Postcards From Paris: Bound by His Desert Diamond / Amorous Liaisons / The Secret to Marrying Marchesi

‘I hadn’t realised Medira was such a metropolis. Is it really true that this whole city has been built in under two years?’

‘It has, in common with several other major cities in Nabatean.’

‘That’s amazing. You must be very proud.’

‘It has been a great responsibility.’

Responsibility. The word might as well be indelibly etched across his forehead. In fact it was, Anna realised as she turned to look at him again. It was there in the frown lines that crossed his brow, lines that furrowed into deep grooves when he was lost in thought or displeased. Which seemed to be most of the time. There was no doubt how heavily responsibility weighed on Zahir Zahani’s shoulders, that his duty to his country knew no bounds. He was prepared to marry her, after all. What greater sacrifice was there than that?

‘But you have achieved so much.’ For some reason she wanted to ease his burden. ‘Surely you must allow yourself a small acknowledgement of that?’

‘The acknowledgement will come from the people, not me. They are the judge and jury. Everything we are doing here in Nabatean is for them.’

‘Of course.’ Anna turned to look out of the window again. It was pointless trying to reason with him. Through the shimmering heat she could now make out a mountain range, grey against the startling blue of the sky. She was used to mountains—Dorrada had plenty of them—but these were not like the familiar snow-capped peaks of home...these were stark, forbidding.

‘The Jagros Mountains.’ Zahir followed her gaze. ‘They form the border between us and Uristan. They look deceptively close but there is a vast expanse of desert between us and them.’

Just as well. Annalina had no desire to visit them. She remembered, now that he said the name, that they were the mountains that had been the scene of terrible fighting during the war between Nabatean and Uristan.

‘If you look over there...’ With a jolt of surprise, Anna realised that Zahir had moved across the leather seat and was now right next to her. She registered the heat of his body, his scent, the sound of his breathing as he stretched one arm across her to point at an oval-shaped structure in the distance. ‘You can see the new sports stadium. It’s nearing completion now. Soon we will be able to host international sporting events. We intend to make a bid for the Olympics.’

Now the pride had crept into his voice. This might be all about the people but there was no doubt what this country meant to Zahir.

‘That’s very impressive.’ His nearness had caught the breath in her throat and she swallowed noisily. How was it that this man affected her so viscerally, so earthily? In a place deep down that she had never even known existed before?

She was grateful when the limousine finally pulled up outside the Assembly House and she was able to escape from its confines. Escape the pull of Zahir’s power.

* * *

The meeting was as long as it was boring. Having been introduced to large numbers of dignitaries and advisors, Anna was then given the option of returning to the palace whilst the men—because it was all men—continued with the business of the day. But stubbornness and a vague hope that she might understand some of what they were discussing, that she would get a small insight into the running of Nabatean, made her say she would like to stay. In point of fact, even though the meeting was conducted in English, the items on the agenda were far too complicated for her to get a grip on, and she ended up staring out of the window or sneaking sidelong glances at Zahir as he controlled the proceedings with masterful authority. There was no sign of his brother at the meeting, or even any mention of him. It appeared that Zahir was the man in charge here. The power behind the throne.

They were standing at the top of a short flight of steps, preparing to leave the building, when Zahir suddenly stopped short, unexpectedly moving his arm around Anna’s waist to pull her to his side. Looking outside, Anna could see a small crowd of people had gathered, leaning up against the ornate railings, peering up at the building expectantly.

Pulling out his phone, Zahir barked orders into it and from nowhere several security guards appeared. Dispatching a couple of them into the crowd, he waited impatiently, his grip around her waist tightening with every passing second. Anna could see a vein pulsing in his neck as his eyes darted over the crowd, missing nothing, a sudden stillness setting his features in stone. He reminded her of a dog on a leash, waiting to be set free to chase its quarry.

‘What is it? What’s the matter?’

‘That’s what I’d like to find out.’

The security guards returned and there was a brief conversation, during which she saw Zahir scowl, then look back at her with obvious contempt.

‘It would seem that the crowd are here to see you.’

