‘Or are you driving?’ questioned Guy, still looking at her glass of mineral water.
‘Er, no,’ she said, in a faint voice. ‘I just want to keep a clear head about me.’
‘Quite wise,’ remarked Guy, and he lowered his voice by a fraction. ‘Since my old friend Khalim seems to have set his sights on you.’
‘He…he does?’ And then thought how obscenely starstruck that sounded. She cleared her throat and fixed a smile onto her lips. ‘Not really. We just had a chat, that’s all.’
‘A chat?’ asked Guy, now sounding even more amused. ‘Khalim exchanging small talk? Now, that’ll be a first!’
‘Wonderful wedding!’ said Rose valiantly, with an urgent need to change the subject. ‘Sabrina looks absolutely stunning.
At the mention of his new wife’s name, Guy’s face softened into a look of tenderness, the intentions of his schoolfriend instantly forgotten. ‘Doesn’t she?’ he asked indulgently, and then a slight note of impatience entered his voice. ‘Between you and me, I just wish we could forget the damned dancing and just leave!’
Rose smiled. ‘And deny your wife her wedding day! I think you can wait a little longer, don’t you, Guy? After all, you’ve been living together for well over a year now!’
‘Yeah,’ sighed Guy. ‘But this is the first time it will have been, well, legal…’ He looked down into Rose’s face. ‘Why, you’re blushing!’ he observed incredulously. ‘I’m sorry, Rose—I certainly didn’t mean to embarrass you—’
‘No, you weren’t. Honestly,’ Rose assured him hastily. She wasn’t going to point out that it was a pair of glittering jet eyes being lanced provocatively in her direction which had the heat singing remorselessly in her veins. In a way, she wished that maybe Guy and Sabrina would leave. And then she could leave, too. And she wouldn’t have to dance with Khalim and put herself in what was clearly becoming apparent would be a very vulnerable position indeed.
You don’t have to dance with him, she reminded herself sternly. It wasn’t a royal command. Well, of course it was, she realised with a slight edge of disbelief. But even if it was, she was not one of Khalim’s subjects and London was not part of his kingdom! She could just give him a small, tight smile and tell him that she wasn’t really in the mood for dancing.
Couldn’t she?
But in the event she didn’t have to. Because Khalim came nowhere near her. She found herself observing him obsessively, while doing her level best not to appear to be doing so.
He stood out from the crowd of fabulously dressed guests, and not by virtue of his own glorious and unconventional attire. No, it went much deeper than that. Rose had never met anyone of royal blood before, and of course she had heard the expression of regal bearing—but up until now she realised that she hadn’t really known what it had meant.
There was some innate grace about the way he carried himself. Some fundamental and rare elegance in the way he moved. She had never seen anything like it. People noiselessly slipped from his path. Women stared at him with looks of undisguised and rapacious hunger on their faces.
Did he notice? Rose wondered. His proud, handsome face did not seem to register any emotion at all. But maybe he was used to it. Why, he had only had to lay his hand autocratically on her wrist to have her virtually melting at his feet.
The meal was served and Rose found herself seated with a banker on one side of her, and an oceanographer on the other. Both men seemed amusing and intelligent and the oceanographer was handsome in the rugged kind of way which denoted a healthy, outdoor lifestyle. He flirted outrageously with Rose, and even an hour ago she might have been receptive enough to respond.
But the only man who burnt a searing image on her subconscious sat at the top table, picking at his food with the kind of indifference which suggested that conventional hunger was not uppermost in his mind.
At that moment, Khalim looked up and glittered a black look in her direction—a look which sent a shiver tiptoeing down her spine. Quickly, she put her fork down and pushed the plate away.
‘So what do you do, Rose?’ asked the oceanographer.
She turned to look at him with a smile. ‘I’m a head-hunter.’
‘Really?’ He grinned. ‘I guess you earn lots of money, then!’
Which was what people always said! ‘I wish I did!’
The waitress leaned over, a look of concern on her face. ‘Is everything all right with the salmon, miss?’
Rose nodded, looking guiltily at the untouched plate. ‘It’s fine! I’m just not very hungry, that’s all!’
