‘Brute,’ Erin muttered thickly, tears of mortification burning her eyes.

She hated Zahir, and hated herself more, yet even now, when he was looking down his arrogant nose at her, she longed to trace her fingers over the hard planes of his face and feel the brush of his lips on hers in a kiss of tenderness rather than blazing passion.

From the first moment she had seen him she had felt a connection with him that she did not understand. It couldn’t be love, she told herself. It wasn’t possible to love and hate someone simultaneously—was it? And if it was love, then she was an even bigger fool than she had believed, because Zahir was as harsh and unforgiving as the desert. His heart was hewn from granite, and he would never love her.

Chantelle Shaw lives on the Kent coast, five minutes from the sea, and does much of her thinking about the characters in her books while walking on the beach. She’s been an avid reader from an early age. Her school friends used to hide their books when she visited—but Chantelle would retreat into her own world, and still writes stories in her head all the time. Chantelle has been blissfully married to her own tall, dark and very patient hero for over twenty years, and has six children. She began to read Mills & Boon® as a teenager, and throughout the years of being a stay-at-home mum to her brood found romantic fiction helped her to stay sane! She enjoys reading and writing about strong-willed, feisty women, and even stronger willed sexy heroes. Chantelle is at her happiest when writing. She is particularly inspired while cooking dinner, which unfortunately results in a lot of culinary disasters! She also loves gardening, walking, and eating chocolate (followed by more walking!).

AT THE SHEIKH’S BIDDING

BY

CHANTELLE SHAW

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

The Royal Palace in the desert kingdom of Qubbah.

PRINCE ZAHIR BIN KAHLID AL MUNTASSIR swept through the palace towards King Kahlid’s private quarters, the expression on his handsome face so grimly forbidding that the guards quickly jumped aside to allow him to pass. ‘How is he?’ he demanded, when his father’s servant A’waan greeted him with a bow.

‘Sleeping, sire—the doctor gave him a sedative and instructed that His Highness should be allowed to rest,’ A’waan murmured, hovering anxiously in front of the door leading to the King’s bedroom.

‘It’s all right, A’waan, I have no intention of disturbing him,’ Zahir assured the servant. ‘The news of Prince Faisal’s death has been a great shock to all of us, but especially to my father.’

‘His Highness is deeply saddened. He is not properly recovered from the virus he contracted recently, and I fear that the news will prove too much for him,’ A’waan said gravely. ‘Your father’s one glimmer of joy is the discovery that he has a grandson—a child who is now an orphan.’

Zahir’s jaw clenched as he fought to control his emotions while A’waan continued.

‘It is His Highness’s dearest wish that you should travel to England and bring the child back to Qubbah.’

‘I am well aware of my father’s wishes,’ Zahir said tightly. He crossed to the window and stared out over the stunning formal gardens and the ornate fountains that splashed into an azure pool. Within the grounds of the palace the desert had been tamed, but beyond the walls of the twelfth-century fortress it stretched outward in an endless sea of scorching golden sands.

The setting sun was suspended like a huge golden orb, the sky around it streaked with shades of pink and red. He remembered the times he and Faisal had raced their horses across the sands, or released their falcons and watched them soar across the dense blue sky. More than brothers, they had been the best of friends, but the bond between them had been broken—and all because they had both fallen in love with the same woman. Zahir’s brows drew together in a slashing frown. Love, he had discovered, was a destructive emotion and he would never allow it to rule his heart or mind again.

A’waan spoke again. ‘As you know, your father always hoped to be reconciled with his eldest son, and that, on his death the Prince would return to Qubbah to rule. But now Prince Faisal is dead, and there is unrest in the kingdom while the people wait for the King to announce his successor. Forgive me for my presumption…’ the elderly servant shifted nervously beneath Zahir’s narrow-eyed stare ‘…but I know His Highness longs for you to appoint a deputy to head your business interests in America, so that you can settle permanently in Qubbah—and take a wife. Now, more than ever, it is your duty, sire.’

Zahir threw back his head proudly and glared at the servant. ‘I do not need lessons from you on my duty,’ he snapped coldly. ‘You forget your place, A’waan.’ He understood only too well that his brother’s death meant that from now on his life would no longer be his own. He would not shirk his responsibility to the kingdom his family had ruled for generations—but marriage was a different matter. ‘If you remember, I was about to be married six years ago, to a woman of my father’s choosing—and what a debacle that turned out to be. I will marry when I am good and ready.’ He swung abruptly away from the window and strode across the room, pausing briefly to glance back at the servant. ‘When my father wakes, tell him I have gone to England.’

Ingledean House—North Yorkshire Moors

‘Erin! There’s a Gordon Straker here to see you,’ announced Alice Trent, cook and housekeeper at Ingledean House, when Erin walked into the kitchen. ‘He says he’s Faisal’s solicitor, and he mentioned something about the will.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Erin nodded. ‘I spoke to him on the phone a couple of days ago and he said he would be travelling up from London.’

‘Well, he’s waiting in the library.’ Alice paused in her task of peeling potatoes and stared at Erin’s dishevelled appearance. ‘What on earth have you been doing? You look as though you’ve been down a coal mine.’

‘Clearing out the big spare bedroom.’ Erin glanced ruefully at the streaks of dust on her jeans. ‘Kazim’s nursery is too small to store all his toys now that he’s sleeping in a proper bed. The spare room will make a perfect playroom. I need to keep busy,’ she added defensively, when Alice’s brows lifted. It was fine when Kazim was awake, keeping a lively three-year-old entertained took up all her time, but she had come to dread his afternoon nap—an hour of peace and solitude that gave her time to think.

It was almost three weeks since Faisal’s funeral. His death had been expected—he had told her a year ago that the tumour on his brain was inoperable—and she was glad that he was now at peace, perhaps reunited with his beloved Maryam. But he had been her friend; she missed him, and she could not stem the feeling of panic that regularly swept through her whenever she thought about the future. Kazim’s well-being was totally her responsibility now, and she was terrified that she would somehow let him down.

She turned to watch the toddler, who had preceded her into the kitchen and was now busy pulling open the cupboards and investigating their contents. Kazim was singing ‘The Wheels on the Bus’, and Erin’s heart clenched at the sound of his innocent, high-pitched voice. He’d asked for Faisal a few times, but had seemed to understand when she’d gently explained that Daddy had fallen asleep for ever.

It had been the hardest thing she had ever had to do in her life, and the memory of Kazim’s grave little face as he had sat on her knee still brought tears to her eyes. But, although he had been a little more clingy than usual, he seemed to have accepted the news remarkably well—perhaps because he was too young to comprehend that he was now totally alone in the world.

But he is not alone, Erin thought fiercely. True, he had no living relatives, but he had her, and she would love him and protect him for as long as he needed her—just as she had promised his father.

‘I’ve made some tea.’ Alice’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘If you want to take it up, I’ll keep an eye on Kazim.’

Erin glanced at the tray. ‘Why have you set out three cups, Alice?’

‘Mr Straker has brought someone with him. Gave me quite a turn, actually, when he walked through the front door—for a moment I thought he was Faisal’s ghost.’ The cook gave a self-conscious laugh. ‘I expect it was just a trick of the light. He’s obviously from the Middle East—rather gorgeous; you know, tall, dark and indecently handsome. And his features did remind me of the master,’ she added slowly. ‘Do you think he could be a relative?’

An inexplicable feeling of unease settled in the pit of Erin’s stomach. ‘Faisal had no family,’ she explained quickly. ‘I don’t know who this man is, but he’s probably one of Faisal’s business associates. I’d better go up and meet them,’ she said, picking up the tray.

Alice cast a disparaging look at her old clothes. ‘I would suggest you go and change first, but there’s no time. It’s snowing again, and I know Mr Straker is anxious to get back to town before the weather closes in.’

