Free Monarch of the Sands by Sharon Kendrick Page B

whiskedthrough central London in a luxury limousine, with a brooding-looking sheikh sitting beside her.
    She splayed her fingers out over her lap. He seemed
uncomfortably
close—so that the atmosphere seemed full of his own particular scent. A potent cocktail of raw male mixed with sweet sandalwood and the tang of lemons was now invading her senses. And somehow he was managing to imprint his powerful body onto her subconscious, even though she was pointedly looking out of the car window in an attempt to lessen the impact he was having on her. What on earth was the matter with her? Shouldn’t she have been missing Simon—if only a little bit—instead of fantasising what it might be like if Zahid pulled her into his arms and began to kiss her?
    ‘Where … where are we going?’ she questioned breathlessly. ‘And tell me a bit more about what Tariq is doing these days.’
    Zahid watched with interest as she dug her nails into one silk-covered thigh. Much more of that and she would claw tiny holes into that new dress of hers, he thought. ‘There’s a private members’ club next door to The Ivy—and we’re meeting him there. He lives in England permanently now.’
    ‘
Does
he? Doing what?’
    ‘He runs the European arm of the family business—but he also has a very successful polo club in the south of England which he bought quite recently.’
    Of course he does, thought Frankie as the car coasted past the shining shop lights which lightened the dark November night and drew to a halt in front of a discreet door. She knew that Tariq was a superb and talented polo player, so it followed that he would have a club ofhis own. The Al Hakam family never did anything by halves.
    Inside the private members’ club, masses of flowers stood in eye-catching arrangements and a glass lift zoomed them up to a large room which somehow managed to have an intimate feel to it. In one corner, a grand piano was being played softly by an aging crooner who smiled at them as they walked in—and on a nearby table, Frankie recognised a soap-star who was more famous for her chequered love-life than for her work as an actress.
    They were ushered towards a small, private dining room and when they arrived Tariq was already seated at the table. It was the first time that Frankie had ever seen the brothers together—and with their dramatically dark good looks, the family resemblance was startling. But the younger brother was wearing faded jeans and a silk shirt—his shadowed jaw resolutely unshaven—and he had an air of slightly disreputable charm, which was at odds with Zahid’s rather more formal appearance.
    He rose to his feet when he saw them approach and the two men embraced. And then as Tariq let his arms fall away he gave Frankie a smile which she suspected had made many women melt into a puddle at his feet.
    ‘How unusual. It’s not like you to bring a woman with you, Zahid,’ he observed, his voice a honeyed murmur. ‘So who is
this
little beauty?’
    Zahid glared at his sibling. ‘This is Francesca.’
    ‘Francesca?’ There was a pause as Tariq frowned and then his face suddenly cleared as he made the connection. ‘Frankie?
Frankie?
I don’t believe it! Is that really you?’
    ‘Yes!’ She smiled back as he gathered her in a bearhug and she realised that Zahid had said pretty much the same thing. Which begged the question of how much she had changed. Did she really look that different? She guessed she did. Yet it was funny how you could be altered so radically on the exterior—and yet inside you felt exactly the same … with all those same nagging doubts and insecurities. ‘Yes, it’s really me!’
    ‘Wow! You look so
different
. Amazing! All pretty, and grown-up. Good heavens …’ Tariq frowned. ‘You and Zahid, I mean you aren’t—’
    ‘We aren’t anything,’ Zahid snapped, giving his brother another furious glare. ‘Francesca is working for me now.’
    ‘
Is
she now? That’s quite a bold