by Kay Thorpe
The competition had been set up to maximise publicity and to encourage entries from a broad range of entrants—not just the usual celebrity designers. His aim had been to discover new talent. Well, that had certainly worked, Kahlil reflected grimly. Lucy Benson had hit the ground running, winning this prestigious design contract less than a couple of years after setting up again in business, by his reckoning.
The competition had been supposed to find a new face for him to launch, with photographs of the winner flashed around the world, raising the profile of Abadan at the same time. But he had been thinking of attracting the best designers when he’d set it up, not women with questionable morals—though, as that went, Lucy Benson was still the best, Kahlil conceded, feeling his senses flare. Within minutes of their first meeting he had taken her on her kitchen table. There had been something so potent between them even he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation. She had made him lose control to the point where he’d mated with her like a ravening beast, with no thought for the consequences! But it would never happen again.
He had nothing to reproach himself for, Kahlil reflected, turning the events of almost two years ago over in his mind. They had both been consenting adults. And he had made the break nice and clean, leaving before she woke—no regrets, no recriminations—better for both of them that way.
Kahlil’s anger at finding himself in such an embarrassing position simmered dangerously close to the surface as he chaired the meeting. In spite of his best endeavours, his underlying thoughts remained stubbornly fixed on Lucy Benson. Was it coincidence or contrivance that had brought her to Abadan? He had been present when her dreams were shattered. Every detail of that day had to be etched on her mind. Had she somehow managed to discover his true identity after their brief and passionate encounter? It hardly seemed likely, but history proved how cunning women could be when a kingdom and a fortune were at stake. He would have to be on his guard, and wait to see what new surprises she might spring on him. Maybe she was innocent, maybe not; only time would tell.
Lucy had never been more relieved to wind up a meeting. It had gone well. No one, not even Kahlil, could fault the meticulous way in which she had prepared her submission for approval. As the room emptied, she kept her head down and concentrated on collecting up all her drawings and samples. Finally only Kahlil and the young man who had escorted her to the meeting remained.
‘You may go,’ Kahlil said, turning to his young aide. ‘I will assist Miss Benson.’
Lucy’s swift intake of breath sounded loud in the vaulted chamber, but by the time she lifted her head to protest the young aide was a distant figure, moving swiftly towards the door.
‘That’s all right, I can manage,’ she said calmly, straightening up to confront Kahlil. Standing in silence just a few feet away from her, he was a menacing sight.
‘I wish to speak to you,’ he said.
He kept his voice low, but it was authoritarian and chilling. There was no ‘wish’ about it, Lucy thought immediately. Here in Abadan Kahlil’s wish was a command. And she dared not challenge him just yet. ‘Of course,’ she said quietly.
‘We will take lunch together—’
He made it sound about as appealing as sitting down to eat with a wounded tiger.
‘—in the city,’ he informed her.
Lucy felt some relief. Anywhere away from the palace, away from Edward, would do. ‘OK,’ she agreed, meeting Kahlil’s gaze. But her heart was banging in her chest, and her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, all clashing together so that she couldn’t make sense of anything other than the need to keep Kahlil away from Edward until she could get them both safely out of Abadan.
Kahlil’s dark gaze never left her face for an instant, almost as if he could probe her guilty thoughts. But Lucy reckoned if she could confine their discussion to work over lunch she might just get away with it and buy some time. The Golden Palace was so vast it was unlikely their paths would ever cross again.
No wonder he’d left before she woke on that occasion, Lucy reflected angrily. As far as Sheikh Kahlil was concerned she’d provided a few hours’ distraction. He was the heir to a kingdom. Pleasurable time spent in bed with a woman was hardly a world-shattering event for him. It was certainly not a good enough reason for him to stay and play happy families with her the next day, Lucy reflected cynically, angry that her body insisted on behaving as if Kahlil was the answer to her dreams—nightmare, more like, she warned herself, pinning a cool, professional smile back on her face.
