Surrender to the Sheikh (London's Most Eligible Playboys Book 2)

by Sharon Kendrick

  Hadn’t she thought exactly that, the very first time she had met him? Rose shifted uncomfortably. It felt slightly disconcerting, alarming even—to be echoing Khalim’s thoughts.

  She took a sip from her coffee, then put the cup back down on the floor.

  ‘So, to business. And I need you to tell me, Khalim—exactly what is it you want?’ she asked him crisply.

  For once it was difficult to focus on business—he couldn’t seem to kick-start his mind into gear. He wondered what she would say if he told her that what he wanted was to make love to her in such a way that every man who ever followed him would be like a dim memory of the real thing. He felt the powerful thundering of his heart in response to his thoughts.

  ‘Let me give you a little background first,’ he began softly. ‘Maraban has substantial reserves of oil in—’

  ‘The Asmaln desert,’ she put in quickly. ‘And other natural resources include deposits of coal, sulphur, magnesium, and salt.’

  Khalim looked at her in astonishment. ‘And how, for an Englishwoman, do you know so much about my country?’ he demanded.

  Rose’s mouth pleated with disapproval. ‘Oh, really, Khalim! Once I knew that I had to take the wretched job, I approached it in exactly the same way as I would any other! Information is power, and I spent until late last night finding out everything I could about Maraban!’

  His eyes narrowed with unwilling admiration. ‘What else do you know?’

  ‘That only four per cent of the country is cultivated, nearly all of which is irrigated. I also know,’ she added, ‘that Marabanesh pistachio nuts are considered to be the finest in the world!’

  ‘And do you like pistachio nuts?’ he asked seriously.

  Her mouth lifted at the corners. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t dream of having a gin and tonic without one!’

  Such flippancy was something he was unused to as well—at least from anyone outside his inner circle. Yet his mouth curved in response to that frankly mischievous smile. ‘Then I must arrange to have some sent to you, Rose,’ he murmured. ‘A whole sackload of Maraban pistachios!’

  It was distracting when his hard face softened like that. It started making her imagine all kinds of things. She tried to picture him doing ordinary things. Going to the supermarket. Queuing up at the petrol station. And she couldn’t. She tried to picture him on holiday, swimming…

  Oddly enough, that was an image which imprinted itself far more clearly and Rose saw glorious dark limbs, all strength and muscle as they submerged themselves in warm and silken waters. With almost painful clarity, she recalled just how it had felt to move within the sandalwood-scented circle of his arms at the wedding reception.

  Khalim saw the sudden tension around her shoulders. ‘Something is wrong?’

  Had he noticed the hectic flush which was burning its way along her cheekbones? She stared fixedly at the pristine papers on her lap, unable to meet his gaze, terrified that his slicing black stare would be able to read the unmistakable longing in her eyes.

  ‘No,’ she said, with slow emphasis, until she had composed herself enough to meet that challenging look head-on. ‘Nothing is wrong, Khalim. But I’m still waiting for you to tell me what it is you’re looking for.’

  Khalim recognised her determination, and a will almost as forceful as his own. It was a heady discovery, he thought as he began to speak.

  ‘Maraban has one of the world’s most well-run oil refineries and the man who heads it up is taking early retirement.’

  ‘And you want someone to replace him?’

  Khalim shook his dark head. ‘No one could ever replace Murad,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘He has been there for many years, and there have been many changes in the industry during that time. No, I need someone to take oil production into the first third of this century and there are two likely candidates working there at present. I need a man with vision to head it up—’

  ‘Or a woman, of course?’

  Jet sparks heated the onyx eyes, bathing her in an intensely black light.

  ‘No,’ he contradicted resolutely. ‘Not a woman. Not in Maraban.’

  Rose bristled; she couldn’t help herself. She thought about all she had striven to achieve in her life. ‘So women aren’t equal in Maraban?’

  ‘I think you are intelligent enough to know the answer to that for yourself, without me having to tell you, Rose,’ he remonstrated quietly.

  ‘It’s disgraceful!’ she stormed.