Erin hurried out of the kitchen, and as she crossed the oak-panelled hall she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and grimaced. Her faded jeans and tee shirt were grubbier than she’d realised, and her hair, which she had secured in a long plait, had worked loose, so that riotous stray curls were framing her face. But it was unlikely that Gordon Straker or his companion would have any interest in her appearance, she told herself as she balanced the tray on one hand and opened the library door—coming to such an abrupt halt that the delicate bone china cups rattled precariously on their saucers.

A man was standing by the window, staring out over the bleak view of the moors. For a few seconds her heart seemed to stop beating, and she understood what Alice had meant when she’d said she had thought she seen Faisal’s ghost. The stranger’s profile was achingly familiar, as was his silky black hair and olive-gold skin. But then he turned his head—and common sense replaced her wild flight of imagination.

This man was no spectre, he was very much alive. And his resemblance to Faisal was simply due to his dark colouring and exotic looks, she told herself impatiently. He was wearing a superbly tailored dark grey suit that accentuated his lean, hard body, and Erin was immediately struck by his height, estimating that he must be five or six inches over six feet tall. Impressive broad shoulders indicated an awesome degree of strength and power, but it was his face that trapped her gaze and caused her heart to thud painfully beneath her ribcage.

His hair was cropped uncompromisingly short, and his eyes were as dark as midnight beneath heavy black brows. His nose was slightly hooked, but that did not detract from the perfection of his sculpted face with its sharply delineated cheekbones and square, determined jaw. He was the epitome of masculine beauty, she thought helplessly, her breath catching in her throat. He was so gorgeous he was almost unreal, as if he had been airbrushed to perfection—but he wasn’t an image from a magazine. He was a flesh-and-blood man, and she was startled by the effect he had on her.

The man subjected her to a long, cool stare and Erin felt herself blush. ‘Hello, I’ve brought some tea. You’re probably freezing. The central heating system here at Ingledean is antiquated.’

Black eyebrows winged upwards and her cheeks burned hotter. The man’s resemblance to Faisal could not be denied—but her feelings for Faisal had been based on friendship and affection. Neither he nor any other man had ever evoked this shocking, wildfire sexual desire that was coursing through her veins. She felt unnerved by the stranger’s raw masculinity, and she realised that she was gaping at him. Forcing herself to breathe normally, she walked across to the desk and set down the tray.

‘I’m Erin.’ She smiled hesitantly, half extended her hand and waited for him to return the introduction, her smile fading when he made no reply.

‘You may pour the tea and then go. Your presence will no longer be necessary,’ he informed her dismissively, in a clipped, haughty tone, before he swung round and resumed his contemplation of the snow that was now swirling outside the window.

Erin stared at the rigid line of his back, shocked into silence by his arrogance. Just who did he think he was? And how dared he speak to her in that high and mighty manner, as if she was some lowly scullery maid from a Victorian melodrama?

Shock gave way to anger. She’d spent most of her formative years feeling worthless—until her foster parents had rescued her from a life that had been rapidly going into free-fall and insisted that she was a valued member of society, rather than a nobody from the gutter. But the fragile self-confidence she’d gained while living with John and Anne Black was easily dented, and inside she was still the unloved child and rebellious teenager who had been dumped in a care home after her mother’s final and fatal heroin fix.

She bit her lip and picked up the teapot, torn between the urge to slink from the room and the temptation to tell the stranger exactly what he could do with the damn tea. But before she could speak the library door swung open, and the spare, grey-haired solicitor she had met once when she had visited London with Faisal hurried into the room.

‘Ah, Erin, tea—wonderful.’ Gordon Straker greeted her enthusiastically. His brief smile encompassed both Erin and the man at the window, but the sight of the thickly falling snow caused him to frown, and he glanced at his watch as he sat down and picked up the sheaf of documents on the desk in front of him. ‘Take a seat, both of you, and we’ll begin, shall we?’ he said briskly, oblivious to the stranger’s harsh frown. ‘I won’t keep you long. Faisal’s last will and testament is very straightforward.’

Zahir remained standing, his eyes narrowing as he watched the maid pull out a chair. He was again aware of the same hollow feeling in his stomach and the uncomfortable tightening sensation in his chest—as if he had been winded—that had gripped him when she had first entered the room.

She was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, he acknowledged, irritated by his body’s involuntary reaction to her as sexual awareness flooded through his veins. The perfect symmetry of her face was riveting, and he stared at her, drinking in every detail of her high cheekbones, the wide, clear grey eyes that surveyed him from beneath finely arched hazel brows, her small, straight nose and the mouth that was a fraction too wide, the lips soft and full and infinitely kissable.

A thick braid of auburn hair fell down her back, almost to her waist, the colour reminding him of the rich red hues of leaves in the fall. Years ago, when he had been a student at Harvard, he had been entranced by the stunning palette of colours that Mother Nature used to herald autumn in New England. Now he felt an overwhelming urge to untie the ribbon that secured the woman’s hair and run his fingers through the mass of rippling red-gold silk.

His eyes slid lower, skimmed the small, firm breasts outlined beneath her tee shirt, and then moved down to her slender waist, narrow hips and long legs, encased in faded denim. Even at the end of his life Faisal had clearly not lost his discerning eye for gorgeous women if his domestic staff were anything to go by, Zahir thought sardonically. Although he would have expected the household staff to wear some sort of uniform rather than a pair of sexy, tight jeans.

But why had the solicitor asked this woman—whom he assumed from her appearance to be a member of the household staff—to stay while he discussed Faisal’s private affairs? Could she be a beneficiary in Faisal’s will? She was very lovely, and Faisal had been alone… But the idea that his brother had bequeathed her some token payment for favours rendered was curiously unpalatable, and he silently cursed his overactive imagination.

His gaze locked with hers, and for a second something flared between them, some indefinable chemistry that clearly shocked her as it shocked him. But almost instantly the flash of awareness in her eyes dulled and was replaced with confusion. The silence in the room was broken by the solicitor’s discreet cough. The sound reminded Zahir that he was not here to eye up members of the domestic staff. Smothering a curse, he strode over to the desk, seized a chair and sat down, at the same time as the maid subsided into the seat next to him.

Gordon Straker cleared his throat and began to read. ‘I, Faisal bin Kahlid al Muntassir leave my entire estate, including Ingledean House and all its contents, to my wife.’

From the corner of her eye Erin saw the unknown man jerk even more upright in his chair, and his voice was sharp with impatience when he spoke. ‘I understand that my sister-in-law died three years ago. This will is invalid. There must be another updated one,’ he snapped haughtily.

Gordon Straker glanced at him steadily over the wire rims of his spectacles and said, in a wintry tone, ‘I assure you that this is the most recent will. My client asked me to draw it up ten months ago.’ The solicitor hesitated, his gaze moving between the two shocked faces staring at him across the desk. Comprehension slowly dawned, and he shook his head.

‘Forgive me. I did not introduce you because I assumed that the two of you already knew each other…that you had met… at the wedding.’ His confusion and embarrassment deepened. ‘But clearly not,’ he added slowly, when they continued to stare blankly back at him. ‘My apologies…it never occurred to me that you were unaware of each other’s identity… Erin, may I introduce Sheikh Zahir bin Kahlid al Muntassir—Faisal’s brother. Sheikh Zahir, this is Erin—Faisal’s second wife.’

The book-lined walls of the library seemed to tilt alarmingly, and Erin gripped the edge of the desk as she struggled to comprehend Gordon Straker’s words. ‘But Faisal told me he had no family,’ she mumbled, her gaze swinging frantically from the solicitor’s genial face to the man beside her, whose expression was so coldly arrogant that ice slithered down her spine.

‘There must be some mistake.’ Zahir addressed the man seated opposite him, his clipped tones shattering the tense silence. Shock ricocheted through him, and with it a fierce and inexplicable bolt of fury that overrode the grief that had consumed him since he had learned of Faisal’s death.

