The Sheikh's Shock Child
Susan Stephens
One passionate night…One shocking consequence!Working aboard Sheikh Khalid’s luxury yacht, innocent laundress Millie hides in the shadows—until she succumbs to his touch. Overwhelmed by the intensity of their encounter, she doesn’t even realise his yacht has set sail—and soon she finds herself between his golden sheets! But becoming Khalid’s mistress isn’t the only consequence of their reckless desire…and Millie’s scandalous news will bind them, permanently!
One passionate night...
One shocking consequence!
Working aboard Sheikh Khalid’s luxury yacht, innocent laundress Millie hides in the shadows—until she succumbs to his touch. Overwhelmed by the intensity of their encounter, she doesn’t even realize his yacht has set sail—and soon she finds herself between his golden sheets! But becoming Khalid’s mistress isn’t the only consequence of their reckless desire...and Millie’s scandalous news will bind them, permanently!
SUSAN STEPHENS was a professional singer before meeting her husband on the Mediterranean island of Malta. In true Mills & Boon style, they met on Monday, became engaged on Friday and married three months later. Susan enjoys entertaining, travel and going to the theatre. To relax she reads, cooks and plays the piano, and when she’s had enough of relaxing she throws herself off mountains on skis or gallops through the countryside singing loudly.
Also by Susan Stephens (#ucd5e1531-2d79-59fc-bc28-624f035c402d)
Bound to the Tuscan Billionaire
In the Sheikh’s Service
A Diamond for Del Rio’s Housekeeper
The Sicilian’s Defiant Virgin
The Secret Kept from the Greek
A Night of Royal Consequences
Hot Brazilian Nights! miniseries
In the Brazilian’s Debt
At the Brazilian’s Command
Brazilian’s Nine Months’ Notice
Back in the Brazilian’s Bed
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
The Sheikh’s Shock Child
Susan Stephens
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07217-5
THE SHEIKH’S SHOCK CHILD
© 2018 Susan Stephens
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Megan, for excellent editing and steely nerve.
Thank you.
Contents
Cover (#u3919ecad-ebdb-5f0e-b6ea-b222174c825b)
Back Cover Text (#u436c774e-b257-5b17-97c3-c4267ebec9a1)
About the Author (#ub84ba81e-12fc-570f-9e3e-f3e06b793278)
Booklist (#u6e976795-483b-505f-97da-6f6e8f799a1d)
Title Page (#u1aa6f56f-011e-51f4-b760-fe49e0f23d06)
Copyright (#u46931dd4-0463-5ffc-91ed-053a4dd878c0)
Dedication (#ue359d992-e0f8-5d99-a4ce-3db7027a797b)
CHAPTER ONE (#u7abeca39-28e9-5bd9-9b29-ed924f1eddc8)
CHAPTER TWO (#ue0fca6a6-63fa-5b2d-ab5e-040f784d2603)
CHAPTER THREE (#ue1e7e263-88e2-5e8e-aeac-a1610ffa24a3)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u51d3260e-6093-55f0-9214-ea05f2473444)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ucd5e1531-2d79-59fc-bc28-624f035c402d)
SAPPHIRES DRIFTED IN a shimmering stream from the Sheikh’s fingers. Backlit by candlelight, the precious gems blazed with blue fire, dazzling fifteen-year-old Millie Dillinger. Seeing her mother cuddled up to the Sheikh had the opposite effect. Toad-like and repellent, he was hardly the dashing hero Millie had imagined when her mother had said they were both to be guests at a most important royal engagement.
Millie had just stepped on board the Sheikh’s superyacht after being brought straight from school in a limousine with diplomatic plates, and found this a very different and frightening world. Sumptuous yes. Everywhere she looked there were more obvious signs of money than she’d seen in her entire life, but, like the Sheikh, the interior of his vast, creaking superyacht was sinister, rather than enticing. She kept glancing over her shoulder to check for escape routes, knowing it wouldn’t be easy to go anywhere with heavily armed guards, dressed in black tunics and baggy trousers, standing on either side of her, with yet more posted around the room.
Much in Millie’s life was uncertain, but this was frightening. Her mother was unpredictable, and it was always up to Millie to try and keep things on an even keel. That meant getting them out of here, if she could. This big room was known as the grand salon, but when she’d seen pictures in magazines of similar vessels, they were light and elegant, luxurious spaces, not dark and stale like this. Heavy drapes had been closed to shut out the light, and it smelled bad. Like an old wardrobe, Millie thought, wrinkling her nose.
The Sheikh and his guests were staring at her, making her feel she was part of a show, and it was not a performance she wanted to take part in. Seeing her mother in the arms of an old man was bad enough. He might be royalty, and he might be seated in the place of honour on a bank of silken cushions beneath a golden canopy, but he was repulsive. This had to be their host, His Magnificence Sheikh Saif al Busra bin Khalifa. Millie’s mother, Roxy Dillinger, had been hired to sing at his party, and had asked Millie to join her. Why? Millie wondered.
‘Hello, little girl.’ The Sheikh spoke in a wheedling tone that made Millie shudder. ‘You are most welcome here,’ he said, beckoning her closer.
She refused to move as her mother prompted in a slurred stage whisper, ‘Her name is Millie.’
As if names were unimportant to him, the Sheikh beckoned again, and more impatiently this time. Millie stared at her mother, willing her to make her excuses so that they could leave. Her mother refused to take the hint. She was still so beautiful, but sad for much of the time, as if she knew her days in the sun were over. Millie wanted to protect her, and quivered with indignation when some of the guests began to snigger behind their hands. Sometimes it felt as if she were the grown up and her mother the child.
‘See, Millie,’ her mother exclaimed as she raised and slopped a glass of champagne down an evening dress that had seen better days. ‘This is the type of life you can have if you follow me onto the stage.’
Millie shrank at the thought. Her dream was to be a marine engineer. This was more like Walpurgis Night than a theatrical performance, with every witch and warlock gathered to carouse and feast at the feet of the devil. Candlelight flickered eerily over the faces of the guests, and an air of expectation gripped them. What were they waiting for? Millie wondered. She didn’t belong here, and neither did her mother, and if her mother started to sing it would be worse. A careless approach to her health had ruined Roxy Dillinger’s renowned singing voice. She had squeezed herself into a shoddy and revealing floor-length gown, but Millie knew that the best she would be able to manage was a few cigarette-scarred songs for people who didn’t care that Roxy had once been known as the Nightingale of London.
Millie cared. She cared deeply and passionately for her mother, and her protective instinct rose like a lion for its cub. Ignoring the impatience of the Sheikh, she held out her hands. ‘It’s time to go home. Please, Mum—’
‘Roxy,’ her mother hissed, shooting a warning glance at Millie. ‘My name is Roxy.’
‘Please... Roxy,’ Millie amended reluctantly. Whatever it took, she would get them out of here somehow.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ her mother snapped, staring round at her less than admiring public. ‘I haven’t sung yet. Tell you what,’ she said in a change of tone. ‘Why don’t you sing for us, Millie? She has a lovely voice,’ she added to the Sheikh. ‘Not as strong and pure as mine, of course,’ she added, snuggling up to him.
The way the Sheikh was looking at Millie made her skin crawl, but she refused to back down. ‘If you come home with me now, I’ll buy cakes on the way,’ she coaxed her mother.