  ‘You think so?’ His voice was dangerously soft.

  ‘I know so! Women in this country died to have the right to vote and to call themselves equal!’

  ‘And you think that makes them happy?’

  Her eyebrows shot up. ‘I can’t believe you could even ask me a question like that!’

  He smiled, savouring the rare flavour of opposition and conflict. ‘I just did.’

  Rose very nearly threw her pen across the room in a fit of pique, before remembering herself. Since when had she taken to hurling missiles? She steadied her voice with a deep breath instead. ‘Of course equality makes women happy! What woman worth her salt wants to spend her life living in a man’s shadow?’

  The woman he would marry would be only too glad to. His mind skipped to the women currently being vetted as eligible wife material, then thought how unlike them this woman was. Their very antithesis. He felt the thrill of the forbidden, the lure of the unsuitable, and it heated his blood unbearably. ‘You should not judge without all the facts available to you, Rose,’ he remonstrated softly. ‘Women in Maraban are very highly respected and they are treated with the utmost reverence—because they are seen as the givers of life. Come and see for yourself whether the women of Maraban are happy.’

  She stared at him, furiously aware that wild hope was vying with indignation. ‘What do you mean?’

  In that moment, he had never rejoiced in his position quite so much. How perfect that whatever he desired should be granted to him without effort. And he desired Rose Thomas more than anything in his life to date. He gave a cool and glittering smile. ‘You will accompany me to Maraban,’ he purred.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘YOU are kidding, Rose?’

  Rose stared at her flatmate, still slightly reeling from Khalim’s unarguable statement. ‘I wish I was!’

  Lara cocked her head to one side and grinned. ‘Oh, no, you don’t! What other woman do you know who wouldn’t want to be whisked off in a private jet with a prince—a prince, no less, who looks like Khalim does? And acts like Khalim does!’

  ‘High-handed!’ grumbled Rose.

  ‘Masterful,’ sighed Lara.

  Of course, Lara wasn’t entirely wrong—not about Khalim, nor Rose’s attitude to being whisked off in such an extraordinary fashion. Because if she examined her feelings honestly, wasn’t there a part of her—and quite a large part of her—which was feeling almost sick with excitement at the thought of being taken to Maraban by its overwhelmingly attractive prince and heir? Any minute now she would wake up and find that the alarm had just gone off!

  ‘So tell me why you’re going again,’ said Lara, screwing her face up, as if she hadn’t understood the first explanation, which Rose had blurted out. ‘Just to find out about how women in Maraban live, compared to their Western counterparts? Is that it?’

  Rose shook her head. ‘No. That was just the provocative way he phrased it.’ Along with the even more provocative look which had gleamed with such dazzling promise from those inky eyes. ‘But the fact is that I’ll probably be recruiting from within Maraban itself, or the surrounding countries if that fails. There are two possible candidates there already, so I really do need to go.’

  ‘Oh, you poor thing!’

  She’d phoned Kerry to broach the subject of her journey, and her boss had sounded bemused.

  ‘Of course you must go, Rose. You’re in charge of the job, aren’t you?’ Kerry had said, her voice sounding slightly puzzled. ‘Go where you need to go; the prince is paying.’
/>   Oh, yes, the prince was paying all right, and in paying the prince was also managing to demonstrate just how wide-reaching were his influence and power.

  And power was, Rose had to concede with a guilty shiver, a very potent aphrodisiac indeed. She must remember that. Khalim would not be blind to that fact either, which meant that she would have to be very, very careful not to let it all go to her head. She thought back to how she had greeted his suggestion.

  ‘Where will I be staying?’ she demanded, not caring that Philip had sucked in a horrified breath at the tone she was using. ‘In a hotel, I hope?’

  Khalim stilled. She really could be most insolent! If she were not quite so beautiful, he really would not have tolerated such disrespect. ‘Maraban has internationally acclaimed hotels,’ he told her smoothly. ‘But as my guest you will naturally stay in my father’s…’

  Rose looked up as she picked up on his hesitation—the last man she would have expected being stuck for words. ‘Your father’s what?’

