CHAPTER ONE
THE man silhouetted against the shuttered window was not known as the Lion of the Desert for nothing. His skin glowed with tawny good health and his black hair was as thick as an ebony mane. The magnificence of his honed, muscular body had left countless women sighing with wistful longing and he carried about him an air of leonine grace and stealth.
Sheikh Rashid of Quador was a man few would have the folly to cross, and consequently his mood was usually as lazily unperturbed as a lion who was master and king of all he surveyed.
But for now his eyes glittered with icy displeasure.
‘Repeat yourself, Abdullah,’ he commanded, his deep voice as tightly controlled as a coiled whip.
His manservant swallowed nervously. ‘Forgive me, Excellence—’
‘Repeat yourself!’ rang out the cold instruction.
Abdullah cleared his throat. ‘There are…er…rumours sweeping the city, Sheikh.’
A pair of jet eyebrows were raised in silent yet imperious question. ‘You dare to speak to me of rumours?’
‘When they concern you, Excellency, then, yes—it is necessary that I should do so.’
‘And?’ he clipped out.
‘Your people are growing restless, Sheikh.’
The black eyebrows were knitted together and fierce possessiveness gleamed like steel from the narrowed eyes. ‘There is more rebellion underfoot? Insurrection that I must quash?’
‘No, no—nothing like that, Sheikh. Your people accept that you rule them with an iron fist. The people of Quador live happily. They have food in their bellies and the security of knowing that our profile in the modern world is a shining one—’
‘Enough of compliments!’ snapped Rashid. ‘I have no need of them!’
‘Indeed.’ Abdullah sighed, the expression on his face not unlike that of a person who was anticipating a particularly painful visit to the dentist. ‘The people of Quador wish to know why you have not yet taken a…wife,’ he finished, with a weak smile.
‘A wife?’ The set of Rashid’s lean body became dangerously tense and the hard, proud profile became stony. ‘My people have no right to concern themselves in such matters! I shall take my bride when the time is right—and I alone will decide when that time is!’ He thought fleetingly of Jenna and the black eyes gleamed anew, his voice transforming itself into a deceptively silky snare. ‘But there is something else you are not telling me, is there not, Abdullah?’
‘Indeed.’ Abdullah swallowed. ‘Reports from foreign newspapers have begun to infiltrate the internet—’
‘The internet!’ spat out Rashid. ‘This internet is nothing but the work of the devil! It should be forbidden!’
‘Yes, Exalted One,’ agreed Abdullah placatingly. ‘But if we are a member of the modern world, then it is impossible to halt progress!’
‘And what exactly has infiltrated the internet?’ demanded Rashid, his lush mouth flattening into a line of undisguised anger.
‘Your…er…your relationship with a certain woman in Paris is causing some disquiet.’
‘With Chantal?’ Rashid felt the instinctive heavy pull of desire as he allowed his mind to linger briefly on the physical attributes of his most long-standing mistress. ‘My friendship with Chantal is nothing new.’
‘Precisely!’ agreed Abdullah triumphantly. ‘And its very endurance has provoked concern that you are perhaps planning to make her your wife!’
Rashid swore in French—one of the seven languages he was fluent in. ‘Are my people mad?’ he questioned incredulously. ‘You know which woman is promised to me!’
‘Indeed,’ murmured Abdullah.
‘Do they not know that a man has many needs?’ continued Rashid. ‘What Chantal brings to me has nothing to do with marriage!’ His mouth curved. ‘It is not my destiny to marry a woman ten years my senior who will be unable to provide me with the many offspring I will one day desire!’
‘That is as I thought, Exalted One.’ Abdullah breathed a barely perceptible sigh of relief. He hesitated. ‘Would you not make that message clear to the world? Has the time for offspring not now arrived?’