Unpleasant laughter greeted this remark. A gesture from the Sheikh silenced his guests. ‘I have world-renowned pastry chefs on board, little girl. You and your mother can eat your fill—once you’ve sung for your supper.’
Millie suspected the Sheikh had something else in mind other than singing. With her plaits, spectacles and serious demeanour, she would certainly be a novelty for his sophisticated guests, who had started to chant her name. Far from this being encouragement, as her mother seemed to think, Millie knew it was mockery of the cruellest kind. Her neck burned with embarrassment as she begged, ‘Please, Mum. You don’t need the Sheikh’s money. I’ll take an extra shift at the laundry—’
Screeches of laughter drowned out her voice. Desperate now, she glanced longingly in the direction of the marina, where life would be carrying on as normal. If this was how the super-rich lived, Millie wanted no part of it. Tonight had cemented her decision to forge a life she could control.
‘Sing for us, Millie,’ Roxy slurred. ‘You can be my support act.’
Millie loved singing, and had joined the school choir, but her real passion was discovering how things worked. Once she’d passed her school exams, she was determined to put in as many hours as it took, working at the laundry to fund more education.
The crowd continued to chant, ‘Millie... Millie... Millie...’ Her mother’s eye make-up was smudged, and she looked so tired. ‘Please, Mum...’
‘You’ll stay here,’ the toad on the dais rapped. At his signal, the guards closed around Millie, cutting off all avenues of escape. ‘Come closer, little girl,’ he drawled in a sugary voice that frightened her. ‘Dip your hands into my bowl of sapphires. They will inspire you, as they have inspired your mother.’
Millie flinched away as someone shrieked an ugly laugh.
‘Touch my sapphires,’ the Sheikh continued in the same hypnotic tone. ‘Feel their cool magnificence—’
‘Step back!’
The icy command was delivered like a shot and shocked everyone rigid. Millie turned to see a colossus in travel clothes striding into their midst. The guards snapped to attention as he passed, and even the Sheikh’s spoiled mouth remained petulantly closed.
What a devastating man, Millie thought. Much younger than the Sheikh, he was infinitely more attractive, and Millie’s ideal when it came to a romantic hero. While the Sheikh overflowed his cushions, this man was lean and fit, like a soldier or a bodyguard.
‘Why, brother, you’re such a prude.’
When the Sheikh drawled this, she gasped. His brother? This was the toad’s brother? There was so little resemblance between the two men it didn’t seem possible. While the Sheikh sent shivers of disgust shooting down her spine, his brother inspired a very different response.
She cringed to see the Sheikh wrap his arms a little closer around her mother, as if claiming his property in the face of a challenge. ‘Have you never played Bridge the Generation Gap before?’ he asked, glancing between the newcomer, Millie, and her mother.
‘You disgust me,’ the newcomer rapped. ‘She’s just a child,’ he observed as he flashed an appraising glance at Millie.
That brief look seared her to the depth of her soul. She would never forget it. There was anger in his eyes, but also concern, and it made her feel safe for the first time since she’d boarded the yacht.
‘I can’t believe you’d sink so low as to include a young girl in your debauchery,’ he said scathingly.
‘Can’t you?’ The Sheikh gave a careless shrug. ‘She’s a pretty young thing. Why don’t you take a turn when I’m finished with her?’
‘You and I are very different, brother.’
‘Evidently,’ the Sheikh conceded. ‘But it’s no business of yours how I spend my free time.’
‘When you bring our country into disrepute, it is my business.’
The Sheikh’s striking-looking brother had everyone’s interest, Millie noticed, and no wonder, with his skin the colour of polished bronze, and that thick, jet-black wavy hair. His body was as powerful as a gladiator’s, his eyes as fierce and unforgiving as a hawk’s, while harsh cheekbones and sweeping inky brows added to the exotic picture of a man who commanded the room.
‘You sicken me,’ he rapped with disgust. ‘I return from fighting alongside our forces, to find you indulging yourself in the most depraved manner imaginable. You won’t be satisfied until you’ve brought our country to its knees.’
‘I’ll bring something to its knees,’ the Sheikh agreed with a lascivious glance at Millie.
Millie gasped as the younger man swept a protective arm around her shoulder. ‘You won’t touch her,’ he warned.
The Sheikh’s response was a lazy wave of his hand. ‘You take things too seriously, Khalid. You always did.’
Khalid.
Learning her guardian’s name, Millie felt a rush of emotion. He remained standing between her and the Sheikh, to protect her from his brother’s crude remarks and lewd glances. If only he could rescue her mother too.
‘Don’t bring your bleeding heart here,’ the Sheikh dismissed with a scornful look. ‘It’s not appreciated.’
‘A bleeding heart because I care for our people?’ the Prince challenged, stepping away from Millie. ‘Where were you when our country needed you, Saif?’ he demanded. ‘You left our borders unprotected and our people in danger. You should be ashamed of yourself,’ he finished with icy disdain.
‘It is you who should be ashamed for ruining the evening for my guests,’ the Sheikh remarked, unconcerned. ‘And it is you who should apologise,’ he insisted.
Shaking his head, Prince Khalid assured his brother that he would do no such thing. ‘Come,’ he added sharply to Millie. ‘You’re leaving right now. And if you had any sense,’ he added to Millie’s mother, ‘you’d leave too.’
Roxy’s response was to turn her sulky face into the Sheikh’s shoulder.
‘Is this what you want?’ the Sheikh asked Millie.
‘Yes,’ Millie almost shouted, ‘but I’m not leaving without my mother. Please—’ It was useless. Her mother didn’t move.
‘At least take some sapphires with you,’ the Sheikh suggested in a mocking tone.
‘Don’t touch them!’ his brother rapped.
‘As if I would!’ This time she did shout, and it was so unlike her to lose her temper, but if he thought for one moment she could be bribed with sapphires!
Prince Khalid smiled faintly as he looked at her, and there was almost respect in his eyes, Millie thought, as if he knew she found this situation as deplorable as he did.
‘You’re a disgrace to the Khalifa name,’ her rescuer thundered, turning his attention to Sheikh Saif. ‘If you weren’t the ruler of Khalifa—’
‘What would you do?’ the Sheikh queried in an oily tone. ‘I stand between you and the throne. Is that what’s really troubling you, brother?’ Opening his arms wide, the Sheikh drew in his avid audience. ‘My poor brother can never get over the fact that he can’t have things all his own, dull way. How boring life would be with you in charge of the country, Khalid.’
This was greeted by murmurs of agreement from his guests. Millie risked a glance to see how the Prince had taken this latest insult. Apart from a muscle flicking in his jaw, he remained unmoved. ‘I’m taking the girl,’ he said, ‘and I want the mother gone by the time I return. Her daughter should not be left alone at night with so many unpleasant characters roaming King’s Dock.’
A gasp of affront greeted this remark. The Sheikh remained unconcerned. ‘But she won’t be on her own, will you, my dear? She’ll have you,’ he added with a sneer for Prince Khalid.
By this time, Millie was consumed with fear for her mother. ‘I can’t leave her,’ she told the Prince when he tried to usher her away.
Gripping her arm firmly, he warned, ‘Don’t get any ideas. You’re leaving now.’
‘Not without my mother,’ Millie said stubbornly.
