Desert Sheikhs: Monarch of the Sands / To Tame a Sheikh / Sheikh Protector. Dana Marton

the plane came to a halt Frankie unclipped her seat belt. ‘I wonder how my appearance is going to go down?’ she questioned tentatively. ‘Whether your people will approve?’

      ‘I have given up trying to please everyone,’ Zahid said in a suddenly harsh tone as he remembered his early days on the throne, and how he had not known whom he could trust. The previous sheikh had been very traditional and Zahid found that most of those old advisors were just as resistant to modernising the country as his uncle had been. ‘I must just be true to myself and let myself be judged by my actions.’ He stood up and gestured for her to follow him. ‘But I am not anticipating many problems when it comes to your appearance—for let’s not forget that you have a famous surname.’

      ‘I’m not famous, Zahid,’ she protested.

      ‘No. But your father is. His name is taught in our schools as the man who discovered our rich resources. He’s a little bit of a national hero—surely you realised that?’ He saw the pleasure in her eyes, and a brief smile touched the edges of his lips. ‘There will be a delegation waiting to meet me, but you’ll soon get used to that. So do as I told you on the plane. Just keep your eyes averted—and walk a few paces behind me.’

      She smoothed down the silk tunic top, with its matching narrow trousers. ‘And my outfit … is it okay?’ she questioned.

      Reluctantly, Zahid studied her, allowing his eyes to linger on her youthful form. Cool, practical and decent, her clothes met all the necessary criteria which the country’s strict dress-code required. Yet in spite of that they managed to make her look incredibly sexy—something he hadn’t really been expecting. Was that because it hinted at the firm flesh which lay beneath—or because he knew he could never have her in the way he wanted?

      Feeling the unwilling heat of desire begin to build, he turned away. ‘It’s fine,’ he said abruptly as the aircraft steps were lowered. ‘Now let’s go.’

      She followed him out into the cooling air of the Khayarzah evening, to see a row of officials waiting to greet their king. And it seemed that their initial looks of wariness were softened when she was introduced to them and the ‘O’Hara’ connection was made. Through the butterfly build-up of nerves, Frankie suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of pride in her father and what he had done for this country.

      They journeyed to the palace in a sleek limousine and through the smoked glass of their car window she could see tall palms, their fronds dramatically etched against the perfect blue of the sky. The road was long and straight and smoother than any English road she’d encountered. Behind them she could hear the muffled roar of the outriders—and beside her sat Zahid, his powerful body swathed in white silk, incongruously speaking into a mobile phone in his native tongue.

      They skirted the main city of Mangalsutra—with its winding streets and jumble of rooftops—until they reached the gates of the palace itself. The immense white marble building rose up before her, fronted by a long, rectangular space of water fringed by palm trees. Turrets and domes and shadowed arches were contrasted against the darkening sky in which she could already see the faint twinkle of stars. Slowly Frankie expelled the breath she had been holding and Zahid must have heard her because he shot her a glance.

      ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

      ‘It’s exquisite,’ she answered simply.

      And so was she, he thought achingly. Against all the odds—so was she. With those blue eyes widening in wonder and the pert thrust of her breasts filling him with dark and erotic impulses. Would it be so bad if, after a cursory but necessary introduction to key members of his staff, he took her off to his private quarters, stripped the concealing silk garments from her body and laid her bare? If he opened thighs which would inevitably be milky-pale as he thrust hungrily between them?

      Angrily, he crossed one leg over another. Had he forgotten where he was? Who he was? More importantly, who she was?

      ‘Come and meet my staff,’ he said unsteadily.

      Frankie was taken to meet another line of robed servants, but her senses were too full of all these new experiences to be able to remember many of their exotic-sounding names. And she was preoccupied with watching Zahid—for he was no longer just the long-standing family friend who had always been kind to her, but the leader of a desert kingdom. He was in charge, she realised—and he radiated an impressive kind of power.

      Swallowed up by advisors and aides, she watched as solemn-looking men bowed and began briefing him in his native tongue. Someone handed him a sheaf of papers and then a phone began to ring and was passed to him. He seemed to have forgotten that she was there— for he barely raised his dark head as she left the gilded chamber.

      A young girl of about seventeen called Fayruz had been assigned to look after her, and as Frankie was led along a marbled corridor lined with blue and gold mosaic she wondered how on earth she was going to be able to communicate with her. But to her surprise, it transpired that Fayruz spoke good—if slightly tentative—English.

      ‘I learn it at school,’ she said shyly, in response to Frankie’s question. ‘It is my best subject—which is why I have been brought in to assist you while you are here.’

      ‘You’re at school still?’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ Fayruz offered shyly.

      ‘And then what—university, I suppose?’

      There was a pause. ‘In my country, women are not encouraged to go to university.’

      Frankie frowned. ‘You’re kidding?’

      Fayruz shook her head. ‘It’s thought women make better mothers than scholars.’ She gave a small sigh and then shrugged her shoulders. ‘I will unpack for you now.’

      ‘No, honestly—I can do that for myself,’ said Frankie, shaking her head in slight disbelief. Women not encouraged to go to university? This was much worse than she had imagined.

      ‘Then let me draw a bath for you,’ said Fayruz eagerly. ‘Please. You must be hot after your long journey and the Sheikh will be displeased if I do not show you Khayarzahian hospitality.’

      Frankie nodded, recognising that she must learn to adapt to a different way of living, to graciously accept a slower pace and help when it was offered. And wouldn’t it be good to freshen up and relax before dinner? ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘That would be lovely.’

      Lovely turned out to be something of an understatement—because when Fayruz called to say that the bath was ready, Frankie could hardly believe her eyes. A wide, square bath—big as a child’s swimming pool—was filled with warm, rose-scented water on which floated fresh petals.

      After the servant had gone, Frankie stripped off her clothes and slowly submerged herself in its scented depths, the silky water lapping over her. This was heaven. Bliss. She closed her eyes. The closest she’d ever come to pure indulgence. Lulled by the warm water and the total silence, she relaxed for a while before reluctantly climbing out of the cooling water to get ready for dinner.

      Skimming her fingers over the row of silk outfits which now hung in the wardrobe, she picked a long dress of pure white. People often wore white in desert countries, didn’t they? And Zahid had been robed in white earlier …

      She’d just finished dressing when Fayruz tapped at the door and led her through a maze of intricate corridors to what was described as the ‘small’ dining room—but this proved to be yet another understatement. It was bigger than any dining room she’d ever seen and decorated lavishly in gold and lapis lazuli. Intricately tooled hanging lamps filled the room with a soft radiance and the scent of cinnamon and sandalwood wafted through the air. The table itself was low and, instead of chairs, there were brocade cushions heaped around it.

      At that moment, Zahid swept into the room—a small, accompanying retinue of stern-faced men walking close behind him. Across the exotic room, their eyes met, and Frankie felt a sizzle of awareness warming her skin, beneath the silk gown.

      ‘Hello,