Free Defying her Desert Duty by Annie West

as it may, I was concerned when I found you gone. You’re in unfamiliar territory, alone, when by your own admission you have limited experience of foreign travel. I needed to make sure you were all right.’
    His voice rang with sincerity and abruptly Soraya’s bubble of anger punctured. He was doing his job. It wasn’t his fault it felt like he was her own personal gaoler. As for his disapproval—she saw no evidence of it now.
    ‘Why did you come
here
?’ He reached for his coffee.
    ‘You make it sound as if Amboise is an unusual choice. It’s a quaint old town with a chateau, cliff dwellings—’
    ‘Not the town.
Here.
’ His gesture encompassed both the old house and the sweep of park-like gardens she’d yet to explore. ‘It’s pleasant, but it doesn’t match the opulence of the royal chateaux.’
    ‘And, of course, I should be interested in opulence, is thatit?’ What did he think, that she’d somehow snaffled the Emir for his wealth?
    Was that why Zahir had installed her in that beautiful, luxurious hotel that, to her overwrought nerves, felt ridiculously like a gilded prison?
    ‘That’s just it.’ He leaned forward. ‘I don’t know what interests you.’ His gaze dropped from her face. ‘Apart from shoes with more sex appeal than substance.’
    A flush rose from the vicinity of her ankles where the scarlet straps of her wedge-heeled espadrilles ended in saucy bows. Heat flooded up her thighs, through her body and scorched its way to her cheeks.
    Because he thought her shoes sexy.
    Her heart gave an odd little flutter.
    Why did that observation sound like an admission of some sort? And why did it unsettle her so?
    Zahir lifted his espresso but he didn’t look away. Soraya gulped down some icy water, hoping to ease the rush of blood under her skin.
    ‘Clos Lucé is where Leonardo da Vinci lived the final years of his life.’
    ‘I thought he was Italian?’
    ‘He was, but the King of France thought him so special he offered him a home.’ She nodded to the open window above them. ‘He slept in that room.’
    ‘So you’re a fan of his art?’
    She shrugged. ‘I never saw the Mona Lisa in Paris. There were too many other things to do.’
    Zahir’s eyebrows rose. ‘Hussein mentioned you were studying art history in Paris.’
    ‘I was.’ Her chin tilted higher, on the defensive now.
    Zahir said nothing but his silence told her he was waiting. For long moments she held his gaze, then she shrugged. What was the point in prevaricating?
    ‘It wasn’t my idea, it was my father’s. He thought an understanding of art would be useful given my … future. A sort ofwider cultural education.’ What he hadn’t said, of course, was that studying art was more genteel, more suitable for a lady. Not that he’d ever say that out loud.
    Soraya smiled. Her dad had never quite understood her interest in the unfeminine sciences, but he was her staunchest ally against the traditionalists who’d looked down their noses at her chosen path. They’d seen her lack of interest in the usual female occupations as dangerous—a possible sign she was like her unnatural mother.
    Her smile faded.
    ‘Soraya?’
    She looked up to find Zahir’s eyes narrowing. ‘Sorry?’
    ‘You didn’t enjoy the course?’
    ‘No, I did. It’s not what I would have chosen myself but it was interesting.’ She paused, relishing the warmth of the filtered sunlight and the gentle bird calls, the sense, illusory as it was, of freedom.
    ‘I should have made an effort to see his art. He was gifted in so many fields. Did you
see
the models of his inventions?’ That had been such fun, especially when she’d met two amateur inventors eager to discuss them.
    ‘I saw them.’ His voice told her Leonardo’s breakthroughs were mildly interesting to him, no more.
    ‘Where do you think the world would be without people like that, finding new ways to solve problems?’
    ‘What, like that multi-barrelled gun to mow down as many people as