Defying her Desert Duty. Annie West

drag her eyes from his.

      In leather and denim he’d been a virile bad boy with an undeniable aura of danger.

      Today, in exquisite tailoring and with an air of urbane assurance, he looked like he’d stepped from the ranks of the world’s power brokers.

      Who was Zahir El Hashem? Politician or heavy? Sophisticate or rogue?

      Why did locking eyes with him make Soraya’s heart thud to a discordant beat that stirred unfamiliar sensations?

      She jerked her gaze away, blindly hit ‘save’ on her document and fumbled to shut down the laptop.

      She’d had no sleep and she was stressed; no wonder she imagined things. There’d been no instantaneous pulse of connection between them. She’d simply imagined its heavy weight constricting her lungs and drawing her belly tight.

      Shoving her laptop into its case she looked up to see him striding towards her.

      Trepidation struck her. An awareness that, despite his elegant apparel and their rarefied surroundings, there was an elemental toughness about him she’d do well to remember. Only last night she’d recognised the desert warrior in him. Now as he approached Soraya knew she hadn’t imagined the subtle scent of danger clinging to him.

      ‘What’s wrong? Why are you here?’ His low voice drew the fine hairs on her nape to prickling attention even as dark heat pooled low inside. It only fuelled her anger.

      She refused to feel fear … or anything else for him.

      ‘To see you, of course,’ she hissed, jerking to her feet and wishing she was taller so he couldn’t loom quite so effectively over her.

      His narrowed eyes surveyed the room quickly and comprehensively. It was the sort of look she’d seen bodyguards use, searching for threat.

      She’d give him threat!

      ‘We had an agreement.’ This time she kept her voice low and even. ‘You broke it.’

      His dark eyebrows climbed high but he gave no other reaction. ‘Come.’ He gestured for her to precede him.

      Instantly Soraya shifted her weight, widening her stance a fraction as if to plant herself more firmly. She had no intention of meekly following him anywhere.

      ‘I think not. We can talk here.’

      Something flickered in those deeply hooded eyes. Something that might have been surprise or annoyance. Frankly, she didn’t care. Instinct told her not to be alone with him. She knew next to nothing about him and looking at that granite-carved jaw, she wouldn’t put it past him to try coercion.

      ‘This is not the place for our conversation. This is a delicate matter and the person I represent—’

      ‘Would perfectly understand my preference for meeting you here, rather than in a private room.’

      He said nothing, just surveyed her with a look that was impossible to interpret. A look that seemed to take in everything from her too-fast breathing to the laptop she clutched like a shield to her chest.

      Finally he nodded. ‘Of course. If that is what you wish.’ He turned and indicated a couple of chairs grouped at the rear of the room. ‘Though perhaps we could go some place where we’re less likely to be overheard.’

      He had a point. Soraya nodded stiffly and let him usher her across the room.

      Zahir frowned as he followed her. That instant surge of adrenalin in his blood, the momentary fear that something was wrong, had undermined his calm. All because she’d come looking for him when it was the last thing he’d expected.

      It was absurd. Clearly she was in no danger. Panic was a weakness he didn’t indulge in. Yet his pulse thundered in his ears as he watched her thread her way across the room.

      He didn’t like her, didn’t approve of her, so why the instant, gut-deep need to protect that had made him hurry to her? He wanted to put it down to duty honed by years of training, but it wasn’t that. From the first she’d stirred instincts and feelings that discomfited him. However much he fought it he felt … connected to her. Ever since that first, blinding moment of recognition.

      She settled on a gilded sofa and made a production of crossing those long legs. As he seated himself opposite her, Zahir forced his gaze from the way the soft denim clung to each dip and curve.

      ‘You wanted to see me?’

      ‘Not really, but I had little choice.’ Her neat white teeth snapped off each word. ‘You weren’t answering your phone.’

      Ah. That was why she was in a temper. When she’d wrecked his plans to return to Bakhara today he’d used the extra time to fit in some meetings. Clearly she expected him to be at her beck and call like some underling.

      ‘As you saw, I had business to conduct.’ He refused to apologise for not being available at her whim. ‘How can I assist you?’

      Her eyes flashed ebony fire. ‘By keeping your word.’

      Zahir stiffened. ‘That is not in question.’ Did she have any concept of the insult she offered him?

      ‘Isn’t it?’ She leaned forward and her scent insinuated itself into his nostrils. Light and delicate, like a field of mountain flowers awakening to the day’s first sun. It had haunted him all day, a sense memory he’d tried to forget. ‘We agreed you’d give me today to get organised yet my flatmate rang me at five this afternoon because a team of removalists had turned up wanting to pack my belongings.’

      Zahir settled back in his seat and inclined his head. ‘We agreed that you’d have today. We also agreed that I’d take care of the arrangements. I’ve done so. You’ve had your day to organise yourself.’

      Colour mounted her cheeks and her eyes glittered with temper. Women could be so predictable when they didn’t get what they wanted. He waited for a blast of ungoverned rage.

      It didn’t come.

      Instead she sat back against the silk brocade of her seat.

      ‘You don’t approve of me, do you?’ Her voice was coolly measured. ‘Is that what this is about? Is that why you’re being so high-handed?’

      Momentarily he was thrown by her directness. He encountered it so rarely since he’d moved into the diplomatic sphere. It was the sort of tactic he used himself to great effect when others preferred to circle the truth. Cutting through the niceties to the heart of the matter was sometimes the most effective way forward.

      He hadn’t expected it from her.

      Unwilling admiration stirred.

      ‘My opinion of you is not in question, Ms Karim. My role is simply to facilitate your safe arrival to Bakhara.’

      ‘Don’t give me that! You’re more than a courier.’ She nodded to where he’d stood saying farewell to his guests. ‘That’s clear from the leaders who came here to meet you. You’re trying to railroad me for your own reasons.’

      She was clever too. Obviously she’d recognised the man tipped to become the next French foreign minister.

      But what disturbed him was her accusation he was pushing her to hurry because it suited him.

      He should have contacted Hussein this morning and voiced his concerns about Soraya Karim. But he’d baulked at the notion. That sort of conversation had to take place man-to-man, not long distance. It had the added advantage that Zahir could then walk away from her and concentrate on the work he’d been preparing for all his life.

      ‘What is it about Paris that keeps you delaying? What’s more important than your promise to marry?’

      The colour faded from her cheeks and for a second he saw something flicker in the rich depths of her pansy-dark eyes. Something that looked like genuine pain. It surprised him for it seemed at odds with his image of a selfish pleasure-seeking woman.