Defying her Desert Duty Read Online Free

burning sand for hours, all because of him.
    She dragged his jacket in around her shoulders, telling herselfthe shock of news from Bakhara unnerved her. Her sense of unreality had nothing to do with the man so stonily silent beside her.
    Zahir shortened his pace to match hers. She had long legs but those heels weren’t made for cobblestones. They slowed her walk to a provocative hip-tilting sway far slower than his usual stride.
    Resolutely he kept his eyes fixed ahead, not on her undulating walk.
    Heat seared his throat and tightened his belly. How could he have been so stupid? So thoughtless? The look on her face when she’d thought he brought bad news about her father had punched a fist of guilt right through his belly.
    Damn him for a blundering fool!
    All because he’d judged her and found her wanting. Because she wasn’t eager to hear the news from Hussein. Because she didn’t care what tidings he brought if they interfered with her night out.
    Because she wasn’t the woman he’d presumed her to be, a woman worthy of Hussein.
    Not when she spent the night snuggling up to another man, dancing with him, bewitching him with those enormous, lustrous eyes. Letting him paw her as if he owned her.
    Zahir cupped the back of his neck, massaging it to ease the tension there.
    Resolutely he shoved aside the whisper of suspicion that he’d have welcomed the chance to keep her in his own arms, feel her lush body pressed close.
    This wasn’t about him.
    It was about her.
    And the man to whom he owed everything.
    ‘Thank you.’ Soraya hugged the jacket close as he stood aside, holding open the door to a brightly lit café.
    Entering, she felt she’d strayed back in time a century.Wooden booths lined the walls, topped with mirrors etched in lush
art nouveau
designs. There were brass fittings of an earlier age, burnished and welcoming, and posters from a time when women wore corsets and men sported boaters or top hats.
    But the whoosh of the gleaming coffee machine was modern, as was the sultry smile the petite, female
barista
bestowed on Zahir.
    Something tweaked tight in Soraya’s stomach. A thread of annoyance.
    No wonder he was so sure of himself. He must take feminine adulation as his due.
    Not this female.
    Her heels clacked across the black-and-white tiled floor, giving the pretence of a confidence she didn’t feel. Her legs shook and each step was an effort.
    Sliding into a cushioned seat she focused on the café rather than the man who sat down opposite her.
    If she’d had to guess she’d have said he’d favour a place that was sleek, dark and anonymous. Somewhere edgy, like him. Not a café that was traditional and comforting with its beautiful fittings and aura of quiet bustle.
    A waitress had followed them to their table, her eyes on Zahir as they ordered.
    He was worth looking at, Soraya grudgingly admitted, averting her gaze from his hard, sculpted jaw with its intriguing hint of morning shadow.
    ‘You’ve come all the way from Bakhara,’ she said flatly when they were alone. ‘Why?’
    She needed to hear it spelled out, even though there was only one reason he could be here.
    ‘I come with a message from the Emir.’
    Soraya nodded, swallowing a lump in her dry throat. Tension drilled down her spine. ‘And?’
    ‘The Emir sends greetings and enquires after your wellbeing.’
    She speared him with a look. An enquiry after her health?That could have been done through her father, who updated the Emir on her progress. Suddenly she was impatient to hear the worst. The delay notched her tension higher.
    ‘I’m well.’ She kept her tone even, despite the fact she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. ‘And the Emir? I hope he is in good health.’
    ‘The Emir is in excellent health.’ It was the expected response in the polite give-and-take of formal courtesy.
    The sort of courtesy that had been so completely lacking in her dealings with this man.
    Soraya’s heart pulsed quicker as she recalled those