In The Sheikh's Service
Susan Stephens
Uncaging the lion of the desert…Sheikh Shazim Al Q’Aqabi is horrified to discover that the woman who will execute his late brother’s conservation dream is the exotic dancer he encountered in London!But Isla Sinclair’s feisty nature is like a cool glass of water in the desert to the un-challenged ruler. For his entire life, Shazim’s only mistress has been duty. Now he’s considering a far more pleasurable way to spend his nights under the desert stars.Yet acting on his desire for such an unsuitable woman would be tantamount to treason! Shazim will have to make the hardest decision of his life…
Taking hold of her shoulders, Shazim brought her in front of him. The fire he’d made to combat the chill of the desert night crackled on, while the moon beamed down benevolently. Everything was as it should be, but he still got the feeling that everything in his rigidly controlled life was about to change.
‘I think you’d rather be with me, in the tent,’ Isla whispered.
‘Have you learned nothing?’ he demanded, putting her away from him. Impatiently, he toed the cushions into place.
As she reached for him it became clear that she had not. And this time he’d call her bluff.
The air between them was electric as Shazim drew her deeper into his erotic net. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply and shakily as he dipped his head to lightly brush her lips with his. His kiss was like a question: did she want to carry on? Her answer was yes, most certainly.
This time she reached up and laced her fingers through his hair to keep him close. Her senses were full of him. He intoxicated her. He tasted of all things good. He smelled of woodsmoke and sandalwood, and the delicate balance between her fear of physical love and the growing sense that she was safe with him reached tipping point. Realistically, she was in the greatest danger of her life. Shazim’s destiny called him to greater things than a girl by a campfire in the desert. But she had no intention of spending the rest of her life wondering what a night with Shazim would be like.
Dear Reader (#ulink_62a5043c-34bc-5f0c-87a1-19feb06c93cb),
It’s hard to believe this is my 50th romance. I dreamed of writing one. I struggled to write one. My first book took me eighteen months to write. Honing my craft to the point where my story was ready took me two years—probably longer.
Books and stories provide friends to believe in and an introduction to many different, exciting worlds. At school, essay-writing was the lesson I looked forward to more than any other as I anticipated the moment when I would be able to share my dreams. When I began to write in earnest I collected a box of rejections—and threw them out, thinking I was finished with dreaming. How wrong could I be? The last rejection was from an editor at Mills & Boon, but she asked if I had anything else. It took a friend to point it out. What could I lose by submitting one more story?
One thing I’ve learned—one thing I can pass on to you—is never give up. It doesn’t matter what you’re striving for—keep at it. Learn from everything you get wrong, and put right what you can, then forge ahead. That last push might be the one that gets you where you want to be—and that’s when the hard work starts!
Writing is amazing, though frustrating at times, but the reward of friendship across the world—from readers, fellow authors and other publishing professionals—has been a blessing I could never have anticipated.
Thank you all for everything you give to me.
Susan
In the Sheikh’s Service
Susan Stephens
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SUSAN STEPHENS was a professional singer before meeting her husband on the Mediterranean island of Malta. In true Mills & Boon Modern Romance 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.
Thanks to the late Penny Jordan, and to Lucy Mukerjee, my first editor at Mills & Boon, for believing in me.
Contents
COVER (#u99d26bb0-067b-5ef0-a050-68c62bed47a8)
INTRODUCTION (#u83c79015-8f37-5f9f-9e91-c44232609fd5)
Dear Reader (#u5ebb42e9-dadf-5a66-bb79-6d078751c768)
TITLE PAGE (#uc30f8616-887b-567e-8bd7-a75c8f8149b5)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u72453e55-af73-5d77-bee8-70962aa5c369)
DEDICATION (#u093cc29a-2f40-5029-85be-fbb681531de5)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EPILOGUE
EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)
COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u7af9ecf5-6814-585b-87c5-94fbe85c6149)
A POLE-DANCING CLUB across from the Michelin-starred restaurant where he was dining with his ambassador was an unhappy coincidence. He should have known what to expect when his people booked the ambassador’s favourite table for dinner. This was Soho, London, England, where strip clubs coexisted happily with top-end eateries, but the ambassador was an old friend, and Shazim had fallen in with the old man’s wish to try something new. The downside was that the ambassador’s son had come along too.
Sitting still seemed beyond the edgy thirty-something. Girls dancing in the club across the road had grabbed his attention. It wasn’t just the guy’s blatant lack of good manners Shazim found appalling, but something more nagging at his senses. Whatever happened, he would not allow the ambassador’s son to harass the girls.
‘Have you finished eating?’ The ambassador’s son stared imploringly at him. ‘Can we look in across the road?’
He was like a puppy on a leash. Shazim had to grab a glass to steady it as he lurched away from the table in his hurry to leave the restaurant.
Shazim caught up with him at the door. His security guys hovered. With a look, he ordered his men to stand down.
‘Aren’t you a bit old for this?’ He angled his chin towards the rose-tinted windows of the club, where shadowy forms were undulating back and forth.
By this time the ambassador had joined them, and there was real danger of a scene. ‘Go with him, Shazim,’ the ambassador begged. ‘See that he doesn’t get into trouble, will you? Please? For me?’
Tasking one of his team to escort the elder statesman home, he thrust a bundle of notes into the maître d’s hand and followed the ambassador’s son out of the restaurant.
* * *
Oh, for goodness’ sake! This was ridiculous. Her friend Chrissie wasn’t exactly lacking in the bosom department, but Chrissie wasn’t exactly overabundant, either, Isla fretted as she attempted to squeeze her ample frontage into the microscopic bikini top.
If someone had asked Isla to name the very last thing on earth she liked to do, it would be to make herself look provocative in front of a room full of men—and there was every reason for that, but Chrissie was a good friend and Chrissie had a family emergency tonight.
The past couldn’t reach out and hurt her, Isla told herself firmly, not unless she allowed it to, and tonight it wouldn’t.
Her mother’s death eighteen months ago had left her shaken to the core, and what had happened directly after the funeral could still send her reeling, but tonight was Chrissie’s night, so she would get on with the job—if she could force her breasts into submission. Turning this way and that, she measured the risk factor of her breasts going one way while she went the other. Here was living proof that no one could squeeze a quart into a pint pot. Nor could they make a plain, stocky woman into a sugarplum fairy overnight. She was a down-to-earth mature student in the veterinary sciences department. Far from being the glamorous type, she usually had grime of unspeakable origins beneath her fingernails. On the plus side, the costume was gorgeous. She loved a bit of twinkle, and the bikini was a deep, rich pink, exquisitely decorated with glittering crystal beads and sequins. It would look fantastic on Chrissie, as it would on any woman with a normal figure, but on Isla’s super-sized, top-heavy figure?
It looked like a sparkling bandage wrapped around a bun.
One of the many jobs Isla had taken in order to pay her fees at the university was to lead a class of enthusiastic children in gymnastics at the university gym, but she wore a sports bra for that, not an unfit-for-purpose sequinned bikini. This was the first time she could remember having a flexible body and the ability to use it being both an advantage and a disadvantage. She would never have agreed to do this if Chrissie’s need hadn’t been greater than Isla’s fear of ever making it seem that she was trying to lead a man on. Once upon an ugly time, that accusation had been cruelly levelled at her, and it had left a lingering doubt.
She had to hope the apprehension she was feeling went away once she lost herself in practising her moves for the Christmas concert at the gym.
Get over yourself and get out there—
She swung around at a knock on the door.
‘Five minutes, please,’ a disembodied male voice informed her.
Five minutes? She’d need five hours to make this disaster fly! She took a last look in the mirror and wished her breasts would shrink.
‘I’ll be there,’ she called out, slipping on her high-heeled shoes with agitated fingers. She’d kick the heels off once she got started, but Chrissie had said first impressions were all-important to the audience, and she had no intention of letting Chrissie down.
* * *
There were certain things that came with ruling a country Shazim could do without. Tolerating the offspring of loyal subjects was one of them. Entering a pole-dancing club in order to prevent the ambassador’s son hitting on one of the girls was another. Most clubs ran a strict ‘no-touch’ policy, but the ambassador’s spawn was the type to do as he pleased and then hide behind diplomatic immunity.
