Christmas Bride For The Sheikh

‘I know.’

‘I mean I came to Dion’s in the hope...’ Her words were coming out wrong, Flo knew that, but she just didn’t know how best to tell him. So she simply did. ‘I knew that you’d be here.’

The towel stopped in mid-stroke of his thigh.

‘Meaning?’ he said, and then gave a derisive laugh. ‘You know who I am.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Did you get your photo of me?’

‘Hazin!’

‘Or are you off to sell your story now?’

‘Please listen—’

‘No, you listen.’ He pulled on his clothes with some difficulty for the angry words had fired him, and as he attempted to tuck himself in, words hissed out through his teeth. ‘Do what you want. I don’t care...’

‘I’m a friend of Maggie’s.’

‘Who?’

‘The woman you met on the yacht...’

‘You mean the one who bribed me?’

‘No.’ Flo knelt up on the bed, shaking her head, and then she pulled the sheet up to cover her for everything had vanished in a heartbeat—the intimacy, the carefree nakedness, the laughter, all that they had so recently found swept away by her careless words.

‘Hazin...’ She took a breath, and though her mouth was open she did not know what to say.

Clearly Maggie had stayed away last night for a reason. Perhaps she had changed her mind about telling Ilyas that she was carrying his child?

And now certainly wasn’t the time or place to tell Hazin!

‘Get out,’ he said, and his voice whipped the tense air.

‘Hazin, what happened last night had nothing to do with Maggie. I didn’t come to the bar intending to sleep with you.’

He was too used to this, Hazin thought as he marched through to the lounge and retrieved her underwear and dress that they had so happily disposed of last night. He walked back to the bedroom and tossed them to her on the bed.

‘Get out!’ he said again.

But then he changed his mind, for he could not wait however long it would take her to dress for Flo to be gone. ‘Actually, I’m going to go,’ he told her. ‘I want you out of here by the time I get back. If you’re not, I’ll ask Security to have you removed.’

She knew how effective his security was.

He grabbed his wallet and phone and pocketed his keys.

‘Stay for breakfast at least,’ he sneered. ‘You certainly earned it.’

* * *

Hazin kicked at the kerb as he walked down the street.

It was grey, raining and cold.

His phone kept ringing and he was in no mood to talk to anyone. It couldn’t be Flo because they hadn’t exchanged numbers yet pulled it out to check.

It was Ilyas.

Ilyas was persistent and Hazin was in just the mood for a row.

‘What the hell happened to you last night?’ Hazin shouted by way of greeting when he took the call.

‘We need to speak.’

‘Well, had you turned up as arranged we would have.’

‘Hazin, this is important.’

* * *

They met at a café and drank strong coffee.

Hazin could feel his brother’s eyes sweep over his neck and the bite mark Flo had left. ‘I don’t need another lecture.’

‘I’m not here to lecture you,’ Ilyas said.

‘And I don’t need to be reminded that the yachts and jets will be pulled. I can afford to pay for my own.’

Hazin was not idle.

After Petra’s death he had returned to England with the intention to further his education and attend university, as had always been his aim. He hadn’t been able to focus, though, so had started to dabble in property.

Whatever Hazin dabbled in did well.

He did not need Royal privilege to survive; in fact, without it Hazin thrived. Yes, he had been given an amazing start but he had a good eye and even if he had been born to a beggar he still would have done well.

His parents knew it and loathed that fact.

‘Hazin,’ Ilyas said, ‘I have already told you that I am not here to lecture you. I have something important to tell you—yesterday I spoke with our father in front of the Palace elders and I told him that things are changing—’

‘They will never change.’ Hazin dismissed the notion. ‘Not while he is King.’

‘I have told him that there are to be no decisions made without my approval and that there is to be a transition of power to me.’

Now Hazin looked up. ‘He would never agree to that.’