harder.
Soraya breathed deep. Of course it had been a woman. Had she taken one look at Zahir’s compelling face and melted deep inside the way Soraya had in the nightclub?
She stiffened her spine.
‘I’d expected to meet you at the car.’
‘And I thought you might appreciate help with your luggage.’ The hint of a smile had vanished and his eyes held that hard glitter she knew masked disapproval.
She forced down the churlish impulse to refuse. The way he took control so smoothly exacerbated her deepest fears about giving up her independence, reminding her that, once married,she would be bound to honour and, above all, obey. She repressed a quiver of apprehension and looked away.
‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’ She stepped aside and invited him in.
‘No farewell party?’ He looked past her to the neat sitting room and the small, empty corridor.
‘No.’ She’d said her goodbyes earlier. Parting with Lisle in particular had been difficult. She’d had no intention of doing that under Zahir’s assessing gaze.
Despite their different backgrounds, Soraya and Lisle had forged far more than a casual friendship. For the first time Soraya had glimpsed what it might be like to have a sister. Outgoing where Soraya was reserved, flamboyant rather than contained, funny, warm and impulsive—Lisle had been a revelation to a woman who’d spent her life in cloistered, sedate, correct social circles. Lisle was a whirlwind, ripping into Soraya’s quiet life and setting it on a new path. One that had opened her eyes to all the world could offer a woman with her life ahead of her.
Except that now those possibilities crumbled to nothing. Soraya’s future was set, had been since she was fourteen. It was too late to change it now.
‘Soraya?’
She blinked and looked up to find him closer. For a split second she’d have said she read concern in his hooded eyes. She blinked again and the mirage was gone.
‘Here.’ She gestured to the case behind her in the hallway.
‘That’s all?’ He looked past her as if to locate a secret stash of luggage.
‘That’s all. Your removalists were very efficient. My books and other bits and pieces are already on their way to Bakhara.’ Her voice dropped to a husky note. She really had to pull herself together.
Despite the claustrophobic sense of the future smothering her, she knew the man she’d agreed to marry had reputedlybeen a devoted husband to his now-dead first wife. He was decent, generous and honourable.
That was more than many women could say.
It would have to be enough. It wasn’t as if she was eager to seek out love. She knew what a devastating emotion that was.
As for her tentative dreams—instead she’d have to put her energies into the goals that had enticed her when she had been a starry-eyed teen: being a queen who made a real difference to her people. Being a good wife. At least with her qualifications she could be the former.
‘I’ll just get my shoulder bag.’
Thirty seconds later she was in her room, hugging close the oversized bag she’d haggled for in the markets two weeks ago. Only it wasn’t her room any more. Stripped of her possessions, it was an empty shell. Not the place she’d been so happy.
Stupid to be sentimental about it.
There was no point dwelling on what was past. She’d learned that as a child, bereft and confused.
She turned and found Zahir in the doorway, his gaze, as ever, fixed on her. A subterranean tremor quaked through her, threatening to destabilise the control she fought so valiantly to maintain.
Turning quickly, she scooped up her laptop.
‘I’m ready.’
The Loire River snaked below them like a bright pewter ribbon. Studded along its banks and beyond were neat towns, a patchwork of farms and a scattering of chateaux.
But Zahir’s attention wasn’t on the view, even when the chopper swooped low over quaint towns or stately homes.
It was the woman next to him who riveted Zahir’s thoughts and his
Soraya breathed deep. Of course it had been a woman. Had she taken one look at Zahir’s compelling face and melted deep inside the way Soraya had in the nightclub?
She stiffened her spine.
‘I’d expected to meet you at the car.’
‘And I thought you might appreciate help with your luggage.’ The hint of a smile had vanished and his eyes held that hard glitter she knew masked disapproval.
She forced down the churlish impulse to refuse. The way he took control so smoothly exacerbated her deepest fears about giving up her independence, reminding her that, once married,she would be bound to honour and, above all, obey. She repressed a quiver of apprehension and looked away.
‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’ She stepped aside and invited him in.
‘No farewell party?’ He looked past her to the neat sitting room and the small, empty corridor.
‘No.’ She’d said her goodbyes earlier. Parting with Lisle in particular had been difficult. She’d had no intention of doing that under Zahir’s assessing gaze.
Despite their different backgrounds, Soraya and Lisle had forged far more than a casual friendship. For the first time Soraya had glimpsed what it might be like to have a sister. Outgoing where Soraya was reserved, flamboyant rather than contained, funny, warm and impulsive—Lisle had been a revelation to a woman who’d spent her life in cloistered, sedate, correct social circles. Lisle was a whirlwind, ripping into Soraya’s quiet life and setting it on a new path. One that had opened her eyes to all the world could offer a woman with her life ahead of her.
Except that now those possibilities crumbled to nothing. Soraya’s future was set, had been since she was fourteen. It was too late to change it now.
‘Soraya?’
She blinked and looked up to find him closer. For a split second she’d have said she read concern in his hooded eyes. She blinked again and the mirage was gone.
‘Here.’ She gestured to the case behind her in the hallway.
‘That’s all?’ He looked past her as if to locate a secret stash of luggage.
‘That’s all. Your removalists were very efficient. My books and other bits and pieces are already on their way to Bakhara.’ Her voice dropped to a husky note. She really had to pull herself together.
Despite the claustrophobic sense of the future smothering her, she knew the man she’d agreed to marry had reputedlybeen a devoted husband to his now-dead first wife. He was decent, generous and honourable.
That was more than many women could say.
It would have to be enough. It wasn’t as if she was eager to seek out love. She knew what a devastating emotion that was.
As for her tentative dreams—instead she’d have to put her energies into the goals that had enticed her when she had been a starry-eyed teen: being a queen who made a real difference to her people. Being a good wife. At least with her qualifications she could be the former.
‘I’ll just get my shoulder bag.’
Thirty seconds later she was in her room, hugging close the oversized bag she’d haggled for in the markets two weeks ago. Only it wasn’t her room any more. Stripped of her possessions, it was an empty shell. Not the place she’d been so happy.
Stupid to be sentimental about it.
There was no point dwelling on what was past. She’d learned that as a child, bereft and confused.
She turned and found Zahir in the doorway, his gaze, as ever, fixed on her. A subterranean tremor quaked through her, threatening to destabilise the control she fought so valiantly to maintain.
Turning quickly, she scooped up her laptop.
‘I’m ready.’
The Loire River snaked below them like a bright pewter ribbon. Studded along its banks and beyond were neat towns, a patchwork of farms and a scattering of chateaux.
But Zahir’s attention wasn’t on the view, even when the chopper swooped low over quaint towns or stately homes.
It was the woman next to him who riveted Zahir’s thoughts and his
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