As he negotiated the mass of men in the overheated club, he thought about his elder brother, and the strength it had taken him to wear the yoke of duty. There were a lot of things about being a king that held no appeal.
Shazim had not been trained to be a king, but the tragedy in the desert, for which he held himself responsible, had thrust him into the role, opening his eyes to a burden his brother had carried so lightly. Following his brother’s death, Shazim, the reckless brother, had become poacher turned gamekeeper, and there was no way he would allow shame to fall on his people’s heads because of the ambassador’s son.
‘Can I get you something, sir?’
He eyed the girl. Beautiful. Slender. But with a wary gaze beneath her glossy shell. ‘No. Nothing. Thank you.’ Removing the ambassador’s son from the club with the minimum of fuss was his only goal.
‘A seat, sir?’
He glanced at the second girl. Her eyes were as dead as those of the girl currently working the pole. ‘No, thank you.’ He continued to hone in on his target.
His work in London was crucial, and he would not allow some brash, overindulged diplomat’s son to get in the way of it by attracting adverse publicity. Creating a nature reserve where endangered species could breed safely in their natural habitat required specialist knowledge, and he had found all he could need at the nearby university where he was investing millions in research and new buildings in order to bring his late brother’s dream to reality.
Waving his security team away, he took the ambassador’s son by the arm. The man resisted him with a violent shake and a lot of cursing, but then, realising who he was swearing at, he went limp and began to stutter some excuse that Shazim had no interest in hearing. Ushering him away with a not so subtle warning, he sent him back to daddy with a flea in his ear.
He had intended to follow the ambassador’s son out of the club when something made him stop and look around at the stage where another girl was about to start dancing. She was different from the rest, if only because she was smiling. He felt irritated on her behalf when the man next to him commented, ‘She’s sensational. What a rack—’
There was no denying that the girl was attractive. She was full figured and proud of it. Her skin was honey pale and as smooth as silk, but it was her happy face that held him. She seemed lost in thought, but her uplifting aura was enough to hold every man in the club transfixed as she worked her body enthusiastically on the pole.
Leaning back against a pillar, he stayed to watch. She was skilful and sexy, with both flair and talent, but there was nothing vulgar about her. The men around him had stopped leering, and were staring at her more in wonder than in lust. In another setting, she could have put on the same performance for the Mothers’ Union, and would have held them in the palm of her hand.
With the spotlight firmly fixed on her, Isla was determined to put on the best show possible for Chrissie. There had been one brief disturbance. She had been in the middle of a complicated move—one of several she was trying out for the gym’s Christmas display—when someone was thrown out of the club. Chrissie had warned her this could happen, but had also reassured her that security was tight for the girls, so Isla had nothing to worry about.
At the gym Isla was always lost in her routine, but tonight her attention kept wandering, mainly because of the man who had come to lean against a pillar to stare at her. All the men were staring at her, but he was watching with particular intent.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about him. He was exotic-looking and powerfully built, but unthreatening, possibly because he possessed an unusual air of dignity and presence. Tall and dark, he was beautifully dressed. His crisp white shirt provided a striking contrast to his exquisitely tailored dark suit, and links that might have been black diamonds glittered at his cuffs. As he obviously wasn’t going anywhere she continued on with her routine.
She was safely back in her tiny dressing room when the knock came on the door. ‘Yes? Come in...’
She was halfway changed, with her jeans and boots on, and grabbed a robe to throw over her bra. She was expecting a visitor. One of the girls had promised to drop off Chrissie’s schedule for the next week.
‘Oh!’
Shooting out of her seat when she saw the man, she backed instinctively against the wall with fear lapping over her. It was an old fear, but no less severe for being a haunting memory from the past. One, thankfully failed, sexual assault had left Isla with an instinctive fear of men. That it had happened after her mother’s funeral when her emotions were strung out had made the fall-out all the keener. Dragging in a shaking breath, she reminded herself that security was only a shout away.
‘Forgive me if I startled you,’ the man who had been leaning against the pillar murmured in a deep, intriguingly accented voice. ‘They said I’d find you here.’
She calmed herself, telling herself rationally that every man wasn’t out to hurt her. She also had to think about Chrissie, who depended on this job. She wasn’t going to make a fuss unless she had to.
And, if she had to, she could shout louder than most.
‘Can I help you?’ she demanded in a tone that sounded scratchy and tense. The man seemed to take up most of the available space in the small room, so there was nowhere else for him to be but close. He was a stunning-looking individual, not that that made it any easier to be alone with him.
‘I wanted to apologise for the disturbance to your act.’ His dark stare remained steady on her face. ‘A man was ejected from the club while you were dancing. You’re very good at your work, and I wanted to say how sorry I am for the interruption.’
‘Thank you.’ Smiling thinly, she reached for the door handle to show him out.
‘May I give you a lift home?’
Her eyes widened in shock. ‘Oh, no, thank you. I catch the bus. But, thank you for the offer.’
‘You catch the bus alone at night?’ he demanded, frowning.
His reaction brought a faint smile to her lips. ‘Public transport in London is quite safe. The bus drops me at my door.’
‘I see.’
He was still frowning, giving her the sense that this was a man who was used to being obeyed.
He might be a devastatingly good-looking individual with an air of command and a custom-made suit, but she was an independent woman who could look after herself.
‘So. No lift?’ he queried, raising a brow as if he thought he could change her mind.
‘No lift,’ she confirmed. She had a keen sense of self-preservation. She always had her bus fare home, and she would be using it tonight.
‘Perhaps I’ll see you again,’ he suggested.
‘Perhaps,’ she agreed lightly. Taking a firmer hold of the door handle, she swung the door wide and stood aside.
‘Goodnight, Isla.’
Alarm bells rang. ‘You know my name?’
His firm mouth slanted. ‘The manager told me when I asked to speak to you.’
Isla’s brain cogs whirred. The manager would not allow a customer near a girl without a very good reason. So what was this man’s excuse? Making an apology for a disturbance at the club? She didn’t think so.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded, feeling unsettled, as well as slightly annoyed by this blatant breach of club protocol.
Her question seemed to amuse him. ‘My friends call me Shaz.’
‘Goodnight, Shaz,’ she said pointedly.
She remained outside the door, pressed against the wall, wanting to keep some distance between them. The fact that he had made enquiries about her had only added to her unease—that and his sheer, brutal machismo.
‘Goodnight, Isla.’
His eyes had turned warm and humorous, prompting her to soften enough to say, ‘I’m glad you enjoyed the show.’
Her body tingled when he gave her one last appraising look. She was relieved he was leaving, and yet almost regretful knowing they would never meet again. When he rested his hands lightly on her upper arm, she gasped out loud, but he wasn’t done with her yet. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against her cheek—first her right cheek and then the left.
Kissing on both cheeks was the usual greeting and leave-taking gesture in many countries across the world, she reminded herself as her heart went crazy, both with alarm, and something else.
Pulling herself together fast, she moved out of his way and stood stiffly to attention as he left. Her senses were in turmoil. Wherever life took her from here on in, the man in the club wouldn’t be easy to forget.
CHAPTER TWO (#u7af9ecf5-6814-585b-87c5-94fbe85c6149)
SINISTER HIGH-POWERED LAUNCHES announced the arrival of the Sheikh’s team. The lead launch was sleek and black, while smaller vessels swarmed like mosquitoes in attendance as they cut a foaming path up the River Thames. The vessels were all heading for the same pontoon, about a hundred or so yards from the café where Isla was working at one of several part-time jobs that helped to pay her tuition fees at the university.
‘Hey, Chrissie—come and look at this,’ she called out.
Staff and customers alike were held riveted by the sight of the fleet arriving. A sight like this was just what Chrissie needed to cheer her up. The family emergency had been resolved—sort of—but Chrissie was still worried to death about her father, who had been brought home by the police after being arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct. The only blessing was that last night had ended so well for both girls, with a better than expected pay-out from the club.