What bitter irony that once again he had lost out to his brother—just as he had done six years ago, he brooded grimly. This woman, with her slumbrous, woodsmoke-coloured eyes and sensual, pouting mouth, had been Faisal’s wife. Faisal must have released her glorious hair and watched it tumble down her back. He would have stroked his hands over her milky-pale naked flesh…just as he, Zahir, had fantasised about doing from the moment he had laid eyes on her.

And even the knowledge that she had been his brother’s widow for little more than two weeks did not lessen his awareness of her, or diminish the primitive urge he felt to crush her mouth beneath his and then strip the clothes from her body and spread her across the desk, ready for his possession.

His lip curled in self-disgust, and he could not bring himself to look at her while he exerted iron will-power over his rampaging hormones. What did it matter who she was or what her relationship had been with Faisal? he asked himself impatiently. His wealth, combined with the good-looks that he acknowledged were a fortunate accident of birth, meant that he could take his pick from a limitless supply of beautiful women—and he did so, frequently. He did not need his brother’s leftovers. There was only one reason why he was here, only one thing he was interested in.

He stood up and walked back over to the window, needing to put some distance between himself and the woman who was having such a disturbing effect on him.

Erin jumped to her feet and glared at him. ‘It’s no mistake, I assure you,’ she said hotly. ‘I was Faisal’s wife, and I have a marriage certificate to prove it.’

Zahir’s brows lifted. ‘My apologies—I had no idea. Your attire hardly befits your position as the wife of a sheikh. I assumed you were a menial domestic.’

Hot colour flooded Erin’s face as she felt his eyes trail over her in a scathing assessment of her appearance, and she silently cursed the fact that she hadn’t taken the trouble to change into more presentable clothes for her meeting with Gordon Straker. But, to be fair, she had not expected to be confronted by an arrogant, devilishly sexy sheikh who, astoundingly, happened to be Faisal’s brother.

Her temper, which had been simmering ever since he had spoken to her so dismissively when she had brought in the tea tray, flared into life. She recalled how he had looked at her when she had first walked into the library, the way his eyes had slid boldly over her as if he were mentally undressing her. Presumably he thought it acceptable to take a servant to bed, but not for her to marry his brother, she thought furiously.

She lifted her chin and met Zahir bin Kahlid al Muntassir’s gaze, her grey eyes stormy and belligerent. But the undisguised sexual heat in his dark depths sent an answering quiver of awareness down her spine, and it was only when he finally broke eye contact that she realised she had been holding her breath.

‘My brother was estranged from his family for the past six years,’ he explained coolly.

Erin’s insides churned at the word ‘family’. What family? Faisal had insisted that he had no relatives, and yet not only did it seem that he had a brother, but from the sound of it other family members also existed. Why had he lied to her? And if Faisal had been estranged from his family how had his brother known about his death? Her unease intensified, and solidified into fear when Zahir spoke again.

‘I was unaware, until I received the letter Faisal instructed Mr Straker to send after his death, that my sister-in-law died three years ago. Faisal made no mention in that letter that he had remarried,’ he added pointedly, his eyes flicking briefly over Erin. ‘I was also unaware until two weeks ago that my brother had a son—a child who is now an orphan.’

He flicked his gaze to Erin once more, his eyes as black and hard as polished jet. ‘As Faisal’s sole beneficiary, you are now a very wealthy woman,’ he drawled. ‘But I am not interested in the money, and you are certainly welcome to this draughty monstrosity of a house,’ he added disparagingly, casting a brief glance around the library, where the fire burning in the grate did little to raise the temperature of the room.

‘My only interest is in my nephew, Kazim. I assume he has been well cared for since Faisal’s death?’ He overrode Erin’s attempt to speak and announced coolly, ‘I have come to take him to his father’s homeland, Qubbah, so that he may be brought up by his family. Please inform his nanny, or whoever is in charge of him, that I wish to meet him, and ask them to pack his personal possessions as quickly as possible. I want to leave before the weather gets any worse.’

Erin gaped at him, her heart thumping erratically in her chest. ‘You’re not taking Kazim anywhere,’ she snapped, disbelief and outrage at his high-handedness causing a red mist of anger to swirl in front of her eyes. ‘When I married Faisal, I adopted Kazim as my own child. I am his legal parent, and he is staying right here at Ingledean. This is his home,’ she finished fiercely, refusing to feel intimidated by Zahir’s furious expression.

Black brows lowered in a slashing frown. ‘Is this true?’

Once again he’d addressed the solicitor, but Erin was fed up with being treated as if she was part of the furniture, and she glared at him, her hands on her hips and her eyes blazing.

‘Damn right, it’s true. Kazim is legally my son, and I won’t allow you to take him. You have no rights to him.’

‘We’ll see about that—or rather my lawyers will,’ Zahir snapped icily.

His jaw tightened. In all his thirty-six years he had never been spoken to in such a disrespectful manner—and certainly not by a woman. Under his father’s rule Qubbah had gradually become a more liberal kingdom, and he himself had spent much of his life in the US and Europe, where he accepted that men and women were equals, but he was a prince and he was used to being treated accordingly—to being fawned on, he admitted honestly, and to the unashamed adoration of women from both cultures.

He was not used to being yelled at by a flame-haired banshee, and the fact that Erin looked even more gorgeous when she was angry was no help at all. She was breathing hard, and he found himself fixated by the frantic rise and fall of her small breasts. Irritation, and another far more primitive emotion surged through him. He could not remember ever wanting a woman with such shaming urgency, but this woman was definitely out of bounds—Faisal’s widow and, apparently, the adoptive mother of his son. Zahir spun round and raked a hand through his hair. Hell, she was an unforeseen complication he could do without, he thought furiously. On the other side of the world an old and heartbroken man was waiting to greet his grandson. He had promised his father he would bring Faisal’s son to Qubbah, and he would not fail him. But clearly the situation was not as straightforward as he had assumed. He knew without conceit that he was a brilliant businessman and a shrewd tactician, feared and revered in the boardroom, but for the first time in his life he was at a loss to know what to do next, and he hated the feeling.

‘I can’t believe you thought you could just turn up here and whisk a three-year-old child off to another country, when he doesn’t even know you,’ Erin threw at him. ‘Kazim is little more than a baby, for heaven’s sake, who has just lost his father. Didn’t it occur to you that he would be terrified at being dragged off by a complete stranger?’

‘I was not going to drag him anywhere,’ Zahir snapped, stung by her criticism. ‘I came here alone today, rather than with my usual team of staff, so that he would have a chance to get to know me. My brother must have known I would come for him once I learned of his existence,’ he added harshly. ‘I assumed Kazim’s nanny had been instructed to continue caring for him until I arrived. I have already employed a highly qualified and experienced nanny to take charge of him in Qubbah.’

Fear gripped Erin, and her confusion intensified, but she hid both emotions. ‘Well, I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey,’ she said, forcing herself to sound calm. ‘But Faisal made it clear that he wanted Kazim to grow up in England—with me. He asked me to adopt Kazim, and I was happy to do so.’

‘In that case, why did he make no mention of you in his letter?’

Zahir had voiced the question that Erin could not answer, but she was saved from having to try when Gordon Straker stood up.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but it looks as though the weather is getting worse, and I have a train to catch,’ he said apologetically. He was already pulling on his coat, glancing worriedly out of the window at the heavy sky that warned snow was likely to continue falling for many hours yet. ‘Erin, if you need my advice at all…’ He hesitated and turned his eyes briefly to Zahir before moving them back to Erin. ‘Please contact me at my London office, any time.’ He walked towards the door, but paused when Zahir spoke sharply.

‘Are you sure there is nothing in the will about the child? No clause stipulating who should care for Kazim—no financial provision made for him?’

