously. ‘My father is not some cruel despot. But he is bound by his duty to the kingdom. He was torn…’ He shook his head, belatedly remembering that Erin had no idea his father was the King of Qubbah.
The tense silence was shattered by the ring of his mobile phone. It was a welcome interruption, and he answered the call, listened intently, and then barked a few terse instructions in Arabic before turning back to Erin. ‘My driver has been following the weather reports and says that more snow is forecast. We will have to leave immediately. I cannot risk the possibility of being stranded here for days,’ he added impatiently, when Erin gaped at him.
‘You can’t expect us to come with you now?’ she faltered, tension making her voice sharp as it dawned on her that Zahir expected exactly that. ‘I can see that because your father is ill I’ll have to bring Kazim to Qubbah for a short visit, but not today! The idea is ridiculous. I’d have to pack. And it’s late. In a couple of hours it’ll be Kazim’s bedtime…’
‘He can sleep on the plane,’ Zahir informed her coolly. ‘We’ll be travelling on my private jet, and one of the bedrooms on board has already been prepared for him. It is not necessary for you to bring anything for him. He has clothes and toys, everything he could possibly want, in Qubbah. Everything is taken care of. You can quickly pack your own personal possessions if you wish,’ he added graciously. ‘And may I suggest you change into a more suitable outfit to travel in.’ His eyes briefly skimmed her faded jeans with such a disdainful expression that Erin itched to slap him. ‘Something lightweight—it is considerably hotter in Qubbah than here.’
He was the most arrogant, overstuffed…Erin ran out of adjectives and glared at him with such heated fury that he should have fried on the spot. ‘Now, look here…’
Behind her the library door creaked open. She swung round, breathing hard, and forced a smile when Kazim peeped into the room.
‘Hey, have you had your tea? I’d better come and run your bath.’
Bathtime had become something of a battlefield lately, and Kazim shook his head mutinously. He seemed fascinated by Zahir, and although he was usually shy with people he did not know, he trotted across the room and grinned when his uncle swung him into his arms.
‘Instead of a bath, how would you like to fly on my plane, Kazim?’
The little boy’s eyes widened and he nodded his head eagerly. ‘A real plane?’
‘Sure it’s a real plane. It’s a jet, and it will take us all the way to the desert—’
‘Hold on a minute,’ Erin interrupted in a fierce whisper meant for Zahir’s ears only. ‘I’m not convinced it’s a good idea for Kazim to travel tonight.’ She wasn’t convinced that she should take him to Qubbah at all, but Zahir was like a bulldozer, flattening anything that got in his way and trampling on her misgivings with arrogant disregard.
Zahir’s eyes hardened on her before he smiled at the child in his arms. ‘Kazim wants to come with me—don’t you?’ he prompted the toddler lightly. ‘But if Erin doesn’t want to come, just you and me can go—how about that?’
Erin’s heart missed a beat when Kazim rested his head on his uncle’s shoulder. He appeared to be completely dazzled by Zahir—and he was not the only one, she acknowledged grimly as she recalled those few moments when he had crushed her against his chest and she had inhaled his tantalising male scent.
‘Erin’s coming on the plane too,’ Kazim announced firmly, grinning at her from his high vantage point in Zahir’s arms.
Some of Erin’s tension left her. Zahir might be Superman in Kazim’s eyes, but he still needed her, and she smiled back at him, her smile fading as she glared at Zahir. ‘That was a dirty, low-down trick, and you know it,’ she said furiously.
He shrugged uninterestedly. ‘I’ll play dirty if I have to, and you would be wise to remember that,’ he advised her coldly.
The implied threat in his voice sent a shaft of fear through her.
He sauntered over to the door, still holding Kazim. ‘Come, Kazim, let’s go and play with your toys while Erin packs.’ He laughed at the toddler’s excited nod, but his expression was deadly serious when he looked back at Erin. ‘You have half an hour,’ he drawled, glancing at his watch. ‘I suggest you get a move on—or risk being left behind.’
CHAPTER THREE
IT HAD stopped snowing when they left Ingledean. The evening air was crisp and cold and Erin shivered in the cream linen skirt and jacket that she had changed into for the journey. Zahir had warned her that it would be hot in Qubbah and she only hoped he was right.
At least she no longer looked like a ‘menial domestic’, she thought, recalling his scathing description of her when he had first learned that she was Faisal’s widow. Stung by his remarks, she had taken time with her appearance and had teamed her suit with a pale blue silk blouse, swept her unruly curls into a knot on top of her head and even added a touch of make-up—just a soft taupe shadow on her eyelids a
nd pink gloss on her lips.
She had felt supremely self-conscious when she’d walked down the stairs to where he’s been waiting in the hall with Kazim, and the flare of sexual heat in his eyes had caused her heart to jerk painfully beneath her ribs.
Her doubts about taking Kazim to visit his family in Qubbah were intensifying by the minute, but she seemed to have little choice. Zahir had swept into their lives with the force of a tornado and she was still reeling from his impact.
She and Kazim would be back at Ingledean soon, she reassured herself as the car swung out of the drive, and she turned her head for one last glimpse of the house that was the only real home she had ever known. She loved Ingledean. The wild beauty of the surrounding moors was a stark contrast to the soulless concrete tower block where she had grown up.
If Zahir’s father was as ill as he’d described, then surely he would not want them to make a prolonged visit? She would stay in Qubbah long enough for Kazim to meet his grandfather and other relatives, and then she would bring him home to Yorkshire.
Kazim chattered non-stop on the drive to the airport, and his excitement grew as they boarded Zahir’s private plane. Erin felt as though she had stepped into another world when she glanced around the luxurious cabin. Instead of rows of tightly packed seats there were large cream leather sofas and a plush velvet carpet. The discreet lighting created an ambience of refined luxury, and the cabin crew—two impossibly beautiful stewardesses—were charmingly attentive. Particularly towards Zahir, she noted sourly. It was little wonder that he was so arrogant when everyone he came into contact with seemed to hang on his every word. But perhaps being surrounded by yes-men—and women—was one of the perks of being incredibly wealthy.
She’d known that Faisal was well off, but he had lived simply and she had never given a thought to his fortune. Now she was forced to acknowledge that Kazim’s family were millionaires—probably billionaires, she amended, as she debated the likelihood of the fitments in the bathroom being solid gold. She felt a churning sensation in the pit of her stomach. Money and power went hand in hand, and she could not forget Zahir’s threat that he would hire the best lawyers and fight for custody of his nephew. But surely he wouldn’t do so now that she had agreed to bring Kazim to Qubbah?
At the Sheikh's Bidding Page 4