‘Khalim—’
She was close enough for him to feel the sweet warmth of her breath. Close enough for him to have coiled his fingers around the narrow indentation of her waist and to have pulled her to him, and kissed her.
Would she have resisted? He doubted it. No woman who had ever been kissed by him had failed to follow it up by tumbling into bed with him. But the timing was wrong. Why begin something only to have it end unsatisfactorily? If he made love to her now, then it would be a swift coupling in her bedroom—with no guarantee that the flatmate would not suddenly return. And Philip and the chauffeur sitting waiting downstairs in the car. That would do her reputation no good at all, he realised—shocked that it should matter to him.
‘Let’s go,’ he said, and moved away from her before his body picked up any more of her enticing signals.
The long black car soon picked up speed once they were out of the clutches of the city itself and heading towards Heathrow Airport.
Khalim, rather surprisingly, took out a laptop computer and sat tapping away at it for the entire journey, leaving Rose with little to do other than to pull out a book to read, which was at least a distraction from the unnerving presence of the man by her side.
She was reading Maraban—Land of Dreams and Contrasts, by Robert Cantle, a weighty book and, apparently, the definitive work on the country, which she’d bought on yesterday afternoon’s shopping trip. She’d expected to have to wade through it, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. It was, she thought to herself dreamily, absolutely fascinating.
Khalim glanced over at where she sat engrossed, and raised his dark brows.
‘Not exactly what you’d call light reading,’ he observed.
She heard the surprise in his voice. ‘You expected me to sit flicking through magazines, I suppose?’
‘Never suppose, Rose,’ he returned softly. ‘Never with me.’
In the confines of the luxurious car, his proximity overwhelmed her and she found herself edging a little further up the leather seat away from him. ‘I’m enjoying it,’ she told him solidly.
‘You do take your work seriously, don’t you?’ he commented drily.
She looked up and treated him to a cool stare. ‘Please don’t patronise me, Khalim. The more I know about Maraban, the better I am able to do my job.’
He smiled, and settled back to his screen, thinking that Rose Thomas was proving to be much, much more than a pretty face. A very pretty face.
His eyes flickered to where one shapely thigh was outlined beneath an ankle-length skirt in a filmy, pale blue material which matched the simple cashmere sweater she wore. She’d dressed appropriately, he thought with pleasure.
He’d had many Western lovers, but none who seemed to have such a genuine interest in his country. Plenty who had pretended to, he remembered. His mouth hardened. But they had been the matrimonally ambitious ones, and as easy to spot as the glittering sapphire—as big as a swan’s egg—which dominated the crown he would one day inherit.
He glanced out of the window, knowing that he would soon have to face the reality of his destiny. For that very morning had come news from Maraban that his father was frailer than before. Pain etched little lines on his brow as he acknowledged that the mantle of responsibility had slipped a little closer to his shoulders.
Would this be his last, delicious fling before it descended completely? he wondered.
Rose had never been on a private jet before and the interior of the Lear matched up to her wildest expectations. Most of the seats had been removed to provide a spacious interior, and two stewardesses were in attendance.
Very much in attendance, thought Rose grimly, suspecting that both had been chosen for their decorative qualities as much as for their undoubted efficiency. And both, like herself, were blonde—though these blondes had not had their colouring bestowed on them by nature.
Khalim introduced her to the pilot, who was obviously a fellow Marabanesh, and once they had effected a smooth take-off he turned to her, studying her mutinous expression with amusement.
‘Does something displease you, Rose? Is something wrong?’
She certainly wasn’t going to tell him that in her opinion the stewardesses could have done with wearing something which resembled a skirt, instead of a pelmet. She met his eyes, and once again her heart thundered in her ears. ‘Wrong?’ she managed, as smoothly as she could. ‘What on earth could be wrong, Khalim?’
He had hoped that she was jealous; he wanted her to be jealous.