‘Get her out of here!’ her mother yelled with an angry gesture in Millie’s direction.
Having finally dislodged herself from the Sheikh’s embrace, her mother was standing with her fists tightly clenched. ‘You’re nothing but a little killjoy,’ she railed at Millie. ‘You always spoil my fun!’
Gasping with hurt, Millie was barely aware that the door of the grand salon had slammed behind her, making her last memory of that night her mother’s voice screaming at her to go.
* * *
‘What’s your name?’ he asked the pale, tense child as he escorted her off the Sapphire. He needed something to distract her from the ordeal, and wanted to keep her talking. She seemed so unnaturally quiet.
There was a silence and then, to his relief, she said in a strained whisper, ‘Millicent.’
‘Millicent?’ he repeated. ‘I like your name.’ It suited the girl with her serious demeanour, heavy glasses and neatly braided hair.
‘People call me Millie,’ she added shyly as they left the shadows behind and exited the vessel into clean ocean air.
The child was as refreshing as the ocean, he thought, and he was determined to do what he could to protect her from harm. ‘What do you like to be called?’ he asked when she turned back to stare up at the shaded windows behind which they both knew her mother would continue to party.
‘Me?’ She frowned and then refocused on his face. ‘I like to be called Millie.’
‘Millie,’ he repeated.
‘Will you do something for me?’ she asked, surprising him with her quick recovery.
‘If I can,’ he agreed.
They had reached the head of the gangplank, where she drew to a halt. ‘Will you tell my mother to leave?’ she begged earnestly. ‘She might listen to you. Will you find her a cab and send her home? I’ve got some money. I can pay you—’
‘You’ve got your bus fare home?’ he guessed. She was young, but she was sensible. She had to be, he thought.
‘Yes,’ she confirmed. Her forehead pleated with surprise, as if common sense were second nature to the daughter, if not the mother. ‘Of course I do. Well? Will you?’ she pressed.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he agreed.
‘Please,’ she pressed. ‘Promise me you’ll try.’
Something about her steady gaze compelled him to answer in the affirmative. ‘I promise. Now go home and do your school work.’
He followed her gaze with interest as something else occurred to her. She was staring at his brother’s chauffeur, who was standing stiffly to attention at the side of the royal limousine. He saluted as Khalid approached.
‘He’s been standing here for ages,’ Millie whispered discreetly. ‘Could you bring him a glass of water before he takes me home?’
‘Me?’ he exclaimed.
‘Why not you?’ she demanded. ‘There’s nothing wrong with your legs, is there?’
Her cheeky comment took him by surprise. She had spirit, and to spare.
‘He brought me here,’ she explained, ‘so I know he must be tired.’
Completely unaware of status or rank, she was a novelty, and a welcome reminder that their respective positions in life had been decided by an accident of birth. Her cheeks blushed red as he pointed out the iced water dispensers, both in the front and the back of the vehicle. ‘He’s fine,’ he explained in the same confiding tone. ‘Give him your address and he’ll see you home safely.’
‘And my mother?’ she said, staring back at the ship.
‘I’ll do what I can.’ He ground his jaw with disgust at the prospect of returning on board. ‘Never put yourself in such danger again,’ he added in his sternest tone.
She didn’t flinch as she retorted fiercely, ‘I never will.’
He watched the vehicle pull away with its lonely figure seated upright in the back. With her school satchel at her side, and her hands folded neatly on her lap, Millie stared straight ahead. It was impossible to imagine a greater contrast to her mother, and his last thought before turning to the ship was that Millie was a good girl who deserved better than this.
CHAPTER TWO (#ucd5e1531-2d79-59fc-bc28-624f035c402d)
Eight years later...
‘OKAY, IT’S WORKING AGAIN.’ Satisfied with her handiwork, Millie stepped away from the boiler she’d just repaired.
‘You’re a gem,’ Miss Francine, the octogenarian who had worked at the laundry since she was a girl, and who now owned the business, beamed at Millie as she enveloped her favourite worker in a hug. ‘I don’t know anyone else who has the patience to coax these old machines back to life. What would I do without you?’
‘We’d go down to the stream and beat the yachties’ sheets clean with stones,’ a girl called Lucy suggested dryly.
With a grin for her friend, Millie plucked a pencil from her bundled-up hair to make notes on how to start up the ancient boiler should it fail when she had returned to her apprenticeship as a marine engineer.
‘You’d better not beat the Sheikh of Khalifa’s golden sheets clean,’ Lucy observed, matching Millie’s grin. ‘He might keel-haul you, or... What?’ she demanded when both Millie and Miss Francine froze in horror.
‘Nothing,’ Millie said quietly, forcing her face to relax as she flashed a warning look at Miss Francine to say nothing. ‘I didn’t know the Sheikh’s yacht had berthed, that’s all.’
Lucy flung her arms wide like a proud fisherman demonstrating the improbable size of his latest catch. ‘It’s enormous! You couldn’t miss it, if you hadn’t had your head stuck in the boiler cupboard.’
Then, thank goodness she had, Millie thought.
‘When did those sheets come in?’ Miss Francine asked, obviously trying to distract from a topic she knew Millie would not want to discuss.
Lucy held out the yards of gold fabric overflowing her arms. ‘The housekeeper from the Sapphire brought them, saying they needed special handling.’
‘Ripping up?’ Millie suggested beneath her breath. The golden sheets reminded her of one particular night and all its heartwrenching associations.
Miss Francine stepped in to her rescue again. ‘If a yacht the size of the Sapphire has berthed, we must get back to work. We’ll have laundry coming out of our ears,’ she enthused, with an anxious look at Millie. ‘And it might be the pressing machine that goes next.’
‘Well, I’m here if it does break down,’ Millie soothed, appreciating the change of subject.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Miss Francine asked discreetly as soon as everyone else was distracted by work.
‘I’m fine,’ Millie confirmed, ‘and happy to take responsibility for those sheets. I’ll supervise their care every step of the way,’ she assured her elderly friend grimly, ‘and I’ll take them back on board to make sure they’re fitted properly.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ Miss Francine said, flashing Millie a concerned look. ‘I’ll take them.’
‘I want to,’ Millie insisted. ‘It’s a matter of pride.’ She had to prove to herself that she could do this, and after eight years of hunting for clues into her mother’s death, this was the best lead she’d had.
‘Well, if you’re happy to do it, I won’t argue with you,’ Miss Francine confirmed. ‘We’ll have more than enough work to go round.’
Something about the way her elderly friend had capitulated so quickly rang alarm bells in Millie’s head. Which she dismissed as overreaction. Discovering the Sapphire was back was a shock.
‘What do you think of the golden sheets?’ Lucy asked later as they worked side by side.
‘Magnificent, I suppose,’ Millie admitted, ‘but too gaudy for my taste.’ Though typical of the Sapphire, she thought, grinding her jaw as pictures of gemstones falling from a hand that might have pushed her mother to her death swam into her mind.
‘Too gaudy for mine too,’ Lucy agreed.
‘Try not to think about it,’ Miss Francine whispered as she drew Millie to one side. ‘Take a few deep breaths,’ she advised.
If only breathing steadily could be enough to shut out the past. ‘I gave birth at sixteen, you know,’ her mother had told the Sheikh.
Why must Millie always remember the bad things?
But that wasn’t the worst, was it?