The waitress had the kind of build which suggested that no plate of hers was ever returned unless completely clean. ‘Someone in the kitchen just said that we shouldn’t bother offering the top table any pudding—so much food has come back from there as well! Maybe you should be sitting with them!’ she joked.
‘Maybe!’ laughed Rose politely, half of her thankful that she was nowhere near Khalim, while the other part of her wished desperately to be within his exciting and yet dangerous proximity. She risked another look, seeing how the diamond lights of the chandeliers emphasised the creamy-gold silk of the robes he wore and the raven gleam of his black hair.
Valiantly she forced a few raspberries down her throat, but even the plump and succulent fruit failed to tempt her. And then at last it was time for the cutting of the cake, and the speeches.
Rose could barely take in a word of the best man’s speech—she was so mesmerised by his dark, proud face. Her eyes feasted on his features—the hard, bright eyes and the stern expression which made her feel she’d won the lottery when it softened into affection. His mouth was a contrast of lush, sensual curves, but the upper lip had a hard, almost cruel streak. She shivered. Be warned, she thought.
Guy’s speech had every woman in the room all misty-eyed with emotion as he gazed down in open adoration at Sabrina and spoke of his love for her.
And then the band struck up and people drifted onto the dance-floor and Rose’s heart was in her mouth as she remembered Khalim’s intention to dance with her.
But he did not come near her, just returned to his seat and sat there imperiously, his gaze drifting over her from time to time, the black eyes luminous with sensual promise.
Rose allowed herself to dance with whoever asked her, but her heart wasn’t in it. She moved mechanically as the oceanographer took her in his arms, stiffening with rejection when he tried to pull her a little closer.
She sat down and was just beginning to seriously hope that Guy and Sabrina would depart for their honeymoon, so that she could leave as well, when Khalim appeared in front of her, the black eyes narrowed in mocking question.
‘So,’ he said softly. ‘I have taken you at your word and come to find you.’ The black eyes glittered. ‘Though you made yourself very easy to find, Rose—you sweet, blushing flower. Now—’ his voice dipped in sultry question ‘—shall we dance?’
Her cheeks were stinging at the implication that she had just been sitting there, waiting for him—but then, hadn’t she?
‘Is that supposed to be an invitation I can’t resist?’ she shot back at him.
A smile hovered at the edges of his mouth. ‘No, Rose,’ he purred. ‘It is a royal command.’
She opened her mouth to object, but by then it was too late, because he had taken her hand with arrogant assurance and was leading her onto the dance-floor.
‘Come,’ he said quietly.
She moved into his arms as though her whole life had been a dress rehearsal for that moment. He placed his hands at the slim indentation of her waist, and Rose’s fingers drifted with a kind of irresistible inevitability to his shoulders. She breathed in the faint scent of sandalwood about him, its soft muskiness invading her senses with its sweet perfume.
Rose considered herself a modern, independent woman, but a minute in Khalim’s embrace was enough to transform her into a woman who felt as helpless as a kitten.
Khalim felt the slow unfurling of desire as
he moved his hands down to rest on the slender swell of her hips. ‘You dance beautifully, Rose,’ he murmured.
‘S-so do you,’ she managed breathlessly, gloriously aware of the hard, lean body which moved with such innate grace beneath the silken robes. ‘L-lovely wedding, wasn’t it?’ she commented, and said a silent prayer that her sanity would return. And soon!
He didn’t reply for a moment. ‘All women like weddings,’ he mused eventually.
She thought she heard deliberate provocation and lifted her head to stare him straight in the eyes, the bright sapphire of her gaze clashing irrevocably with glittering jet. ‘Meaning that men don’t, I suppose?’
He raised a mocking brow and thought how bright her hair, and how white her soft skin, against which the soft curves of her lips were a deep, rich pink. Like the roses which bloomed in the gardens of his father’s palace and scented the night air with their perfume. His pulse quickened. ‘Do you always jump to conclusions, I wonder?’
‘But you meant me to,’ she parried. ‘It was a remark designed to inflame, wasn’t it?’