In fact, he had slept with neither of the attendants, even though it would have taken nothing more than a careless snap of the fingers to do so. He suspected that the two women would have been game for almost anything—and that even a ménage a` trois would have been greeted with delight, instead of derision. But he would never have sullied himself with such a dalliance, even though he knew that many of his cousins enjoyed such debauchery.
‘Shall we eat something?’ he questioned as the taller of the stewardesses approached them.
She remembered what he had said to her in the restaurant. She’d never felt less like eating in her life, but to refuse would surely be an insult to his chef? ‘Yes, please.’
‘And we will drink mint tea,’ he instructed.
‘Sir.’ The stewardess inclined her blonde head respectfully.
The two attendants began laying out a feast on the low, circular table. Rose looked down at the engraved bronze plates, enjoying the colour and variety of the different foods which they held—tiny portions which pleased the eye and tempted the palate.
‘You like these things?’ asked Khalim as he offered her a tiny pancake stuffed with cheese and doused with syrup, resisting the urge to feed her, morsel by morsel, then have her lick his fingers clean.
‘I’ve never tried food like this before.’ She bit into it. ‘Mmm! It’s yummy!’
‘Yummy?’ He smiled as he observed her, enjoying the unconscious sensuality of watching her eat. ‘Then you have many pleasures in store, Rose,’ he told her, his voice deepening as he thought of the ultimate pleasure she would enjoy with him.
Something in his voice drove all thoughts of food clean out of her mind, and she lifted her head to find herself imprisoned in the black gleam of his eyes. She put the half-eaten pancake down with fingers which were threatening to shake.
He hadn’t touched a thing himself, she thought, as he chose just that moment to languidly stretch his long legs out, and the brush of the silk as it defined the muscular thrust of his thighs was positively indecent.
‘Something is troubling you, Rose?’ he murmured.
‘Nothing,’ she lied and directed her gaze to his chest instead, but that wasn’t much better. She found herself imagining what his torso would be like without its silken covering—hard and dark, she guessed, with the skin lightly gleaming like oiled satin. ‘N-nothing at all.’
He saw the swift rise of colour to her cheeks and the sudden darkening of her eyes. He could order everyone to clear the main salon now, he thought heatedly. And take her quickly before this hunger became much more intense.
But what if she cried aloud with pleasure? Sobbed her fulfilment in his arms as women inevitably did? Did he really want the two attendants exchanging glances as they listened at the door while he made hard, passionate love to her?
‘Eat some more,’ he urged huskily.
‘I…I’m full.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘Then I shall order for these plates to be removed—’
‘And then you’ll tell me all about Maraban’s oil refinery?’ she put in quickly, because at least that would take her mind off things. Him.
The oil refinery? He threw her a look of mocking bemusement as he leaned back against the cushions. Never had a woman surprised him quite so much as Rose Thomas and surprise was rare enough to be a novelty! ‘That is what you would like?’ he questioned gravely.
‘More than anything in the world!’ she agreed fervently, but the gleam of di
scernment in the black eyes told her that they both knew she was lying.
He spoke knowledgeably for almost an hour, while Rose butted in with intelligent questions. The first time she asked him something, he raised his eyebrows in a look which would have made most people freeze and then retreat.
‘I need to ask you these things,’ explained Rose patiently, reminding herself that maybe it wasn’t his fault that people usually hung on adoringly to every word he said.
‘Such pertinent questions,’ he conceded in a murmur.
‘There you go again, patronising me!’ she chided.
‘That was not my intention, I can assure you.’
She paused, unsure whether to frame the question she really wanted to ask, and then remonstrating with herself for an uncharacteristic lack of courage. ‘Khalim?’
His eyes narrowed, some instinct telling him that this was not another query about Maraban’s oil output. ‘Rose?’ he returned softly.
‘Just why did you want me to act as your head-hunter?’
He curved her a slow, almost cruel smile. ‘I had to have you.’
Rose froze. ‘You mean—’
He shook his head. ‘I was informed that you were the best head-hunter in town—I already told you that.’