‘No,’ the solicitor replied simply. ‘Your brother left everything to Erin—in the expectation, I imagine, that she would provide for Kazim.’

‘Which I will,’ Erin burst out fiercely, infuriated at Zahir’s plainly sceptical expression. ‘I love Kazim as if he was my own child.’

‘Really?’ Zahir swung away from her and gave a harsh laugh. Erin sounded convincing, but he found it impossible to believe that she was prepared to devote her life to a child who was not her own flesh and blood out of love. Not when his own mother had abandoned him.

He had barely given his mother a thought for the past decade, Zahir realised with a jolt. Georgina had been his father’s second wife, an American who, according to his three older half-sisters, had found it difficult to settle to the life of strict protocol demanded of wife to the King of Qubbah. Zahir had not known that, and as a young boy he had simply accepted her frequent trips back to the US and waited impatiently for her to return to the palace. But when he was eleven she had not returned, and he’d never seen her or spoken to her again.

His father had explained that she was busy looking after her sick mother and couldn’t come back. Zahir had missed her desperately, and for a long time after she had gone he had kept her silk robe hidden beneath his pillow and wept into it every night. But when he was fourteen he learned the truth—that she had refused to live in Qubbah any longer and had accepted a huge financial settlement from his father in return for not seeking custody of her only son.

She had sold him—and he had never cried again after he’d found out, nor spared her another thought. But he had learned a valuable lesson about love and trust, Zahir conceded bitterly—a lesson that had been reinforced six years ago, when he had been betrayed by the only other woman he had ever loved.

Noises from beyond the library door catapulted him back to the present: the sound of a child crying mingled with a distinctive, broad Yorkshire accent. A moment later the door was flung open and a woman appeared with a hysterical toddler her arms.

‘Sorry to disturb you.’ She addressed Erin, oblivious to the tension in the room. ‘But Kazim has banged his head on the kitchen table. You know how he runs everywhere. Look, there’s a lump the size of an egg come up on his forehead, but he won’t let me console him—he wants you.’

Quickly Erin held out her arms and took the sobbing child from the cook, her heart clenching when he wrapped his arms around her neck and burrowed close. ‘Shh, it’s all right, darling. Let me look at your head.’ She brushed his dark curls off his brow and inspected the livid bruise, before applying the ice pack Alice had handed her. ‘That’s quite a bump you’ve got there, but there’s no real harm done.’

Kazim’s sobs gradually subsided as she cuddled him. He smelled deliciously of soap and baby powder, and the intensity of her love for him squeezed her heart like a giant fist. She had adored him since he was three months old, and nothing would ever make her give him up, she vowed fiercely. But when she glanced up and saw Faisal’s brother watching her, with his dark, forbidding gaze, she was filled with a sense of foreboding.

Alice heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Kazim’s a little daredevil,’ she cheerfully informed the two men. ‘He’s always running and climbing, and he’s constantly getting into mischief. Erin has her work cut out, looking after him.’

Erin saw Zahir frown and groaned silently. Thanks, Alice—that’s a real help.

‘Shouldn’t you seek medical advice for his head injury?’ he queried coldly.

Kazim was squirming in her arms, wanting to get down and clearly none the worse for his accident. ‘He’s fine,’ Erin said tersely. ‘He’s a lively three year-old, for goodness’ sake, I can’t keep him wrapped in cotton wool. I’m a fully trained nanny and qualified in first-aid,’ she continued, when Zahir looked unconvinced. ‘I’m perfectly capable of looking after him.’

She lifted her chin and her eyes clashed with his cold, faintly contemptuous gaze. She hated his arrogance, but she could not look away from him. As she watched heat flared in those dark depths, and for a split second raw, sexual hunger gleamed beneath his heavy brows before his thick lashes fell, concealing his thoughts.

Shaken, she glanced at Gordon Straker, who was edging towards the door. ‘Erin, I’m sorry, but I really must…’

‘Yes, of course.’ Making a swift decision, she set Kazim down and turned to Alice. ‘Will you keep an eye on him while I see Mr Straker out?’

She hurried across the hall after the solicitor, and stopped him as he was about to open the front door. ‘Mr Straker, when did Faisal give you the letter he instructed you to send to his brother after his death? Was it when he married me?’ she queried huskily.

‘Oh, no, it was about a month before he died. Until then I hadn’t known Faisal had any family, and I see that the revelation has come as a shock to you too,’ he added gently.

Erin bit her lip, feeling a sudden urge to confide in the kindly solicitor. ‘From the moment Faisal learned that he was dying he was desperate to secure Kazim’s future,’ she explained urgently. ‘I’ve cared for him since he was three months old. Faisal’s wife died as a result of complications while giving birth, and when Faisal’s illness was diagnosed a year ago he asked me to marry him to make it easier for me to adopt Kazim. He told me he had no other family and he didn’t want Kazim to grow up in care—like I had.’

She hated talking about her past, and dropped her gaze from Gordon Straker’s face as she continued in a low voice, ‘My mother was a drug addict, who died when I was ten, and I spent the rest of my childhood in the care of Social Services. I was a troubled teenager, and I don’t know where I would be now if I hadn’t been fostered—maybe working the streets to pay for my next fix like my mother,’ she confessed thickly. ‘My foster father worked here at Ingledean, as a gardener, and when Faisal came here with his baby son he employed me as Kazim’s nanny. Despite my background he knew I would love and protect Kazim as if he was my own child.’

She was hurt that Faisal had not been honest with her. He did have a family, and just before he’d died he had made the decision to tell them he had a son. Had he done so because he had begun to doubt her abilities to be a good mother to Kazim? Had he decided that he wanted his estranged family to be involved in the little boy’s upbringing after all?

All her old doubts and insecurities rose up inside her, but Gordon Straker opened the front door and a blast of icy wind whipped into the hall, snapping Erin out of her reverie.

The solicitor gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘You are Kazim’s adoptive mother, Erin,’ he said gently, ‘and no one can take him from you. Only you can decide if it would be in his best interests to have some contact with his family in Qubbah.’

He turned up the collar of his coat and stepped into the snow, but paused to glance back at her. ‘I’ve done a little investigating, and from what I’ve heard Sheikh Zahir bin Kahlid al Muntassir is an astute businessman and a risk-taker, respected on the world markets for his brilliance and daring. He is a man who is used to having his own way, and who pursues his goals with a ruthless determination, yet at the same time many people find him incredibly charming and persuasive—particularly women.’ He gave a faint smile at her sudden heightened colour. ‘All I’m saying is—tread carefully, Erin,’ Gordon Straker warned softly, ‘and don’t let him bully you, my dear.’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t,’ Erin replied fiercely.

But as she flew back across the hall to the library, where she had left the Sheikh with her son, a shiver of trepidation ran through her. The moment she had seen Zahir she had been mesmerised by his spectacular looks and powerful sexual magnetism. The man spelt danger, and the predatory gleam she’d glimpsed in his dark eyes warned her to be on her guard.

CHAPTER TWO

ZAHIR turned away from the window and the uninspiring view of snow-covered moors and found Kazim staring up at him, his chocolate-brown eyes wide with curiosity. Slowly he knelt down, so that he was on level with the toddler’s gaze, and pain tugged in his chest. The little boy bore a marked resemblance to both his parents, and the sight of his small, lively face and impish grin made the tragedy of Faisal and Maryam’s untimely deaths seem even more poignant.

The anger and bitterness that had eaten away at Zahir for six long years released its grip on his heart and was replaced by a new emotion that was unexpectedly fierce. Love—pure and uncomplicated—flooded through him, and he reached out and stroked Kazim’s cheek with fingers that shook slightly.

Faisal’s little son was an orphan, but he would never feel alone or unloved. He, Zahir, would make sure of that. Because of his stubborn pride he had left it too late to be reconciled with his brother, but he would love his nephew as if he were his own child. Kazim belonged in Qubbah, and nothing would prevent Zahir from taking him home.

