by Penny Jordan
They were being guided to the main reception room—a huge, richly decorated room with columns and walls of gilded carvings designed to overwhelm and impress.
Don’t think about the past, Keira urged herself. Look at the décor instead.
An Arabic-style fretted screen ran round an upper storey walkway, allowing those behind it to look down into the hallway without themselves being seen. It seemed to Keira that the very air of the room felt heavy with the weight of past secrecy and intrigue, of whispered promises and threats, and of royal favour and power courted and brokered behind closed doors.
This was a different world from the one she knew. She could feel its traditions and demands pressing down on her. Here within these walls a person would be judged by who their ancestors had been—not what they themselves were. Here within these walls she would most definitely have been judged as her mother’s daughter, condemned and branded to follow in her footsteps by that judgement. Keira repressed a small shudder of apprehension as she followed Sayeed deeper into the room.
The scent of sandalwood filled the still air. High above them on the ceiling, mirrored mosaics caught the light from the narrow windows and redirected it so that it struck the gaze of those entering the room, momentarily blinding them and of course giving whoever might be standing behind the screens watching them, or indeed waiting for them in the room itself, a psychological advantage.
Sayeed gave their names to the man who appeared silent-footed and traditionally dressed, and then bowed to them and indicated that they were to follow him down a narrow passage behind the fretted screens. It led to a pair of double doors, which in turn opened into an elegant courtyard. He led them across and then in through another door and up a flight of stairs until they came to a pair of doors on which he knocked before opening.
A man speaking into a mobile phone was standing in front of a narrow grilled open window through which Keira could see and hear the street.
No, not a man, Keira recognised with a sickening downward plunge of her heart as he turned round towards them, but the man—the man for whom she had broken the most important rule in her life; the man she had kissed and touched and told without words but with a feverish intensity that had been quite plain that she desired him; the man from whom she had then run in her shame and her fear. The man who had shown her his contempt and his evaluation of her by offering her money in exchange for the kisses they shared.
If she could have done so Keira would have turned and run from him, from all the dark despair of her most private fears—fears which he had given fresh life both through her own desire for him and his treatment of her. But she couldn’t. Sayeed was standing behind her.
The slate-grey gaze flicked over her and rested expressionlessly on her face. He had recognised her even if he wasn’t showing it.
Sayeed stepped forward to shake the other man’s hand, saying to him jovially, ‘Jay. I’ve brought you Keira, just as I promised. She’s desperate for you to give her this contract so that she can show you what she can do. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed by what she can offer.’
Keira squirmed inwardly over Sayeed’s unfortunate choice of words and all that might be read into them by a cynical, sexually experienced man who had every reason to believe he already knew what she had to offer.
‘I can’t stay,’ Sayeed was continuing. ‘I’ve got a meeting I have to attend, so I’m going to have to leave you to discuss things without me. However, as I’ve already told you, I’ve seen Keira’s work, and she has my personal recommendation and endorsement.’
He had gone before she could stop him and tell him that she had changed her mind. That she wouldn’t want this contract if it was the last one on earth.
Jay watched her. Unless she was a far better actress than he believed, she hadn’t faked her shocked surprise at seeing him and realising who he was. So, a woman who hired herself out for sex? Or a professional woman who liked to let her hair down and play a game of sex tease with what she thought was the local talent? Or maybe a bit of both, depending on her mood? If so, perhaps she was more used to being paid off in expensive gifts rather than hard cash—although she hadn’t looked unhappy to receive the bundle of notes he had seen her being given last night. She was dressed today for a business appointment—European-style, with a careful nod in the direction of Indian culture. He could see the faint beading of sweat on her upper lip—caused, he suspected, not so much by the heat as by her discomfort at seeing him again.
‘You come highly recommended. Sayeed can’t praise your skills enough.’
The taunt that lay beneath his words was barely veiled and intended to be recognised.
Keira could feel the slow painful burn of a feeling that was a mixture of shame and anger. That her own behaviour was the weapon she had handed him to use against her was the cause of her shame, and that he had not hesitated to use it the cause of her anger.
Well, she wasn’t going to respond to his goading.
Jay frowned when she remained silent.
It irked him that he hadn’t guessed who she might be, and it irritated him even more that she had brought with her into his office not just the scent of the perfume she was wearing but also the memory of his desire for her. And not only the memory, he realised as his body reacted to her against his will.
She wore her sexuality like she wore her scent, bringing it with her into his presence and forcing recognition of it on his senses whilst maintaining an air of detachment from it and from him.
He turned from her and strode the length of the room, trying to force down the ache that somehow managed to surface past his angry contempt.
He was pacing his office floor in such a way that she could almost hear the pad of a hunting cat’s sharp-clawed paws, along with the dangerous swish of its tail—as though her mere presence fed his hunger to destroy her, Keira thought sickly.
‘Has Sayeed bedded you? Is that why he is so keen to secure this contract for you? Did he promise it to you in exchange for your sexual favours?’