‘I’ll just take my things back to my room and then I’ll meet you—’
‘Leave everything here. It will all be collected and delivered to your rooms—I trust everything is to your satisfaction?’ he said.
‘Extremely pleasant,’ Lucy said. The last thing she wanted was for him to decide to check up on her accommodation for himself. ‘Shouldn’t I get changed for lunch?’ she asked, looking for an excuse to return to Edward. She longed for the sanctuary of the nursery. Dining with the devil was not her recreation of choice.
‘You are perfect as you are.’
Lucy’s heart sank. She couldn’t risk raising Kahlil’s suspicions. She had no option but to go with him.
The words had rushed out before he could stop himself, Kahlil thought impatiently. But it was true, unfortunately; as a women and a bedmate Lucy Benson was perfect.
Maybe this surprise reunion wasn’t so annoying after all. His lips began to curve in sardonic appreciation of the situation. The photographs that had been taken during the meeting, of him presenting a prestigious design prize to exciting new talent Miss Lucy Benson, would be flashed around the world—but no one would guess at their earlier involvement. Life moved in mysterious circles—but she was here; he might as well make use of her.
CHAPTER FOUR
SUSPENDED two hundred metres above the Gulf of Abadan, the restaurant Kahlil had chosen for lunch was exceptional in every way: opulent, hushed, clearly very expensive, and full of what Lucy immediately classed as ‘beautiful people’.
The clientele certainly wasn’t composed of run-of-the-mill couples, she noticed, looking around, and she wondered if that explained why Kahlil had chosen here, rather than the palace, for their meeting. Separate booths, high-backed, with velvet padded seats in crimson, allowed a degree of privacy that for some reason Lucy found alarming. Their lunchtime companions were men in flowing robes accompanied by young and beautiful companions wearing the latest fashions and fabulous jewellery.
‘What kind of place is this?’ she said. ‘I thought we were having a working lunch.’
‘Discreet,’ Kahlil said crisply. The maître d’ escorted him straight towards one of the best tables, overlooking the Gulf.
A place to take your mistress! The thought leapt into Lucy’s head like an unwelcome thorn. This wasn’t a business meeting, it was a negotiation, she thought angrily. Kahlil remembered everything about their first encounter, and wanted to cut a deal before they returned to the palace.
There was considerable interest as they crossed the room together, with Kahlil well ahead of her, and Lucy’s face flamed red as she realised what he was subjecting her to. Tilting her chin a little higher, she smiled faintly and pinned a look of confidence to her face. The first chance she got she was out of here! She would never allow Edward to see his mother humiliated in such a way.
With a polite word of thanks, Lucy accepted the seat the maître d’ drew out for her. Then she noticed the bodyguards stationed at all the exits: discreet men in Western dress with jackets designed to conceal a holster. A shiver ran down her spine, reminding her that her escape would amount to treason. Whisking the son of the heir to the throne of Abadan out of the country without his father’s knowledge or approval would be madness—but what alternative did she have? Losing her son just wasn’t an option.
Sheikh Kahlil ben Saeed Al-Sharif was Edward’s father! Lucy’s stomach clenched with apprehension as she stole a look at the man seated across the table from he
r.
Kahlil was a forbidding figure in his flowing black Arab garb. He was unmistakably a prince, a warrior prince—she amended, seeing the discreet and reverent glances he was attracting. Everyone deferred to him. It was as if the pitch of the voices around them had been turned down a couple of notches. And even the waiters seemed to be handling the china and glass carefully so that they made less clatter.
Lucy shook her head faintly as the maître d’ approached to discuss the menu with him. It hardly seemed possible that Sheikh Kahlil—for suddenly she could think of him no other way than as a sheikh—was the same casually dressed man she had given herself to so eagerly, hoping for oblivion, for a few hours of relief…She must have been mad! She was mad, Lucy thought anxiously. Did she really think she was going to be able to hide the fact that she had a baby from him? Her thoughts travelled back to the nursery, to Edward. Maybe it would be safer for him if she just folded and gave in.