A mystery benefactor had left the extra money, the manager had explained to Isla, to make up for the disturbance at the club. She guessed it must have been the man who had introduced himself. The money couldn’t have come at a better time, as she had been able to hand it all over to Chrissie to pay her father’s fine.
That wasn’t the only good thing about last night, Isla recalled, touching her cheek. It was the first time in years she’d come into contact with a man who hadn’t given her the creeps, and this was especially odd, as the man last night had been a paean to masculinity.
It was just a kiss.
Yes, but it was a kiss she would never forget.
‘What’s up?’ Chrissie said, joining Isla at the window. ‘Oh, wow...’
Isla rubbed her sleeve across the heat-misted window so they could both get a better view of the powerboats as they slowed in preparation for docking. She was glad to see Chrissie looking more relaxed as they crushed up comfortably against each other. Just dealing with the fine had been some consolation, though the problem with Chrissie’s father was unlikely to go away.
Men were leaping ashore to secure the ropes on a pontoon as new as the fantastic new development springing up next door to the café. This was all part of the same Thames-side university campus being funded by His Serene Majesty, Sheikh Shazim bin Khalifa al Q’Aqabi, a legendary philanthropic figure in a world weary of shallow celebrity. At thirty-five, the Sheikh was not just one of the richest men in the world, but was also practically invisible to the media. His immense power and wealth allowed him to remain beneath the avid radar of celebrity, which made any sighting of him all the more exciting. The new buildings he was funding included a veterinary science department, which Isla was particularly excited about as she had recently won the most amazing prize for her research project into endangered species. The prize included a trip to the Sheikh’s desert kingdom of Q’Aqabi to see for herself his world-beating nature reserve. And to work there one day, she hoped.
‘Isla! Chrissie! Stop daydreaming and get back to work!’
Both girls jumped into action as their boss, Charlie, yelled at them. Prize winner or not, Isla was still impoverished after so many years of study. She had yet to secure her first position as a veterinary surgeon and, like many students, her finances were precariously balanced. If she lost even one of her part-time jobs her future career could be in jeopardy.
The activity at the pontoon proved addictive, and Isla glanced repeatedly out of the window as she worked. The uniformed crew had moored up, and rain had begun to pelt down as a party of men disembarked. Dressed disappointingly in traditional western work clothes, rather than the flowing robes of her imagination, they strode up the pontoon in arrow formation towards the building site.
‘Do you think the Sheikh’s at the head of them?’ Chrissie asked, breaking Isla’s spell as she leaned against her.
‘Who knows?’ Isla replied, studying the figure in the lead. He was too far away to see his features clearly, but there was something about him—
‘Isla—Chrissie,’ Charlie called out sharply, reminding both girls that there was work to be done. ‘Get that order for the Sheikh’s team together now!’
Flashing a willing smile in Charlie’s direction, Isla hurried to obey. The Sheikh’s office had called ahead to make sure that an order of coffee was delivered to site as soon as the Sheikh’s team arrived.
‘I don’t think he’s with them,’ she whispered to Chrissie as she squeezed past her friend behind the counter. ‘I expect he has more important things to do.’
‘More important than supervising the building of his new facility?’ Chrissie’s expressive mouth pressed down with amazement as she shrugged. ‘Seems to me, he should be here, if only to make sure his billions aren’t wasted on coffee.’
Isla laughed. ‘They won’t be wasted. The new vet school is going to be amazing. I’ve seen the plans in the university library.’ And it was Isla’s dream to be part of those plans. Endangered species were her passion, and she was aching to do what she could to help out. The thought that very soon she would be flying thousands of miles to the magical-sounding kingdom of Q’Aqabi to visit the Sheikh’s nature reserve still seemed like a fantasy too far—
‘Isla!’
‘Coming,’ she promised Charlie.
‘I’ll take it,’ she added to Chrissie, grabbing the cardboard tray that was waiting to be loaded with coffee.
‘Knowing your luck, the Sheikh will be there,’ Chrissie complained, pulling a comic face. ‘I can just see the drama unfolding now: the fast-food flirt and the autocratic Sheikh. That should be a fun ride, shouldn’t it?’
‘After last night?’ Isla grimaced. ‘I’m all for the quiet life. I don’t want any more hunter-gatherers pushing me over the threshold from safe to insanity.’
‘It wasn’t so bad,’ Chrissie pointed out. ‘You met a great guy—’
‘I said, I met a guy—’
‘Don’t tinker with the detail. Main thing is, we got paid a fortune.’
‘Danger money.’ Isla laughed, hiding the fact that it had taken more than Chrissie would ever know for her to shed her clothes in front of a room full of men. The fact that Isla’s brush with the sickening danger of a sexual assault had happened years ago had left her no less wary. ‘And I’m not a flirt. I’m just friendly,’ she teased before Chrissie could see the shadow of that memory in her eyes.
‘Whatever,’ Chrissie intoned with a wry look. ‘You get bigger tips than me, that’s all I know.’
‘Which I share,’ Isla reminded her friend with a laugh. ‘And, as for the Sheikh—I doubt we’ll ever see him. If he comes to cut the ribbon when his new building is opened, I’ll be surpri—’
‘Will you girls stop gossiping and get back to work?’ Charlie rapped impatiently.
Exchanging glances, both girls quickly returned to their duties. Chrissie busied herself with the orders on hand, while Isla reluctantly shoved all thoughts of the exciting projects and sheikhs to one side so she could concentrate on finishing the coffee order for the building site.
‘Isn’t your shift almost over?’ she asked Chrissie as they bustled past each other.
‘Yes, Mum,’ Chrissie teased with a wink. ‘But I’m happy to stay on while there’s a rush and you’re taking that outside. I can’t afford to lose this job.’
‘I can’t afford to lose any of my jobs,’ Isla agreed.
They shared a rueful grin. Juggling studies and holding down multiple jobs wasn’t easy for either girl, though, while Chrissie had the looks and figure to strut her stuff for loads of money at the pole-dancing club, Isla’s second job was working quietly in the university library. That was when she wasn’t working her third job, teaching basic gymnastics to keen youngsters in the gym. Not that she was complaining. She loved the quiet of the library, where she could snatch a study break along with her lunch, while the children in the after-school gym club kept her fit and motivated with their enthusiasm—
‘Isla!’
‘Yes, boss!’ Conscious that Charlie was watching her, she quickly loaded the last of the coffees. ‘The site order is ready to go.’
‘Then, get it out there before the coffee gets cold,’ Charlie grumbled, doing his best to look as if he’d just sucked on a lemon.
Glancing at the rain battering the windows, Isla grabbed her jacket and tugged it on. ‘Yes, boss—’
‘This is a coffee shop, not gossip central,’ Charlie grouched, deepening his frown as she walked past him.
She countered Charlie’s bad mood with one of her usual cheery smiles. ‘You know you love me, really.’
‘The only reason I employ you is for that smile,’ Charlie grudgingly admitted.
‘That man,’ Chrissie exploded. ‘Who does he think we are? Smiling puppets?’
‘Employees?’ Isla suggested with her usual good humour. ‘We need this job, Chrissie,’ she discreetly reminded her hot-headed friend.
‘You’re going to get soaked,’ Chrissie objected, brow wrinkling thunderously as she stared out of the window.
‘Yes,’ Isla agreed, ‘but, the sooner I get out there, the sooner I get back.’
‘Okay, Ms Capability—say hi to the Sheikh, if you see him.’
‘Like I’m going to get close.’
‘If he’s there he’ll have security surrounding him,’ Chrissie agreed. ‘Oh, well, you can still drop a few hints to his team that you’re a star student at the university, and you’ll be over in Q’Aqabi very soon, when you’ll be only too glad to offer your services—’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Isla acted shocked.
‘Okay, Miss Prim—you know what I’m talking about. Get out there before the coffee goes cold. And don’t forget to drop that hint,’ Chrissie called after her.