‘No. I don’t go to bed with anyone to secure business. I don’t need to,’ Keira told him proudly. ‘My work speaks for itself.’
‘Yes, indeed. I saw that for myself last night.’
The blood surged and then retreated through her veins, causing her heart to thud erratically. There was no mistaking the meaning behind his words.
‘You must think what you wish. Plainly that is what you intend to do.’
‘It isn’t my wishes that govern the logic of my thinking process, rather it is the visual evidence of my own eyes. I saw the man you were with handing you money—and rather a substantial amount of money at that.’
Keira had to defend her professional reputation. She wasn’t going to get the contract, so she had nothing to lose in defending herself, had she? She took a deep breath and spoke swiftly.
‘And because of that you leapt to the conclusion that I am…that I…that my body is for sale? That isn’t logic. It is supposition tainted with prejudice.’
She was daring to argue with him? Daring to defend the indefensible and accuse him of being prejudiced? Jay could feel his fury pressing against the cords of his self-control, threatening to break free.
‘He gave you money. I saw that with my own eyes.’
‘He is an old friend. He was paying me for the refurbishment of his flat. If you don’t believe me you can ask him—and you can ask Shalini as well.’
‘Shalini?’
‘The bride. She and Vikram are cousins. The two of them and Tom, Shalini’s new husband, and I were all at university together.’
Keira had no idea why she was telling him all this. What difference could it make now? She had lost the contract, and despite the fact that she desperately needed the money a part of her was relieved. There were some things that mattered more than money, and her own peace of mind was definitely one of them.
Jay frowned. Something told him that she was telling the truth. Not that he had any intention o
f demeaning himself by questioning others about her.
And besides, there were other issues at stake here. She had an impressive client list, the majority of whom were women. That had been one of the most important deciding factors in his original decision to take her on. India’s growing middle class wanted new and more westernised homes, and it was predominantly the women who were making the decisions about which developer they bought from. The interior of any new property was a vitally important selling point, and Jay knew that he could not afford to make any mistakes in his choice of interior designer.
On paper, this woman ticked all the right boxes. She had connections with an elite of London based Indian families—no doubt through the friendships she had made at university. She had worked for them in London, and he was well aware of the praise she had been given for the way she blended the best of traditional Indian and modern Western styles to create uniquely stylish interiors that had delighted their owners. She had also worked in Mumbai; she was at home in both cultures and apparently well liked by the Indian matriarchs whose approval was so vitally important to her business and indirectly to his.
His long silence was unnerving her, Keira admitted inwardly. It flustered her into repeating, ‘My work speaks for itself.’
‘But perhaps your body language speaks more clearly? To my sex at least.’
His voice was as cool as steel and just as deadly. Keira could feel it piercing her pride, taking a shimmering bead of its life force as though it were a trophy. Now that he had savoured his pleasure in wounding her no doubt he would close in for the kill and tell her that he wasn’t going to give her the contract.
She lifted her chin and told him proudly, ‘I don’t see the point in prolonging this conversation, since it’s obvious that you don’t have any intention of commissioning me to work for you as an interior designer.’
He certainly didn’t want to do so, now that he knew who she was, Jay acknowledged. But there was the delicate matter of losing face—both for Sayeed and in a roundabout way for Jay himself.
Sayeed might be a very junior partner in their current venture, but he would be within his rights to question why Jay had rejected Keira, after allowing the negotiations to get this far. Sayeed would be personally insulted, and whilst Jay was too rich and too powerful to worry about that, his own moral scruples were such that bringing his own personal feelings into the business arena was something he just would not do without explaining. That would cause him to lose face.
The situation was non-negotiable—both practically and morally. He had no alternative but to go ahead and formalise the offer of a contract, as Sayeed would be expecting him to do.
‘Not personally, no,’ he agreed silkily. ‘So if last night’s little game of tease was meant to whet my appetite I’m afraid it failed. However, when it comes to the contract for the interior design work at my new development, I am prepared to accept Sayeed’s recommendation that you are the right designer for the job. Of course if he is wrong…’
Keira was struggling to take in the triple whammy effect of his speech—first the direct attack on her personally, then the surprise offer of the contract, and finally the killer blow, warning her that Sayeed would be the one who would end up losing out if she failed to live up to his recommendation. She was trapped, and they both knew it. Whilst she might have been willing to risk turning her back on the commission and fees for the sake of her own pride, she was not prepared to risk injuring Sayeed’s business reputation by doing so. And she suspected that the man in front of her watching her, so cynically, knew that.
‘Very well,’ she told him, drawing herself up to her full height of five feet nine—which, whilst tall, was well below his far more impressive six foot plus, leaving her in the ignominious position of having to tilt her head back to look up at him. ‘But I want it understood that the relationship between us will be purely and only that of developer and interior designer. Absolutely nothing more.’
She was daring to warn him off?
Jay couldn’t believe her gall. Well, two could play at that game.
