Her academic integrity was at stake. Not only that, but Zane had promised her the interview when she’d agreed to take the job.
She could keep her strange reaction to him in check. She wasn’t used to male attention, and certainly not the attention of a man who exuded enough testosterone to arouse a stone. But she couldn’t let her social ineptitude screw up this project. And she only had three months to write this study, so she couldn’t waste any more time pandering to her own insecurities.
But two weeks after arriving in Narabia, she didn’t seem to be any closer to getting the promised interview with its Sheikh. Ravi had been unfailingly polite and helpful, but whenever she’d asked about Zane, she’d been fobbed off with a series of vague excuses.
His Excellency was too busy. His Excellency was out of the country. His Excellency didn’t have the time to deal with the project today.
So yesterday, she’d decided to write the Sheikh a note—reminding Zane of his promise to grant her an interview.
One curt line scrawled in black ink on a piece of cream notepaper was the result.
Ravi will arrange an interview at my convenience, when I have the time.
ZK
‘The Sheikh, he writes to you like a lover.’
Cat glanced up to find Kasia grinning at her.
Cat blushed as she scrunched the note up in her fist and tossed it in the waste bin by the writing desk she had been given. ‘He writes to me like a tyrant, more like.’
‘What is this tyrant?’ Kasia asked, testing her increasingly fluent English.
Cat searched for the word in Narabi. But of course there wasn’t one, because tyrant was an insult, and apparently being an obstructive jerk was perfectly okay if you were the Sheikh in this country. ‘Someone who never lets you do what you want to do,’ she said.
The girl grinned. ‘What is it you wish to do?’
‘I need to speak to people outside these walls,’ she said in her own faltering Narabi. ‘I want to interview a much bigger cross section of Narabian society.’
She’d like to interview Zane Khan too, but she figured that was way outside Kasia’s remit.
‘Why do you not go to the marketplace? There are many people of Narabia there.’
‘I would, but I can’t go anywhere unaccompanied,’ she huffed, the frustration starting to choke her. ‘And all the visits we’ve been on so far, I haven’t been allowed to talk to anyone properly.’
‘You could come with me to buy the herbs and spices for eating tomorrow.’
Cat’s heart hammered against her ribs. Why had she assumed that Kasia never left the palace? ‘That’s... Thank you. That’s a brilliant idea.’
The thought of finally taking her research to the next level had her pulse pounding in her ears. She should have had the guts to do this a lot sooner. After all, Zane hadn’t specifically said she couldn’t leave the palace. It wasn’t Zane holding her back, it was her own conformity. And cowardice.
* * *
‘Your Excellency, there is news from the women’s quarters.’
Zane glanced up from the letter he was writing to find his major-domo standing at the arched entrance to his private office. Ravi’s face was drawn, and his hands clutched together.
Terrific, what the heck has Catherine Smith done now?
The woman was proving much more troublesome that he had anticipated.
No way was he arranging an interview with her before he was sure he could control the emotions that had fazed him when she had first arrived. But she’d proved surprisingly persistent and demanding, making repeated requests to see him even though he’d made it quite clear he was not available.
‘What is it, Ravi?’ he snapped, putting his pen down. ‘Please tell me this isn’t another request for an interview from Dr Smith,’ he said. ‘Because the answer is still no.’ And he’d already told his major-domo he did not want to be bothered with her requests from now on—because all that did was trigger more of the desires he was currently trying very hard to suppress.
‘No, Your Excellency.’ Ravi’s usually implacable expression became tight with concern. ‘I have just been informed Dr Smith is no longer in the palace.’
‘What?’ The punch of anxiety hit Zane square in the solar plexus. ‘Then where the hell is she?’