Desert Affair. Kate Walker

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      ‘Fat chance of that…’ Lydia began, but he ignored her furious interjection and continued imperturbably.

      ‘I’m sure you must be hungry. Right now, my housekeeper will be preparing our meal. All you have to do is to have a drink and wait for it to be served.’

      The mention of a housekeeper was unexpected and a relief. Simply knowing that she wasn’t alone with him in the apartment eased some of the tension that had held Lydia so tight. The stiffness of her spine relaxed, her shoulders dropping slightly, her whole body loosening up.

      ‘That’s better.’

      Amir smiled his approval.

      ‘You no longer look as if you expect to be executed at any moment. Now, if you’ll just have a drink…’

      With an impatient sound in her throat, Lydia snatched at the glass. Perhaps the wine would relax her a little. Even if she wasn’t as stiffly uptight as she had been before, her stomach was still twisting painfully.

      ‘It is delicious,’ she conceded ungraciously as she let a mouthful of the rich, mellow liquid slide down her disturbingly dry throat. ‘But you needn’t think I’m letting you get away with it. I still want some answers to my questions…’

      Amir’s sigh was a masterpiece, a perfect blend of irritation and resignation.

      ‘And clearly you are not going to give me any peace until I answer them,’ he drawled, lowering himself elegantly into one of the huge, soft armchairs and leaning back against the cushions, his long legs stretched out in front of him. ‘All right, then, ask away—but at least make yourself comfortable first. You make me feel uneasy, hovering over me like an avenging angel.’

      When Lydia was tempted to fling at him the comment that she didn’t give a damn how she made him feel, she hastily thought the better of it. For one thing, she seriously doubted that anything she did would make this man uncomfortable. And for another, the brief, worryingly dangerous mood that Amir had displayed just moments ago now seemed to have passed. She didn’t want to risk provoking him into letting it come to the surface again.

      ‘All right,’ she conceded grudgingly, coming to sit opposite him, on the other side of the fire.

      The wine really was wonderful, she admitted to herself, taking another appreciative swallow. She had never tasted anything quite so delicious. It was clearly a million miles away from the sort of supermarket plonk that was all she could ever afford.

      ‘So,’ Amir prompted when, lulled by the alcohol and the warmth of the leaping flames in the deep hearth, she took her time about continuing the conversation, ‘what exactly is it that you want to know?’

      ‘You can start with explaining who your father is. He must be someone important. I mean, I’ve never met anyone at all who was given the title of “Highness”.’

      His sigh was less good-tempered this time. Clearly his patience was wearing thin again.

      ‘Since you are so determined not to let the subject drop—my father’s name is Sheikh Khalid bin Hamad Al Zaman, King of Kuimar.’

      For once, something had shut her up, he thought wryly, watching the way her soft mouth fell slightly open on a gasp of surprise. She looked totally dumbfounded at the news, which was hardly surprising. He had had much the same response himself when he had first learned the truth. Though, being only eleven at the time, he had expressed his disbelief rather more forcefully.

      ‘You’re joking!’

      ‘I’m totally serious, I assure you.’

      ‘You’re really the son of a sheikh?’

      ‘Only just,’ Amir returned obscurely.

      ‘Oh!’

      It was about all Lydia could manage. She was remembering how she had imagined him dressed in the dramatic robes of a desert warrior. The thought had her burying her nose in her wineglass and taking a hasty sip.

      ‘So, should I be curtseying to you—calling you Highness, too?’

      ‘Lydia!’ Amir groaned reproachfully. ‘That’s not what I want from you.’

      ‘What do you want?’ The question wouldn’t be held back.

      The look he shot her from under hooded eyelids held a distinctly sexual challenge in it, polished ebony eyes gleaming behind luxuriantly curling lashes.

      ‘You have to ask? I thought it was patently obvious. I thought we both understood where we stand…’

      Lydia shifted uncomfortably under that wickedly taunting scrutiny, his gaze seeming to strip away a protective layer of skin, leaving her painfully vulnerable and exposed.

      ‘I thought so too—at first.’

      ‘So what has changed?’

      Amir sipped at his wine again, his intent stare not moving from her flushed face.

      ‘You don’t need me to tell you that!’ she protested furiously. ‘You know what’s changed! You’ve changed! Your father is a sheikh. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t that make you one too?’

      The way that Amir’s sensual mouth twisted sharply told her she had displeased him. For the space of an uncomfortable couple of heartbeats she was sure that he wasn’t going to answer, but then abruptly he inclined his head in brusque agreement.

      ‘If you want my full name it’s Amir bin Khalid Al Zaman. Sheikh Amir bin Khalid Al Zaman,’ he reiterated with an impenetrable intonation on the words. ‘My father named me Crown Prince on my thirtieth birthday.’

      ‘You see!’ Lydia exclaimed. ‘This changes everything. You’re royalty! And I’m just a very ordinary girl who—’

      She broke off sharply as, with a muttered curse, Amir suddenly slammed his glass down onto the table with such a distinct crash that she fully expected to see the delicate crystal shatter into a thousand glistening pieces. The next moment he was on his feet, covering the space between their chairs in two long, forceful strides.

      ‘It doesn’t matter!’ he declared, his tone rough and hard. ‘Can’t you see? It doesn’t matter a damn!’

      Before Lydia could quite register what was happening, he had clamped hard fingers around the tops of her arms and hauled her up out of the chair with such force that she fell against him, her own hands going out frantically, desperately seeking support. Beneath her clutching fingers she felt the hard muscles bunch and tense as Amir took her weight.

      ‘Who I am, or what I am, has no bearing on this situation.’

      ‘No bearing…’

      It was difficult to speak. Almost impossible to think. The strength of his arms was all that held her upright. The heat of his body seemed to reach out and enclose her, enfolding her in sensual warmth. And the СКАЧАТЬ