‘Thank you.’
Her blue eyes shone a challenge at him and he found himself smiling in response. ‘You also asked me whether I had employed you so that I could seduce you.’
Some of her customary grit returned and she didn’t flinch beneath his mocking gaze. ‘But you neatly avoided answering me, didn’t you, Khalim?’
‘Did I?’
‘You know you did.’
He narrowed her a speculative glance, then shrugged. ‘I can’t deny that I find you beautiful, or that I want you in my bed, but—’
She sucked in a breath which was both shocked and yet profoundly excited. The men she knew just didn’t say things like that! ‘But what?’
‘Sleeping with me isn’t a prerequisite for landing the contract.’
‘But will I get a bonus if I do succumb to your charms?’ she asked flippantly.
Khalim’s face darkened and he very nearly pulled her to him to punish her with a kiss which would dare her to ever mock him so again. But he stopped himself in time; instead, he forced himself to imagine how sweet the victory would be after such a protracted battle!
‘Put it this way,’ he warned her silkily, ‘that as a man I will attempt to seduce you—no red-blooded Marabanesh would do otherwise.’ A slow, glittering look. ‘But you are perfectly within your rights to turn me down.’
Rose stared at him as she felt the irrevocable unfurling of desire, knowing that his words were iced with an implicit boast. That no woman Khalim attempted to lure to bed would ever be able to resist him.
And Rose had spent her life resisting men who saw her as just a trophy girlfriend, with her blonde hair and her bright blue eyes. Just you wait and see, Prince Khalim! she thought.
He was intrigued by the defiant little tilt of her chin, and his need for her grew. He controlled his desire with an effort and distracted himself by flicking another glance at his watch.
‘Do you want to look out of the window?’ he asked unsteadily. ‘We’re coming into Maraban.’
CHAPTER SIX
SUNLIGHT danced and shimmered across a wide expanse of water, and Rose was spellbound—enough to be impervious to the sudden build-up of tension which his silken words had produced.
‘Water!’ she exclaimed as the beauty of the scene below momentarily drove all her newly learned facts about the country straight out of her head. ‘But I thought—’
‘That you would be coming to a barren and desolate land with not a drop of water in sight?’ he chided. ‘That is the Caspian Sea, Rose, and the borders of Maraban lie on its Western shores.’
‘Oh, but it’s beautiful!’
‘You seem to think everything about Maraban is beautiful,’ he commented indulgently.
‘But it is!’
He thought how wonderfully uninhibited her appreciation was, and how her eyes sparkled like the blue waters of the Caspian itself.
‘Fasten your seat belt,’ he murmured gently. ‘The heat can sometimes make the landing turbulent.
But, in the event, their descent to Maraban was as smooth as honey, and as the plane taxied down the runway Rose could see a large number of men standing in line, all in flowing robes which fluttered in the small breeze created by the aircraft.
‘Gosh, it’s a deputation,’ she observed.
Khalim leaned across her and glanced out of the window, and her senses were invaded by the subtle persuasion of sandalwood.
‘I shall go out alone,’ he told her. ‘If you want to go and freshen up.’
‘So you don’t want to risk being seen with me, Khalim?’ she asked wryly. ‘Are you planning to smuggle me off the plane with a blanket over my head?
He wondered if she had any idea how privileged she was to accompany him in this way! If it had been anyone else, he would have flown them over separately. But he had not wanted to take the risk of her refusing to come…
‘I don’t imagine that you would wish to be subjected to the wild conjecture which your appearance would inevitably provoke.’ His tone was dry. ‘The less we announce your presence, the less tongues in the city will gossip.’
She got some idea then of how public his life had to be, and how rare the opportunity to play any of it out in private, and, in spite of everything, she felt her heart soften.
‘Yes, of course. I understand.’ She nodded. ‘I’ll go and freshen up as you suggested.’