His mind turned briefly to Faisal’s second wife and he dismissed her with a shrug. Erin was an inconvenience he would have to deal with. For now he focused all his attention on his brother’s son.

‘He seems tall for a three-year-old,’ he commented to the cook, who had settled her generous frame into an armchair by the fire.

‘Oh, he is—and strong,’ she agreed cheerfully. ‘He’s strong-willed too. Kazim’s an adorable child, but he knows his own mind. Sometimes Erin struggles to cope with his temper tantrums, especially at bath-time.’

Zahir frowned. ‘What do you mean—struggles? Does she lose her temper with him?’

Kazim was a sturdy toddler, but he had been left alone in the world since his father’s death, totally dependent on Erin’s care. Who was this woman Faisal had entrusted with his son? Erin had said that she loved Kazim but he, Zahir, was linked to Kazim by blood, and a wave of protectiveness swept through him.

‘Heavens, no.’ Alice shook her head. ‘Erin is wonderfully patient with him. She really does think of him as her own child—and, after all, she’s the only mother he’s ever known.’

The cook’s words were unwelcome, and Zahir’s frown deepened, but when he glanced up his features were schooled into a disarming smile. ‘I understand that Erin married my brother a year ago, but that she worked for him before that?’

‘Yes. The master employed her as Kazim’s nanny soon after he moved into Ingledean,’ Alice confirmed, opening up like a flower beneath Zahir’s full-on charm. ‘She lived at the gate lodge with her foster parents, but when they retired and moved south to be near their son Erin moved in here. She always loved this house.’ Alice’s voice dropped. ‘After Faisal died there was some unpleasant gossip in the village that Erin had persuaded him to marry her by promising to take care of Kazim because she wanted to inherit Ingledean.’ She snorted. ‘All rubbish, of course—Erin doesn’t have a mercenary bone in her body—but some folk are so mean-minded, and they dug up all that about her past…’

The cook looked suddenly uncomfortable, and Zahir demanded sharply, ‘What about her past?’

‘Oh, it was nothing,’ Alice assured him quickly. ‘Erin had an unhappy childhood, and as a teenager she ended up in trouble with the law. It was a minor offence, I understand. I don’t know much about it.’ Alice trailed to a halt, clearly embarrassed that she had allowed her tongue to run away with her. ‘What I do know is that Faisal trusted Erin,’ she said firmly, as she got to her feet and threw a log on the fire. ‘And although they might not have had a normal marriage, they were very fond of each other.’

In what way had his brother’s marriage not been normal? Zahir wondered curiously. He wanted to force some more answers from the cook, but Alice was looking pink-cheeked and flustered, and with an effort he restrained his impatience. He would phone his personal assistant, Omran, as soon as possible, and instruct him to research Erin’s background. He had grown up in a royal palace where intrigue and gossip were rife, but he knew from experience that even the wildest rumours often contained grains of truth. Omran’s diligence was next to none, and if there were any skeletons in Faisal’s widow’s cupboard they would soon be revealed, he thought grimly.

He turned his attention back to Kazim, and this time his smile was genuine. ‘I brought a present for you,’ he told the little boy, his heart softening when Kazim’s eyes lit up with excitement. ‘It’s a toy camel, just like the real camels that live in the desert. How would you like to come to my home in the desert and ride on one?’

Erin pushed open the library door to see Kazim staring at Zahir, utterly spellbound. Zahir was crouched low, so that his face was on a level with Kazim’s, and Erin was instantly struck by the familial likeness between the man and the child. Kazim shared his uncle’s Arabic colouring and silky black hair. An image filtered into her mind of the two of them astride a camel, Zahir’s arms around Kazim as the animal carried them across golden sands.

The picture in her head was so real that she drew a sharp breath. Kazim’s home was here at Ingledean, with her, she reminded herself, fighting the sudden surge of panic that gripped her. She turned to Alice, who was watching Zahir with a dreamy expression on her face that fuelled Erin’s irritation. Okay, so the man looked like Lawrence of Arabia, and his voice was no longer cold and haughty but as warm and sensuous as molten syrup—but that was no reason to drool over him, she thought crossly.

‘Erin—I got a camel.’ Kazim finally noticed her and ran across the room, waving the toy excitedly at her. ‘I’m going to ride on one—a real one,’ he added emphatically, his brown eyes glowing with anticipation. ‘Can we go to the desert now?’

Out of the mouths of babes! Erin managed to simultaneously smile at the toddler and glare at Zahir, who had straightened to his full height once more and dominated the room.

‘Not today, darling,’ she murmured. ‘The desert is a long way from here.’ She swung her gaze back to Zahir and gave him a cool smile that belied the frantic thudding of her heart. ‘Gordon Straker was sensible to leave before the weather worsens. I suggest you do the same. I’m sure you would prefer not to be stranded in this “draughty monstrosity of a house,”’ she added sweetly. ‘Alice, will you take Kazim to the kitchen? It’s time for his tea.’

‘Oh—right.’ Alice looked faintly startled at Erin’s brisk tone, but held out her hand to Kazim and led him from the room.

The cook closed the door behind her, leaving Erin alone with Zahir, and her heart sank when she glanced at him and saw that his face had hardened, his eyes blazing with anger.

‘You would begrudge me even five minutes with my brother’s child?’ he demanded harshly. ‘Kazim is my flesh and blood—’

‘I didn’t know about you.’ Erin quickly defended herself. ‘Faisal told me that neither he nor his first wife had any family. You must understand that your appearance here today has been a shock.’ She bit her lip, her thoughts whirling around her brain. ‘When you say that Kazim has family in Qubbah—who are they, exactly?’

‘My father…’ Zahir paused; Erin seemed genuinely shocked that Faisal had a family. For some reason Faisal had not told her that he was a prince, nor that his son was heir to the throne of Qubbah, but for now he saw no reason to impart that information. ‘My family have much power and influence in Qubbah,’ he informed her. ‘My father, Sheikh Kahlid, is eager to see his tenth grandson. My three sisters are married, and have children who are Kazim’s cousins, and my father has six siblings who, together with their husbands and wives and children, make up a large extended family.

‘Surely you must see that it would be better for Kazim to be brought up by his real family, by relatives who will love him, who can teach him of his heritage and culture and who want only the best for him?’ he demanded impatiently when Erin stared at him, stunned into silence by the revelation that Kazim had a huge family in Qubbah.

Kazim was hers, she thought frantically, and no one could take him from her. Gordon Straker had said so. ‘I love him,’ she said fiercely. ‘I want what is best for him. And I don’t think that carting him off to unfamiliar surroundings and a horde of people he’s never met before would be good for him right now. You have to believe that my only concern is Kazim’s welfare,’ she continued, forcing herself to sound calm, although she felt anything but when Zahir was prowling the room, silent and menacing as a panther stalking its prey. ‘I don’t know the reason why Faisal was estranged from you and the rest of his family, but it must have been serious if he made no contact with you in six years. Kazim is a little boy who has lost both his parents, and he needs the security and stability of remaining here in the only home he has ever known. Perhaps when he is a bit older there could be some contact,’ she offered hesitantly. You could visit…’

‘I don’t intend that my relationship with my brother’s child will be confined to the occasional visit.’ Zahir’s icy scorn flayed her like a whip. ‘Kazim belongs in Qubbah, with his blood family, and that is where I intend to take him—with or without your approval.’

‘You can’t.’ Erin remembered Gordon Straker’s warning not to allow Zahir to bully her, and she squared her shoulders, refusing to cower beneath his anger.

‘The word can’t is not one I am familiar with,’ he informed her imperiously.

He wasn’t joking, Erin realised shakily as she stared at his haughty expression. She had a feeling that no one had ever crossed Sheikh Zahir bin Kahlid al Muntassir in his life, and she did not relish being the first.