Lucy glanced at some of the other young women in the room. Most were smiling happily at their wealthy and powerful companions, and quite a few were laughing—but this wasn’t the life for her. Lucy knew that for a fact. She was who she was, and had to take the consequences. She could only hope that one day Edward would understand.
Lucy took little part in ordering the food. On every point where it was possible to compromise she intended to do so. If it pleased Sheikh Kahlil to order for her, so be it. But she would not compromise her honour, her career, or Edward’s happiness—in reverse order, Lucy determined, levelling a steady stare on his face.
‘So, Lucy,’ he began easily, ‘this is a pleasant surprise.’
Not, Lucy thought, reading the sub-text behind his hard gaze.
‘It’s been a long time. Almost two years; a lot must have happened in that time.’
She had been dreading this moment, the moment when he finally acknowledged their first encounter. But now it had come, and she had survived it. She relaxed a little, and gave a fairly comprehensive run-down of her professional life, but nothing more. She would not succumb, at least outwardly, to the glint of knowledge in his dark eyes that told her Sheikh Kahlil was remembering every moment of their first X-rated encounter, and was now prompting her to do the same.
As if she could forget, Lucy thought, toying with the food, glad that the constant supply of new dishes filled any awkward gaps in their conversation.
‘Won’t you have some pudding, or coffee?’ he said, when at last the meal was over.
‘No, thank you,’ Lucy said, folding her napkin. She had exhausted every topic of conversation in the safety zone. All she wanted now was to return to the palace—to Edward—and make plans to get home safely with him before Sheikh Kahlil learned the truth about her son and tried to stop her.
‘I’ll take you back.’
He stood, and instantly an entourage seemed to materialise from nowhere and surrounded them. As he waved them away, Lucy’s heart thundered a warning. His suggestion was far too intimate for comfort. They had arrived at the restaurant in a chauffeur-driven limousine. What did he have in mind now?
He was devastatingly attractive, Lucy conceded as she got up from the table. It would be the easiest thing in the world to fall into bed with him. Sheikh Kahlil terrified her and attracted her in equal measure, and that was a potent mix. Just the thought of being the one woman who could tame him, who could melt his icy heart, would have been an irresistible challenge to anyone. But that was a foolish daydream, and, however many notches he had on his Arabian bedpost, she had no intention of adding one more.
‘Thank you. I’ll get straight to work when we get back,’ she lied, thinking of Edward.
Did Lucy Benson really imagine she was fooling him? Kahlil mused as he led the way out of the restaurant. Her prim manner was something new, admittedly, but he would soon strip that away.
At the door, one of his bodyguards handed him the keys to another car: something black, and very fast, and just big enough for two. He was in a hurry to get back to the palace now. He had waited long enough. Lucy Benson had had the audacity to avoid his questions, and he wanted to know why. What had she been up to over the past months? How many lovers had she enjoyed in that time?
Before quitting the restaurant Kahlil shut his eyes for a moment to compose himself. The fact that he still wanted Lucy was an inconvenience, but not one he intended to tolerate for very much longer. She had aroused his suspicions. There was something different about her, something he couldn’t quite pin down. She was far more composed, and more confident than he remembered. She must have found contentment. With a man? The stab of jealousy took him by surprise as he swept through the door ahead of her. He couldn’t remember such a thing happening before.
Having taken a few steps, Kahlil realised suddenly that he was alone. Lucy was still standing on the other side of the door. Impatiently he went back, meaning to chivvy her along, but the moment he reached her she sailed past—even finding time to grant him a gracious nod on the way!
However attractive Kahlil ben Saeed Al-Sharif might be, she would never allow him to humiliate her, Lucy thought, determined to start as she meant to go on.
She sat in silence as he gunned the engine of his custom-built Maserati into life, and guessed that here, in his own country, Kahlil bowed to nothing and no one. But as far as Lucy was concerned the common courtesies of life still applied. She was frightened—for herself, and for Edward most of all—but that was no reason to cave in and allow Kahlil to walk roughshod over her. Any sign of weakness would only harm them both in the long run. She would have to play a waiting game—act cautiously until an opportunity to escape presented itself.