  ‘Palace,’ he said reluctantly.

  Rose widened her eyes. His father’s palace, no less! Well, of course he would have a palace, wouldn’t he? Royal families did not generally live in trailer parks! She looked at him with interest, her indignation dissolving by the second.

  Had his reluctance to speak been motivated by the fact that palaces were what really drew the line in the sand? Palaces were what emphasised the unbreachable differences between Khalim and ordinary people like her. And, if that was the case, then didn’t that mean that there was a thoughtful streak running through him? Despite her reservations, she smiled.

  ‘And is it a beautiful palace?’ she asked him softly.

  An answering smile curved the edges of Khalim’s hard mouth. Most people rushed onto another subject—seeing his home simply as some kind of status symbol, forgetting that palaces tended to be designed with beauty in mind. But then Rose, he suspected, had a very real sense of the beautiful.

  ‘Very.’ His reply was equally soft. ‘Would you like me to describe it to you, or will you wait and see for yourself?’

  Rose swallowed down temptation. The very last thing she needed was that deep, sexy voice painting lyrical pictures for her. A voice like that could suck you in and transport you away to a magical place and make you have foolish wishes which could never come true. And Rose needed her feet set very firmly on the ground.

  ‘No, I think I’ll wait and see for myself, thank you,’ she said primly, tucking her still pristine papers back into her briefcase. Khalim had promised to fill her in about the oil refinery on the plane and she was glad to agree. At least it would give them something to talk about, other than the kind of irritating questions which kept popping to the forefront of her mind, such as, Khalim, why are your lips so beautiful? Or, Khalim, did anyone ever tell you that you have a body to die for?

  ‘Rose!’

  Rose blinked out of her reverie to find Lara staring at her as if she were an alien who had just landed from the planet Mars. ‘Wh-what is it?’ she stumbled.

  ‘You looked miles away!’

  ‘I was.’ In Maraban and in Khalim’s arms again, to be precise. Wondering if the land he had described could ever possibly live up to the richness of his description of it. I hope not, she thought distractedly. I really do.

  ‘When are you going?’ asked Lara.

  ‘The day after tomorrow.’ Khalim had wanted to fly out first thing the next morning, but Rose had put her foot down. She might have a wardrobe which could cope with almost any eventuality, but a trip such as this required a dash round London’s biggest department stores! And hadn’t it been immensely pleasurable to see his incredulous expression when she had opposed his wishes to leave when he wanted? She’d heard Philip’s disbelieving snort as she’d refused to back down!

  Who knew? Khalim was a man used to always getting his own way, and thwarting his wishes occasionally might just be good for him! Why, he might even thank her for it one day!

  ‘Very well,’ he had agreed coldly. ‘The day after tomorrow.’

  She spent the next day shopping and on impulse bought a new evening gown far more glittering and ostentatious than any of her normal purchases. But once she’d packed she felt almost sick with nerves, and realised that she’d better tell her parents she was going abroad. She rang and rang their old farmhouse, but there was no reply, and so she phoned her brother instead.

  ‘Jamie? It’s me, Rose!’

  ‘Well, hi! How much do you want to borrow?’ came back the dry comment.

  ‘Very funny!’

  ‘But you never seem to ring me these days, sister dearest—’

  ‘You’ve lost the use of your dialling finger, have you? Men are notoriously bad at communication and I don’t see why it should always be the women who stay in touch!’

  Jamie sounded indulgent. ‘Fair! So is this just a friendly chat with your favourite brother?’

  ‘My only brother.’ Rose smiled, and then grimaced at her reflection in the mirror. ‘Well, actually, no—I’ve been trying to ring Mum and Dad—but there’s no reply.’

  ‘That’s because they’re up in the Lake District—’

  ‘They’re always going somewhere!’

  ‘But it’s good, isn’t it? That they’re enjoying their retirement—I hope I’m still having such a good time, at their age!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rose thoughtfully. ‘I wanted to tell them that I’m going abroad for a couple of days.’

  ‘Oh? Anywhere nice?’

