The Sheikh Who Married Her. Lynn Raye Harris
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‘Please be careful.’
‘I have too much at stake here to take unnecessary risks … My beloved sister, for one.’ Aware that he sounded aloof and distant, and that he’d made a point of telling Gina it was his sister he cared most about in the world above anyone else, Zahir knew he was feeling anything but aloof towards the lovely woman who stood in front of him. Whenever he was near her molten heat seemed to beat an urgent path to his loins, and now was no exception.
‘Of course.’ She dipped her head.
‘Later, when I return,’ he continued, ‘there is another matter that I would very much like to discuss with you. Even if it is late you should make yourself available. Do you understand?’
The prettily shaped chin that he could cup in one hand if he had a mind to jutted forward in surprise. The big blue eyes sparkled defiantly. ‘Is that some sort of royal command?’
Her rebellious stance stunned Zahir. It also aroused him. His hands itched to touch her, sweep her high into his arms and carry her to his private apartments to do with as he willed. Knowing he could not, because even now his detachment of soldiers awaited him in the courtyard, he promised himself that he would teach her the most exquisite lesson later.
‘Yes,’ he bellowed, then swept past her to the twin doors, ‘it is!’
Feeling on edge and restless, knowing that Zahir might possibly be in danger and that there was nothing she could do about it, Gina made a poor effort at eating lunch that day. At this rate she’d return home to England looking like a bag of bones! But how was she supposed to eat when fear that she might never see him again all but made her crazy?
That incendiary kiss they’d shared earlier had irrevocably reminded her why he was the only man in the world she could ever love. The warm pressure of his mouth and the hot silken tongue that had passionately invaded her had left an indelible tingling imprint, and she longed to experience more of the same.
She decided to try to distract her mind by asking Jamal if she could explore the palace grounds a little on her own. He immediately offered to escort her, as he had done Jake earlier, but she persisted in her request to go unaccompanied. With obvious reluctance in his expressive amber eyes, he agreed.
There were several paved paths—some extravagantly shaded—meandering into the lush gardens. Birdsong abounded. Various enchanting scents hung in the air. Gina detected jasmine, orange blossom and heliotrope amongst others. Everywhere she glanced there were ornate fountains and stately stone statues—presumably of ancestors of the illustrious Kazeem Khan family? If her mind hadn’t been so distracted with worry about Zahir, and if she’d known for certain that he was safe, Gina might have allowed herself to investigate the statues further, indulge her love of history and genealogy together and truly revel in the discoveries she made. But under the circumstances, that was easier said than done.
She was almost level with the slight, black-robed veiled figure sitting on a bench before she realised she should probably retrace her steps in case she was intruding on someone’s peaceful contemplation. It was a woman—a young, elfin-faced woman—with the prettiest brown eyes and yet perhaps the saddest expression Gina had ever seen.
‘Who are you?’ the woman asked, first in her own language and then, when Gina didn’t immediately respond, in English.
‘I’m so sorry if I disturbed you. I’m Dr Gina Collins, and I’m here to help make an inventory of the palace artefacts for His Highness.’ She bit her lip after this announcement, feeling more than just slightly guilty as she did as directed and supplied her alleged reason for being there.
‘My brother did not tell me he intended to make such an inventory.’
‘Forgive me … your brother?’
‘I am Farida, and the Sheikh of Kabuyadir is my brother … although lately he is becoming more and more like a stranger to me.’
This was followed by a heavily troubled sigh. Standing stock still, Gina half expected to be waved away and told not to intrude on this particular part of the garden again. But to her surprise, Farida turned up her face and smiled.
‘It is nice to see another young woman about the place—someone from England, too. Zahir and I both went to university there—did you know that?’
Feeling a jolt of surprise, Gina shook her head. ‘I didn’t. Where did you study?’
‘We both went to Oxford—he to Pembroke College, to study politics and economics, and me to Lady Margaret Hall to study English and modern languages.’
‘You’re clearly both very bright. I’m afraid my grades weren’t good enough to get me to Oxford.’
‘Zahir’s mind is like a rapier. Mine is a little slower, but I get there eventually.’
‘And you liked it at Oxford?’
‘It is a fascinating city. Full of stunning architecture and history and learning and all the things I love—especially books. I was always the family bookworm. Whatever the time of day, I could usually be found with my head in some fascinating tome even before I went up to Oxford. But all that changed when I met Azhar …’ Her words trailed off, her expression became subdued, and she was clearly lost in thought again.
Gina’s heart squeezed tight as she remembered Zahir telling her that Farida’s husband Azhar had died in a car accident. She was so young … too young to be a widow.
Before she’d realised her intention, she dropped down onto the bench beside her. ‘Azhar was your husband?’ she said gently.
Farida nodded sadly. ‘He was the love of my life. I have been so lost since he died. I don’t really know what to do with my life any more. I don’t believe I have anything left to offer anyone—even the brother I have always adored. Everything just seems futile.’
‘For a long time after he lost my mother, my father told me he felt like that, too. His method of coping with his grief was to lock himself away in the house and bury himself in his work. I didn’t really know how strongly he felt about her until recently. Their marriage always seemed more of a pragmatic arrangement than anything else. I honestly thought that their relationship was more a meeting of minds than hearts. But lately—lately I’ve started to believe I was wrong about that.’
Farida’s soft brown gaze studied Gina for a long time before she finally spoke. ‘I believe that love is everything … that no relationship or marriage can survive for long without it.’
‘And I believe that true love can never die. Wherever your beloved Azhar is now, he watches over you and only wants the best for you. I firmly believe that he would want you to enjoy the rest of your life and live it to the full, with his blessing.’
To Gina’s surprise, the other woman laid her hand over hers. ‘Thank you, Gina. I may call you that? You have said something very important to me that will help me sleep a little easier tonight. How long do you stay in Kabuyadir?’
She flushed a little. A buzzing insect flew by her ear and she brushed it away. ‘I’m not sure. It depends how long the work I’ve been hired to do takes. I’m here with a colleague, by the way … Dr Rivers.’
‘I hope it takes a long time.’ Farida smiled. ‘For I feel that I have just made a new friend.’
Unbearably touched, and because she feared the same debilitating grief would be visited on her should anything happen to Zahir, Gina found her blue eyes misting over for a second. ‘The feeling is mutual … you’re very kind.’
The loudly insistent tattoo beaten on her bedroom door that night woke Gina from an already far from serene sleep. She hadn’t bothered undressing because Zahir had told her to make herself available to talk when he returned. Even though she’d resented the command at the time, now she prayed he’d live to shout another one.
Shoving off the exotic silk counterpane, she got hurriedly to her feet.
‘Dr