Modern Romance July 2018 Books 5-8 Collection. Annie WestЧитать онлайн книгу.
his skin as he looked down at her ripe lips. Her kiss had been delightfully enthusiastic.
‘Sir? Is there a problem?’
It was the Sir that stopped him. The reminder that far from being equals, all the power rested with him. She deferred to him, obeyed him.
Who knew what she’d do out of obedience?
Bile rose in his throat. He’d never forced a woman in his life.
Guilt spiralled through his belly, rising to clog his chest. It was one thing to invite a sophisticated foreign woman to become his short-term lover. It was another to seduce his own ward! The woman he’d gone to such lengths to protect. The woman who, even with the gloss of recent foreign experience, was indebted to him and who, he knew, took debts of honour seriously. Look at the way she’d held back on accepting the education she so desired, till he’d found a way for her to pay him back.
It was unthinkable that Lina Rahman should give him lessons in honour. And yet...
Sayid remembered his youthful disdain for his uncle’s sybaritic lifestyle. For the unbridled self-indulgence and licentiousness. Yet when Sayid had scoffed about him being a roué, his father had opened his eyes to Sayid’s own weaknesses.
There was a strong streak of sensuality and self-indulgence in the family, he’d said. Down the generations they had a reputation for being passionate and hot-blooded, overstepping the bounds. That made them formidable warriors, greedy for victory and its spoils. But there was a constant need to rein in that tendency. The blood flowing through Sayid’s uncle flowed in their veins too. And the potential to wallow in selfish pleasure. It was Sayid’s duty, he’d said, to be strong and honourable. To put responsibility above pleasure and resist corruption.
‘No. There’s no problem.’ Sayid made himself step back from the door. ‘It’s late. You should turn in. It’s been a long evening.’ He swung away from the door then stopped.
Slowly he turned back, reading tension in her slim form. See? He’d done right, putting her away from him.
Yet still he lingered.
‘Don’t call me sir.’ Logic told him he was mad, smashing that barrier of formality. Yet he felt sick when Lina used his title. As if she’d kissed him because of his position, his authority over her. The idea was untenable.
‘But I...’ Her eyes rounded. ‘You’re the Emir.’
As if he could forget. If he weren’t, if he were simply a man who’d met a beautiful young woman, it would be so much easier to deal with the feelings Lina stirred.
‘I think we’ve got beyond that, don’t you?’ It was hard to tell in the shadows but he’d swear she blushed. ‘As my ward—’ he bit back a grimace on the word ‘—you have the right to call me by name.’
He didn’t have a clue what the protocol was. Yet he knew a sudden, fierce urge to have this from Lina at least, since honour dictated he could have no more. The sound of his name on her tongue.
‘And I would prefer it.’
Her chin hiked higher, her eyes meeting his with that same unabashed stare he’d noticed the day she’d returned to Halarq. An electric charge sparked in the air between them.
‘As you wish—’ she paused so long he found himself leaning towards her in anticipation ‘—Sayid.’
Her voice was like a sighing night breeze, wafting the scent of spices and sweetness. It was a voice that would haunt him through the long sleepless hours of the night.
Abruptly he nodded, then turned and stalked away down the path to his suite. He didn’t look back. It was only wishful thinking that tried to convince him Lina stood, watching every step.
Four years ago she’d sorely tested his willpower as he battled the urge to claim her. Incredibly he faced the same problem again. The urge to reach out and simply grab what he wanted. With Lina he had no off switch.
Sayid breathed in the garden’s honeysuckle perfume. Yet another scent lingered, teasing, in his nostrils. The scent of roses and female flesh.
He set his jaw, ignoring the memory of that sexy body flush against his.
It was going to be a long night. But he vowed by the end of it he’d have a solution to the taunting, seductive problem that was Lina, distracting him from his work, and the dictates of honour.
SAYID WAS IMPRESSED as the group of local elders showed him through the community centre he’d funded. He’d heard good reports of it, including last night from his Minister for Education, who’d visited as part of his programme to increase school attendance.
With Lina, he recalled.
They’d all liked Lina.
Sayid’s mouth firmed as he realised she’d slipped into his thoughts again. All night she’d been on his mind, since that mind-numbing kiss.
Finally, in the early hours, he’d come up with a solution to her distracting presence. It would mean never seeing her again, forcing her to get on with her own life far from him. Resolutely he ignored the inner silent howl of outrage at being deprived of her. It was for the best.
‘Would Your Highness be interested in seeing the final space?’ His guide indicated doors at the end of the room.
A grey-bearded elder spoke. ‘It would probably not be of interest, sire. It’s only where the women gather.’ His expression and tone were dismissive. Exactly the attitude Sayid and his reformist staff had worked so hard to change.
‘I’d be pleased to see what use they make of it. If our presence won’t disturb them.’ Traditionally women stayed apart from men.
The first man nodded. ‘It is good of Your Highness to ask. But there can be no objection.’ Nevertheless, he nodded to his grandson, who accompanied them. The boy ran off to warn the matrons of the visit. He slipped through the door and Sayid heard laughter, clapping and singing.
Obviously the women were having far more fun than the men this morning.
Intrigued, Sayid followed his guide to the double doors that opened onto a wide courtyard surrounded by colonnades. Fig and pistachio trees shaded the yard and at the centre of the far wall, surrounded by tiles of blue and aqua, a fountain streamed into a shallow pool.
The aroma of new bread hung in the air, and the rich melding of scents, rose, jasmine and lily, from the group of women seated all around the space.
All this he absorbed in moments, but it was the movement at the centre of the courtyard that caught his attention. Amidst the smiling, singing group, three young women danced, their long skirts billowing around them. One wore the traditional necklaces and headscarf of a bride and sunlight glinted off flashing antique silver coins as she turned.
But it was another dancer who held Sayid’s gaze. Ebony tresses drifted around her shoulders, all the way to her tiny waist, as she circled. Her hands described a series of intricate, elegant shapes as she twirled, every movement, every dip and sway, graceful.
Lina. His heart slammed into his ribs then took up an uneven beat.
She wore a long traditional dress of russet red, unadorned but for a scarf of red and lilac belted at her waist, the ends flaring out as she spun. Her dress was less elaborate than the ones worn by the others but his eyes were drawn to her as inevitably as one of his Bedouin ancestors spying a life-giving oasis in the desert.
Pleasure swelled at the sight of her, nimble, supple and beautiful. There was desire—that was inevitable with Lina—but there was more too, the appreciation of any bystander watching a master at work. She could have been a professional dancer with those exquisitely light movements that looked deceptively easy but which he knew took years and considerable skill to perfect.