  Rose removed a speck of dust from the mirror with her fingernail. ‘Have you heard of a place called Maraban?’

  There was a pause. ‘Isn’t it in the Middle East?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So is it work? Or a holiday?’

  ‘Oh, work. I’ve, er, been asked to find someone to head up their oil refinery.’

  She could hear the frown in Jamie’s voice. ‘Really? But I thought you only worked in advertising?’

  ‘Usually I do.’ She scowled in the mirror again as if Khalim’s reflection was mocking back at her. ‘But this is special, or rather the client is. He’s a…um…he’s a prince.’

  ‘Sorry? Must be a bad line—I thought you said he was a prince.’

  How far-fetched it sounded! Her voice sounded almost apologetic. ‘I did. He’s Prince Khalim of Maraban.’

  There was a moment of astounded silence before she could hear Jamie expelling air from between pursed lips—an expression of bemusement he had had since he was a little boy. Then he said, ‘Wow! Lucky girl!’

  ‘Aren’t I?’ she agreed, just hoping that it sounded convincing, because most women would be thrilled and excited by the idea, wouldn’t they? ‘You can tell all your friends I’m going to stay in a palace!’

  ‘Heck,’ he said softly, still sounding slightly stunned.

  ‘And the other thing—’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘It’s just that Lara’s going to be away filming, and I just wondered whether you would pop your head into the flat on your way home from work—just check that there aren’t any free newspapers or letters making it look like the flat is empty?’

  ‘Course I will,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘You should try living somewhere that doesn’t have such a high quota of burglars!’

  ‘I know.’ Rose let out a small sigh. ‘Listen, thanks, Jamie.’

  ‘Sure.’ There was another pause. ‘Rose, this trip—it is all perfectly above board, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course it is! What else would it be? It’s business, Jamie, strictly business.’

  But as she replaced the receiver, Rose wondered if she had been entirely honest with her brother…

  The following morning, she opened the door and her mouth fell open when she discovered that it was Khalim himself who stood there.

  He saw the pink pout of her lips and smiled a predatory smile. ‘Surprised?’ he murmured. ‘Were you expecting Philip?’

  Well, yes, she was surprised, but not be
cause he hadn’t sent his emissary to collect her. Mainly because he had switched roles again. Gone was the exotic-looking businessman in the beautifully cut suit. Instead, he was dressed in a variation of the outfit he’d been wearing at the wedding—a flowing, silken top with loose trousers of the same material worn underneath. But today the robes were more silvery than gold. A colder colour altogether, providing an austere backdrop to the dark, proud features. Oh, but he looked magnificent!

  ‘You’ve ch-changed,’ was all she could breathlessly manage.

  ‘Of course I have. I’m going home,’ came the simple reply. ‘Are you ready?’

  She’d packed just one suitcase, and it stood in readiness in the hall. She gestured to it and then was surprised when he picked it up.

  He saw the look and correctly interpreted it. ‘You imagined that I would send someone up to collect it? That I should never carry anyone else’s bags?’

  ‘I suppose I did.’

  Astonishingly, he found that he wanted to enlighten her—to show her that he was not just a man who had been cosseted by servants from the moment of his birth.

  ‘There were reasons behind me being sent to boarding-school other than to learn to blend into both societies,’ he told her softly. ‘Like cold showers and rigorous sport and the discipline of learning to stand on my own two feet.’

  She stared at him, all too aware of the dark luminosity of his eyes. ‘And was it hard?’ she questioned. ‘To adapt to a new culture and all that went with it?’

  Her direct questions went straight to the very heart of the matter; impossible to ignore or to brush aside. He shrugged. ‘Little boys can be cruel.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ She wondered if he was conscious that remembered pain had clouded the amazing black eyes. ‘And how did you cope with that?’

  He pulled the door open and motioned for her to precede him. ‘You have to appear not to care. Only then will you cease to become the butt of playground mockery.’

  She saw a picture of a beautiful young boy with hair as black as his eyes. Outstanding in more than just looks and an easy target for boys who had not had so many of life’s gifts conferred on them.