Bound By The Sultan's Baby

He said it as fact.

He was right.

Alim had thought he had the solution.

Right now, he could be wrapping the conversation up with the offer that Gabi come and work for him.

It was rather more complicated now, though, and not just because she liked him. Alim was very used to that.

It was that he liked her.

He acknowledged it then. Just a little, he assured himself.

But, yes, for two years the hotel had seemed warmer when Gabi was here. For two years he had smiled to himself as she clipped across the foyer in those awful heels, or muttered a swear word now and then under her breath.

He had never allowed himself to acknowledge her beauty but he could not deny it now.

She looked stunning.

Her hair was falling from its confines, her dress shimmered over her curves and how the hell had he not swept her into his arms to dance? Alim pondered. But the answer, though he denied it, was becoming clearer the longer they spoke—he had been resisting her for a long time.

The other week his mood had not been great.

Christmas was always busy in the hotel industry but it wasn’t just that that had accounted for his dark mood.

Issues back home were becoming more pressing.

But it wasn’t that either.

There had been a vague air of discontent that he could not place, though admittedly he had avoided seeking its source.

Alim had not wanted to give voice to it.

So he hadn’t.

Outside work he had been his usual reprobate self, but some time between Christmas and New Year he had walked into the foyer of the Grande Lucia and seen that Fleur had taken him up on his suggestion that they use Matrimoni di Bernadetta to plan the wedding. They hadn’t held a wedding here in a very long while and Alim had found that he missed Gabi’s presence. The air felt different when she was around.

He fought to bring his thoughts back to work.

‘What would you do differently from Bernadetta?’

Gabi frowned, for it felt like an interview, but she answered his question.

‘I’d ditch the black suit.’

‘You already have.’ His eyes did not leave hers as he said it but he let her know that the change from her usual attire had been noted.

Oh, it had.

It no longer felt like an interview.

Their minds actually fought not to flirt—Gabi because she did not want to make a fool of herself again, and Alim because he kept work at work.

‘There was a wardrobe malfunction back at the church,’ Gabi carefully answered.

‘Malfunction?’

‘I fell,’ Gabi said. ‘Thankfully it was after the bridal party had left, but I tore my suit.’

‘Did you hurt yourself?’

‘A bit.’

He wanted to peel off her dress and examine her bruises; he wanted to bring her now to his lap.

But still his eyes never left hers and the conversation remained polite.

‘So you would ditch the black suit in favour of what?

‘I’ve seen this fabric, it’s a willow-green and pink check, more a tartan. It sounds terrible but...’

‘No,’ Alim said. ‘It sounds different. Do you have a picture?’

Of course she did, and she took only a moment to bring it up on her tablet and hand it to Alim.

He looked at the picture of the fabric she had chosen. It was more subtle than she had described and, yes, it would be the perfect choice.

‘What would you change here at the Grande Lucia?’ he asked as he handed back the tablet. He expected her to flounder, given that she’d had no time to prepare.

Gabi though knew exactly what the first change would be.

‘There would be a blanket ban on red carnations throughout the hotel.’

She watched the slight twitch of his very beautiful lips. Alim had many areas of expertise but flowers were not amongst them. ‘I don’t tend to get involved with the floral displays,’ he said.

‘I do.’ Gabi smiled. ‘I obsess about such things.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘What would you choose?’

‘Sahara roses are always nice, though I think it should vary through the week, and at weekends I would change the theme to tie in with the main function being held.’

‘Would you, now?’

‘You did ask.’