Ignoring her mother’s comment with a derisive eye-roll, the Sheikh had remarked, ‘Of course you did,’ as he selected a ripe fig with his fat, bejewelled fingers.
‘I was never meant to have a child,’ her mother had added with a scowl for Millie.
Millie still felt the pain of that comment and remembered how her mother had snuggled even deeper into the Sheikh’s reptilian embrace as she’d said it, shutting out Millie completely—
‘Millie?’
‘Yes?’ She forced a bright note into her voice as Miss Francine came around to double-check she was okay. ‘So, he’s back,’ Millie remarked, trying to sound upbeat.
Her old friend wasn’t convinced by her act. ‘It seems so,’ Miss Francine agreed briskly as she helped Millie to tuck the fabulous sheets into a fine cotton sack they used for the most delicate fabrics before washing them.
‘He’s been gone a long time,’ Millie added in a lame attempt to keep the conversation alive. ‘I guess Sheikh Saif had to stay out of the country after the accident.’
‘Millie,’ Miss Francine interrupted in a concerned tone.
Millie had never seen her elderly friend looking so worried. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘I should have told you right away,’ Miss Francine explained with a regretful shake of her head. ‘It isn’t Sheikh Saif on board the Sapphire. He died some years ago—of overeating, the press said,’ she added with a grimace for Millie, who was too shocked to speak. ‘You were away on that oil rig as part of your work experience when he died.’
‘Who then?’ Millie managed to force out. ‘Who’s on the Sapphire?’
‘His brother, Sheikh Khalid,’ Miss Francine revealed in a businesslike manner Millie had no doubt was gauged to cause her the least distress.
Nothing helped. Millie felt as if all the air had been sucked out of her lungs as Miss Francine continued, ‘Sheikh Saif’s death only made a few column inches in the press, and you were so upbeat when you came home that I couldn’t bear to dampen your enthusiasm by bringing up the past.’
‘Thank you,’ Millie said numbly.
‘You don’t have to thank me for anything,’ Miss Francine insisted as she rested a reassuring hand on Millie’s shoulder.
There was nothing more to say, and they both fell silent. Millie had been a Saturday girl at the laundry at the time of her mother’s tragic death, Miss Francine had stepped in right away, offering her a place to live. Home had been a room above the laundry ever since.
‘Of course, no one mentioned Sheikh Saif’s death to me,’ Millie mused dazedly, ‘because...’ She shrugged. ‘Why would they?’
Was she imagining it, or was Miss Francine finding it hard to meet her eyes?
‘I owe you everything,’ she said, giving her elderly friend an impulsive hug.
When Miss Francine left her side, Millie put her work on autopilot, so she could think back to what she remembered about Prince Khalid. Which was quite a lot. Never had anyone made such a strong impression on her. Most of it good. All of it awe-inspiring. And confusing. She’d thought him one thing, which was hero material, but he’d turned out to be something very different. And she must think of him as Sheikh Khalid now, Millie amended as images of blazing masculinity came flooding back. The sternest of men was now an omnipotent ruler. She could only imagine the changes in him. A few minutes in his company had been enough to brand his image on her soul. She could still see him striding up the Sapphire’s gangplank like an avenging angel to rescue her mother. But he hadn’t rescued her mother. He’d let her down. And at some point during that terrible night, Millie’s mother had either fallen from the Sapphire, or she’d been pushed.
Bracing herself, she stared out of the window. It was impossible to miss the Sapphire at rest in its berth. The superyacht was as big as a commercial cruise liner, and easily the biggest ship in the harbour. It was like a call to destiny that she couldn’t avoid. She tried not to show how tense she was when Miss Francine came back. ‘It’s had a complete refit,’ her elderly friend explained. ‘When Sheikh Khalid inherited the throne of Khalifa from his brother, he insisted that the ship must be gutted and refitted. Gossip on the marina says that everything on board is cutting edge.’ There was a long pause, and then she added carefully, ‘Nothing ever remains the same, Millie.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Millie agreed. She knew Miss Francine was just trying to help. ‘And I’m all right,’ she added briskly, with a reassuring smile for her friend. ‘However fabulous the Sapphire looks, it has moving parts that need to be fixed.’
Miss Francine laughed as Millie hoped she would. ‘Taking your tool kit on board?’ she suggested.
Millie narrowed her eyes. ‘You can bet I’ll be fully prepared by the time I board.’
‘I’m sure you will be,’ Miss Francine agreed quietly.
‘My life is here with you,’ Millie said. ‘And it’s very different from the life I had at fifteen. You’ve given me a happy home where I’m safe, and a launch pad so I can work towards a successful career. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.’
‘I don’t want your thanks,’ Miss Francine assured her. ‘I couldn’t love you more if you were my daughter.’
As they hugged, Millie reflected that she certainly didn’t owe the Sheikh of Khalifa anything, other than contempt for letting her down. He was on board the Sapphire the night of her mother’s death, and when the authorities had come calling, he’d made sure to keep his brother out of the courts.
‘I’ll take the sheets on board, and be back before you know it,’ she said with confidence. She was grimly determined to do just that, if only to prove to herself that the past couldn’t hurt her.
Miss Francine exclaimed with relief, ‘Bravo!’
* * *
Dressed in formal, flowing black silk robes trimmed with gold, Khalid was looking forward to reclaiming the informality he enjoyed on board the Sapphire, but before he could relax he had business to attend to. He had just received a deputation from the local council asking for his support with its youth plan, which accounted for his dress code of regal opulence. This world tour had lasted long enough, he concluded as he appended a final signature to the document that would fund his latest project. Staring out through the rain-lashed windows of his study, he reflected on the significance of King’s Dock. His educational trust had been born here, because of an incident that had changed his life. He had never thought to return, but neither would he neglect an opportunity to help young people gain a foothold in life. He had been asked for help, so he was here, and now he was here he couldn’t leave without having reassured himself about certain issues.
Closing his eyes, he eased his neck. He longed for the cleansing heat of the desert and the cooling waters of the oasis, but the truth of that terrible night wouldn’t go away. Pushing back from his desk, he stood up, and was glad of a muted tap on the door to distract him.
‘Come...’
His housekeeper entered and stood politely just inside the entrance. ‘The Gilded Stateroom is almost ready for your inspection, Your Majesty.’
‘Thank you. Please let me know when the final touches have been made, and I’ll inform you if I require anything else.’
‘Of course, Your Majesty.’ With a curtsey his housekeeper left the room.
He didn’t check every guest room, but this was for a particular guest, his old friend Tadj. Otherwise known as His Radiance, the Emir of Qalala, Tadj and he had been friends since school and university, and had joined Special Forces together. Khalifa and Qalala were trading partners, with valuable sapphire mines adjacent to each other in the mountains of Khublastan. The boundaries of several countries converged in this same region, which had led to their rulers becoming known collectively as the Sapphire Sheikhs. He was looking forward to Tadj’s arrival. Things were stable again in Khalifa after Saif’s tumultuous reign, and Khalid had not taken a break for some years. Having built a strong team around him, he could afford to do so now. This trip was an opportunity to build relationships between nations, and also to give him the chance to view the royal marriage mart to see if any of the available princesses would do. Tadj might advise on that—then again not, he thought dryly. Tadj was the devil incarnate where women were concerned.
