The Sheikh's Shock Child

* * *

Electricity didn’t just crackle in the air, it was bouncing back and forth between them. She was so shocked at seeing Sheikh Khalid again, and in flowing robes that made him look more intimidating than ever, she couldn’t think straight. What annoyed her most of all was the fact that he’d thrown her to the point where she was quivering like a doe on heat, rather than standing her ground in front of him like a hard-working professional.

It was time to get real. This was not the tough guy in jeans who invaded her dreams most nights, but an all-powerful king in whose water-borne kingdom she was currently—well, if not a prisoner, at the very least, vulnerable, which was not a condition she ever flirted with. No one could call his brutal attraction charm. However divinely warm, clean and sexy the Sheikh might appear, he was in reality a granite-faced titan without a single decent bone in his body. He’d turned a blind eye when she’d begged him for help. So whatever her body thought of his blistering masculinity, Millie Dillinger remained unimpressed.

But...

Calm down and think. This was almost certainly the only chance she’d ever get to ask him about that night. Being as different from the women he must be used to as it was possible to be, with her no-make-up face and her long hair piled carelessly on top of her head—not to mention the pencil garnish—she doubted she was in any immediate danger.

‘When will you have finished your work?’ he asked with an edge of impatience, confirming her conclusion that she was not his ravishment of choice.

‘I have finished, Your Majesty. Please call the laundry if you need anything more.’

‘I’ll be sure to tell my housekeeper what you advise,’ he commented with withering amusement.

Fortunately, she’d always been able to take a joke, though the thought that he might have a sense of humour only made it worse. If he was actually human, how had he allowed her mother to die? Whatever he’d done or not done on that night, it had changed the course of Millie’s life, and had tragically ended her mother’s. She had to dip her head so he couldn’t see her angry eyes.

They came from different worlds, Millie concluded. In her world, people were answerable for their actions, but in his, not so much.

* * *

This was no milksop princess with a desire to please him, Khalid concluded, but a very angry woman, who was different and intriguing. She made him want to fist that thick gold hair and draw back her head so he could taste her neck. The girlish figure was long gone and had been replaced by curves in all the right places. Her features were pale from lack of sun, but her complexion was flawless. ‘We will talk,’ he promised as his senses sharpened. ‘And sooner rather than later.’

‘We must,’ she returned fiercely, clenching her fists, which were held stiffly at her side.

She’d had years to ponder what had happened that night, so her anger was excusable. The death of her mother was bad enough, but believing he was involved in some sort of cover-up must be a festering wound. It was a reasonable supposition, he conceded.

‘It must have been hard for you to return to the Sapphire.’

‘Ghosts?’ she suggested with a level look.

‘Memories,’ he countered.

‘Life goes on,’ she said flatly.

‘As it must,’ he agreed.

‘Forgive me, Your Majesty, but if you don’t have time to meet with me now, I have work to do on shore.’

She was dismissing him? he wondered with amusement.

‘We’re very busy at the laundry,’ she excused, no doubt realising she had overstepped the mark.

On the contrary, he thought her a breath of fresh air. It would be all too easy for him to slip into the belief that because everyone else bowed the knee, Millie Dillinger would, or that other people’s deference made him special in some way. A dose of Millie medicine was exactly what he needed. ‘I will see you in my study in ten minutes’ time.’

She seemed surprised and didn’t answer right away. ‘My time is also valuable, Ms Dillinger. My guard will escort you,’ he explained, ‘and my PA will call the laundry to explain your delay.’

‘But—’

‘Miss Francine is an intelligent woman,’ he interrupted. ‘She’ll understand.’

Millie’s frown deepened.

‘Ten minutes,’ he repeated before he left the room.

* * *

Millie wasn’t sure she had breathed properly for the entirety of that interview. Sheikh Khalid was so much more than she remembered. She needed a big, wide space, and absolute silence to get used to it. And the guard didn’t give her any time. He quick-marched her out of the sumptuous suite, and didn’t pause until they stood in front of an impressive gleaming teak door. The entrance to the hawk’s eyrie, Millie presumed. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she sucked in a deep, steadying breath, and prepared for round two.

At some silent signal, the guard deemed it appropriate to open the door. Standing back, he allowed her to enter. Sheikh Khalid was seated at the far end of his study behind a sleek modern desk where he appeared to be signing some documents. He didn’t look up as she walked in. The scratch of his pen was a stark reminder that this was his territory, his kingdom, where things ran to his schedule, and she would have to wait until His Majesty was ready to receive her.

Forget pride. Any opportunity to interview a potential witness from that night had to be seized. She glanced around with interest. Order predominated. There was no clutter, no family photographs to soften the ambience—a fact that filled her with unreasonable relief—there was just a bank of tech and the desk piled high with official-looking documents.

Shouldn’t he invite her to sit?

This might be the private space of a very private man, but Sheikh Khalid had invited her to come here. What about the so-called politeness of Princes? She’d explained that she was busy too. Ten minutes, he’d said. Did he time-keep to the second? That wasn’t a bad thing, Millie counselled herself, because if Sheikh Khalid was so meticulous, he could hardly deny what he remembered of that night.

‘My apologies,’ he said at last, straightening up to fix her with his hawk-like stare. ‘Millie,’ he added softly.

His husky tone could have been a caress to her senses if she hadn’t ruthlessly banished such nonsense in her thinking. ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘We meet again.’

One ebony brow quirked, challenging her resistance to his blistering appeal. Their stares only had to connect for her body to respond with enthusiasm. Determinedly, she took an objective view. This study, this impersonal workspace, was deceiving. Designed to keep visitors at bay. She wasn’t fooled. This was no cold, remote man who chose not to reveal his inner self, but a smouldering volcano, who surrounded himself with a sea of ice.

‘You’ve been patient,’ he commented with monumental understatement.

‘For eight years,’ she agreed.

They both knew that wasn’t what he’d meant, and as they stared at each other across the desk she thought they were like two combatants facing each other across a ring.

CHAPTER FOUR (#ucd5e1531-2d79-59fc-bc28-624f035c402d)

‘ARE YOU SURE you wouldn’t like to sit down?’ the man she knew so well, and yet not at all, invited.

Sitting so he could tower over her was the last thing she wanted to do. ‘If you’re standing, I’m standing too,’ she said as he left the desk. This seemed to amuse him. And he still towered over her. So be it. She had no intention of allowing His Majesty to win every point, even if her pulse was racing out of control.

‘Forgive me for keeping you,’ he added with a penetrating look. ‘I have a lot of work.’

‘So I see,’ she replied calmly.

He studied her face. She studied him. Anything to take her mind off those mesmerising and all-seeing eyes. His headdress was called a keffiyeh. It moved fluidly as he moved, before falling back into place. She could try to be as objective as she liked, but when he angled his stubble-shaded chin to stare down at her, the lure of those eyes was irresistible, and as much as she wanted to hate him, the woman inside her wanted him more.

‘And now I’m all yours,’ he declared with the faintest of smiles.

She doubted that, and, for the sake of retaining her sanity, returned to studying his stylish robes. The keffiyeh was held in place by a rope-like agal made of tightly plaited gold thread that gave it the appearance of a crown. It could barely contain his wild hair, which was just as thick and black as she remembered, both from that night long ago, and from her forbidden dreams, when she had often run her fingers through those springing waves. Each time she woke when that happened, she was consumed by guilt.

How could she consider touching a member of the despised Khalifa family?

Just the thought made her angry. Yet here she was, standing in front of this same man with her body yearning for his touch.