had been given her own space on the bench, with her own test tubes and an oversized white coat to wear. ‘I thought you wanted to be a scientist, like your father,’ he said slowly.
Frankie shook her head. ‘I was never as talented as he was. But I loved it—that’s why I used to hang around the lab so much when I was young. And when he got ill my school work suffered—not that I’d ever particularly been happy at school.’ She’d been too easy a target for the cruel-tongued girls who loved to mock the odd-looking child whose flighty mother had brought such shame on the family.
‘And then there was the house and the garden to look after,’ she added. Life had caught hold of her like a piece of flotsam and she’d allowed herself to drift around until her father had died and she’d found the job with Simon.
She knew that now she had some experience she might be able to get a job in one of the rival estate agencies—but she didn’t want one. Not any more. She didn’t want to stay in the same small town, but she didn’t want to move just for the sake of it. She didn’t really know
what
she wanted—just that she wanted something different. Something exciting. Something to make her forget the humiliation of her brokenengagement. She looked up into Zahid’s narrowed and watchful black eyes.
‘I can type and I can file,’ she finished. ‘I can deal with people and I can problem solve. And I can cook, of course.’
It was an unusual combination, he mused as he studied her. A woman with a neglected scientific talent who was also a great cook. Though when he stopped to think about it—wasn’t cooking all about chemistry?
And speaking of chemistry … what about the other kind? The kind which was making him notice the pinpointing of her nipples which were thrusting against the navy dress and turning an otherwise commonplace outfit into something which was demanding to be peeled off. He looked into her wide-spaced blue eyes and felt the sizzle of danger in the air.
‘I already have people to cook and to file for me,’ he said evenly.
‘I realise that.’
‘Then what exactly are you asking me for, Fran cesca?’
She bit her lip, some of her nerve deserting her—until she remembered that if she wanted to take control of her own life, then wasn’t this the first step? She had to reach out and ask—not be deterred by the first obstacle which was put in her way. ‘I have no idea, Zahid. You were the one who made the offer that you could find me a job, remember? Although perhaps you didn’t mean it at the time.’
There was a moment’s silence before Zahid walked over to a book which lay open on the walnut writing desk, giving himself time to think. Was she trying to insult him by implying that he had made an empty offer—or was she simply calling his bluff?
He closed the book and looked up, still not saying anything. He could see anxiety vying with bravado on her face. Such a pale face, he thought and in amid his own warring feelings he felt a twist of concern; of the old, familiar protectiveness. Didn’t she deserve a break? A chance to get away from the scurrilous Simon and the bad memories he’d helped create?
But it wasn’t that easy.
He’d recognised that offering Francesca such an opportunity had been a mistake, for many reasons. It was unheard of in his country for a woman to work closely for a member of the ruling family. Perhaps he could have swung it if he’d been remaining in England for a while, but he wasn’t. He was due to go home to Khayarzah within the next few days, and how could he possibly take her with him—a single Englishwoman living within the strict confines of palace life?
But Zahid also recognised that these reservations were all easily overcome and that the main stumbling block was the fact that he had begun to
desire
her with a hunger which at times had overwhelmed him.
And he couldn’t afford to do that.
Since that last meeting, hadn’t he been thinking
Frankie shook her head. ‘I was never as talented as he was. But I loved it—that’s why I used to hang around the lab so much when I was young. And when he got ill my school work suffered—not that I’d ever particularly been happy at school.’ She’d been too easy a target for the cruel-tongued girls who loved to mock the odd-looking child whose flighty mother had brought such shame on the family.
‘And then there was the house and the garden to look after,’ she added. Life had caught hold of her like a piece of flotsam and she’d allowed herself to drift around until her father had died and she’d found the job with Simon.
She knew that now she had some experience she might be able to get a job in one of the rival estate agencies—but she didn’t want one. Not any more. She didn’t want to stay in the same small town, but she didn’t want to move just for the sake of it. She didn’t really know
what
she wanted—just that she wanted something different. Something exciting. Something to make her forget the humiliation of her brokenengagement. She looked up into Zahid’s narrowed and watchful black eyes.
‘I can type and I can file,’ she finished. ‘I can deal with people and I can problem solve. And I can cook, of course.’
It was an unusual combination, he mused as he studied her. A woman with a neglected scientific talent who was also a great cook. Though when he stopped to think about it—wasn’t cooking all about chemistry?
And speaking of chemistry … what about the other kind? The kind which was making him notice the pinpointing of her nipples which were thrusting against the navy dress and turning an otherwise commonplace outfit into something which was demanding to be peeled off. He looked into her wide-spaced blue eyes and felt the sizzle of danger in the air.
‘I already have people to cook and to file for me,’ he said evenly.
‘I realise that.’
‘Then what exactly are you asking me for, Fran cesca?’
She bit her lip, some of her nerve deserting her—until she remembered that if she wanted to take control of her own life, then wasn’t this the first step? She had to reach out and ask—not be deterred by the first obstacle which was put in her way. ‘I have no idea, Zahid. You were the one who made the offer that you could find me a job, remember? Although perhaps you didn’t mean it at the time.’
There was a moment’s silence before Zahid walked over to a book which lay open on the walnut writing desk, giving himself time to think. Was she trying to insult him by implying that he had made an empty offer—or was she simply calling his bluff?
He closed the book and looked up, still not saying anything. He could see anxiety vying with bravado on her face. Such a pale face, he thought and in amid his own warring feelings he felt a twist of concern; of the old, familiar protectiveness. Didn’t she deserve a break? A chance to get away from the scurrilous Simon and the bad memories he’d helped create?
But it wasn’t that easy.
He’d recognised that offering Francesca such an opportunity had been a mistake, for many reasons. It was unheard of in his country for a woman to work closely for a member of the ruling family. Perhaps he could have swung it if he’d been remaining in England for a while, but he wasn’t. He was due to go home to Khayarzah within the next few days, and how could he possibly take her with him—a single Englishwoman living within the strict confines of palace life?
But Zahid also recognised that these reservations were all easily overcome and that the main stumbling block was the fact that he had begun to
desire
her with a hunger which at times had overwhelmed him.
And he couldn’t afford to do that.
Since that last meeting, hadn’t he been thinking
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