‘Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to add it to your vocabulary,’ she snapped. ‘Kazim is legally my son, and I intend to follow Faisal’s wishes and bring him up here in England. I can see that it would be good for Kazim to meet his relatives,’ she conceded huskily, her voice faltering fractionally at the prospect of sharing the little boy with strangers who, if Zahir’s attitude was anything to go by, would disapprove of her, ‘and I understand your father’s desire to see his grandson. For that reason I am prepared to allow him to visit Kazim.’

Prepared to allow! Outrage robbed Zahir temporarily of his ability to speak. No one allowed members of the ruling family of Qubbah to do anything. Their power was absolute in the tradition-bound kingdom. And as for being dictated to by a woman! Changes were slowly happening in his homeland, and he recognised that there would have to be many more if Qubbah did not want to be left behind as the world moved through the twenty-first century, but at present women had no status in Qubbah, and he was infuriated by Erin’s assumption that he would meekly agree to her rules. Meek was not a word ever associated with Prince Zahir bin Kahlid al Muntassir!

He glanced out of the window at the gathering dusk and his jaw hardened. He did not have time to stand here arguing. He thought again of his father, remembering the look of devastation on his face when he had broken the news of Faisal’s death. Kazim was a lifeline. He was possibly the only person who could lift the King from his despair. Nothing would prevent Zahir from taking the child home to the kingdom that he would one day rule.

‘My nephew belongs in Qubbah,’ he stated coldly as he crossed to the desk and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. He could feel Erin’s eyes on him, but he refused to look at her. He did not want to picture her with Faisal, did not want to admit to the corrosive jealousy that burned in his gut when he imagined them together. He was furious with himself that he could not banish the fantasy of making love to her so passionately that he drove all thoughts of his brother from her mind.

His unexpected desire for Erin was an inconvenience. Her legal status as Kazim’s mother was a much bigger problem. But there was a simple solution. She had sounded convincing when she’d stated that she loved the child, but everything had its price—even love.

‘We can deal with the situation in one of two ways,’ he informed her coolly. ‘The first is for me to gather the best lawyers I can find and fight you through the courts for custody of Kazim. The drawback is that any legal process takes time, and my father is eighty years old and desperate to meet his grandson as soon as possible. That is why I am prepared to offer you an extremely generous settlement in return for my brother’s son.’

Now he looked at her, watched her beautiful grey eyes cloud with confusion as she slowly walked forward and took the cheque he held out to her. Her fingers trembled as she glanced down at it, and the colour drained from her face.

‘I don’t understand,’ Erin said huskily. Her brain could not take in the number of noughts he had written after the figure, and she blinked to clear her vision. When she looked again she realised that she was not mistaken. Disbelief quickly gave way to disgust, and anger crashed through her, so violent in its intensity that that her whole body shook. ‘Are you trying to buy Kazim?’

‘I am offering you a chance to resume your life without the responsibilities of caring for a child who is not yours,’ Zahir replied with deadly calm—in direct contrast to the fury flashing in her eyes. ‘You are young and extraordinarily beautiful,’ he observed clinically, his voice devoid of emotion. ‘And, since my brother’s death, single.’ Although he would bet his personal fortune that she would not remain so for long, he thought grimly, watching the faint tremor of her lower lip and imagining the velvet softness of her mouth beneath his. ‘I imagine that dating with a toddler in tow could prove rather…inhibiting,’ he drawled sardonically.

‘I have no intention of dating anyone,’ Erin choked, still reeling from his description of her as beautiful. Astounding as it seemed, the Sheikh appeared to find her attractive—but from the coldness of his tone he clearly resented his awareness of her. ‘I haven’t even thought about anything like that…’ Kazim was her world, and there was no room in her heart for anyone but him.

‘Perhaps not yet,’ Zahir conceded. ‘It is only three weeks since my brother died. But at some point you will want to satisfy your sexual urges. I would guess that you possess a deeply sensual nature,’ he remarked, in that same coldly clinical tone that was so at odds with the heat in his gaze as he trailed a blatantly appreciative path down her body. ‘Kazim will become an encumbrance, and I refuse to allow him to spend his childhood forced to vie for your attention with your latest lover.’

‘I don’t want a lover!’ Erin shook her head wildly, her temper heating to boiling point.

Zahir made her sound like a rampant nymphomaniac, with his talk about her sensual nature and needing to satisfy her sexual urges. Little did he know! She was about as sensual as a limp lettuce, and she had never experienced the faintest urge to have sex with any man—until today, a voice in her head taunted. She ignored it and allowed her anger to build as she dwelled on his disgusting offer to buy Kazim from her. She stared down at the cheque, and the row of scrawled noughts, and felt sick.

‘Get out!’ she breathed as she ripped the cheque into pieces with controlled savagery. ‘Kazim is not for sale.’

Zahir showed no reaction, merely stood surveying her disdainfully from beneath raised brows, his lip curled in a derisive smile that snapped her control so that she flung the pieces of cheque at him. ‘How dare you come into my house and demand that I hand you my child?’ She emphasised each word by jabbing her finger into Zahir’s chest, uncaring that he towered menacingly over her. ‘Faisal begged me to adopt his son, and now I know why. You are an arrogant, overbearing bully, and I will do everything possible to prevent you from having any role in Kazim’s life.’

‘Enough!’ The authority in Zahir’s icy command sliced through her furious tirade, and she gasped when he seized her hand, which was still raised to his chest, and jerked her so that her body slammed hard up against his. ‘You will not talk to me in that insolent tone.’

‘I will talk to you in whatever tone I like, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.’

Zahir fought to control the murderous rage coursing through him. Never in his life had he been so insulted. He couldn’t believe Erin had actually prodded him. If she had been a man, retribution would have been swift and deadly. But she was a woman—a woman who needed a few lessons in respect.

She was glaring up at him, her grey eyes stormy and her cheeks stained with angry colour. Her wild red curls formed a fiery halo around her face and he pictured her lying beneath him, flushed and furious, daring him to kiss her…

With a savage oath he lowered his head, forcing her slender neck back as he captured her mouth in a kiss that sought to dominate and subjugate her to his will. This had been building from the moment she had stared at him across the library and he had recognised the undisguised hunger in her eyes. Sexual attraction at its most primitive—and they were both caught in its spell.

‘No!’ Erin’s cry of protest was lost beneath the punishing force of Zahir’s lips as he ground them against hers.

How dared he kiss her? How dared he slide his arm around her waist and drag her even closer against the rock-hard wall of his muscular chest? His other hand moved up to cup her nape and angle her head so that he could plunder her mouth with humiliating ease. Beneath his civilised veneer Zahir bin Kahlid al Muntassir was a barbarian: frighteningly powerful and supremely masculine. His arms felt like steel bands holding her fast, and when he forced his tongue between her lips she moaned and tried to turn her head to evade his ruthless assault.

Her attempts to resist him were futile. The blows she rained on him with her bunched fists had no impact. Finally she laid her hands flat on his chest, unable to fight him any more. He must have sensed her submission, because he eased the pressure of his lips a fraction and the stroke of his tongue inside her mouth became a slow, sensual exploration.

Suddenly each of her senses seemed acutely alive. She could feel the heat of his body through his fine silk shirt, and the mingled scents of his cologne and male pheromones caused a curious weakness in her limbs. Her anger was dissipating, giving way to another emotion she had never experienced before: a slow, insidious excitement that unlocked her taut muscles so that she stopped trying to pull away from him and instead melted into him.

Her eyes flew open in shock when she felt the hard ridge of his arousal push insistently against her belly. What was the matter with her? she wondered, appalled at her shaming weakness. Zahir was a tyrant—a man used to always having his own way, according to Gordon Straker. She despised his arrogance. But the pressure of his hand on her spine was forcing her body into intimate contact with his, and nothing else seemed to matter except that he should carry on kissing her.

