Surrender To The Sheikh

He had a cool and rather beautiful face and was the kind of man who might, under normal circumstances, have made her heart beat a little faster. But these were not normal circumstances, Rose reminded herself.

‘That’s me,’ she said inelegantly.

‘The Prince Khalim is downstairs waiting for you in the car,’ he said quietly. ‘Are you ready?’

Rose frowned. ‘And you are?’

‘My name is Philip Caprice. I am his emissary.’

‘Really?’ Rose drew her shoulders back. ‘And did Prince Khalim not think it polite to come and call for me himself?’

Philip Caprice hid a smile. ‘It is quite normal for him to send me to collect you.’

‘Well, it is not normal for me!’ said Rose heatedly. ‘If he can’t even be bothered to get out of the car, then perhaps you would be so kind as to tell him that I can’t be bothered going downstairs!’

Philip Caprice frowned. ‘Look—’

But Rose shook her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said firmly. ‘I know you’re only doing your job—but your boss’s…invitation—’ she bit the word out sarcastically ‘—leaves a great deal to be desired. It might have been more polite if he’d actually phoned me to arrange a time, instead of calmly announcing it the way he did! Either he comes up here, or I’m staying put.’

Philip Caprice nodded, his green eyes narrowing, as if recognising determination when he saw it. As if recognising that, on this, she would not be budged.

‘I’ll go and tell him,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you could leave the door open?’

‘Having to ring the doorbell would be too much of an indignity, I suppose?’ she hazarded, but she did as he asked.

She stood for a moment and watched him go, before stalking back into the sitting room where Lara, who had been listening to the entire conversation, was see-sawing between fascination and horror.

‘Oh, Rose,’ she whispered admiringly. ‘You’ve done it now! Bet you anything he just drives away!’

‘I sincerely hope he does,’ said Rose coolly.

‘Do you really?’ came a deep, velvety voice from behind her, and Rose whirled round to see Khalim standing there, with such a glint in his black eyes that she was unable to tell whether he was amused or outraged.

‘Y-yes! Yes, I d-do,’ she said breathlessly, her heart clenching tightly in her chest as she saw how different he looked today. The eyes glittered with the same predatory promise, but there was not a flowing robe in sight.

Instead he was wearing an exquisitely cut suit in deep charcoal-grey—a modern suit with a mandarin collar which set off the exotic perfection of his face. And where the flowing silk had only hinted at the hard, lean body which lay beneath—the suit left absolutely nothing to the imagination and Rose just couldn’t stop looking at him.

His shoulders were broader than she had realised, much broader, while the narrow hips were those of a natural athlete. And the legs…good heavens, those legs seemed to go on forever. Such powerful legs.

Rose opened her mouth to say something, but words just failed her.

‘You want me to go away?’ he prompted silkily.

Did she? ‘It would probably be for the best,’ she answered truthfully.

‘But you’ve dressed for lunch,’ he observed, his eyes sweeping over the elegance of the pale linen dress.

‘Yes, I have.’

‘So why waste all that effort?’

‘It wasn’t much effort.’ She shrugged. ‘It only took me a few minutes to change!’

‘I’m flattered,’ he said drily.

She fixed him with a reproving stare. ‘I’m used to men being courteous enough to collect their date, and not sending a servant to collect them!’

His eyes grew flinty. ‘Philip is no servant,’ he said coldly. ‘He is my emissary.’

‘Let’s not quibble about terminology!’ she returned. ‘Why didn’t you come yourself?’

Khalim sighed. What would her reaction be if he told her that he had never had to? That all his life he had only had to metaphorically click his fingers and whichever woman he’d wanted would come—if not running, then walking pretty quickly.

‘But I am here now,’ he said, in as humble an admission as he had ever made. Because he suspected that Rose Thomas was not playing games with him, and that if he pushed her too far then she would simply refuse to come. And he wanted her far too much to even countenance that.

He turned to where a tousled-headed brunette was gazing at him in wonder from the other side of the crimson-painted room, and gave her a slow smile.

‘Khalim,’ he said, with a slight nod of his head.

Rose was infuriated to see Lara virtually dissolve into a puddle on the carpet—but who could really blame her? It was something outside both their experiences, having a man of this calibre here, exuding vibrancy and sheer physical magnetism.

‘L-Lara Black,’ she stumbled. ‘And I’m very pleased to meet you…K-Khalim.’

Any minute now and her flatmate would start prostrating herself in front of him, thought Rose despairingly. She turned to find those impenetrable dark eyes now fixed on her.

‘Shall we go?’ he questioned quietly.

She knew that it would be impossible to backtrack, even if she had wanted to—and to her horror she discovered that there was no way she wanted to. She wanted one lunch with this magnificent man. One lunch to show him that she was his equal. That she wouldn’t crumble and capitulate in the face of all his undoubted charms.

One lunch, that was all.

‘Very well,’ she answered, in a quiet tone which matched his.

Khalim very nearly allowed a small smile of triumph to creep onto his lips, until he drew himself up short. There was no victory to be gained from that coolly dispassionate acceptance! he reminded himself. But instead of feeling irritation at her unwillingness to co-operate, he found that his senses were clamouring to life, making his blood sing out that heated, relentless rhythm once more.

‘Come, then, Rose,’ he said, and gestured for her to precede him.

In the hallway, however, he halted, and Rose’s mouth dried as she turned to see why. He was too close. The hall was too small. If she reached out her hand she could touch that proud, beautiful face. Could run her fingertips along his sculpted chin, and meet the faint rasp of shadowed growth there. She swallowed.

Khalim’s eyes gleamed. So. He had not been mistaken. It was for her just as it was for him. She wanted him. He noted the coiled-up tension of repressed desire in her rigid frame. He could read it in the dark helplessness of her eyes, and in the fulsome pout of her soft lips.

‘So,’ he said unsteadily. ‘Where would you like to go?’

‘Haven’t you booked anywhere?’ asked Rose in surprise. She had assumed that he would want the best table in one of the best restaurants—and Sunday was traditionally a very busy day for eating out.

‘No.’ He shook his head.

‘That will limit our choice somewhat.’