is more than your uncle?’
Her thumbs pressed so hard that the massage bordered on pain rather than pleasure. ‘My uncle and aunt have three sons.’
‘And you wanted to touch them?’ For some reason Sayid disliked the idea.
‘Ha! I’d rather touch a flea-ridden, spitting camel with diarrhoea than one of them.’
Sayid bit down a smile, weariness abating as curiosity rose. His demure little gift wasn’t nearly as demure as she seemed.
‘I see. They wanted to touch you.’
Lina nodded, her nostrils flaring in distaste. Her breasts rose high against his shirt as she breathed hard.
‘They accused me of leading them on! Of tempting and teasing, when I never even looked at them. I avoided them as much as I could. But that wasn’t enough. They said I wore perfume deliberately to entice them. That they could smell it when I left my room and it was an invitation for them to follow me.’
In her indignation Lina had forgotten to be cowed or careful. Fire flashed in her fine eyes and her cheeks blushed a soft rose.
Though he deplored their behaviour, Sayid understood too easily why her cousins found her such a temptation. Nervous and cowed she was lovely. Animated, she was glorious.
Even he, bound by his obligation as her ruler, as her host, and by his own honour, felt the dangerous undertow of attraction.
She was young, vulnerable and in his care. Unlike his dead uncle, Sayid didn’t believe people should be given as gifts or treated as expendable.
No wonder her relatives had packed her off to the capital. To keep temptation away from the males of her family. He guessed there was little love lost between Lina and her aunt and uncle.
‘Were there no other relatives willing to take you in?’
Her gaze dropped. She concentrated on drying his other foot and massaging it. Again Sayid felt the tug and release of taut muscles and tendons, and a glorious feeling of well-being. He’d never had a foot massage and was rapidly suspecting it might be addictive. Yet to his consternation the stirring in his loins indicated an inconvenient but growing arousal at odds with that wave of relaxation.
‘My uncle moved his family into my father’s house. And I have no other relatives. Even if there were, my mother...’
She paused so long Sayid wondered if she’d continue.
‘My mother had been a dancer. Much younger than my father. She was not...approved of locally. No one else came forward to offer me a home when my father died.’
Sayid stared at her downcast face, at bone-deep beauty that even tightly pursed lips and a scowl couldn’t mar.
With a nation to rule, a government to revamp and peace to establish, Sayid didn’t have time for one lost girl.
Yet nor could he dismiss her. An orphan, without a family who’d care for her and, by the sound of it, a town that didn’t want her, that was biased against her because of her mother, she’d been given away like a commodity. That easy disregard for people without the means to protect or support themselves was something he abhorred. He’d seen it too often under his uncle’s rule.
He thrust aside the weary voice that protested responsibility for the nation was enough, without taking personal responsibility for a stray female too. A female who, given his powerful reaction, was surely trouble.
Yet she had no options, no home.
Who else would take responsibility if not her Emir?
Sayid took his obligations seriously.
‘Thank you for the massage, Lina.’ He withdrew from her touch, ignoring the tingle along his skin and the urge to let her minister to him with those supple hands.
Sayid sat straighter. He would not act on this burgeoning desire.
‘Now.’ He rose and she did too, again with that sinuous grace that drew the eye and made him think inevitably about a soft female body moving against his. His groin tightened. ‘You can retire.’ His voice was gruff. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. My secretary will schedule a time.’
Her fine eyebrows arched in surprise. Then she smiled, a real smile, unlike that stilted curve of the lips she’d given him originally. The effect was instantaneous. Heat blasted him, feeding an urgent hunger he should be too worn out to experience.
Yet now he didn’t feel worn out. He felt aroused.
‘Thank you, sir. You won’t regret this.’ She actually bounced on the balls of her feet, as if from excitement.
Then she bowed herself out, a diminutive figure who should have looked comical with his shirt hanging loose over those filmy skirts. Instead his gaze locked on her in a mixture of fascination and pure, searing lust.
Seventeen. She’s only seventeen.
Yet there was no mistaking that electric energy, the thunder in his blood and the heaviness in his groin.
Sayid raked his fingers across his scalp and swore.
Apart from her stunning looks, Lina wasn’t like the women he chose for himself.
They were experienced and independent. Passionate enough to appreciate his demanding sex drive and sophisticated enough not to linger. He allowed himself no more than a week of intense carnal pleasure at a time before returning to his onerous responsibilities. It was part of his stringent private control system—giving free rein to his erotic appetites once in a while, then sublimating them while he focused on his work.
Mostly his lovers were foreigners wanting a taste of the exotic in the form of a hereditary prince. And most were blonde. His tastes didn’t run to country-bred brunettes.
Until now.
Sayid swore again, exhaustion forgotten as he remembered those beguiling eyes and that curious mix of innocence and fire that made Lina far too alluring to a man who should know better.
He had to come up with a plan for her. A place for her to live.
Lina couldn’t stay in the palace indefinitely.
His self-restraint only went so far.
LINA SHIFTED IN her seat. It was a very comfortable seat, but she’d been sitting in it for ages. The Emir’s serious-eyed secretary had looked down his nose at her and warned she’d have a long wait, since the Emir had many important appointments. Far more important, he implied, with a comprehensive glance, than dealing with some tawdry dancing girl.
Lina wanted to tell him the clothes she wore weren’t her choice. She hadn’t been permitted to bring her own clothes with her to the palace, only the outfits her aunt had provided.
She’d