She felt his hand slide down to her bottom and then round, over her hip, smoothing a tantalising path up to her ribcage, where it came to rest just below her breast. Heat flooded through her veins and she felt her breasts swell, felt her nipples tighten in anticipation beneath her tee shirt. He only had to move his hand a little further… In an agony of excitement she pressed closer to him, her body trembling with desire.

Nothing existed but the firm pressure of his mouth on hers, the sensual sweep of his tongue and the warm weight of his hand resting so close to where she wanted him to touch her. Lost in this new world of sensory pleasure, she shifted closer still, rubbed her pelvis against his—and then suddenly, shockingly, he wrenched his mouth from hers, his fingers biting into her flesh as he thrust her from him.

The ensuing silence throbbed with a sexual tension that was almost tangible, and for a few mad seconds Erin wished he would draw her back into his arms and kiss her again and again, until they were both mindless with wanting. But then he spoke and she wished instead that she could curl up and die of humiliation.

‘I see that my assessment of your nature was spot-on,’ he drawled in a hatefully sardonic tone. ‘My brother has been in his grave barely three weeks and yet you’re already clearly sexually frustrated. How long, I wonder, will it be before you invite a steady stream of boyfriends into the house? And what sort of care will Kazim receive then, when you are too busy for him?’

‘I want you to leave,’ Erin said tightly, her chest heaving as she fought to drag oxygen into her lungs.

She could not bring herself to look at him. It was pointless trying to defend herself—pointless to explain that she’d never had a proper boyfriend in all her twenty-two years. Zahir clearly believed she was the Mata Hari of the Yorkshire Moors, and after the shameful way she had responded to him she couldn’t really blame him.

Shaking with reaction, she yanked open the library door and stood aside for Zahir to pass—then gasped when he caught hold of her arm and slammed the door shut again, the blaze of anger in his eyes filling her with trepidation.

‘I came here to collect my brother’s child, and I’m not going anywhere without him,’ he warned her savagely.

‘So what are you going to do? Kidnap him? Take him from me by force?’ Erin demanded shakily.

Ingledean was eight miles from the nearest village, and she had always loved its remoteness, but Zahir was strong and powerful and she and Alice would be no match for him if he chose to snatch Kazim.

‘If you don’t leave now I’ll call the police,’ she told him with a bravado she did not feel, aware even as she spoke of the emptiness of her threat. He could carry Kazim out to his car, parked on the driveway, and disappear into the dusk before the local constable even had cycled out from the village. ‘You say you want what is best for Kazim, but how can scaring him out of his wits be good for him?’

‘Of course I do not mean to scare him,’ Zahir snapped impatiently. But her words had hit a chord, and he stared at her, his conscience prickling when he glimpsed the fear in her eyes.

He had not meant to lose his temper, and he was furious with himself for his loss of control. He shouldn’t have kissed her like that—but she had made him angrier than he could ever remember, and she had responded to him, damn it. He could still taste her, could remember that moment of scalding sweetness when she had stopped fighting him and parted her lips beneath his while her body relaxed into him so that her soft breasts had pressed against his chest.

With a muttered curse he swung away from her and raked his hand through his hair. She was his brother’s widow, he reminded himself grimly, and out of respect for Faisal she was off-limits.

‘I have no intention of taking my nephew away from you,’ he growled. He’d witnessed how the little boy had clung to Erin when he had injured himself, and in all honesty he knew he could not separate Kazim from the woman he regarded as his mother.

‘You don’t?’ Erin murmured dazedly, a little of her tension draining away. A moment ago he’d told her that he would not leave without Kazim.

‘No.’ Zahir’s jaw tightened. The last thing he wanted was to take this woman who was playing havoc with his hormones back to his homeland, but he had no choice. ‘I appreciate that he needs you, and for that reason it’s clear that you will have to come to Qubbah too.’

He was deadly serious, Erin realised when she stared at him and recognised the determined gleam in his eyes. ‘I don’t think you understand,’ she began. ‘I’m not going to Qubbah or anywhere else with you, and neither is Kazim…’

‘It is you who does not understand,’ Zahir snapped coldly. ‘My father is desperate to see his grandson.’

‘I told you—your father is welcome to visit Kazim whenever he likes,’ Erin said defensively, flushing beneath Zahir’s hard stare.

‘The journey would kill him.’ He ignored her faint gasp. ‘Two months ago my father contracted a virus that attacked his heart. He has been prescribed medication to control the condition and hopefully prevent full heart failure, but he has to rest as much as possible, and his doctors give him oxygen to reduce any strain on his heart. A long flight is out of the question,’ Zahir said harshly. ‘The only solution is for you to accompany Kazim to Qubbah. And, to be frank, I don’t have much time to waste arguing with you,’ he added in a warning tone when she opened her mouth to protest. ‘My father longed to be reconciled with Faisal, and he was devastated by the news of his death. He is an old man, and his life is in the balance,’ he added gruffly. ‘All he wants is to see his grandson—Faisal’s son. And you want to deny him that one simple joy.’

Erin bit her lip, startled by the raw emotion in Zahir’s voice. Guilt tugged at her conscience. She more than most people understood the importance of family ties. All her life she had longed to be part of a family, and even though her mother had been sadly lacking in any parenting skills, she had still been devastated by the death of her only blood relative.

Supposing the elderly Sheikh died without ever seeing Kazim? From the sound of it Zahir’s father had loved Faisal, had hoped to be reconciled with him, and according to Zahir he was desperate to meet his little grandson. And what about Kazim? she thought fretfully. Would a court battle with Zahir for custody really be in the little boy’s best interests? And how would Kazim feel if he one day discovered that she had prevented him from meeting his grandfather?

The truth was she had a duty to give Kazim the opportunity to meet his family in Qubbah, she acknowledged reluctantly. She could not possibly allow Zahir to take Kazim—she would have to go too. But the prospect of travelling halfway around the world with Faisal’s disturbingly sexy brother filled her with unease.

What if he tried to kiss her again? She would not respond, of course. He had taken her by surprise earlier, that was all. But she had a feeling that Zahir bin Kahlid al Muntassir was used to women jumping whenever he clicked his fingers, and she would have to make it clear that she was neither available nor interested in him. Her eyes strayed to his mouth and her stomach lurched as she recalled the sensual pleasure of his kiss, the way his warm, firm lips had parted hers with a masterful intent that had demolished her resistance. Definitely not interested, she told herself sharply, her heart jerking unevenly when their eyes met and held and a bolt of white-hot awareness flashed between them.

Faisal had been a kind, gentle man, but she detected neither quality in his brother. Common sense warned her that Zahir, with his stunning looks and brooding sensuality, was out of her league, but for some reason her body hadn’t got the message, and she blushed scarlet when she followed his amused gaze and saw that her nipples were jutting provocatively beneath her tee shirt.

Desperate to distract his attention, she crossed her arms over her chest and voiced the question that had been gnawing in her brain since Gordon Straker’s shocking announcement that Zahir was Faisal’s brother. ‘Why was Faisal estranged from you and the rest of his family?’

Zahir was silent for so long that she risked another glance at him, and was startled by the hardness of his expression. ‘He married a woman who had not been chosen for him,’ he replied at last. ‘Faisal was engaged to the daughter of an influential family in Qubbah, but before his wedding he eloped with another woman and brought great shame to his family.’

‘When you say that his fiancée had been chosen for him, do you mean that it was an arranged marriage?’ Erin queried, shocked. ‘Isn’t that a rather outdated tradition?’

‘It is the tradition in Qubbah,’ Zahir informed her coldly. ‘My father had selected a number of potential brides, and Faisal chose one of them.’

‘But he didn’t love her,’ Erin said, her voice ringing with conviction. ‘He loved Maryam. He talked about her all the time, and I know that her death left him heartbroken. Why did Faisal have to elope with her? Why couldn’t he have married her and stayed in Qubbah?’