He shook his head, his desire increased by her feisty opposition. ‘It was simply an observation,’ he demurred. ‘Nota…how-do-you-say?’ He frowned, as if in deep concentration. ‘Ah, yes—a sexist comment!’
Rose leaned away from him a little, and felt the almost imperceptible tightening of his hands on her hips, as though he couldn’t bear to let her go. ‘You can’t pretend to be stumbling over the language with me, Khalim!’ she said crisply, trying to ignore the thundering of her heart beneath her breast, ‘when I happen to know that you went to school in England and are as fluent as I am!’
She was very fiery, he thought with a sudden longing. ‘And what else do you know about me, Rose Thomas?’ he mused.
Briefly she considered affecting total ignorance. This was a man with an ego, that was for sure! Yet how often did people speak their minds to a man with his power and his presence?
‘I know that you are the heir to a mountain kingdom—’
‘Maraban,’ he elaborated softly, and his voice deepened with affectionate pride.
Something imprecise shimmered over her skin at the way he said that single word and a sense of hazy recognition made her shiver. ‘Maraban,’ she repeated wonderingly, until she realised that she was in danger of sounding starstruck again.
‘What else?’ he prompted, intrigued by that dreamy look which had softened her features when she had said the name of the land of his birth. And then his mouth hardened. Maraban was an oil-rich country—and didn’t fabulous wealth always produce enthusiasm in the greedy hearts of most Westerners?
She wondered what had caused the fleetingly judgemental look which had hardened his face into a stern mask. She snapped out of her reverie to deliver a few home truths.
‘I’ve heard that you have something of a reputation where women are concerned,’ she told him crisply.
‘A reputation?’ It sounded too close to unaccustomed criticism for Khalim not to experience a sudden flicker of irritation. ‘Do elaborate, Rose.’
‘Do I need to? You like women, don’t you?’
His smile grew cynical. ‘And is it wrong to enjoy the many pleasures which the opposite sex can offer?’
His words were accompanied by the splaying of his fingers over her back, and Rose found herself wondering what it would be like if her skin were bare. And his…She swallowed. ‘You make women sound like an amusement arcade!’
He smiled. ‘It is an interesting analogy,’ he remarked, and resisted the urge to move his fingertips to lie just below the jut of her breasts. He wanted her, and he never had to try very hard, not where women were concerned. There had only ever been one woman who had turned him down, and that had been Sabrina.
He moved his head slightly as the bride and groom passed by, and saw Sabrina gazing up into the face of her new husband. Khalim had instantly forgiven and understood her rejection, because she had been in love with his best friend.
Resisting the urge to explore Rose’s breasts, he kept his hands right where they were. For while his seduction of Rose Thomas was a certainty, he suspected that he would have to take things slowly…
‘So,’ he said huskily. ‘You are at an advantage, are you not? Since you know something of me, while I know nothing of you, Rose—other than the fact that you are the most beautiful woman in the room.’
‘So you said earlier,’ answered Rose sweetly, pleased to see the fleeting look of irritation which hardened the dark face. She teased him a little more—just for the hell of it. ‘I can’t see why women fall for your charms if you keep coming out with the same old compliment!’
‘Oh, can’t you?’ he questioned silkily, and with a fluid movement of grace caught her closer still, so that their bodies melded together with shocking intimacy. He noted with satisfaction the instant darkening of her eyes, the two high spots of colour to her cheeks. Through the thin layers of silk which covered him, and her, he could feel the tiny tight buds of her breasts as they flowered against his chest and he felt another sharp pull of desire.
‘D-don’t,’ protested Rose weakly, shaken by a sweet flood of need, stronger and more powerful than anything she had ever experienced before.
Triumphantly, Khalim felt her tremble against him and pressed his lips close to where the bright, flaxen hair gleamed against her ear. ‘Don’t what?’ he whispered.
‘Don’t.’ But her voice shook so that the word was unrecognisable and she had to try again. ‘Don’t stand so close to me.’
With the instinctive mastery of the conqueror, he did exactly as she asked, moving a little away from her, and he heard her unmistakable little of gasp of protest. ‘Is that better?’ he questioned silkily.
