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 Frankieexpelled 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
‘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 Frankieexpelled 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
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