Was she wrong to hope that, if the Sheikh had chosen to visit his billion-dollar building site, the white-chocolate mocha with the extra caramel shot and a double squirt of cream wasn’t destined for him? Isla smiled as Charlie opened the door for her. A girl had to have her fantasies, and Isla’s involved real tough-guy sheikhs—impossibly handsome, riding imperious white stallions... The Sheikh would be clad in flowing robes, and he would live in a Bedouin tent that billowed gently in the warm desert breeze—
‘You’re lucky I don’t dock you girls’ dreaming time from your wages,’ Charlie rapped as she went past him. ‘If you don’t watch out, I’ll charge you for breakfast.’
Charlie was a kind old thing really, with a bark that was far worse than his bite. And no way was she going to lose out on breakfast, when it was her one decent meal of the day.
Head down, she speed-walked through the driving rain to the mud bath next door. There was no easy way to walk across a building site other than to do it as fast as she could without spilling the coffee.
‘Stop!’
She stopped dead and almost dropped the tray. She had reached a steel mesh gate manned by an unsmiling security guard, but, as the gate was open, she had walked straight through.
‘You’re not allowed on the site,’ the guard informed her brusquely.
‘But I have instructions to be here,’ she tried to explain.
‘No one is allowed on the site without protective clothing. And I have to check your identity—’
As the guard reached towards her she flinched. An instinctive reaction. Just one of the many leftover side effects from the attempted assault... It made her creep to have any man touch her, with the exception of Charlie, who was like a grumpy old uncle, and the man in the club last night—
‘I’ll take over here.’
She jerked alert as a second man spoke. Oh, no! Shoot me and bury me now. ‘It’s you,’ she said lamely, recognising the man from the club.
‘Quite a surprise,’ he agreed drily, and with maximum understatement. ‘I’ll see to this,’ he said, dismissing the guard.
The guard’s reaction was impressive. He practically stood to attention and saluted. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, taking a giant step back.
Before she had chance to say anything, two strong arms had snapped around her waist.
‘What are you doing?’ was about all she could manage as the air shot from her lungs. She had to concentrate on balancing the coffee as the giant of a man led her away. And, for the second time, strangely, there was no fear, no creeps, just quite a lot of affront that the people on the site were making it so hard for her to deliver coffee.
‘I’ll drop the tray if you don’t slow down.’
Not that it would do him any harm in his steel-capped boots. Gone were the black silk socks and highly polished shoes and in their place was a hard hat and a high-vis’ jacket. If he’d seemed big last night, he was positively enormous now. And he didn’t look the type to yowl if hot coffee should happen to land on his naked skin.
His naked skin...
Stop that now!
She had never known anything like it. Her mind was permanently closed to all thoughts of men’s physical attributes—or so she’d thought up to last night. And now she had enough to do, balancing a tray of red-hot coffee while keeping up with the man’s ground-eating stride. By the time they reached one of several mobile homes on the site, she was well and truly rattled, and when he angled his chin towards the door she stopped dead and refused to go a step further.
Reaching in front of her, he opened the door. Jerking his chin, he indicated that she should go first.
‘Everyone on the site has to wear proper clothing and carry a security pass,’ he explained. ‘Health and safety,’ he added brusquely.
She stalled, playing for time. She didn’t feel uncomfortable with him, as she had with other men, but going into a building where she would be alone with him was a step too far. ‘I’ve never encountered a problem before,’ she protested with some justification. ‘Like most of the people at the university, I use the building site as a cut-through when I’m walking between the campus and the café.’
‘That doesn’t make it right,’ he said flatly with a stare that ripped through her like a shot of adrenaline. Since he’d arrived, things had obviously been tightened up. She’d spread the word.
The sooner she left the coffee, the sooner she was out of here, but she couldn’t deny that the all-embracing warmth inside the mobile building was welcome. The man called Shaz had started rifling through a rail of high-vis’ jackets. Blowing on her hands, she wondered if he felt the cold. As part of the Sheikh’s team, she guessed he didn’t have to suffer it for too much of the year.
‘Here—try this one,’ he said, holding out a jacket.
Seeing her difficulty, he took the tray of coffee, brushing his hand against her frozen skin as he did so. ‘It should be better,’ he murmured, holding her gaze a disturbing beat too long. ‘This one is smaller.’
He put the tray down and then came back to help her out of her wet coat. This time his hand brushed her neck. She had just moved her wet hair out of the way, leaving her skin exposed. It was an accident, she told herself firmly. It had to be an accident.
Leaving her to fasten the jacket, he started work on her security pass.
‘Is there anything else you need?’ she asked politely.
He raised his head and stared at her. ‘Should there be anything else?’
The expression in his eyes pinned her. He was definitely interested—no doubt about it—and he was curious about her, which made her skin prickle. He had the most incredible eyes, and it wasn’t just the fact that they were dark, and heavily fringed with jet-black lashes—they were quite simply the most expressive eyes she’d ever seen...and right now, they were warming as he stared at her.
‘A pastry, perhaps?’ she suggested with a gulp.
With a faintly amused look, he turned back to his work. ‘I’ll need a photograph,’ he said, coming to stand between her and the door.
He fixed her printed image inside the pass. ‘You’ll need this next time you visit the site,’ he explained, pressing it into her hand. The brief moment of connection between them sent a sizzle up her arm.
Closing her hand around the pass, she stepped back. ‘It might not be me bringing out the coffee for you next time,’ she felt it only fair to point out.
‘It will be you,’ he stated. His face grew grim. ‘I have no intention of equipping every member of staff at the café with a pass and protective clothing.’
‘So I drew the lucky straw,’ she commented ruefully.
‘Seems so,’ he agreed. His expression softened minutely.
‘Thank you, anyway.’ She slung the lanyard holding the pass around her neck.
‘Wear it every time you visit the site,’ he said, standing up to tower over her.
‘I will.’ If she ever visited the site again. By now her curiosity was well and truly piqued. Who was he? He was obviously important enough to be in overall command of the site—an architect, perhaps, though his hands were a little rough for that. He was no stranger to manual work. She liked that idea. She had this irrational belief that a down-to-earth man would be safer and, though he certainly looked tough enough to handle a team of men, he didn’t strike her as a man who would ever resort to bullying tactics.
‘Thanks for the coffee,’ he said as she turned to go.
She flinched back, then realised that he was only stepping forward so he could reach out and turn her badge around, so her details were facing outwards.
He raised a brow at her overreaction. ‘Protective clothing,’ he reminded her. ‘Wear it every time you come to the site.’
Her heart thundered a tattoo at the instruction. She guessed he was the type of man who would be accustomed to provoking a reaction in susceptible females. It was just that she had never thought herself a susceptible female before. She was more the plain, forthright variety...
‘Boots might be a problem,’ he said, bringing her back down to earth with a bump.
‘I’m only walking through the mud, not laying bricks,’ she said, frowning as she followed his stare to her feet.
His expression instantly hardened, as if no one argued with him.
‘Honestly,’ she added, softening her comment with a smile, ‘I think you can safely forget about boots. And hats,’ she added as his stare switched to the row of yellow hard hats lined up on a shelf. ‘I’m sure there must be something in your rule book that allows visitors a certain leeway...?’
He turned to stare at her with real interest in his eyes—interest that sent shock waves rolling through her, but then he curved the suspicion of a smile as if his affront at her rebellion had turned to grudging admiration. ‘You do have tiny feet,’ he allowed, ‘and a lot of very long hair to fit comfortably beneath the hat.’ He paused a moment, while she got used to the idea that he had given her a pretty thorough once-over, and was remembering her long hair from the club last night, as it was currently screwed up in a work-appropriate do on top of her head. ‘Though the high-vis’ jacket will keep you warm if it’s raining when you come out here again.’
And he cared.
She shuddered in a breath as he took the sides of the jacket in both hands and settled it properly on her shoulders. It was as if he were touching her naked skin, rather than the heavy waterproof jacket. He was so careful with her, and yet his touch was firm and sure.
‘You are tiny,’ he said.
She frowned a little at that. No one in their right mind would call her tiny. Though, compared to him...