‘Oh.’ Anna stood a little straighter, smoothing the creases of her dress. ‘That’s nice.’

‘Nice?’ He repeated the word as if it was poison in his mouth. ‘I fail to see what’s nice about it.’

‘Well, it’s not surprising that people want to meet me. They are bound to be curious about your fiancée. I suggest we go out there, shake some hands and say hello.’

‘We will do no such thing.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Because there is a time and a place for such things. I have no intention of doing an impromptu meet-and-greet on the steps of the Assembly House.’

‘These things don’t always have to be formal, Zahir. It doesn’t work like that.’

‘In Nabatean things work the way I say they will work.’

Anna bit down hard on her lip. There really was no answer to that.

‘And, quite apart from anything else, there is the security issue.’

‘Well, they don’t look dangerous to me.’ Staring out at the swelling crowd, Anna stood her ground. ‘And besides...’ she glanced at the security guards around them ‘...I’m sure these guys are more than capable of dealing with any potential trouble.’

‘There will be no trouble. We walk out of here and get straight into the limousine without speaking to anyone—without even looking at anyone. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Crystal clear.’ Anna shot him an icy glare. Not that she intended to follow his dictate. If she wanted to smile at the crowd, maybe offer a little wave, she jolly well would. Who did he think he was with his stupid rules?

But before she had the chance to do anything she found herself being bundled down the steps, pressed so closely to Zahir’s side that she could barely breathe, let alone acknowledge the crowd. She could just about hear their cheers, hear them calling her name, before Zahir, with his hand on the back of her head, pushed her into the car, following behind her with the weight of his body and instructing the driver to move off before the car door was even shut.

‘For heaven’s sake.’ Anna turned to look at him, eyes flashing. ‘What was all that about?’

Adjusting the sleeves of his jacket, Zahir sat back, staring straight ahead.

‘Anyone would think you were ashamed of me, bundling me into the car like a criminal.’

‘Not ashamed of you, Annalina. It was simply a question of getting you into the car as fast as possible and with the minimum of harassment.’

‘The only person harassing me was you. That was a few people—your people, I might add—who wanted to greet us. If you want real harassment, you should try having thirty or forty paparazzi swarming around you, baying for your blood.’

Zahir shot her a sharp glance. ‘And this has happened to you?’

‘Yes.’ Anna shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable with this subject, especially as Zahir’s eyes were now trained on her face, waiting for an explanation. ‘When my engagement to Prince Henrik ended.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And other times too. Though, that was the worst.’

‘Well, you will never have to endure such indignity again. I will make sure of that.’

Anna turned to look out of the window, her hands clasped in her lap. He spoke with such authority, such confidence, she had to admit it was comforting. All her life she’d felt as if she was on her own, fighting her own battles, facing up to the trials and traumas, of which she’d suffered more than her fair share, without anyone there to help her, to be on her side. Now, it seemed, she had a protector.

Suddenly she knew she could put her trust in Zahir, that she would put her life in his hands without a second thought, for that matter. Whether it was the paparazzi, a marauding army or a herd of stampeding elephants, come to that, he would deal with it. Such was his presence, the sheer overwhelming power of him. But the flip side was that he was also an arrogant, cold-blooded control freak. And one, Anna was shocked to realise, who was starting to dominate her every thought.

The rest of the journey back was conducted in silence, apart from the sound of Zahir’s fingers jabbing at his mobile phone. Only when they were nearing the palace gates did he look up, letting out a curse under his breath. For there was a crowd here too, gathered around the palace gates, including some photographers who had climbed up onto the railings to get a better view.

‘Dear God.’ Zahir growled under his breath. ‘Is this what I have to expect now, every time I leave the palace, every time I go anywhere with you?’

‘I don’t see your problem with it.’ Anna twitched haughtily. ‘You should be pleased that the people of Nabatean are interested in us. That they have gone to the trouble of coming to see us. Don’t you want to be popular, for people to like you?’

‘I don’t care a damn whether people like me or not.’

‘Well, maybe it’s time you started to care.’

