Surrender To The Sheikh

‘I don’t think so.’ He saw the frown which had creased the milky-white space of skin between two exceptionally fine eyebrows. ‘I never have to book,’ he explained, and for the first time in his life he realised that he sounded almost apologetic.

And then Rose began to get her first glimmer of the implications of dating this man. She tried to make light of it and smiled. ‘One of the perks of being a prince, I suppose?’

‘That’s right.’ He found himself smiling back, unable to resist that sunny and unsettling curve of her mouth. ‘Where would you like to go?’

Rose wasn’t a head-hunter for nothing. Her ‘people skills’ were what kept her going in a competitive industry. She guessed that luxury would be second nature to Khalim—so wouldn’t he be a little bored with luxury?

‘There’s a local Italian restaurant called Pronto! on Sutton Street,’ she said. ‘Simple food—but good. And you can usually get a table there!’

He was pleasantly surprised, expecting her to plump for somewhere much more up-market than her local restaurant. ‘Then let’s go and find it,’ he murmured.

On the way downstairs, Khalim was hypnotised by the proud set of her shoulders and the plaited hair of brightest gold which had captivated him from the moment he had first seen her.

Outside sat the most luxurious car Rose had ever seen—a great black gleaming monster of a car, with tinted windows and a liveried chauffeur who was standing beside it, and who immediately sprang to open the door.

‘Take us to Pronto!,’ said Khalim. ‘On Sutton Street.’ And the chauffeur inclined his head respectfully.

Rose climbed into the back seat, noting that Philip was seated at the front, next to the chauffeur. And next to him, a dark-suited and burly individual. A bodyguard? she wondered nervously. Probably.

The car cruised slowly through the traffic-snarled streets, until it drew up outside a restaurant whose exterior was adorned with a giant picture of the Italian flag.

‘Vibrant,’ observed Khalim softly as the chauffeur opened the door for them and they both climbed out onto the pavement.

‘Isn’t Philip joining us?’ asked Rose.

Khalim suppressed a feeling very close to frustration, but even closer to jealousy. Jealousy? So she wanted his cool and handsome emissary to join them, did she? Was she attracted to him, he wondered in disbelief, or did she simply want a chaperon?

His mouth hardened. ‘No, he is not.’

Now, what had put that look there? puzzled Rose, shocked by the sudden surge of relief which washed over her. She wanted to be on her own with him, she realised sinkingly, her growing attraction to him becoming all too apparent by the moment. But with an effort she managed to shrug it away. ‘Fine by me,’ she said easily.

Inside the restaurant it was even more vibrant—with Italian music playing gently in the background.

The waitress gave Khalim an appreciative glance. ‘Have you booked?’ she asked him.

Khalim shook his head. ‘Can you fit us in?’

‘Sure can!’ The waitress grinned, and winked at him.

Rose glanced at Khalim rather nervously. Obviously the woman had no idea that she was being so familiar with a member of Maraban’s royal family—but would Khalim be forgiving, or outraged? I don’t care, she thought fiercely. I’m going to enjoy my lunch!

But, strangely, Khalim found that he was enjoying the unaccustomed pleasure of anonymity. Normally he would not sanction such an intimacy—and particularly not from a waitress in a rather basic restaurant.

And yet Rose looked incredibly relaxed—even in the cool linen dress which gave her the outward appearance of an icemaiden—and he wanted to relax with her. Not to pull rank.

‘Thank you,’ he murmured.

Something about the way he spoke made the waitress narrow her eyes at him, for she suddenly looked rather flustered and led them to what was undoubtedly the best table in the room.

The only one, thought Rose rather wryly, which was not sitting right on top of its neighbours!

He waited until they were seated opposite one another and had been given their menus, before he leaned forward.