Her cheeks flushed red as he stood back. His gaze lingered on her face, and for a moment she didn’t know what to say or do. She sucked in a swift breath as he reached out to brush some damp straggles of hair from her face. She had not expected that and, for once in her life, found herself wishing she were beautiful. Usually she didn’t care one way or the other about her looks, or lack of them, but for once it would have been nice to have a man brush wet hair from her face because he wanted to take a better look at her, rather than simply keeping her hair out of her eyes. If she had been beautiful, maybe she could have progressed a fantasy into a moment of pure romance: the chance meeting, love at first sight, and with a man who wouldn’t be rough with her—
‘That’s it,’ he said with finality.
His sharp tone brought her back to reality. Checking the fastening on the jacket, she raised the hood, ready to step out into the rain.
‘Excellent,’ he approved in a tone that suggested he had also sprung back into work mode.
She had definitely overstayed her welcome. But as she hurried to the door she managed to trip over a table—or would have done if he hadn’t reached out whip-fast to catch her. She rested for a moment, startled in his arms, and only realised when he settled her back on her feet that she hadn’t felt threatened by him at all.
CHAPTER THREE (#u7af9ecf5-6814-585b-87c5-94fbe85c6149)
A GREY DAY in London had taken on a rosy hue, thanks to the unexpected reappearance of a woman who had intrigued him from the first moment he saw her. From pole-dancer to barista was quite a journey. Whether the rush of blood to Isla’s cheeks was awareness of him and how close they were standing, or pique that she had only been doing as his office had requested, delivering coffee, when he had ordered her off site for a breach of Health and Safety regs—
Health and Safety regs?
Was that why his hands had expertly skimmed her body? He already knew what lay beneath the bulky safety jacket. Her fuller figure was his ideal. The temptation to back her against the door and strip her down to last night’s curves was overwhelming—fortunately, there wasn’t time and he had more sense. The one thing that did amuse him was the thought that if Isla had known who he was, he doubted it would have made a jot of difference. This was not a woman to be wooed with status and wealth. She liked you or she didn’t. And right now, she didn’t.
‘Do you mind?’ she said, pushing him away.
That in itself was an intriguing first for him. For such a self-possessed woman—and he had to remind himself that this was the same woman who had conducted herself with such dignity in the undignified surroundings of the club—she was surprisingly jumpy, acting almost like an innocent now that they were one to one.
Yes. He’d stopped her falling; Isla allowed with an appropriate amount of gratitude as she brushed herself down. But, let’s not get carried away. He couldn’t hold onto her until her bones turned to jelly, and she had no more sense in her head than a moth flying into a flame. She flashed a warning stare—and had to acknowledge that he was a gentleman, as he’d let her go. And fate had dealt him a more than generous hand. Douse any other man in a rainstorm, and they would look like a drowned rat. Douse this man and he still looked spectacular. His thick black hair glistened with raindrops, while her hair was plastered to her face—and she probably had panda eyes from knuckling rainwater out of them.
‘Here, Isla...take it.’
She stared at the money in his hand.
‘It’s the least I can do,’ he insisted, thrusting a wad of notes towards her.
‘There’s no need for that. I’m just doing my job.’
The job you want to keep?
‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ she added. ‘If you would like to leave some money at the end of the week for everyone at the café to share, that would be great.’
What was she doing? Could she afford to turn down such a generous tip?
No. Absolutely not, but something felt wrong about accepting such a large tip from a man she hardly knew—and particularly from this man. It was too much, and after last night at the club when she suspected he had doubled Chrissie’s pay, she couldn’t take any more from him.
Cut him some slack, Isla’s inner voice intoned wearily. No doubt everyone who works for the fabulously wealthy Sheikh has more money than they know what to do with.
Maybe. But that wasn’t the point. A small show of gratitude was acceptable, but flashing a twenty? She wasn’t comfortable with that.
‘Thanks anyway...’ She shot him a thin smile and left it at that before braving the icy wind with the memory of his fleeting touches branded onto her mind.
Knocking mud off her boots, she walked with relief into the steamy heat of the busy café. It was good to be back on familiar ground. She felt safe from conflicting feelings here. The customers liked her and she liked them. Charlie said she invited confidences with her easy manner. The truth was Isla needed company as much as anyone else. Since losing her mother and paying off all their debts, she had lived alone in one room above a shop, and she loved the contrast of her busy life at the café. All that company and chat, with breakfast thrown in? What was not to love?
Customers that shook her up, like the man from the building site?
She should forget him. He’d probably be gone by tomorrow.
Forget him?
Maybe not, but she would do her best to keep her mind on the job.
The aromatic air inside the café made Isla’s mouth water. Charlie was a good cook and he fed his staff well. No wonder she was smiling, when she had such a great day to look forward to. Once she finished her shift here, she was due at the university gym. Gymnastics had been one of Isla’s childhood passions in the days before her father walked out and her mother got sick, and now she was grateful to make money out of her skill. She worked every hour she could to fulfil her mother’s dying wish and make her proud.
‘My shift is nearly over,’ Chrissie carolled happily as she joined Isla at the counter.
‘Mine too,’ Isla said with a grin.
After the gymnastics classes she could look forward to a long, peaceful evening. That might involve wearing every jumper she possessed with her feet drawn up as close as she dared to her three-bar electric fire, but at least she had a home to go to. A quick glance at Charlie to let him know that she was back was repaid by a hard stare. Understandably. She’d been gone a long time. But once Charlie took in her new outfit, he began to smile. Charlie wasn’t the only one. She was so wet, and it was so hot in the café that her clothes were starting to steam. Tipping Charlie a wry look, she explained what had kept her so long. ‘I’m to be the Sheikh’s team’s regular gofer. I think they’re going to need lots of coffee while they’re here.’
Charlie was pleased to hear it. ‘Well done for encouraging business.’
‘And look out for the Sheikh when you go back next time,’ Chrissie called out.
‘Of course I will,’ Isla teased Chrissie. Privately, Isla doubted that the Sheikh would be seen until His Royal Sereneness turned up to cut the ribbon on his new buildings and declare them open. In her imagination, the Sheikh of Q’Aqabi was as hard as nails, as rich as Croesus, and as tall, dark and sinister as could be—but compulsively enthralling, all the same.
Realistically, Isla reflected as she got back to her work, the Sheikh was probably shrivelled, pot-bellied, and grumpier than Charlie.
* * *
Young. Challenging. Proud. Interesting. But too innocent for him, and he didn’t have time to waste on challenges. Interesting? Isla was certainly interesting.
Would he pursue his interest in her further?
Stuffing the twenty away in the back pocket of his jeans, he stared after her. She was proud, and he got that. She’d been offended by money. How would she react if he offered more? Money could buy most things in his world...
But could it buy him everything he wanted?
He doubted that any amount of money could buy Isla. Her grey eyes had flashed fire when she’d seen the twenty. She’d no doubt guessed he was responsible for padding her wages last night. She was resourceful and adaptable. She was also an innocent who had trespassed unwittingly into his dark, sensual world. He wondered about her past experience with men. She was attractive, so there must have been some, though her air of innocence suggested that none had breached either the defences of her body or her heart. He should know better than to play games with a girl like that, but she attracted him. Mild on the outside, she reminded him of a volcano about to erupt, and he wanted to be there when that happened.
He found her beautiful, with that particular peach-like complexion so common in this part of the world. Her hair was rain-soaked, but he remembered it from the club, when it had been long and unruly, and had glittered gold beneath the lights. Her eyes were grey and expressive. Small and lush, she warmed him in a way he hadn’t been warmed in a long time, and her strength of character warned there would never be a dull moment. He liked that idea. As a mistress, she showed definite potential, but could he take her innocence and then discard her when he’d had enough?
A casual affair was unthinkable for him. He had everything to prove to his country. His reckless youth, and the tragedy that had detonated, would take a lifetime to repay. He would do nothing to rattle the sound foundations he was building in Q’Aqabi. His duty was to find a suitable bride. He did not have time to waste thinking about a new mistress. He must harden his heart to Isla, even as another part of him hardened in lust.
He summoned his colleagues in the hope that work would distract him, but, however many lectures he gave himself on the subject of forgetting Isla, he couldn’t help but anticipate the next coffee break, and another encounter with the spirited barista.
* * *
She didn’t go back to the building site. She came up with another plan. Coffee could be left with the security guard, and he could deliver it. Charlie readily agreed to this. They were so busy, he couldn’t spare his staff for any more lengthy visits.