It had been a huge shock to discover the father of her son in Abadan, and an even greater shock to realise the position he held. But she had to get over it fast. There was no time to dwell on the odds stacked against her. She had to look for the positives…But Sheikh Kahlil was not your run-of-the-mill adversary. He was the supreme challenge: the one man in the world she couldn’t have; the one man in the world any woman in her right mind would want. And she did. Stealing a glance at him, Lucy found herself shuddering with something she longed to be cold, or apprehension—anything but desire.
The sexual tension between them was incredible, Kahlil reflected, and all the more so because they were confined in the body of the low-slung sports car. The air between them positively crackled with energy—energy that would have to find expression somehow. Maybe he would have pudding brought to his apartment, a platter of sweet pancakes, perhaps, and then he would feed her. And when she was accustomed once more to accepting pleasure at his hands he would take her to bed. Even the most fractious of his racehorses had learned to trust him, and Lucy Benson would do the same.
There was much similarity between the woman sitting next to him and the thoroughbreds in his stable. Both were proud, and edgy, and both could be soothed and persuaded to give of their best if sufficient patience was employed. And Lucy Benson was lucky; even after her insolence at the restaurant, he would grant her the rest of the day—by which time, like the best of his Arabian steeds, she would be begging him for a good workout.
When they arrived back at the palace, a member of Kahlil’s council was waiting for him at the grand entrance.
‘We will meet later,’ Kahlil said to Lucy after a few hushed words with the man, ‘to finish our meal and to talk further.’
Lucy’s heart thumped ominously. Her fate wasn’t settled, it was simply put on hold. But at least it gave her chance to go to Edward. ‘When shall I see you?’ she said, wanting to be prepared, and well away from Edward.
‘In one hour,’ Kahlil informed her. ‘Someone will escort you to my rooms, and my chef will prepare some delicious dessert for us.’
It was a relief to know he wouldn’t come to collect her, but it was also like sand running too fast through an hourglass, Lucy thought, managing a smile. Anyone might tell Kahlil she had brought a child with her. She could only trust he had more important things o
n his mind than palace gossip. But time was running out.
Edward was asleep when she returned to the nursery. ‘No, let him sleep,’ she said to Leila. ‘It can’t do him any harm. He will still be suffering from jet lag, I expect.’
‘We want him bright and breezy for his birthday tomorrow,’ Leila agreed, looking down fondly at Edward’s sleeping form.
‘Yes,’ Lucy agreed, feeling her throat tighten. ‘But I’d better get back now—to finish my meeting with the Sheikh.’
‘Don’t worry about us,’ Leila said, looking with concern at Lucy’s tense face. ‘We’ll be fine. Just you relax—enjoy your meeting.’
If only, Lucy thought as she hurried out of the room.
It was easy to understand how she had succumbed so easily to Kahlil, Lucy realised as she watched him fork up the last delicious scraps of pancake for her. And perhaps he wasn’t as bad as she thought. The harsh contours of his face seemed so much softer in the candlelight.
Even though it was still only late afternoon, they might have been in a luxurious pavilion at twilight, for he had instructed the servants to draw the silk blinds, and light dozens of candles for them. It was a fairytale setting.
The ceiling was tented with exquisite fabric in a rich ruby-red, and the windows behind the delicately printed blinds were tinted, to protect the room’s occupants from the harsh midday sun. Kahlil had chosen well. If some form of compact was possible between them, this was the perfect setting. And sooner or later he would have to know about Edward. She wanted to trust him. It would be wonderful if she could.
She risked a small smile as she leaned across to take a second mouthful of the warm pudding from his fork. It was dripping with orange-flavoured sauce. She laughed, embarrassed, reaching for her napkin, but he was too quick for her.
‘It’s running down your chin,’ he pointed out softly.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’