He laughed. ‘Why, Rose—that’s the most docile I’ve ever heard you be!’
She put on a suitably meek expression. ‘And you like my docility do you, Oh, Prince?’
The breath caught in his throat and dried it to sawdust and his heart clenched inside his chest. ‘No. I like you fiery,’ he told her honestly. ‘You make a worthy combatant.’
Which pleased her far more than remarks about the colour of her hair or the sapphire glitter of her eyes. Her looks she’d been born with and were just the luck of the draw—her personality was a different matter. And if Khalim approved of certain facets of her nature…now, that really was a compliment!
Just don’t get carried away by compliments, she reminded herself.
She enjoyed the luxury of the aircraft’s bathroom, which contained the most heavenly sandalwood soap. Rose picked it up and sniffed it, her eyes closing for a moment. It smelt of him. She washed her hands and her face with it, and it was as though the essence of Khalim had seeped into her skin itself.
Stop it, she told herself as she brushed her hair and slicked on a little lipstick. You’re walking straight into his honeytrap.
She stepped back to survey the results in the mirror, thinking that at least she looked cool and unflappable. Only the slightly hectic glitter of her eyes betrayed the fact that inside she was churned up by conflicting emotions—and the most disturbing one of all was the fact that Khalim was beginning to grow on her.
Grow on her? Who did she think she was kidding? Why, it was as if he had taken up root inside her mind and managed to invade most of her waking thoughts. Whatever had she thought about before Khalim had entered her life?
After twenty minutes, he returned to the aircraft, by which time Philip had joined her in the main salon.
‘Rose and I will go in the second car with the bodyguard,’ said Khalim imperturbably. ‘Will you take the first car and prepare them at the palace for my arrival?’
‘Of course.’ Philip gave Rose a curious glance, before bowing to the prince.
‘Why does he look at me that way?’ asked Rose, after he had gone.
For a second he experienced a rare moment of indulgence. ‘What way is that, sweet Rose?’
‘You saw.’
Khalim sighed. Would the truth go to her head? Fool her into believing that her presence here had an ultra-special sign
ificance? Or a future?
‘Because you are the first woman I have ever brought here to Maraban,’ he admitted, on a growl.
She didn’t react. ‘Should I be flattered by that?’ she questioned drily.
He found her coolness utterly irresistible. Even though it was rather galling to be shown nothing in the way of gratitude! ‘I would not dare to presume it—not of you,’ he murmured. ‘Come, Rose—enough of this sparring—let me show you my country.’
The hot air hit her with a heated jolt, even though it was now September and Khalim informed her that the temperatures were already cooling down towards the icy winter which followed.
And the drive to the palace was a feast to the senses! Rose stared out of the limousine window with fascination at the scenes which unfolded before her. Maraban’s capital was absolutely heaving with people and there were cars and carts and camels all vying for space along the congested roads of the city. She could see dusty boxes of oranges, and live chickens in a cage.
The main thoroughfare had obviously been cleared for Khalim’s arrival, and she could see crowds jostling to catch a glimpse of the enigmatic profile through the smoked-glass window.
The palace was some way out from the main drag of the city, and Rose’s first sight of it was unforgettable. In the distance, tall mountains reared up in jagged peaks, and against the cloudless blue cobalt of the sky stood the palace itself—gleaming purest gold in the honeyed light of the afternoon sun.
Rose was silent and Khalim looked at her, taken aback by the rapture which had softened her features into dreamy wonder.
‘You like my home?’ he asked, knowing deep down that such a question was redundant.
It seemed unbelievable that such an extraordinary building could ever be described by the comfortable word ‘home’.
‘How could I not like it?’ she questioned simply.
Khalim’s mouth hardened. Was she really as guileless as she seemed? Or was she cynically aware that her eyes were like dazzling blue saucers when she spoke with such emotion, their light lancing straight to his very heart?
Surrender to the Sheikh (London's Most Eligible Playboys Book 2) Page 8