‘Because Maryam was promised to another man,’ Zahir said flatly, and something in his tone caused Erin to stare at him curiously.

‘Another arranged marriage?’ she guessed. ‘But Maryam didn’t love the man she was expected to marry—she was in love with Faisal. It’s like something from the Dark Ages. Surely your father wanted his son to be happy? Why couldn’t he have relented and allowed Faisal and Maryam to be together?’

‘Because it would have been an unforgivable insult to his fiancée and her family,’ Zahir explained harshly, his eyes narrowing when he noted Erin’s disapproving expression. ‘Things are done differently in my country. I don’t expect you to understand,’ he told her dismissively.

‘You’re right—I don’t understand,’ Erin told him hotly. ‘I believe that the only reason two people should marry is because they love each other, as Faisal and Maryam did. Yet it sounds as though they were hounded out of Qubbah like criminals…’

‘They were not,’ Zahir snapped furiously. ‘My father is not some cruel despot. But he is bound by his duty to the kingdom. He was torn…’ He shook his head, belatedly remembering that Erin had no idea his father was the King of Qubbah.

The tense silence was shattered by the ring of his mobile phone. It was a welcome interruption, and he answered the call, listened intently, and then barked a few terse instructions in Arabic before turning back to Erin. ‘My driver has been following the weather reports and says that more snow is forecast. We will have to leave immediately. I cannot risk the possibility of being stranded here for days,’ he added impatiently, when Erin gaped at him.

‘You can’t expect us to come with you now?’ she faltered, tension making her voice sharp as it dawned on her that Zahir expected exactly that. ‘I can see that because your father is ill I’ll have to bring Kazim to Qubbah for a short visit, but not today! The idea is ridiculous. I’d have to pack. And it’s late. In a couple of hours it’ll be Kazim’s bedtime…’

‘He can sleep on the plane,’ Zahir informed her coolly. ‘We’ll be travelling on my private jet, and one of the bedrooms on board has already been prepared for him. It is not necessary for you to bring anything for him. He has clothes and toys, everything he could possibly want, in Qubbah. Everything is taken care of. You can quickly pack your own personal possessions if you wish,’ he added graciously. ‘And may I suggest you change into a more suitable outfit to travel in.’ His eyes briefly skimmed her faded jeans with such a disdainful expression that Erin itched to slap him. ‘Something lightweight—it is considerably hotter in Qubbah than here.’

He was the most arrogant, overstuffed…Erin ran out of adjectives and glared at him with such heated fury that he should have fried on the spot. ‘Now, look here…’

Behind her the library door creaked open. She swung round, breathing hard, and forced a smile when Kazim peeped into the room.

‘Hey, have you had your tea? I’d better come and run your bath.’

Bathtime had become something of a battlefield lately, and Kazim shook his head mutinously. He seemed fascinated by Zahir, and although he was usually shy with people he did not know, he trotted across the room and grinned when his uncle swung him into his arms.

‘Instead of a bath, how would you like to fly on my plane, Kazim?’

The little boy’s eyes widened and he nodded his head eagerly. ‘A real plane?’

‘Sure it’s a real plane. It’s a jet, and it will take us all the way to the desert—’

‘Hold on a minute,’ Erin interrupted in a fierce whisper meant for Zahir’s ears only. ‘I’m not convinced it’s a good idea for Kazim to travel tonight.’ She wasn’t convinced that she should take him to Qubbah at all, but Zahir was like a bulldozer, flattening anything that got in his way and trampling on her misgivings with arrogant disregard.

Zahir’s eyes hardened on her before he smiled at the child in his arms. ‘Kazim wants to come with me—don’t you?’ he prompted the toddler lightly. ‘But if Erin doesn’t want to come, just you and me can go—how about that?’

Erin’s heart missed a beat when Kazim rested his head on his uncle’s shoulder. He appeared to be completely dazzled by Zahir—and he was not the only one, she acknowledged grimly as she recalled those few moments when he had crushed her against his chest and she had inhaled his tantalising male scent.

‘Erin’s coming on the plane too,’ Kazim announced firmly, grinning at her from his high vantage point in Zahir’s arms.

Some of Erin’s tension left her. Zahir might be Superman in Kazim’s eyes, but he still needed her, and she smiled back at him, her smile fading as she glared at Zahir. ‘That was a dirty, low-down trick, and you know it,’ she said furiously.

He shrugged uninterestedly. ‘I’ll play dirty if I have to, and you would be wise to remember that,’ he advised her coldly.

The implied threat in his voice sent a shaft of fear through her.

He sauntered over to the door, still holding Kazim. ‘Come, Kazim, let’s go and play with your toys while Erin packs.’ He laughed at the toddler’s excited nod, but his expression was deadly serious when he looked back at Erin. ‘You have half an hour,’ he drawled, glancing at his watch. ‘I suggest you get a move on—or risk being left behind.’

CHAPTER THREE

IT HAD stopped snowing when they left Ingledean. The evening air was crisp and cold and Erin shivered in the cream linen skirt and jacket that she had changed into for the journey. Zahir had warned her that it would be hot in Qubbah and she only hoped he was right.

At least she no longer looked like a ‘menial domestic’, she thought, recalling his scathing description of her when he had first learned that she was Faisal’s widow. Stung by his remarks, she had taken time with her appearance and had teamed her suit with a pale blue silk blouse, swept her unruly curls into a knot on top of her head and even added a touch of make-up—just a soft taupe shadow on her eyelids and pink gloss on her lips.

She had felt supremely self-conscious when she’d walked down the stairs to where he’s been waiting in the hall with Kazim, and the flare of sexual heat in his eyes had caused her heart to jerk painfully beneath her ribs.

Her doubts about taking Kazim to visit his family in Qubbah were intensifying by the minute, but she seemed to have little choice. Zahir had swept into their lives with the force of a tornado and she was still reeling from his impact.

She and Kazim would be back at Ingledean soon, she reassured herself as the car swung out of the drive, and she turned her head for one last glimpse of the house that was the only real home she had ever known. She loved Ingledean. The wild beauty of the surrounding moors was a stark contrast to the soulless concrete tower block where she had grown up.

If Zahir’s father was as ill as he’d described, then surely he would not want them to make a prolonged visit? She would stay in Qubbah long enough for Kazim to meet his grandfather and other relatives, and then she would bring him home to Yorkshire.

Kazim chattered non-stop on the drive to the airport, and his excitement grew as they boarded Zahir’s private plane. Erin felt as though she had stepped into another world when she glanced around the luxurious cabin. Instead of rows of tightly packed seats there were large cream leather sofas and a plush velvet carpet. The discreet lighting created an ambience of refined luxury, and the cabin crew—two impossibly beautiful stewardesses—were charmingly attentive. Particularly towards Zahir, she noted sourly. It was little wonder that he was so arrogant when everyone he came into contact with seemed to hang on his every word. But perhaps being surrounded by yes-men—and women—was one of the perks of being incredibly wealthy.

She’d known that Faisal was well off, but he had lived simply and she had never given a thought to his fortune. Now she was forced to acknowledge that Kazim’s family were millionaires—probably billionaires, she amended, as she debated the likelihood of the fitments in the bathroom being solid gold. She felt a churning sensation in the pit of her stomach. Money and power went hand in hand, and she could not forget Zahir’s threat that he would hire the best lawyers and fight for custody of his nephew. But surely he wouldn’t do so now that she had agreed to bring Kazim to Qubbah?

Once they were in the air Kazim quickly became bored and fretful, despite Erin’s attempts to entertain him. He was overtired, and she was relieved when one of the stewardesses escorted them to a bedroom at the rear of the plane, where he fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. She had assumed that Zahir would continue working on his laptop, as he had done since they had taken off, but to her consternation he was waiting for her when she returned to the main cabin, and indicated that she should join him on the sofa.

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