Better? Rose felt as bereft as if someone had just shorn off her long hair and left her neck bare and cold. She found herself wanting to beg him to pull her back into that warm, enticing circle, until common sense began to reassert itself. She was not the kind of woman to beg a man to do anything. ‘Much better,’ she agreed levelly.
He didn’t believe her for a moment. Khalim smiled, acknowledging what he knew to be a universal truth—that the chase was often the most exciting part of the conquest. ‘So why don’t you tell me something about yourself?’ he murmured.
She turned her face upwards, her eyes sparking a challenge. ‘What would you like to know?’
‘Everything. Absolutely everything.’
Rose’s mouth curved into a smile. ‘You’ll have to be a little more specific than that, I’m afraid!’
He wondered what she would say if he told her the only thing he really wanted to know was what her naked body would look like. Stretched out in rapturous abandon on the slippery-soft sheets of his enormous bed. ‘So tell me what you do,’ he murmured.
‘You mean, work-wise?’
He nodded, thinking that she had no need at all to work. She could easily be a rich man’s mistress, he thought. His. Why had he never met her before? ‘Or shall I guess what kind of work you do, Rose?’
‘You can try!’
‘Simple. A model?’ he mused.
‘I’m not tall enough,’ she objected, hating herself for the warm glow which his compliment produced. ‘Or thin enough.’
Irresistibly, his eyes were drawn to the luscious swell of breast and hip. ‘You are perfect,’ he said huskily. ‘Quite perfect.’
Within the circle of his arms, Rose shivered. She wasn’t used to men saying things like that, and certainly not within minutes of meeting her! Mostly, she mixed with lofty intellectuals who might occasionally pay her a clever-clever compliment. Not men who made no attempt to hide a primitive and compelling kind of desire. ‘That’s outrageous flattery!’ she protested.
‘Flattery, yes. Outrageous, no!’ He turned her round in time with the music, admiring her natural and subtle grace.
He really was the most wonderful dancer, thought Rose. She rarely danced properly like this—and never with a prince! It was h
eavenly to glide around the dance-floor in the arms of a man. Instead of everyone jigging about doing their own thing and usually managing to connect with her on the way!
He was staring down at her in a thoughtful way, and she immediately wiped the look of dreamy bliss off her face. ‘So you’ve given up, have you? You’re not very good at guessing, are you?’ she challenged.
‘Maybe not, but there are many things I am extremely good at, Rose,’ he boasted silkily, and chose just that moment to move a silken thigh between hers, immediately losing himself in an erotic dream of making love to her.
In time with the sexual boast, Rose felt the pressure of his leg, and the unmistakable iron of the steely muscle which lay beneath the delicate fabric. An unfamiliar hunger shot through her as she felt her heart-rate soar and something deep inside her began to slowly dissolve. She had to stop this. Now.
‘I’m a head-hunter,’ she said quickly.
Khalim’s dream was shattered by her words. ‘Head-hunter?’ he questioned, and frowned, his mind firing up with savage imagery.
‘Yes, you know—I find people for jobs!’
‘I know what a head-hunter is! And you are successful in your line of work?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Then, you must be a very intuitive woman, Rose.’ The tip of his finger rippled slowly over the curve of her waist and he felt her shiver in response. ‘Ve-ry intuitive.’
Warning bells began ringing in her mind. ‘I-I think I’ve had enough dancing,’ she said breathlessly, feeling ridiculously disappointed when he took her at her word and let her go.
‘I agree.’ The tug of desire had become persistent and uncomfortable. It made him want to take her. To…Khalim found himself having to fight for the rigid self-control which had been a fundamental part of his upbringing. And it was many years since he had had to fight for anything. He took a step backwards, steadying his suddenly shallow breathing.
Missing the feel of silk and the scent of sandalwood, Rose placed her hands over her flushed cheeks and could feel pulses fluttering absolutely everywhere. And it was only then she noticed that the floor was completely empty and that everyone was standing watching them.
Surrender to the Sheikh Page 2