Not wishing to dwell on thoughts of marriage, Khalid returned in his mind to Khalifa, that most beautiful of countries. Prosperity in the last few years had led to modern cities rising like mirages out of the ocean of sand, and though the desert might seem hostile to a casual visitor, it was teeming with life, especially around the oases where the animals he loved, the ibex and desert oryx, thrived beneath his protection. A crystalline ocean yielded more than enough food for his people, while a dramatic snow-capped mountain range held the precious seams of sapphires that gave them security, wealth, education, and medical care. To him there was nowhere to compare with Khalifa, and his spirits soared as he thought about the country he loved.
The stateroom for Tadj!
As he turned to leave his study something drew his glance to the window where, far below him on the rain-swept dock, a mini-drama was playing out. A small figure cloaked head to foot in sensible oilskins was attempting to gain entry onto the private walkway leading to the Sapphire. A sentry stood in her way. He could tell it was a woman from her height and tiny hands, with which she was gesturing vigorously as if to impress upon the guard that her mission was urgent and she must be allowed on board. She had a large, wheeled container at her side, and it was this that his security personnel, quite rightly, was intent on searching.
‘No,’ she told them with a decisive shake of her head, staring to the sky, as if to point out the obvious: that the rain would ruin her goods. A quick-thinking guard stepped forward with a sniffer dog. Once the dog had made a comprehensive inspection, she was allowed to pass.
Satisfied that she would be accompanied every inch of the way, he pulled back from the window. His guests would be arriving soon for a glamorous evening, so it came as no surprise to him to discover that deliveries were being made.
An officer greeted him as he left the study. ‘A message from the mine, Your Majesty.’
‘Oh?’ Concern struck him as it always did where work underground was concerned. This would mean a delay to his inspection of Tadj’s quarters, but the depths of the earth, like the deeps of the ocean, were unpredictable territory and inherently dangerous, and the safety of his staff was paramount.
‘Good news, Majesty.’
He relaxed. ‘Tell me...’
The officer could hardly contain his excitement. ‘The new seam of sapphires is almost ten times larger than first thought, Your Majesty.’
‘Good news, indeed!’
Returning to his study, he placed a call to congratulate his team. As he waited for the line to connect, his thoughts returned to the young woman on the dock. She’d be on board by now, with his security guard in attendance. No visitor would ever wander the Sapphire unattended again. After the tragedy under his brother’s rule, Khalid had vowed that he would never take a chance with another person’s life.
‘Ah, Jusef,’ he exclaimed as the line connected. He enjoyed an upbeat exchange with the manager of his mine, ending with the promise, ‘I’ll be home soon to celebrate with you.’
It was a good enough reason to postpone his search for a bride, and he left his study in the best of moods. A final glance through the window reminded him of the girl, and he smiled to think of her standing up to his guards, and getting her own way. That was no mean feat. His guards were ferocious.
There was just time to check the arrangements being made for Tadj, before taking a shower and preparing for the evening ahead. It would be a very different party from those his late brother had held on board the Sapphire, in that the people present would be interesting and stimulating company and there would be no wild excesses of any kind. Saif had been furious to have his pleasure curtailed, and had ordered Khalid off the Sapphire. Echoing the words of the girl’s mother, he’d accused Khalid of being a killjoy.
Better that than a killer, Khalid had always thought.
CHAPTER THREE (#ucd5e1531-2d79-59fc-bc28-624f035c402d)
RETURNING TO THE Sapphire wasn’t as easy as Millie had imagined. Her heart had started thundering out of control the moment she’d set foot on deck. However many times she told herself that this was a rite of passage, and she must get through it, her body’s reaction was out of her control.
I’m not a teenager, finding my way and feeling awkward, but a successful woman, confident in my own skin.
She had silently chanted this mantra from the moment she’d entered the locked dock. The past couldn’t hurt her, if she didn’t allow it to. The emotional scars from that night hadn’t weakened her, they’d made her strong. Unfortunately, none of these self-administered reassurances helped to soothe her as she stepped onto the recently swabbed teak and all the memories came flooding back. Her throat dried when the guard beckoned her towards the impressive double doors leading into the interior of the vessel.
Taking a deep breath, she braced herself and walked in.
The first thing she noticed was the lack of a sickly-sweet smell. She hadn’t known what it was eight years ago, but now her best guess was cannabis. The air inside the vessel today was as clean and as fresh as the air outside. And there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen, let alone a carelessly stubbed out cigarette, or an empty bottle left to roll aimlessly about. There was certainly no jarring music, or cruel laughter, just the low, almost indiscernible hum of a well-maintained engine of the type Millie loved—
She jerked alert as the guard coughed to attract her attention. ‘Sorry to keep you,’ she said. ‘I was just getting my bearings.’
A steward was on hand to take charge of her oilskins and the wheeled trolley. Watching her oilskins disappear around a corner definitely gave her second thoughts. She wanted to call him back and return to the safety of the laundry.
Don’t be so ridiculous!
What about her determination that the past couldn’t hurt her? And the note she intended to leave for Sheikh Khalid, asking if he could make time to see her.
Where was he? she wondered. Somewhere on board? Somewhere close?
A ripple of awareness tracked down her spine. Her overactive imagination getting busy again, she concluded as the steward returned to her side. He suggested, and tactfully, she thought in view of the state of her trolley, that it might be an idea to unpack the laundry here.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise the wheels were quite so muddy.’ Or that they would leave such obvious tracks on the pristine floor. Not wanting to cause extra work for the crew, she was glad of the blue plastic overshoes the steward handed her.
She was sorry about everything, Millie thought, which was hardly the mind-set required to make the most of this opportunity. The steward might pass on a note to someone in authority who had contact with the Sheikh. And though Sheikh Khalid almost certainly wouldn’t agree to see her, she had to try.
‘I’ll help you unpack,’ the friendly steward offered.
The Sheikh’s staff seemed nice. She took some comfort from that. There were no stony faces—apart from his guards—and the atmosphere was different; very different, Millie thought as she introduced herself.
‘Joel,’ the steward replied with a friendly smile.
After a brief handshake they got to work, and the familiar actions of lifting the laundry from its nest reassured her. She knew what she was doing, and working side by side with Joel boosted her confidence. His uniform was very smart, and not at all intimidating, as she remembered the black-clad servants at that other party. Crisp and white, it was quite a contrast to her comfortable work clothes of jeans, a long-sleeved top and sneakers.
If it came to running for it, she was ready, Millie concluded dryly as she straightened up to announce she was ready to make up the bed. The guard would escort them, he said. Things had certainly changed since the free-for-all days of Sheikh Saif, she thought as they set off at a brisk walk with Millie like a sandwich filling between the two men.
Passing through another set of double doors, they entered a world of unimaginable luxury and calm. Or massive wealth and relentless control, depending on how you looked at it. Either she found some humour in this situation, or she’d lose her nerve and run. She couldn’t believe the last time she’d been here her mother was alive. It seemed so long ago. And now her senses were heightened to an unparalleled degree. She felt like a sponge, obliged to soak up everything, whether she wanted to or not. Though she had to admit that the vibrant works of art, tastefully displayed on neutral walls, were beautiful, as were the priceless artefacts housed in glass cases. She would have loved the chance to take a longer look at them. Glimpses into staterooms as they passed revealed one luxurious setting after another, but the walk was so long, she began to wonder if they would ever arrive at their destination. The Sapphire was bigger than she remembered, but then she had only seen the grand salon eight years ago.