The following day Chrissie took over for her, as Isla had to be at the library. She wasn’t exactly avoiding a certain person, but she wasn’t exactly courting trouble, either. She wasn’t used to handling such a compelling man, and she didn’t want to appear as if she was overly interested in him. She had the best of excuses. As the prize winner, she was expected to be on duty at the library when the Sheikh of Q’Aqabi finally arrived to tour the university facilities. The head librarian welcomed her with particular enthusiasm as Isla knew more than most about successful breeding programmes of endangered species, having majored in that subject on her course.
The Sheikh’s visit had provoked great excitement, and Isla was up earlier than usual getting ready for her duties at the library. She didn’t want to let anyone down.
Having tied her hair back neatly, she viewed her pale face in the mirror. She’d missed sparring with the tough guy from the building site, but today wasn’t a day for daydreams, but a day when she could do something to help repay the university that had been so good to her. Checking the lapels on her plain grey suit, she told herself firmly that her racing pulse had everything to do with finally meeting ‘the invisible Sheikh’, and nothing at all to do with the fact that she might have to cross the building site to get a coffee at some point in the day.
To give herself confidence, she slipped on her red high-heeled shoes. She loved them. They were a sale buy, and so unlike her, but what better day to wear them than today?
She wasn’t the only one who was excited, Isla discovered when she arrived at the library and the air of anticipation was infectious. It had transformed the customary silence of the hallowed halls into a tense and expectant waiting room.
The Sheikh of Q’Aqabi was pouring money into the university, and had donated several ancient manuscripts from his private collection. The head librarian explained that he would want to view them, and that was where Isla would step in.
She glanced at the entrance doors yet again. Whatever he looked like, the Sheikh was obviously a fascinating man. Closing her eyes, she drew a steadying breath. Being in the library usually soothed her, but not today. And then she heard a buzz of conversation, heralding the arrival of the vice chancellor and his party. She prepared herself for the sight of a sheikh dressed in flowing robes, and was quite disappointed when the tweedy academics arrived with a group of men in business suits.
But spearheading that group was—
She lurched to her feet, the scrape of her chair screeching through the silence.
Everyone turned to look at her. The man from the building site stared straight at her as if she were the only thing of interest in the entire, echoing space.
Why hadn’t he said?
Why was she so slow on the uptake?
She realised now that the man who had told her to call him Shaz was, in fact, His Serene Majesty, Sheikh Shazim bin Khalifa al Q’Aqabi, the major benefactor of the university, and her number one sparring partner.
And he was definitely not pot-bellied, or shrivelled, nor could his expression be called grumpy. Commanding, maybe. Faintly amused, definitely. And no wonder when he’d seen her in so many guises.
Maybe he’d known all along. Maybe he’d been playing games with her. His security team had surely supplied His Majesty with a full breakdown of everyone he was likely to meet on campus.
And now he was here in her library—the place she loved and felt safest and most at home in; the world of books, where adventures were safely contained within their pages—
There was nothing safe in His Majesty’s eyes.
She stood stiffly as he approached, glad that he couldn’t hear her heart beating.
‘Your Majesty...’ She couldn’t quite bring herself to curtsey.
‘No need to curtsey.’
Her head shot up, and they exchanged a look—challenge, repaid by challenge. She could see the burn of humour in his dark, luminous eyes. He’d known she wouldn’t curtsey—and not because her manners were lacking in any way, but because she was frozen to the spot with surprise, and every inch of her was tingling with awareness.
‘And here we have our very own Athena,’ the vice chancellor stated with enthusiasm, forcing Isla to break eye contact with the royal visitor.
She was standing to attention like a soldier on parade, she realised, trying to relax. She was never this tense. Forcing herself to look into His Majesty’s mocking eyes, she saw the flare of calculation in them as the vice chancellor continued to sing her praises.
‘Isla is our goddess of good order and wisdom, as well as strength and strategy,’ the vice chancellor continued, warming to his theme.
‘And warfare,’ the Sheikh added in an all too familiar husky tone with the faintest tug of a smile at one corner of his mouth. ‘Athena was also the goddess of warfare,’ he explained with a lift of his brow when Isla shot him a look.
‘You two know each other?’ The vice chancellor glanced with interest between the two of them.
‘We met on the building site,’ Isla explained, holding the Sheikh’s burning stare steadily. ‘I work at the café, Vice Chancellor, and I took out some coffee for His Majesty’s team, though I had no idea who he was at the time.’ Her stare sharpened on His Majesty’s amused eyes.
‘And would your manner have changed, if you had known?’ the ruler of Q’Aqabi enquired mildly.
She thought it better not to answer that.
‘Forgive me, Your Majesty,’ the vice chancellor interrupted, obviously keen to break the awkward silence. ‘Please allow me to formally present Isla Sinclair...’
For a second time, Isla dipped her head politely without sweeping the impressive giant standing in front of her a submissive curtsey.
‘You two may well be working together,’ the vice chancellor said with delight, oblivious to Isla’s sudden intake of breath. ‘Isla is our prize winner, Your Majesty, and, according to the conditions of your very generous gift, Isla will be travelling to Q’Aqabi as part of her prize.’
‘Oh, really,’ Shaz murmured as if this were news to him. ‘My people organised the contest, Vice Chancellor, but be assured that we will welcome you with open arms, Ms Sinclair.’
Isla stared at the hand that Shaz was holding out in formal greeting. She remembered the touch of that hand, and she wasn’t too keen on risking the thrill of it with an audience watching.
Muscle up! She was a serious-minded woman; a scientist, a veterinary surgeon—her hand had been all sorts of places. She certainly didn’t balk at shaking Shaz’s hand, even if she knew now that it had a title attached to it.
‘Your Majesty,’ she said crisply, giving him a firm handshake.
‘Shazim,’ he prompted, still holding onto her hand. ‘If we’re going to be working together we should at least be on first-name terms, Isla.’
‘Shazim,’ she repeated politely as shock waves travelled up and down her arm. She loved the sound of his name on her lips—and knew she had to pull herself together. But not just yet...
They were still hand-locked when the vice chancellor coughed discreetly to distract them. Quickly removing her hand from Shazim’s grasp, she linked her hands safely behind her back.
‘Ms Sinclair thrives on challenge,’ the vice chancellor offered with enthusiasm, which didn’t exactly help the situation.
‘You have some interesting students, Vice Chancellor,’ His Majesty commented. ‘I’m impressed by how hard some of them, like Isla, work to pay their fees. We must talk more about grants and endowments, so that everyone who wants to can enjoy the benefit of an education here.’
‘Whatever you think,’ the vice chancellor agreed, flashing a grateful glance at Isla. ‘I know Ms Sinclair works harder than most. Apart from her day jobs, Isla holds a gym class in the evenings for the children of parents who work or study here.’
‘A gym class?’ Shazim’s eyes were alive with laughter as he stared down at her, though his face remained commendably still. ‘You must need to be supple and fit for that, I imagine, Ms Sinclair?’
‘First names, please,’ she implored sweetly with a warning flash in her glance. She didn’t want to spend the next half an hour trying to reassure the vice chancellor about her pole-dancing exploits at the club.
‘Isla runs from praise like a gazelle from a lion,’ the vice chancellor praised her with a smile.
‘A fitting comparison, Vice Chancellor,’ Shazim agreed, flashing her one final mocking look before moving on.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_62a5043c-34bc-5f0c-87a1-19feb06c93cb)
IT HADN’T ESCAPED Isla’s attention that His Serene Majesty was also known as the Lion of the Desert, but she was no gazelle. She was more of a doughty old warhorse, tough and thick-skinned—
A warhorse?
She was more like a mole blundering blindly about on the fringes of a royal world she knew nothing about, Isla reflected with a frown as she sank down with relief at her desk as the vice chancellor and the royal party moved on. Winning the prize of a trip to Q’Aqabi was the opportunity of a lifetime. She still couldn’t quite believe that she’d been chosen. She’d worked so hard, but had always known that it wasn’t a guarantee. The opportunity meant everything to her, and she couldn’t afford to be distracted by her attraction to Shazim. She had to concentrate on preparing to be plunged into the desert, a world that would test her like no other. She knew it bore no relation to her fantasies, and she welcomed the hardship and danger. She had never been under any illusion where her work was concerned. Working with animals wrenched her emotions this way and that, and Shazim’s project would demand every bit of skill she possessed. But if she could do anything to help, she would gladly devote her life to it.