‘Are you sure that is all you want?’ he mocked her.
Keira could feel her face burn.
‘Yes,’ she confirmed, tight-lipped.
‘Liar,’ Jay taunted. ‘But it’s all right, because I assure you that I have no intention of our relationship being anything other than strictly business. The truth is that if you want me you’re going to have to come crawling on your knees and beg me. And even then…’ His gaze flicked over her disparagingly. ‘Well, let’s just say I’m not a fan of used goods.’
If she could have walked out, Keira knew that she would have done so. But she couldn’t. Not now. He had trapped her with his implied threat about his business relationship with Sayeed.
The door to the room suddenly opened inwards to admit Sayeed himself, who told them both cheerfully, ‘My appointment was cancelled, so I came back. How’s it going?’
It was Jay who answered, telling him smoothly, ‘Since Miss Myers comes with your recommendation, Sayeed, I am prepared to offer her a contract. Whether or not she chooses to accept it is, of course, up to her.’
Keira gave him a burning look. He knew perfectly well that her choices were non-existent. He had arranged matters so that they would be.
‘Of course she’ll accept it.’ Sayeed was beaming enthusiastically.
‘So that’s agreed, then. Keira is coming on board as our designer,’ Jay said briskly. ‘I’ll get my PA to sort out the contracts, and the three of us can have dinner tonight to celebrate and discuss everything in more detail. You’re staying at the Palace Lodge Hotel, Keira? I’ll have a car sent to pick you up at eight o’clock.’
It was a fiasco. No—worse than that; it was a total nightmare, Keira decided grimly later in the day as she walked through the city, trying not to let despair over her situation prevent her from enjoying exploring the city’s unique cultural history.
Keira couldn’t remember how old she had been when she had first realised just what her mother was. But she could remember that she had been nine when her mother had told Keira that her father was a married man.
‘Loved him, I did—and he said he loved me. Mind you, they all say that when they want to get into your knickers. Not that he were me first—not by a long chalk. Had lads running after me from when I was fourteen, I did. That’s been my problem, see, Keira. I always liked a good time too much. It’s in me nature, you see, and it will be in yours too—see if it isn’t. We just can’t help ourselves, see. Come from a long line of women made that way, you and me have. Some lad will come along, and before you know where you are you’ll be opening your legs for him.’
Keira still shuddered when she remembered those words. They had filled her with a fear that her great-aunt’s unkindness had reinforced. Keira had decided long before she went to university that she would never allow herself to fall in love or commit to a man because of the risk of discovering she shared her mother’s weakness in controlling her sexual appetite, along with her inability to choose the right man.
Her horror of sharing her mother’s fate was burned into her heart.
After university Keira had moved to London and found a job working for an upmarket interior design company at a very junior level.
Through Shalini and Vikram she’d been familiar with the ethnically diverse Brick Lane
area of the city, and she had quickly fallen in love with the creative intensity it had to offer, putting what she’d learned from it into her own work and adapting it to her own personal style.
Soon word had begun to get around that she had a sympathetic understanding of Indian taste, and rich Indians had started to ask specifically if she could be part of the team working on their interiors.
With the encouragement of her boss, Keira had eventually struck out on her own, finding for herself a niche market that was fresh and vibrant and matched her own feelings about design and style.
She’d met Sayeed through V
ikram, and had let him sweet-talk her into doing some room schemes for the rundown properties he was doing up as buy-to-lets. Sayeed had done well, and an uncle in India had taken him into his own property development business—which was how Sayeed had become involved with Jay.
Jay. The thought of him—or rather of His Highness Prince Jayesh of Ralapur—was enough to have her tensing her body against her own inner panic. How could she have let such a thing happen to her?
It should have been impossible for him to have aroused her as he had done. Not once before had Keira ever felt tempted to ignore the rules she had made for herself.
Yes, she had kissed boys at university—she hadn’t wanted to be thought odd or weird after all—but once they had started wanting more than a bit of mild petting she had had no difficulty whatsoever in telling them no.
True, a certain scene in a film or a passage in a book might have the power to make her ache a little—she was human, after all—but she had never allowed herself to experience that ache with a real flesh-and-blood man.
Until last night.
For him. With him.
Keira paced the floor of her hotel room in agitation. She couldn’t stay and work for him. Why not? Because she was afraid that she might end up wanting to go to bed with him? Because she was afraid that she might, as he had taunted her, end up begging him to take her?
No! Where was her pride? Surely she was strong enough not to let that happen? Where was her courage and her self-esteem? Let him say what he liked. She would show him that she meant what she had said. She would remain detached and uninterested in him as a man. Would she? Could she? She was a twenty-seven-year-old virgin who in reality was scared to death she might be in danger of breaking a vow she had made almost a decade ago, and he was a man who looked as though he went through women faster than a monsoon flood went through a rice field.
She mustn’t think like that, Keira warned herself. She must remember the old adage that the thought was father to the deed, and not will her own self-destruction on herself.
