The Sheikh's Last Mistress. Rachael Thomas

towards her. His robes suited him far more than the jeans and shirt she’d first seen him in. With fine gold cloth over the robes, he looked positively regal.

      ‘Allow me to introduce myself.’ He spoke with a calm accented voice that had the velvety edge to it she remembered from that afternoon at the stables. ‘I am Sheikh Zafir Al Asmari of Kezoban.’

      Destiny fought against confusion, her words almost faltering. ‘The Sheikh’s aide?’

      ‘No. The Sheikh.’

      He had never told her his name, but he had definitely allowed her to believe he was the Sheikh’s aide. Had he been testing her?

      ‘It would have been nice to have known exactly who I was speaking to when you visited the stables.’

      She should probably have spoken with more respect and, judging by his expression, he had expected her to. He took another step towards her and she tried to quell the tremor of attraction she felt for him, just as she had done that day at the stables. Even when she’d believed he was just the Sheikh’s aide she’d known he would never notice someone like her, but that hadn’t stopped the romantic in her dreaming of being swept away to his kingdom instead of being ordered there. Now she knew exactly who he was those romantic notions were about as likely as getting drenched from a storm cloud bursting above her head right now.

      Everything about him suggested power and control; she just hadn’t wanted to admit it—not when it put him in the same league as her father. Now it was worse. He wasn’t just an aide to the Sheikh; he was the Sheikh. A leader. A man who should have power, and she despised controlling men. So why did her stomach flutter as his dark eyes locked with hers before his gaze slid down her body? She stood tall beneath his scrutiny, glad she’d opted to dress in keeping with the country’s culture.

      ‘It was your assumption that I visited on behalf of the Sheikh of Kezoban. I did not intend to mislead you and for that I apologise. Your stepmother made the assumption and I allowed it to continue.’ He moved closer but she remained where she was, determined not to be intimidated by him. ‘I trust we can move forward from the misunderstanding.’

      His accented words were faultless English, his ability to use the language impressive, but it only added to his aura of command, the same command that had been absent as he’d talked of the Sheikh’s sister—his sister. She’d assumed he’d been thinking about the stallion as emotion and pain had filled his words in England. He’d seen through her stepmother, making him seem more human, more feeling, and that was something this man, who stood regally watching her, could never be.

      ‘I am here to work with your stallion, not pass judgement on you.’ She lifted her chin and tried to ignore the sizzle racing around her body as his gaze locked with hers once more.

      As she’d accepted the contract to work for this man she’d thought it was like stepping out of the shadow of her father’s iron will and into the furnace of a much greater force. How right that had been. His ability to allow her to believe he was merely an aide to the Sheikh reinforced that, but working for the Sheikh was a gateway through which she must travel in order to start her new and independent life. It was the chance she’d been seeking and one she would take, no matter what.

      * * *

      When Destiny had been shown into his office Zafir had been overwhelmed to see her dressed modestly with respect for his culture. It should have stopped the hot thud of attraction which had surged through him from the moment he’d first seen her in England, but it didn’t; it only served to intensify it. That day at the stables something had ignited between them and, if he wasn’t mistaken, she was as reluctant to admit its presence as he was. Which only fuelled his ardour and intensified his curiosity to sample the forbidden.

      ‘You have had a long journey. Tomorrow you will meet Majeed and begin your work. Tonight, as my guest, you will dine with me.’ It was customary for him to dine with visitors but, from the look on her face, it was the last thing she’d expected.

      She regarded him suspiciously and he fought the need to smile. This was the first time he’d encountered a woman’s reluctance to dine with him, but then he’d never invited a woman from another culture into his palace. Prior to inheriting the title of Sheikh of Kezoban he’d always kept his affairs confined to either London or New York.

      ‘Thank you, but I am sure you have far more important things to do than entertain me.’ Again the spark of fire leapt to life within him as her soft voice all but caressed his senses. He must have been living with the weight of duty for too long because he’d almost forgotten what such a sizzle of attraction could do to him. But never had it been so insistent.

      ‘I always entertain my guests, Miss Richards. You will not be an exception.’

      ‘Is it absolutely necessary?’ The question was accompanied by the lift of her delicate eyebrows, but the courage of it didn’t go unnoticed. Nobody would dare to address him like that, question his orders. He should be angry, should be making her error known, but he didn’t want to. She wasn’t speaking to him as Zafir the Sheikh but Zafir the man. Since he’d taken on the role of Sheikh of Kezoban after his father’s death, no man or woman had treated him as anything other than that.

      ‘It is.’ He moved a little closer to her so that he could inhale her light floral scent and wished he’d dismissed everyone from the room. Right now all he wanted was to kiss her, taste the sweetness of those full lips.

      He stepped back. What was he thinking? He was a desert ruler, a man of power with a duty to uphold. Kissing this woman, however much he wanted to, was not something he could ever do, especially when she was here in his palace as his guest.

      ‘Then I look forward to it.’

      ‘As will I.’ It was the truth; he wanted to spend the evening in her company. ‘We have much to discuss about your intended work with Majeed.’

      He walked back to his large and ornate desk, where he turned and faced her once more. Distance was most definitely needed between him and this beautiful Western woman who had stirred the emotions and wild desires of the man he used to be.

      ‘I appreciate it will be painful for you, but I will need to know all about what happened that night and how the stallion was before the accident.’

      ‘And you shall.’ But only what he absolutely had to say. He could never confess to anyone that he’d been guilty of neglecting his young sister so terribly. That the marriage he’d insisted she make had forced her to take such drastic steps. No, he could never allow anyone to know that. For the last year he’d been in the grip of that guilt and the way this woman was making him feel intensified it. He had no right to desire any woman when he was about to make an arranged marriage, not after insisting Tabinah did the same.

      * * *

      Destiny’s nerves fluttered as she followed her escort through the cool interior of the palace to join the man she now had to keep reminding herself was the Sheikh of Kezoban. A man who had concealed his true identity, but she couldn’t yet understand what he had to gain from that—apart from control.

      She should have been able to relax in the luxury of her suite, with its views over the stunning palace gardens, but the thought of spending the evening with a man who intrigued and excited her as much as he irritated her with his need for control meant she was far from relaxed.

      Darkness was falling and the palace was lit with lanterns at each of the ornate archways she passed through, giving everything a dreamlike quality. Then her escort stepped aside and gestured her through an arched doorway and along a vast walkway to another part of the palace gardens. She could see what resembled tents, draped almost completely in pale gold chiffon; lanterns glowed inside. It looked far too intimate for a formal dinner with the man who was effectively her boss for the next two months.

      Then she saw him, his headdress discarded, giving him a more relaxed look, and her pulse leapt. Since when did the sight of a man do that to her?

      ‘Good evening. I trust you are rested from your journey.’ His deep sensual voice matched the mood created