It was hardly likely that they would work together, Isla reassured herself. The Sheikh of Q’Aqabi must have royal duties by the score—
She sprang to her feet as the official party came into view again.
‘Coffee time,’ the vice chancellor carolled with enthusiasm, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
‘You will excuse me, Vice Chancellor, I hope?’ His Majesty intoned graciously. ‘I have a wish to see my manuscripts.’
Isla’s heart beat like crazy as Shazim stared at her. He must know that she had been detailed to show him the exhibits.
The tiniest adjustment to Shazim’s glance was enough to turn his congenial exchange with the vice chancellor into something very different for her. He could seduce her with a look—if she were a different woman. Though she was surprised that the Lion of the Desert was interested in her at all.
‘Of course Isla must accompany you,’ the vice chancellor enthused. ‘You couldn’t have anyone better to accompany you, Your Majesty. I have it on good authority from the head librarian here that Isla brings order to our questing minds.’
‘Indeed?’ Shazim queried, staring at her with veiled amusement.
‘By which our vice chancellor means that I keep the catalogue here in good order,’ Isla explained primly.
Shazim’s eyes sparkled with humour as he dipped his head with approval. ‘I look forward to learning more about how you maintain such an ordered catalogue.’
As Isla led the way he noticed with interest the sassy heels. Everything about Isla Sinclair intrigued him. More than ever he got the sense of the ice maiden with a molten core. It was that heat that made him want to take her to the furthest reaches of the library, to the shadowy, dusty nooks, where no one ever strayed—
‘Your Majesty?’ she prompted him. ‘The tour?’
‘Of course. Please, lead on...’ He had become distracted watching her walk away. The high heels made her hips sway rhythmically, while her buttocks strained the seam of her skirt. Discovering that Isla was the prize winner was the worst outcome possible. A short affair could be managed discreetly, but she was coming to Q’Aqabi, not just to tour the nature reserve and veterinary facilities as part of her prize, but to offer her expertise and work there for a while. Under those circumstances, there could be no affair, short or otherwise.
‘And here we have the illuminated manuscript of the Canticle of...’
He wasn’t listening. He knew everything there was to know about the manuscript. Isla could have been spinning him any old yarn, and he’d still be enthralled. His good intentions where restraint was concerned were under pressure already. They were alone in this part of the library, the academic party having moved onto the room where refreshments had been set out. Isla was doing everything she was supposed to, with apparently no personal interest in him. She appeared so contained, when he knew that nothing could be further from the truth. She wasn’t docile or tame. Isla was like one of his wild animals, free and spirited. She was ambitious too, and just as driven to succeed as he was. His ambition to be everything he could be to his people to make up for past sins had an obvious cause, but what was driving Isla?
His gaze strayed to her shoes. There was more than a hint of the rebel about her, and he wondered how that would translate in bed.
‘I’ve got a better idea,’ he said when she paused in front of a glass cabinet housing another of his priceless illuminated manuscripts.
‘Oh?” said, turning with a frown.
‘Have dinner with me tonight.’
‘What?’ She looked at him as if dinner were another word for sex. ‘Oh, no, I don’t think—’
His suggestion had thrown her. For the first time she was flustered. Her cheeks were red and her breathing sped up. He guessed she wanted to have dinner with him, wanted to spend time with him, but didn’t want to do anything to threaten the practical opportunities he could offer Isla in terms of her career.
‘I would like to discuss the new veterinary school with you,’ he said, making it hard for her to refuse.
‘With me?’ She touched her chest with surprise, then turned instantly suspicious.
‘I would appreciate hearing a recent student’s forthright point of view. You would be forthright with me, wouldn’t you, Isla?’
‘Of course, but—’ Her intelligent grey gaze sharpened on his.
‘Then, shall we say eight o’clock? I’ll have my driver pick you up—’
‘But you don’t know—’
‘Where you live?’ Angling his chin, he smiled into her eyes.
‘You had me followed?’
He cancelled out her affront with a glance. ‘The vice chancellor supplied your address, along with all other information I might need, so my people could get in touch with the prize winner to arrange transport to Q’Aqabi.’
‘Of course,’ she agreed, biting down on the swell of her lip as she thought about this.
While Isla settled her mind, he wrestled with ideas that had never concerned him before. Discreet arrangements could be made when he wanted a woman in his bed, with mutual agreement the only condition. But when Isla was in Q’Aqabi where he had duties and responsibilities, he could not please himself. He was pledged to his country, and, if he had judged Isla right, she would want more than a brief affair, and that was something he could never give her. Would things change when they reached the desert? Would he make an exception this one time and mix business with pleasure? Would Isla be prepared to pay the price for that pleasure, or would it break her when he sent her away?
And maybe him?
No woman had the power to do that.
His senses sharpened as Isla drew a tense breath and shook her head. ‘I’m afraid dinner tonight isn’t possible.’
‘You have a prior engagement?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted, meeting his gaze with candour, ‘with my studies.’
‘But that’s what I want to talk to you about. I know your career hopes are pinned on specialising in the preservation of endangered species—’
‘Not hopes. I will specialise,’ she corrected him with a verve he could only admire.
‘There is nowhere better than Q’Aqabi for you to pursue your work. We have species on the verge of extinction, and a programme specifically designed to save these animals.’
‘Are you offering me a job before I even arrive in the country?’
Her look was both a challenge and a provocation.
‘I think I’d better try you out first, to see how you shape up.’
She met his amused stare with distinct lack of humour and a lift of her brow, as if to ask if they were still talking about her career prospects.
The project meant the world to him, and he turned serious as he decided that if Isla was as good as they said she was, she would get the job.
‘The team that will be working on my new nature reserve has not been finalised yet, but your up-to-date knowledge and your obvious devotion to your work puts you in a very good position.’
She visibly relaxed, making him wonder again about her past experience with men. When it came to her love of animals, Isla couldn’t be shaken, but when it came to flirting with him, it was always one step forward and two steps back.
‘You want to have dinner with me,’ she confirmed with a frown. ‘And this is so we can discuss your nature reserve and the new veterinary school?’
‘Amongst other topics,’ he agreed. ‘I’m sure we won’t be short of things to talk about.’
‘I hope I don’t let you down...’
Even he couldn’t be sure, as Isla grew thoughtful, if she was talking about her appeal to him as a person, or as a vet. One thing was certain, he had waited long enough for her answer. ‘Do you accept my dinner invitation, or not?’
Her eyes briefly flared, but she had more sense than to take him on. She would not risk antagonising him, when visiting Q’Aqabi was everything she longed for, and had worked so hard to achieve.
‘What’s your answer, Isla?’
Lifting her chin, she met his stare candidly. ‘Thank you, Your Majesty. Yes. I will have dinner with you.’
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_62a5043c-34bc-5f0c-87a1-19feb06c93cb)
HE WAS JUST relaxing into victory, believing Isla had not only agreed to have dinner with him, but quite a lot more, when she added three crushing words: ‘But not tonight.’
‘When, then?’ he demanded curtly.
‘In Q’Aqabi,’ she said, delivering her final surprise. ‘I’ll have dinner with you in Q’Aqabi, when we have worthwhile things to share. I’d only bore you to death otherwise.’
Nothing could be further from the truth.
‘Your audacity in refusing the invitation of the man who has donated this prize you care so much about is—’
‘Breathtaking?’ she agreed, nodding her head. ‘Yes, I suppose it must seem that way, but, you see, this course means everything to me.’
‘So blackmailing me is your way of showing this?’
‘I’m just asking for a chance,’ she argued passionately. ‘I’m asking for a role in your project—a real role. I’m begging, actually. I can’t afford to be proud when this is all I’ve ever wanted. And I know I can help you. I’ve learned all the latest techniques, and I’m certain I can add value to your plans. I’m already excited—’
‘Aren’t you taking rather a lot for granted?’ he interrupted.