There—that had told him. Even so she averted her gaze, having no wish to witness the thunder she knew she would see there. Sitting up straighter, she arranged her hair over her shoulders. The palace gates had opened now and as the crowd parted to let their car through she turned to look out of the window and smiled brightly at everyone, giving a regal wave, the way she had been taught to do as a child. The crowd cheered in response, waving back and calling her name. Small children were held aloft to get a glimpse of her. Cameras flashed. Everybody loved it.

Well, not exactly everybody. A quick glance at her fiancé revealed a scowl that would make a tiger turn tail and run. But Anna refused to be cowed. She had done nothing wrong. Zahir Zahani was the one who needed to lighten up, respect his people by acknowledging their presence. Maybe even look as if he was a tiny bit proud of her. Though there was precious little chance of that.

Once inside, Zahir started to stride away, presumably intending to abandon her once again. But Anna had had enough of this. Taking several quick steps to catch up with him, she reached out, the touch of her hand on his arm stopping him in his tracks.

‘I was just wondering...’ She hesitated, pulling away her hand. ‘Whether we would be having dinner together tonight.’

Zahir scowled, as if the possibility had hitherto never entered his mind. ‘Dinner?’

‘Yes.’ She was tempted to point out that it was the meal at the end of the day that civilised people tended to share together. Self-preservation made her hold her tongue.

‘That’s not something I had planned.’

Picking up a length of hair, Anna curled it around her finger, suddenly hesitant. ‘When you invite someone to your home, it’s generally expected that you make some effort to entertain them. That is the role of a host. It’s not much fun being left to rattle around here on my own.’

Deep brown eyes caught hers. ‘I can see there are a couple of things I need to remind you of, Princess Annalina.’ His sensuous mouth flattened into a grim line. ‘Firstly, whilst it is true that you are a guest at the palace, I am most certainly not responsible for entertaining you. And, secondly, you should think yourself grateful that you have the freedom to rattle around on your own. The alternative would be to secure you in one room, have you watched over day and night. Something I did consider.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Anna stared at him in horror.

Zahir gave an infuriating shrug. ‘So perhaps you should see your freedom for what it is—a chance to prove yourself trustworthy—rather than complain about being neglected.’

Well, that was her put firmly in her place. Cheeks burning, she turned away, wishing she had never mentioned having wretched dinner with this wretched man.

‘However, if it would please you, I can find time for us to dine together tonight. Shall we say in one hour’s time?’

Anna swung round to face him again, the words don’t bother tingling on her lips. But there was something about the narrowed gaze of those hooded eyes that made her stop.

It was surprise, she realised. Zahir was surprised that she wanted to any spend time with him. She was surprised too, come to that. It was like he had some sort of power over her, drawing her to the edge of the cliff when all her instincts were telling her to keep away. That blatant, raw masculinity made her keep coming back for more punishment. Anna had never thought of herself as a masochist. Now she was beginning to wonder.

Nervously licking her lips with the tip of her tongue, she saw his eyes flash in response, tightening the tendrils inside her. ‘Very well.’ Pushing back her shoulders, she tossed her hair over them. ‘I will see you later.’

CHAPTER FIVE

ZAHIR STARED AT the young woman at the far end of the table—the European princess who was soon to be his bride. Something he was still desperately struggling to come to terms with. He had no idea who she was, not really. Earlier, when she’d talked about the press attention she’d received over the years, his blood had run cold in his veins. But fear about her morals had swiftly changed to the urge to protect her, his whole person affronted that she should ever have been subjected to such assaults. Because deep down some instinct told him that Princess Annalina was vulnerable and certainly not a woman who would give away her favours easily. Which was odd, when you thought about the way they had met.

She was certainly regal. From the fine bones of her face to the dainty set of her shoulders and the elegant, refined posture. Her hands, he noticed, were particularly delicate, long, slender fingers and pink nails devoid of nail varnish. They looked as if they had never done a day’s work in their life. They probably hadn’t.

