The Desert Sheikh's Defiant Queen: The Sheikh's Chosen Queen / The Desert King's Pregnant Bride. Jane PorterЧитать онлайн книгу.
to behave this way. My sisters certainly didn’t behave this way. I’m confused.”
“So what is it that you really want me to do, Sharif? Teach the children? Be a companion to them? Observe their behavior? What?”
He looked up at her, gray eyes shot with bright silver, and yet there was no light in his eyes right now. “All of the above.”
“So essentially you want a nanny.”
“No, they have a nanny. I need …” His voice drifted off and his forehead creased. “I need you.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but there was something in his eyes, something in his expression that made her heart ache. Impulsively she reached out toward him. She’d meant it to be a friendly touch, warm and reassuring, but instead of touching the loose sleeve of his robe, her fingers grazed his forearm, his bronzed skin warm like the sun, and she shuddered, stunned by the electric heat.
Abruptly she pulled back, pressing her hand to her breastbone. She’d imagined that fire, she told herself, she’d imagined that wild streak of sensation that had raced up her arm, into her shoulder, into her chest. But looking into Sharif’s eyes she suddenly wasn’t so sure.
There was the same fire in his eyes, a fire that made her remember how it’d been in his arms, beneath his body, in his bed.
“Something wrong?” he asked, his gaze traveling slowly over her hot face.
Fresh heat surged through her cheeks making her skin sensitive and her lips tingly. “No,” she breathed, nervously pressing her hands to her lap. “I just think it’ll be good when your daughters get here. It sounds as though there is much work to do.”
“You will be very busy,” he agreed, his gaze now resting on her mouth as if fascinated by the curve and color of her lips. “Perhaps you should welcome having the rest of the afternoon and night free. Once the girls return you won’t have much time to yourself.”
She felt her lower lip begin to throb as though it had taken on a life of its own. It was all she could do not to cover her mouth. “I just wish it was sooner rather than later. It’s still early in the day and I know you have work to do—”
“I’m sure Mehta would be delighted to show you the library. It’s where you’ll be teaching tomorrow. Feel free to have a look around and examine some of the books I’ve bought.”
“That’s an excellent suggestion. I’ll use the afternoon to begin preparing tomorrow’s lessons. Thank you.”
Rising to his feet he smiled vaguely, amused by her enthusiasm. “So you’ll be fine on your own this afternoon?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
“Great. I’ll see you at dinner—”
“Maybe we should pass on dinner,” she suggested hurriedly, unintentionally interrupting him. “I’ll have tons of reading to do tonight and I know you’ve a great deal of work.”
He stared down at her, and she had to tilt her head back to see him.
“We’ll talk about the children during dinner,” he said blandly. “That should make you feel better.” He started to leave but paused on the stairs. “And dinner, Jesslyn, is always at seven.”
The afternoon passed far too quickly for Jesslyn. She’d discovered the library and had immediately fallen in love. The room was huge and airy, a beautiful gold dome topping high walls lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves. The library reminded Jesslyn of some people’s ballrooms, large enough to comfortably hold two couches, two wooden desks, four armchairs and a long antique table with impressively carved legs.
She found the stack of teacher’s editions right away, but before sitting down with those, she looked at the books the children were using. She was familiar with the publisher, and had taught the middle school version of the literature and language books. The material she’d be teaching was simple enough. Her concern was the quantity. There were stacks of books for each child. Math, science, social studies, literature, grammar, foreign language, and then music and art books, too.
Jesslyn carried the stack of children’s books to one of the armchairs and sitting down with notepad and pen, she looked at the number of chapters in each book, and then the number of days between now and school starting, and mapped out a plan of how much could be comfortably covered in each subject.
She was still hard at work four hours later when Mehta lightly knocked on the door. “Ready for a bath, Teacher Fine?” she asked with her dimpled smile.
Jesslyn glanced up quizzically. “A bath?”
“Before dinner.”
“Ah. Right.” Closing the science textbook she wondered how to explain to Mehta that she didn’t feel it necessary to take a bath before dinner. She’d taken a shower that morning and it was just a business dinner. “I have so much to do before tomorrow that I might just wash my face and touch up my hair for dinner.”
Mehta looked at her uncomprehendingly. “No bath?”
“I took one earlier.”
“No bath before dinner?”
Jesslyn set the book down. “I don’t take a bath before every meal, Mehta.”
“No bath.”
“No.”
Mehta’s dark brows pulled. “No dinner?”
“No, I will have dinner. I’m meeting Sheikh Fehr for dinner at seven. We are meeting to discuss business—”
“Dinner with His Highness.”
“Right.” Jesslyn smiled with relief. Finally. They were both on the same page. “Dinner,” she said. “At seven.”
Mehta held up her wrist, tapped her wrist as though there was a watch there. “Half past five. Dinner seven. Bath now.”
Jesslyn sighed heavily. She really didn’t want to argue about a bath with a young member of Sharif’s palace staff. She’d only just arrived and she was going to be here all summer. And from the sound of things she was going to need someone on her side.
“A bath sounds lovely,” she answered with forced cheer as she reluctantly moved all the books off her lap and chair so she could stand. “But I’m not finished with these,” she added. “I’ll want to read them later.”
Mehta was delighted. “Yes, Teacher Fine. Now come.”
Jesslyn hadn’t seen the bedroom before, but following Mehta down the columned hall into the bedroom, she discovered that the bedroom with its spacious antique bed was just as lovely, and even more feminine, than the sunken living room.
The antique bed reminded Jesslyn of a Russian ballet with dramatic floor-to-ceiling pink and rose silk and satin curtains that could be untied and draped around the bed to provide intimacy and seclusion. The bed, built like an oversize daybed, had neither headboard nor footboard but high sides softened with pillows to match the silk panels.
A short silver vase teeming with fragrant pink rosebuds sat on a side table, and Jesslyn bent over to breathe in the heady sweet perfume. It wasn’t easy to grow roses in the blistering heat of the desert, which made these all the more precious.
“Your bath,” Mehta said, standing in yet another doorway gesturing to a room beyond.
The bath was a Roman bath with sunken tub and endless white marble. A delicately painted dome arched over the airy room, capping high walls with high narrow windows that drew in early-morning and late-afternoon sun but didn’t sacrifice privacy.
“I will help you?” Mehta asked, gesturing to Jesslyn.
The huge sunken tub had already been filled, and steam rose from the surface. “I can manage,” Jesslyn answered, thinking the whole help thing had gone far enough. Turning, she spotted a white robe on a small iron