A Diamond For The Sheikh's Mistress. Эбби Грин

It was getting worse. He’d had to call an important meeting to a premature end because he’d felt constricted and claustrophobic, aware of the heat in his blood and the ache in his core. An ache he’d largely managed to ignore for the last eighteen months.

      Liar, whispered a voice, those first three months were hell.

      Zafir scowled in remembrance. But then his father had died, and all his time and attention since then had been taken up with his accession to the throne and taking control of his country.

      But now it was as if he finally had time to breathe again, and she was back. Infiltrating his thoughts and dreams. Haunting him.

      Zafir loosened his robe at his neck with jerky movements. Sexual frustration, he told himself, momentarily coming to a halt on the path. It was just sexual frustration. After all, he hadn’t taken a woman to bed since...her, and that incensed him even more now.

      It wasn’t due to lack of interest from women. It was due to Zafir’s single-minded focus on his job and his commitment to his people. But he was aware of the growing pressure from his council and his people to find a suitable Queen and provide heirs, so they would have faith and feel secure in their King and future.

      Zafir issued a loud curse, scattering the birds around him in a flurry. Enough. He whirled around and strode back out of the courtyard, determined to set in motion the search for an appropriate match and put her out of his head once and for all.

      He stopped in his tracks, though, as he passed the overgrown entrance to the high-walled garden nearby. None of the gardeners had touched it in years, and Zafir hadn’t had the heart to enforce its clean-up since taking power. He knew that his staff viewed it almost superstitiously; some believed it was haunted.

      Maybe it was, he thought bleakly, his thoughts momentarily diverted.

      He went and stood at the entrance and looked at the wildly overgrown space and realised with a jolt that today was the anniversary. The anniversary of his sister’s death. Nineteen years ago. He’d been thirteen and she’d been just eleven. He stepped in, almost without realising what he was doing.

      Unlike the rest of the pristinely manicured grounds, there was no water trickling into the circular pool that could barely be seen under greedy weeds. There were no lush flowers or exotic birds. It was dormant. Still. Dead.

      He could still remember hearing the almost otherworldly scream of his brother Salim, Sara’s twin. When Zafir had burst into the garden he’d found his brother cradling Sara’s limp body, her head dangling over his arm at an unnatural angle. Her face had been whiter than white, her long black hair matted with the blood which had been dripping into the fountain’s pool behind them, staining the water.

      Salim had screamed at him to do something... Save her... But Zafir had known instinctively that she was gone. He’d tried to take Sara out of Salim’s arms to carry her into the palace, to find help, see if there was any chance, but Salim, sensing Zafir’s grim assessment, had only tightened his hold on his twin sister’s body and shouted hoarsely, ‘If you can’t help, then don’t touch her... Leave us alone!’

      Sara had died from a massive head and neck injury after falling from the high wall around this garden where they’d used to play and climb, in spite of Zafir’s protests. Salim hadn’t spoken for weeks afterwards...

      To Zafir’s shame, the dominating thing he now recalled was the awfully familiar disconnect between him and his siblings. The sense of isolation that had pervaded his whole life. He’d always been envious of Salim and Sara’s very special and close bond, which had been to the exclusion of everyone else. But right then he would have gladly given up his own life to see his sister’s brought back...

      ‘Ahem... Sire?’

      Zafir tensed. Very few people managed to catch him unawares and he didn’t appreciate this intrusion into such a private moment.

      He didn’t turn around as he responded curtly, ‘Yes?’

      There was some throat-clearing. ‘The...ah...Heart of Jandor diamond, Sire. There are things we need to discuss about it, and the upcoming diplomatic tour.’

      Zafir closed his eyes briefly, letting the painful past fade back to where it belonged, and when he was ready turned around to survey the young aide he’d taken on after his father’s death almost fifteen months ago—much to his council’s disapproval. They’d wanted him to keep his father’s old guard and not rock the boat, but Zafir favoured a more modern outlook for his country’s future and was slowly but surely implementing his ways.

      He started walking back towards the palace, his aide hurrying alongside him, used to keeping up with his demanding King by now.

      The Heart of Jandor diamond was a mythically rare gem. Thought for years to have been either stolen or lost, it had been found recently during archaeological excavations outside the palace walls. There had been much rejoicing and fervent whispering of it being a good omen. It was the largest known red diamond in the world, famed for its beauty. When it had first been discovered it had had a natural heart shape, and so had been cut and refined into its current incarnation, retaining its distinctive shape.

      It had originally been unearthed in the eastern mountains of Jandor and given as a gift to woo Zafir’s French great-grandmother. The fact that her marriage to his great-grandfather was the only one in his family history which had allegedly been a happy one merely confirmed for Zafir that love within marriage was as much of a rarity as the diamond itself—and about as improbable.

      Irritated to find his mind deviating like this, Zafir said now, ‘Well? What are your thoughts, Rahul?’

      ‘We are starting the diplomatic tour in New York next week, as discussed.’

      New York.

      No one else would have noticed the slightest misstep in Zafir’s authoritative stride. But he noticed. And he despised himself for it. Suddenly all thoughts of his sister and the lingering grief he felt were eclipsed by her again. The ease with which she could get to him after all this time only made him angrier.

      What the hell was wrong with him today?

      Manhattan was primarily where their relationship had played out over several months. And in spite of his best efforts his blood simmered, reminding him of just how far under her spell he’d fallen. Until it had been almost too late.

      Zafir’s strides got longer, as if he could outrun the past nipping at his heels, but even by the time he’d reached his palatial offices she was still there, those amber-hazel eyes looking up at him slumberously while a sinful smile made that famously sexy and lush mouth curve upwards. As if she’d known exactly what she was doing to him, drawing him deeper and deeper into—

      ‘Sire?’

      Zafir gritted his jaw against the onslaught of memories and turned around to focus on his aide. ‘Yes, Rahul.’

      The young man looked nervous. ‘I...ah...have a suggestion to make regarding the jewel.’

      ‘Go on,’ Zafir bit out, curbing his impatience. His aide was not to know that he’d unwittingly precipitated the storm currently raging inside him.

      ‘The diamond is being brought on your diplomatic tour as an exhibit and a stunning example of Jandor’s many attractions in a bid to promote business and tourism.’

      Zafir’s impatience spiked in spite of his best efforts. ‘I know very well why we’re bringing it on the diplomatic tour. It was my idea.’

      The man swallowed, visibly nervous. ‘Yes, and we’d planned on displaying it in each city in a protected glass case.’

      ‘Rahul...’ Zafir said warningly, coming close to the end of his tether.

      His aide spoke quickly now. ‘The suggestion I want to make is this—rather than show it off in a sterile and protected environment, I thought it might prove to be far more dynamic if it were seen up close... We could let people see how accessible it is and yet still exclusive and mysterious.’

      Now