He looked down at his own hands. A warrior’s hands. No longer calloused from combat—he hadn’t gripped a dagger or curled his finger around the trigger of a gun for over two years now—they were nevertheless stained with the blood of war and always would be. They had been around the throat of too many of his enemies ever to be washed clean—had been used to pull lifeless bodies out caves that had become subterranean battlegrounds, or recover corpses shrivelling in the scorching heat of the desert with the vultures circling overhead.

His hands had closed the eyelids of far too many young men.

And now... Could such hands ever expect to run over the fair skin of the woman before him? Would that be right? Permissible? They wanted to, that was for certain. They itched, burned even, with longing to feel the softness of her pale flesh beneath their fingertips, to be able to trace the contours of her slender body, to travel over the hollow of her waist, the swell of her breasts. They longed to explore every part of her body.

Feeling his eyes on her, Annalina looked up and smiled at him from her end of the table.

‘This is delicious.’ She indicated the half-eaten plate of food before her with the fork in her hand. ‘Lovely and spicy. What’s the meat, do you suppose?’

Zahir glanced down at his plate, already scraped clean, as if seeing it for the first time. Food was just fuel to him, something to be grateful for but to be consumed as fast as possible, before it was covered in flies or snatched away by a hungry hound. It was certainly not a subject he ever discussed, nor wanted to.

‘Goat, I believe.’ He levelled dark eyes at her.

‘Oh.’ That perfect pink mouth puckered in surprise then pursed shut, her fork left to rest on her plate.

He stifled a smile. Obviously goat was not something she was accustomed to eating. No doubt Annalina was more used to seeing them grazing prettily in wildflower meadows than having them stewed and presented before her in a bowl of couscous. She knew nothing of the ways of this country, he realised, and the smile was immediately replaced with the more familiar scowl.

Had he been wrong to insist that she marry him, to bring her to this foreign land and expect her to be able to fit in, play the role of his wife? It was a huge undertaking to ask of anyone, let alone someone as fragile-looking as her. And yet he already knew that there was more to Annalina than her flawless beauty might suggest. She was strong-willed and she was brave. It had taken real guts to refuse to marry his brother, to stand on that bridge and do whatever she thought it took to get her out of that marriage. To kiss a total stranger. A kiss that still burned on his lips.

It had all backfired, of course. She had leapt straight from the frying pan into the fire, finding herself shackled to him instead. He was nothing like his brother, it was true. But, in terms of a husband, had Annalina made the right choice? Would she have been better sticking with the relative calm of Rashid, his particular demons regulated by carefully prescribed medication?

Or Zahir, whose demons still swirled inside him, drove him on, made him the man he was. Power, control and the overwhelming desire to do the best for his country was the only therapy he could tolerate.

He didn’t know, but either way it was too late now. The choice had been made. They were both going to have to live with it.

‘I hope I haven’t spoiled your appetite?’ The food, he noticed, had now been abandoned, Annalina’s slender hand gripping the stem of her glass as she took a sip of wine, then another.

‘No, it’s not that.’ She gave an unconvincing smile. ‘It’s actually quite filling.’

‘Then, if you have finished, perhaps you would like to be served coffee somewhere more comfortable.’

‘Um, yes, that sounds a good idea.’ She touched a napkin to her lips. ‘Where were you thinking of?’

‘I will take mine in my quarters, but there are any number of seating areas in the palace that are suitable for relaxation. The courtyards are very pleasant too, though they will be chilly at this time of night.’

‘I’m sure.’ She fiddled with a tendril of hair that had escaped the swept-up style. ‘Actually, I think I will join you.’ There was determination in her voice, but vulnerability too, as if she might easily crack or splinter if challenged. ‘I would like to see your quarters.’

Zahir stilled, something akin to panic creeping over him. He hadn’t intended to invite her to his rooms. Far from it. By suggesting that they took their coffee elsewhere, he had been trying to escape from her. Which begged the question, why? Why would he, a man who would take on a band of armed insurgents with the bravery of a thousand warriors combined, be frightened by the thought of sharing a cup of coffee with this young woman? It was ridiculous.