I could get lost here and never be heard of again. Like my mother.
That imagination of hers was working overtime again. She was here to work, and when that was done, she was out of here!
* * *
Millie Dillinger, Khalid mused as he strode through the immaculately maintained vessel in the direction of the guest quarters. The girl’s name would be branded on his mind for ever. How could he ever forget the dramatic events surrounding their first encounter? He’d been in a furious mood that night, too angry by what he’d discovered at Saif’s party to spend much time reassuring the girl. His first impression had been of a quiet and contained young person, which had made the way she’d stood up to him all the more surprising. She’d showed no deference for his rank, or for that of his brother, and, in being completely open and frank, had opened his eyes to a world where women didn’t simper and preen in the presence of immense wealth and power. If only she’d known it, Millie Dillinger had consigned every prospective bride of his to the remainder bin of history. None of them had her spirit.
Even though she’d been just fifteen, the connection between them had been immediate and strong, his overwhelming need to protect her his only concern. As he turned onto the corridor leading to what would be Tadj’s suite, he thought back to his attempts to persuade Millie to leave the Sapphire for her own good, and her refusal to go without her mother. The child had become the carer, he’d thought at the time. She’d be twenty-three now, and had been an orphan for eight years, but, remembering the fire in those cornflower-blue eyes, he knew she was too strong for life to break her as it had broken her mother.
* * *
Wow! Quite literally: wow! Millie’s jaw had dropped a little more with each step she’d taken on board the Sapphire, where every corner revealed a new wonder, but this guest suite was beyond belief. Ablaze with gold, it glowed with sapphires. Every surface that could be gilded was gilded, and every practical item, even down to the tiny waste-paper bin placed at one side of the solid-gold dressing table, was intricately worked, and studded with precious stones. Striking works of art hung on the walls, while soft furnishings begged to be stroked and snuggled up to. Carpets and rugs? Oh, yes. She was sinking in those up to her ankles. And it was brilliantly lit. No dark corners here. No den of vice. Miss Francine was right to say the Sapphire had been completely transformed.
* * *
And now it was fit for a king, Millie thought as she stood back to review her handiwork. Glancing in the ornate mirror, she reassured herself that, in the unlikely event that the laundress met a sheikh, the sheikh wouldn’t look twice at that laundress. In weather-sensible shoes covered with blue plastic overshoes, an old pair of jeans and a faded top, she’d come straight from fixing a boiler, so although she’d washed her hands until her skin had turned red she almost certainly still had the tang of oil about her.
Turning full circle, she tried to record every detail, so she could tell her friends when she got back to the laundry. She had no doubt they would be in fits of laughter when she told them about the erotic hangings above the bed. Though, in fairness, even the most particular guest would be comfortable here. The suite was definitely over the top, but it was also very airy and welcoming. She had to admit, she was impressed.
The guard and the steward had remained outside the door while Millie was working, so she could touch this...lift that...peer behind the curtain at the elegant balcony lit by the warm glow of a lantern—gold, of course—and even quietly open the drawers... There was nothing in them. She hadn’t expected there to be, but couldn’t resist having a nosey. Unlatching the door to the balcony, she stepped outside. Leaning over the railings, she wondered if her mother had stood here, and had maybe fallen from this very spot. It was possible...
Remaining quite still, almost as if she expected an other-worldly voice to fill in the details, she was finally forced to give up and return inside.
There was nothing sinister about this room, Millie told herself firmly. It smelled lovely, felt lovely, was lovely, apart from the lurid hangings. Could people really contort their bodies like that? Angling her chin, she tried to work out the mish-mash of limbs and faces, and had to give up. Anyway, the stateroom looked fabulous with those golden sheets in their rightful place. But who would sleep here? she wondered with a frown. Was this a gilded cage, waiting for another broken bird?
Stop it! This was a particularly lavish suite on board a billionaire’s yacht, and nothing more. Millie had merely provided some final touches for a guest—
Khalid’s mistress?
Why should she care? He might be married, for all she knew—
‘Mademoiselle Millie?’
She almost jumped out of her skin as the door opened, but it was only the steward wanting to know if she needed any help. ‘I’m doing fine, thank you,’ she reassured him with a smile. ‘I’ve nearly finished.’
Aladdin’s cave could take another pop of gold, Millie concluded as the door closed quietly behind the steward. And her overactive imagination could take a hike. The Sheikh probably wasn’t even on board. And even if he were, would he have changed that much? He was probably the same, devastatingly good-looking charmer who made promises he couldn’t keep; a man who’d spirited his brother out of the country after her mother’s death.
Power and money made anything possible, Millie concluded, firming her lips into an angry line. Eight years ago, the headlines had read: ‘The Nightingale of London found drowned in King’s Dock.’ But had her mother drowned? Or was she murdered? And did anyone care?
Millie cared, and was determined to uncover the truth of a night she would never forget. She wouldn’t rest until she found justice for her mother. Cause of death had never been established, let alone convincingly explained to Millie. It felt to her as if everything had been brushed under the carpet. Claiming diplomatic immunity, Sheikh Saif had left the country, while his brother, now Sheikh Khalid, had remained in the UK to clear up his mess. As far as Millie was concerned, he was responsible for allowing Saif to get away. The coroner’s court had managed to establish that drink and drugs had contributed to her mother’s drowning, but who had given her those things? Miss Francine had warned Millie to leave the past alone, but how could she ignore a chance like this? Sitting down at the dressing table, she plucked the pencil out of her hair and began to write a note on the order pad she always carried.
She flinched guiltily as the door opened a second time, and stood, as if to demonstrate her readiness to leave. The guard was talking into his mouthpiece.
‘Just collecting up my things,’ she said.
If he noticed that she was nowhere by the bed, he didn’t respond. He was too busy talking to whoever was at the other end of the line. She relaxed as he left the room. Maybe now she could finish that note.
Maybe not. The door opened again almost immediately.
* * *
He deplored ostentation. Even the intricately decorated solid-gold handle of this guest stateroom jarred as he closed his fist around it, but this particular suite of rooms had been kept intact, and was in the traditionally ornate style, favoured by his late brother. It served as a reminder to Khalid that extreme wealth could be extremely corrupting. He thought Tadj would appreciate the irony. The last time they’d stayed together had been in a basic tent when they were both serving in Special Forces.
After his brother’s death, Khalid had insisted on a deep clean of the entire vessel, following which he’d brought in several cutting-edge designers to modernise the ship, with the proviso that this vintage suite be left intact. The best palace craftsmen had worked on the project, and the suite had fast become a talking point, both for its recording of unique and authentic historical detail, and for the erotic hangings above the bed.
‘Your Majesty...’
He thought his guard seemed slightly uncomfortable. ‘Yes?’ Khalid paused with his hand on the door.
‘I didn’t expect you here so soon,’ the guard admitted.
Khalid was instantly suspicious. ‘Well, I’m here,’ he said, opening the door wide.
‘Millie?’
He would have known her anywhere, even after all this time. Eight years simply faded away. She’d changed beyond recognition, but the bond between them remained the same. She was a very beautiful woman. The braids were gone, likewise the spectacles, and there was no panic in her steady stare, reassuring him that her vibrant spirit was intact too.
