Desert Kings by Clare Connelly

Author:Clare Connelly [Connelly, Clare]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2015-10-01T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWO

A light wind scampered off the desert in the distance, bringing with it a hint of warmth and sunshine. It rustled Sally’s chestnut brown hair, lifting it across her cheek. She dashed it away and settled back in the timber seat.

Her companion had not yet spoken. His dark eyes were scrutinising her. She wondered what information he was gleaning – if any – from her appearance? Two weeks ago, she’d looked like a normal twenty one year old. A rigorous beauty regimen had seen her transformed into a twenty one year old princess wannabe. Hair that had come to her waist had been left long, but trimmed into a neater style. Some layers had been shaped to flatter her angular face. Her brows had been threaded, her skin exfoliated and waxed, and her nails had been buffed until they shone like glass. The superficial changes gave her a little confidence, though not much, when faced with such obvious disapproval.

A servant appeared as if from nowhere and set a tray on the table between them. A pot of tea was poured, and a delicate plate loaded with Turkish delights uncovered.

“Eat something,” he murmured, crossing one ankle over his knee.

“I don’t have much of a sweet tooth,” she said, regretting the note of apology in her voice.

“These are a special delicacy of the region. They’re made using crumbed pistachio and orange rind.”

She slanted him a look of muted derision. “I know what they are.”

His fingers threaded together to form an apex and he rested his chin on it. “Tea, then,” he prompted.

She reached forward and took one of the saucers. It made a jingling noise as she brought it to her lap. Her fingers were shaking and she hadn’t realised. Her startled eyes flew to his, embarrassed by the betraying gesture. His mocking smile sent a tingle down her spine.

Yes, he’d noticed.

There was very little this man wouldn’t notice, she suspected.

She concentrated on the swirling pattern on the saucer.

“You do not know the Sheikh,” he commented conversationally. “And yet you have agreed to marry him.”

Her finger ran around the scalloped edge of her cup. “Yes.”

“Why?” He leaned forward, his gaze intent on hers.

She took in a shuddering breath. “I understand your job, Kaman, but I think this is a conversation better had with the Emir.”

His eyes narrowed. “You are aware he has tasked me with this interview.”

“Interview?” She interrupted caustically. Her nerves were already shot to pieces at the idea of marrying into the Tari’ell royal family. The prospect of having to apply for the job was a little galling. “I have come here to marry the Emir. Not to be questioned by you.”

“Yes.” He reached forward and grabbed a teacup for himself. It looked completely incongruous in his enormous hands.

Powerful hands.

Hands that could bring pleasure or pain with great ease. The thought came to her from nowhere. She gulped it away. “But why?”

Her breath felt like it was being squeezed out of her lungs. She sipped her fragrant tea to buy some time.

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