Because he didn’t know how to behave around her, that was why. This relationship had been thrust upon him so suddenly that he hadn’t had time to figure out how to make it work, how to control it. And being around Annalina only seemed to make the task more difficult. Rather than clarifying the situation, she seemed to mess with his judgement. He found himself torn two ways—one side warning that he must be on his guard, and watch over this wayward princess like a hawk to make sure she didn’t try to abscond, while the other side was instructing him to take her to his bed and make her his, officially.

The latter was a tempting prospect for sure. And the way she was looking at him now, eyes shining brightly as she held his gaze, her hands steepled under her chin, fingertips grazing her lips, it would take all his self-control not to give in to it. But control it he would, because control was something he prided himself on. More than that, something he ruled his life by, using it both to drive himself on and deny himself pleasure. Because pleasure was nothing but an indulgence, a form of weakness, a slippery slope that led down to the bowels of hell. That he had discovered to his cost with the most tragic of results: the murder of his parents.

On the eve of his country’s independence he had been in a rowdy bar, watching, if not actually participating, as his brave comrades had celebrated their tremendous victory with flowing alcohol and loose women. He had been relaxed, enjoying himself, accepting the accolades, full of pride for what he had achieved. And all the time, a few hundred miles away, his parents were being murdered, a knife being drawn across their throats. A tragedy that he would never, ever begin to forgive himself for.

But that didn’t stop the weight of lust in his groin grow heavier by the second, spreading its traitorous warmth through his body as he stared back at Annalina’s open, inviting face. He had no idea why she was looking at him in that way. The workings of a woman’s mind were a complete mystery to him, and not something he had ever thought he would care to concern himself with. But now he found he longed to know what was going on behind those eyes that were glazed perhaps a little too brightly—found that he would pay good money to find out what was going through that clever, complicated mind of hers.

‘I doubt you will find anything remotely interesting about my quarters.’

‘You will be in them. That’s interesting enough for me.’

There she went again, throwing him a curveball, messing with his head. Was she flirting with him? Was that what this was? Zahir had experienced flirting before. His position of power, not to mention his dark good looks, meant he had had his fair share of female attention over the years. Most, but not all, of which he had totally ignored. He was a red-blooded male, after all. Occasionally he would allow himself to slake his thirst. But that was all it had ever been. No emotion, no attachment and certainly no second-guessing what the object of his attentions might be thinking. The way he found himself puzzling now.

‘Very well. If you insist.’ Summoning one of the hovering waiting staff with a wave of his hand, he gave his orders then, walking round to the back of Annalina’s chair, he waited as she rose to her feet. ‘If you would like to follow me.’

Setting off at a rapid pace, he found he had to moderate his step in order for Annalina to keep up. She trotted along beside him, her heels clicking on the marble floors, looking around her as if trying to memorise the route back in case she should need to escape. Zahir found himself regretting his decision to allow her into his rooms more and more with every forceful footstep. No woman, other than the palace staff, had ever been in his chambers. There had been no need for it. There was no need for it now. Why had he ever agreed to let this woman invade his personal space?

By the time they had negotiated the labyrinth of corridors and he was inserting the key into the lock of his door, Zahir’s mood had blackened still further.

‘You lock your door?’ Waiting beside him, Annalina looked up in surprise.

‘Of course. Security is of paramount importance.’

‘Even in your own palace? There are guards everywhere. Do you not trust them to protect your property?’

‘Trust no one and you will not be disappointed.’ Zahir pushed hard on the heavy door with the palm of his hand.

‘Oh, Zahir, that’s such a depressing ideology!’ Annalina attempted a throwaway laugh but it fell, uncaught, to the ground.

‘Depressing it may be.’ He stood back to let her enter. ‘But I know it to be true.’

Taking in a deep breath, Anna stepped over the threshold. This was not going well. Maybe it had been a mistake to ask to accompany Zahir to his quarters. It had certainly done nothing to improve his mood. The resolve she had had at the start of the evening, to sit down and talk, try to get to know him a bit, discuss their future, had been severely tested during the course of the torturous meal. Every topic of conversation she had tried to initiate had either been met with cool disregard or monosyllabic answers.