The girl on the dock. Of course!
‘Your Majesty!’
She seemed equally surprised, and for a few moments they just stared at each other. Her long, honey-gold hair was still damp from the rain where her oilskins had failed to protect her. Bundled up loosely on top of her head, the messy arrangement boasted an unusual ornament in the shape of a pencil, which she’d just stabbed into it as she catapulted away from the dressing table to stand in front of him, in what he guessed was the best expression of innocence she could muster. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Writing you a note,’ she said with the frankness he remembered from all those years ago. ‘I suppose I don’t have to now,’ she added.
‘A note?’ he queried.
‘A request to meet with you—to talk,’ she explained.
The bright blue eyes were completely steady on his. Her gaze was as direct as ever.
‘Hello, by the way,’ she added, as if finally realising that this meeting was a bombshell for both of them.
‘Do you generally wear a pencil in your hair?’ he asked as her cheeks blazed red.
‘It’s useful for writing notes on how to fix boilers,’ she said.
He waved away the guard and steward as they entered the room to see what all the fuss was about. ‘Welcome on board the Sapphire, Miss Dillinger.’
Her look said clearly, I’m not a guest, and if it hadn’t been for these wretched sheets, I wouldn’t be here at all.
* * *
Electricity didn’t just crackle in the air, it was bouncing back and forth between them. She was so shocked at seeing Sheikh Khalid again, and in flowing robes that made him look more intimidating than ever, she couldn’t think straight. What annoyed her most of all was the fact that he’d thrown her to the point where she was quivering like a doe on heat, rather than standing her ground in front of him like a hard-working professional.
It was time to get real. This was not the tough guy in jeans who invaded her dreams most nights, but an all-powerful king in whose water-borne kingdom she was currently—well, if not a prisoner, at the very least, vulnerable, which was not a condition she ever flirted with. No one could call his brutal attraction charm. However divinely warm, clean and sexy the Sheikh might appear, he was in reality a granite-faced titan without a single decent bone in his body. He’d turned a blind eye when she’d begged him for help. So whatever her body thought of his blistering masculinity, Millie Dillinger remained unimpressed.
But...
Calm down and think. This was almost certainly the only chance she’d ever get to ask him about that night. Being as different from the women he must be used to as it was possible to be, with her no-make-up face and her long hair piled carelessly on top of her head—not to mention the pencil garnish—she doubted she was in any immediate danger.
‘When will you have finished your work?’ he asked with an edge of impatience, confirming her conclusion that she was not his ravishment of choice.
‘I have finished, Your Majesty. Please call the laundry if you need anything more.’
‘I’ll be sure to tell my housekeeper what you advise,’ he commented with withering amusement.
Fortunately, she’d always been able to take a joke, though the thought that he might have a sense of humour only made it worse. If he was actually human, how had he allowed her mother to die? Whatever he’d done or not done on that night, it had changed the course of Millie’s life, and had tragically ended her mother’s. She had to dip her head so he couldn’t see her angry eyes.
They came from different worlds, Millie concluded. In her world, people were answerable for their actions, but in his, not so much.
* * *
This was no milksop princess with a desire to please him, Khalid concluded, but a very angry woman, who was different and intriguing. She made him want to fist that thick gold hair and draw back her head so he could taste her neck. The girlish figure was long gone and had been replaced by curves in all the right places. Her features were pale from lack of sun, but her complexion was flawless. ‘We will talk,’ he promised as his senses sharpened. ‘And sooner rather than later.’
‘We must,’ she returned fiercely, clenching her fists, which were held stiffly at her side.
She’d had years to ponder what had happened that night, so her anger was excusable. The death of her mother was bad enough, but believing he was involved in some sort of cover-up must be a festering wound. It was a reasonable supposition, he conceded.
‘It must have been hard for you to return to the Sapphire.’
‘Ghosts?’ she suggested with a level look.
‘Memories,’ he countered.
‘Life goes on,’ she said flatly.
‘As it must,’ he agreed.
‘Forgive me, Your Majesty, but if you don’t have time to meet with me now, I have work to do on shore.’
She was dismissing him? he wondered with amusement.
‘We’re very busy at the laundry,’ she excused, no doubt realising she had overstepped the mark.
On the contrary, he thought her a breath of fresh air. It would be all too easy for him to slip into the belief that because everyone else bowed the knee, Millie Dillinger would, or that other people’s deference made him special in some way. A dose of Millie medicine was exactly what he needed. ‘I will see you in my study in ten minutes’ time.’
She seemed surprised and didn’t answer right away. ‘My time is also valuable, Ms Dillinger. My guard will escort you,’ he explained, ‘and my PA will call the laundry to explain your delay.’
‘But—’
‘Miss Francine is an intelligent woman,’ he interrupted. ‘She’ll understand.’
Millie’s frown deepened.
‘Ten minutes,’ he repeated before he left the room.
* * *
Millie wasn’t sure she had breathed properly for the entirety of that interview. Sheikh Khalid was so much more than she remembered. She needed a big, wide space, and absolute silence to get used to it. And the guard didn’t give her any time. He quick-marched her out of the sumptuous suite, and didn’t pause until they stood in front of an impressive gleaming teak door. The entrance to the hawk’s eyrie, Millie presumed. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she sucked in a deep, steadying breath, and prepared for round two.
At some silent signal, the guard deemed it appropriate to open the door. Standing back, he allowed her to enter. Sheikh Khalid was seated at the far end of his study behind a sleek modern desk where he appeared to be signing some documents. He didn’t look up as she walked in. The scratch of his pen was a stark reminder that this was his territory, his kingdom, where things ran to his schedule, and she would have to wait until His Majesty was ready to receive her.
Forget pride. Any opportunity to interview a potential witness from that night had to be seized. She glanced around with interest. Order predominated. There was no clutter, no family photographs to soften the ambience—a fact that filled her with unreasonable relief—there was just a bank of tech and the desk piled high with official-looking documents.
Shouldn’t he invite her to sit?
This might be the private space of a very private man, but Sheikh Khalid had invited her to come here. What about the so-called politeness of Princes? She’d explained that she was busy too. Ten minutes, he’d said. Did he time-keep to the second? That wasn’t a bad thing, Millie counselled herself, because if Sheikh Khalid was so meticulous, he could hardly deny what he remembered of that night.
‘My apologies,’ he said at last, straightening up to fix her with his hawk-like stare. ‘Millie,’ he added softly.
His husky tone could have been a caress to her senses if she hadn’t ruthlessly banished such nonsense in her thinking. ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘We meet again.’
One ebony brow quirked, challenging her resistance to his blistering appeal. Their stares only had to connect for her body to respond with enthusiasm. Determinedly, she took an objective view. This study, this impersonal workspace, was deceiving. Designed to keep visitors at bay. She wasn’t fooled. This was no cold, remote man who chose not to reveal his inner self, but a smouldering volcano, who surrounded himself with a sea of ice.
‘You’ve been patient,’ he commented with monumental understatement.
‘For eight years,’ she agreed.
They both knew that wasn’t what he’d meant, and as they stared at each other across the desk she thought they were like two combatants facing each other across a ring.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ucd5e1531-2d79-59fc-bc28-624f035c402d)
‘ARE YOU SURE you wouldn’t like to sit down?’ the man she knew so well, and yet not at all, invited.