‘Am I?’
Despair showed in her eyes. He had no intention of withdrawing the prize. According to the vice chancellor, Isla had been an outstanding student, and he didn’t doubt she had a lot to offer. Her only downfall was that beneath that cool exterior, she was headstrong and passionate—
Wasn’t that what he liked about her?
Everything in his life was predictable and rigidly controlled—by him. Isla had turned everything on its head. And she had other admirable qualities. His most recent information said she had been forced to suspend her studies in order to nurse her sick mother, and when her mother died Isla had moved heaven and earth to find the money to get back on the course. She was undoubtedly a force to be reckoned with, and in time might prove a real asset to his project. She would certainly be an asset in his bed.
He had never concluded a bargain quite like this before. Women wanted his money, his power and his influence. They wanted to share his bed. They wanted good sex and a trophy lover. Isla wanted his permission to work the hardest shift on earth in the desert alongside his veterinary rangers. For once in his life, he couldn’t be sure if she wanted that more than anything else, but he looked forward to finding out.
‘Perhaps you should listen to my terms before you get too excited,’ he suggested.
‘Your terms?’ She was instantly wary.
‘You will be going to the desert, which is not the place you imagine.’ When her face fell, he added, ‘It is far, far more beautiful. But it can also be a hellhole,’ he warned, his face growing grim as hers grew rapt. ‘Paradise one moment, it can be transformed in a matter of minutes into the most dangerous place on earth, and you, as an expert in your field, must learn the ways of the desert, and how to survive it.’
‘I’m up to it,’ she stated firmly.
‘You will be shown everything you need to know. If you don’t prove your worth, you will leave.’
‘Will you be there?’
He guessed she had spoken without thinking, as her cheeks were now burning red. But would he be in the desert? Would he retrace that reckless youth’s footsteps to the site of the tragedy?
‘Prove to me that you are the most willing and able of all my recruits, and you can stay on in Q’Aqabi and work with my other willing recruits,’ he said, moving past the question.
As she gulped convulsively, he guessed that Isla’s hidden fiery depths encouraged her to picture harems stuffed to the brim with his willing recruits. ‘You are the most promising of all the students here,’ he said, to put a balm on her vivid imagination, ‘or you wouldn’t be getting this chance. If your theoretical studies are matched by your practical application of them—’
‘Oh!’ she said before he even had chance to finish. ‘Thank you—thank you!’
It was as if all her tension had released at once, and as she took a step forward she looked for an instant as if she was going to fling her arms around him and hug him tight. Fortunately for them both, she curbed the impulse, and remained instead vibrating with excitement in front of him. Physical contact that wasn’t initiated by him was alien in the world he inhabited. He had never known affection as a child, having been brought up in a nursery of royal offspring from several wives. His brother had tried to make up for the lack of parental love by being more like a father to him, but his brother had been dead for many years.
He found himself relaxing, even smiling at Isla. Her unselfconscious show of gratitude had touched him more than he’d realised. It had also aroused him.
‘Please forgive me, Your Majesty—’
They both turned as the vice chancellor spoke. Shazim couldn’t be sure how long the party of academics had been back, but he guessed long enough to see Isla move as if to hug him, as his elderly host was staring at him with concern, no doubt wondering if she had breached royal protocol, and possibly damaged the excellent relationship between Q’Aqabi and the university.
‘I hesitate to remind you about our busy schedule,’ the vice chancellor ventured, anxiety ringing in his voice.
He quickly reassured the older man. ‘You’re quite right, Vice Chancellor, and I apologise for taking up so much of Ms Sinclair’s valuable time, but she has been a font of information, and a fascinating companion with a novel take on so many things.’
‘On that we are agreed,’ the vice chancellor told him warmly, his relief clearly visible.
Isla carefully avoided looking at him when the vice chancellor said this.
‘She has the highest marks ever recorded,’ the vice chancellor added in a conspiratorial stage whisper. ‘You couldn’t have anyone better on the team.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ he said mildly, raising his brow a fraction as he turned to look at Isla—who clearly wasn’t sure whether she should smile or remain expressionless beneath the barrage of praise, but at least she didn’t simper.
‘I won’t let you or the university down,’ she told them both with feeling.
‘I know you won’t, my dear. Your Majesty...’ Standing back to allow him to go first, the vice chancellor indicated that it was time for them to join the rest of the official party.
‘I’ll see you in Q’Aqabi, Ms Sinclair,’ he murmured.
His senses stirred as Isla lowered her gaze. When she bit her lip, he wondered if she was reflecting on what exactly she had just talked herself into.
* * *
She was in trouble and sinking fast, Isla reflected later, swirling a sweetener into the coffee on her desk. Not that she had changed her mind about going to Q’Aqabi. She’d worked her socks off to even get a sniff at the prize. Shazim’s offer of a possible job after her visit to his country was like all her best dreams coming true at once. And she would prove herself, whatever it took. Her only question was, could she work with him? Could she see Shazim every day, and not be distracted by thoughts that had no connection with the project that meant so much to both of them?
Look at it this way—you’re a newly qualified vet with grime beneath your fingernails, while Shazim is an all-powerful sheikh with more sex appeal than there are grains of sand in his desert.
They weren’t just incompatible, they were quite literally worlds apart. Shazim hadn’t answered her question about whether he would be in the desert at the same time she was, but she doubted it somehow. He’d have many other things to do. Of course she wished he would be the one to show her the hidden secrets of the desert. She couldn’t ask for anything more than to see the dangerous wilderness through his eyes. But that sensual world of billowing Bedouin tents, and endless passion beneath the stars on the shores of some tranquil oasis with only the sound of the night hawk to disturb them, was just a fantasy, as he had reminded her, and had no bearing on what she was likely to see.
But if she did see anything like that...and if she did spend some time alone in the desert with Shazim...
That wasn’t going to happen, but if it did, and if by some incredible chance she learned to trust again and they had an affair, heartache in exchange for all of that didn’t seem too bad a deal—at least, not from this safe distance.
* * *
Isla’s arrival at Q’Aqabi International Airport on a commercial jet was a disappointment. Not because the airport was short of anything, but because it had too much of everything. It was the slickest, most efficient, most opulent and impressive airport terminal Isla had ever been through, when she had hoped for a little romance, and perhaps some mystery and magic.
And there was no sign of Shazim.
Of course there was no sign of Shazim. His Majesty had left London long before her, on his private jet the size of a super-airliner, according to the brief news feature she’d watched, detailing the Sheikh of Q’Aqabi’s benevolence towards the university. Did she expect the ruler of the country to roll out the red carpet for one newly qualified vet and her mound of unattractive-looking baggage?
No, but maybe she had expected to detect the hint of sandalwood on the air, and perhaps a few grains of sand on the pristine white marble floor—
And camels instead of cabs?
Get real. This was twenty-first-century oil money, polished to the highest sheen. There was a lake of black gold beneath her feet, and a nature reserve somewhere deep in the desert, waiting for her to start work.
‘Welcome to Q’Aqabi, Ms Sinclair—’
She whirled around to see a young woman around her own age with the friendliest dark, almond-shaped eyes.
‘His Majesty has asked me to meet you and show you to the palace...’
The palace?
‘My name is Miriam, but my friends call me Millie,’ the girl explained.
‘Pleased to meet you, Millie.’ The two girls smiled as they shook hands. ‘I thought I would be staying in a hotel?’
‘His Majesty thought that you, as the prize winner, should have the honour of staying at the royal palace.’
Near Shazim? Her heart sank at the reality of being close to him. Dreams were one thing, but this was all too real.
‘That’s very kind of His Majesty,’ she made herself say.
‘He is very kind. Our King is the best of men,’ Millie assured her, stirring Isla’s curiosity as to how Shazim’s countrymen saw him. ‘And you’ll soon be in the desert,’ Miriam added, sensing something of Isla’s disappointment that she wouldn’t be going straight to the reserve. ‘Though I expect you’re looking forward to the award ceremony tonight.’
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