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Seducing Catherine Smith would be a foolish move, which could easily backfire. He had no intention of giving her more access to him than was strictly necessary. She’d already requested an interview, something he’d had to force himself not to refuse out of hand. And he did not like the way she’d looked at him a moment ago, as if she somehow knew it was a long time since he’d had cause to laugh so spontaneously. Part of her job here was to study the behaviour and customs of Narabia’s people, but he did not intend to let her study him.
The thought of the indulgent burst of laughter and what it might have revealed dampened the heat in his groin as the car drove through the grove of palm trees, around the fountain that adorned the entrance to the palace and glided to a stop by the steps leading up to the arched entrance to the main residence. Climbing out of the vehicle, he offered a hand to Catherine.
One glimpse of those damn toes though, and the blood surged right back into his pants.
She exited the vehicle with a great deal more grace than she had used getting into it. But the memory of her pert bottom outlined in silk failed to alleviate the heat swelling in his groin.
The silk covering her hair did nothing to disguise the riot of chestnut curls. He clenched his fists to quell the urge to plunge his fingers into the unruly locks. Having this woman in the palace for three long months was going to be more of an ordeal than he’d thought when he had offered her the commission.
She tilted her head to view the building. ‘It’s even more breathtaking than I expected.’
The breathy comment was artlessly erotic, skimming over his skin. The heavy weight of the sabres jostled his hip as he stood aside to let her precede him up the steps.
‘Your Excellency, welcome home,’ his major-domo greeted him. As efficient and imperturbable as always, Ravi didn’t even flick an eyelash at the sight of his companion, or the evidence that Zane had arrived back from a business meeting in the UK with an unknown female guest. Clapping his hands, Ravi barked out a series of orders in Narabi at the line of servants, who rushed forward to collect the luggage.
‘This is Dr Smith,’ Zane said. ‘She is an academic scholar and is going to be writing a book about Narabia’s customs and its cultural history. She will be staying in the women’s quarters.’
As far away from my toe fetish as possible.
‘Yes, Your Excellency,’ Ravi said before turning to Catherine and bowing. ‘Welcome to Narabia, Dr Smith.’ He held out his arm. ‘If you come this way, I will escort you to your quarters.’
‘I’ll escort her to the women’s quarters myself,’ Zane cut in.
Both Catherine and Ravi looked at him, obviously startled by the offer. He was a little startled himself—etiquette for someone of her station certainly did not require him to give her a personal escort.
But he found he couldn’t regret the impulsive decision as he led her through the palace towards the separate walled estate in the grounds where the female staff and his unattached female relatives lived and he watched her reaction.
Ever since he had arrived in Narabia, the palace had felt like a prison to him. The ornate splendour both oppressive and confining, the grandeur only emphasising the unhappy history contained within these walls.
But as the scent of lemons and limes refreshed the air around them, and he watched the vivid colour on Catherine’s cheeks intensify and her caramel gaze sparkle with fascination, her head swivelling back and forth as she took in the sights before her, for the first time in his life, he could see past the darkness too.
He pushed the romantic thought aside, determined not to read too much into the buoyant feeling at Catherine’s exhilarated response.
She was the first foreign visitor to see this place since his mother. Of course she would be awestruck. The Sheikh’s palace was a beautiful and elaborate prison, but a prison nonetheless, something his mother had found out to her cost.
Just because Catherine in her naivety couldn’t see that, it didn’t mean it wasn’t true.
After all, it was his job to keep her from discovering that truth.
* * *
Walking through the Sheikh’s palace was like stepping into an alternative world—as exotic and mesmerising and exciting as Narnia behind the wardrobe. As Cat absorbed the myriad sights and sounds and scents, she struggled to ignore the man beside her, whose stern demeanour was at odds with the cascade of emotions making her heart hammer like a timpani drum.
Unlike the rest of the palace, which had been calm and quiet and steeped in an austere reverential solemnity, the women’s quarters were a hive of chatter and activity—until the women spotted the Sheikh in their midst.
A few of them tugged veils over their faces as Zane passed, but many of the younger ones did not, some even chatting behind their hands before they bowed or curtsied. Zane seemed impervious to the attention, but it was clear to Cat she wasn’t the only woman aware of the magnificent figure he cut.
The sunlight dazzled her, leaving her dazed when they stepped out of the searing heat of the forecourt into a walled garden. Shaded by trees laden with all manner of exotic fruit and an array of lush plants, the garden was laid out along a series of mosaic pathways punctuated by fountains and other decorative follies. More women, many of them wearing brightly coloured silk robes, sat on intricately carved marble benches, but sprang to their feet to curtsy as she and Zane passed.
They turned a corner and Cat’s mouth fell open. A stunning pool, its blue-green water fed by a man-made waterfall, stretched out before them, creating a cooling centrepiece to the lavish garden. On the outside, the quarters had seemed austere, but this garden was like a secret paradise.
Zane proceeded to lead her through a citrus grove that skirted the pool. The refreshing scent of oranges and lemons filled the hot, dry air. They walked down another path shaded by towering palm trees, the raised flower beds on either side filled with a profusion of showy blooms and manicured shrubs.
Finally they left the garden and entered a cool domed courtyard, this one covered with a painted ceiling. Like the rest of the palace, the chamber was intricately and elaborately decorated, with stunning marble and mosaic tiling. Lounging areas filled with cushions and draped with exquisitely embroidered silk hangings made the space feel welcoming rather than forbidding. The warm air was cooled by huge ceiling fans, which covered the sound of laughter and talking coming from the interior of the building with the swish of the blades.
Large arched doorways led off the central chamber. Each smaller chamber contained a disparate group of women indulging in different pursuits. One group was seated in a circle on the floor sewing a tapestry, another group was cooking in a kitchen equipped with state-of-the-art stainless-steel surfaces—the aromatic scents of frying spices making Cat’s tummy grumble—and yet another chamber appeared to be a classroom, where one woman was scribbling maths problems on a whiteboard for the others. It occurred to Cat that the juxtaposition of female learning, new appliances and traditional crafts was like a microcosm of how the new Sheikh’s modernising influence was affecting Narabia’s ancient society. But as before, all conversation ceased as they walked past, only making Cat more aware of how revered Zane was by his people. And the centuries-old power that emanated from him.
She wondered why he had offered to take her