Sitting so he could tower over her was the last thing she wanted to do. ‘If you’re standing, I’m standing too,’ she said as he left the desk. This seemed to amuse him. And he still towered over her. So be it. She had no intention of allowing His Majesty to win every point, even if her pulse was racing out of control.
‘Forgive me for keeping you,’ he added with a penetrating look. ‘I have a lot of work.’
‘So I see,’ she replied calmly.
He studied her face. She studied him. Anything to take her mind off those mesmerising and all-seeing eyes. His headdress was called a keffiyeh. It moved fluidly as he moved, before falling back into place. She could try to be as objective as she liked, but when he angled his stubble-shaded chin to stare down at her, the lure of those eyes was irresistible, and as much as she wanted to hate him, the woman inside her wanted him more.
‘And now I’m all yours,’ he declared with the faintest of smiles.
She doubted that, and, for the sake of retaining her sanity, returned to studying his stylish robes. The keffiyeh was held in place by a rope-like agal made of tightly plaited gold thread that gave it the appearance of a crown. It could barely contain his wild hair, which was just as thick and black as she remembered, both from that night long ago, and from her forbidden dreams, when she had often run her fingers through those springing waves. Each time she woke when that happened, she was consumed by guilt.
How could she consider touching a member of the despised Khalifa family?
Just the thought made her angry. Yet here she was, standing in front of this same man with her body yearning for his touch.
‘I don’t have much time, Ms Dillinger,’ he informed her sharply.
‘And neither do I,’ she replied, lifting her chin.
Calm. She must remain calm, Millie thought as his eyes drilled into hers. After Saif’s profligate reign, she could understand that Sheikh Khalid was in a race against time to both put things right, and keep things right in his country. But that didn’t mean she had to cut him too much slack.
‘It’s been a long time, Millie,’ he said as if they were the best of friends. Of course, he had no reason to resent her. She’d kept out of his life, and got on with her own. ‘You’ve done well,’ he remarked. ‘Engineering, isn’t it?’
That shocked her. How much did he know about her?
The Sheikh of Khalifa would make it his business to know everything about the people he encountered, she reasoned. ‘Marine engineering,’ she confirmed in a tone that didn’t invite further questions.
‘You haven’t strayed far from King’s Dock.’
‘Why would I?’ snapped out of her before she had worked out whether he was stating a fact or asking a question. Either way, how and where she lived was none of his business. ‘I owe Miss Francine a debt of gratitude I can never hope to repay. And I love her,’ she added with some challenge in her tone.
Instead of taking offence, something mellowed in the Sheikh’s eyes and, turning, he asked, ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘Yes, please.’ She hadn’t realised how dry her throat had become, and was half expecting him to suggest she get it herself, or, failing that, he might ring a bell and have a steward bring it for her. It was a pleasant surprise when he pressed a panel on the wall behind his desk to reveal a comprehensive wet bar. He poured two glasses of water and, when he held hers out, their fingers brushed and she inhaled swiftly.
‘We need a lot more time than I can spare for you tonight,’ he said, appearing not to notice her response. ‘And I suggest you learn to relax and trust me.’
Trust him? Was he serious? They were a long way from that. Sheikh Khalid might be much older and more experienced, but she was not a fool, and would work on keeping a clear head. That was far more important than relaxing.
Try thinking clearly in front of all this darkly glittering glamour. How could she avoid noticing the sharp black stubble coating, not just his chin, but the thick column of his neck when he tipped his head back to drink. She could only imagine what he’d look like naked—
She had to stop that right now. Thoughts like that were dangerous and inappropriate.
‘A refill?’
‘Yes, please.’
Their fingers brushed a second time. He knew, she thought, and could sense her arousal as sweet clenches in secret places begged her to forget the past. It was almost a disappointment when he chose to put distance between them, by moving away to lean back against the wall.
‘Why are you frowning?’ he asked.
Was she? ‘This meeting has obviously come as a big shock for me.’
He shrugged disbelievingly. ‘And yet you must have volunteered to come on board with the laundry, and when I invited you to chat in my study, you accepted.’
She should have found a member of staff to question about that night. Why hadn’t she?
It was too late to wish she’d played this differently, Millie concluded. So, what now? How would it end? She shivered involuntarily. There was something in Sheikh Khalid’s eyes that stripped her bare, right down to the depths of her soul.
* * *
He had been forced to put distance between them. Millie’s allure was like an atomic charge to his senses. All he could think about was taking her over his desk...parting her legs and bringing her the release the hunger in her eyes said she so badly needed. Pressing her down beneath him, hearing her whimper with pleasure when he cupped her, worked her, before stripping her, so he could press his hard frame against her yielding softness—
He refused to submit to such carnal urges. Millie might be a beautiful woman, and the bond between them might have strengthened beyond belief, but the desire to protect her was intact. As was the desire to soften that stubborn mouth and turn her limbs languid with contentment. He was a stranger to hesitation and yet found himself contemplating a lengthy seduction, when what he should be doing was sending Millie back to the laundry without delay. It would be kinder for her. He must concentrate on choosing a bride, not a mistress.
But there was a yawning gulf between right and desire. ‘Please,’ he invited, indicating the chair opposite his at the desk. ‘Why don’t we both sit down and make the most of this short interview?’
* * *
Reluctantly, Millie sat down. I can handle this,she told herself firmly, but when the Sheikh sat across from her and steepled his lean, tanned fingers her mind was full of sex. She blamed the erotic images hanging on the wall in the gilded stateroom.
There was no one to blame but herself, and she’d feel worse if she didn’t confront him with the real reason she was here. ‘I want to know what happened that night,’ she said. ‘After I left the Sapphire, what happened?’
The Sheikh stared at her without speaking until all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickled. And then, instead of answering her question, he stood and came around the desk.
‘What makes you think I saw what happened?’ he demanded softly. ‘I could have heard about the accident second-hand.’
‘Accident?’ Bridling, Millie shot to her feet.
‘The coroner’s court agreed with that supposition,’ the Sheikh pointed out calmly, in no way rattled by her response.
‘And closed the case,’ she agreed, angrily clenching her fists. ‘Does that seem fair to you?’
‘I saw no reason to argue with the coroner’s verdict.’
‘I’m sure you didn’t,’ she said with a bitter laugh. ‘But even if you didn’t see what happened, I hope you’re not asking me to believe that you never once questioned your brother.’
‘We didn’t share the close relationship you seem to imagine.’
‘Even so, that’s no excuse.’
She couldn’t keep calm. She’d tried. And failed. This meeting could only play out as she’d planned if emotion could be kept out of it. And how could that happen now she’d plunged back into all the grief and guilt of learning about her mother’s death?
In danger of wasting questions, she was also in danger of wasting precious time, but what would it take for Sheikh Khalid to tell her the truth? She had to find a way to make him, though dredging up the past would be the last thing he’d want to do.
She resorted to pleading. ‘Can’t you tell me anything?’
‘Nothing you’d want to hear,’ he said.
‘Try me,’ she said tensely. ‘I know my mother had a problem with drink, and wasn’t always responsible for her actions—that’s why I asked you to go back and bring her out.’
‘And if she didn’t want to leave?’ he asked evenly, keeping her locked in his stare.
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