Surrender To The Sheikh

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 heavenly 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.

‘Oh, my God!’ she moaned. ‘Look!’

‘It seems that we have inadvertently been providing the floor show,’ said Khalim, in some amusement, as he followed the direction of her gaze.

Rose’s distress grew even more intense, especially as Guy had chosen that moment to approach them and had clearly overheard Khalim’s remark.

‘A very erotic floor show,’ he teased.

Rose suppressed a groan. They had been acting like a couple of irresponsible teenagers!

‘We were simply dancing.’ Khalim shrugged, his black eyes sending out a conspiratorial gleam to Rose.

‘Is that what you call it?’ joked Guy. ‘Anyway, Sabrina and I are planning to leave now.’ His grey eyes crinkled as he looked at his best man. ‘And thanks for the honeymoon, Khalim.’

Silken shoulders were raised in a careless shrug. ‘It is nothing other than my pleasure to give,’ he drawled.

‘Sabrina told me the destination was a secret,’ said Rose.

The two men exchanged glances.

‘And so it is. Traditionally, a secret shared between the groom and best man. But do not fear, I will tell you later, beautiful Rose,’ promised Khalim softly.

‘Later?’ she asked, with a quick glance at her wrist-watch. Who had said anything about later?

‘But of course. You and I are going for a drink together afterwards.’

Guy smiled. ‘Are you?’

Rose saw the black eyes being levelled at her consideringly, saw the arrogant expectation that she would simply fall in with his regal wishes! And who really could blame him, after her shameless display on the dance-floor?

‘But you told me you rarely drink, Khalim,’ she reminded him innocently. ‘So wouldn’t that be an awful waste of your time?’

He opened his mouth to object, and then shut it again. Somewhere deep in his groin, Khalim felt a pulse begin to beat with slow insistence. He felt the sweet, sharp tang of desire and yet he instantly recognised her determination to oppose him. It flashed in sapphire sparks from her beautiful blue eyes. No matter what he said, Rose Thomas was not planning on going anywhere with him tonight. ‘You don’t want to?’

The note of incredulity in his voice was unmistakable, and Rose was very tempted to smile. But something in the cold glitter of his gaze made her decide that smiling maybe wasn’t the best idea. ‘It’s been a long day,’ she told him apologetically. ‘And I’m bushed! Some other time, perhaps?’

Khalim’s face grew distant; indeed, he barely noticed Guy slipping away to find Sabrina. ‘I never issue an invitation more than once,’ he told her coldly.

Rose was aware of a lurching sense of regret. You’ve missed your chance, girl, she thought—even while the sane part of her rejoiced. This man was different, she recognised. Different and dangerous. He had the power to make her vulnerable, and he was the last person she wanted to be vulnerable around. Why, a man like that would chew her up and spit her out in little pieces!

‘What a pity,’ she said lightly.

His black eyes lingered on the lushness of her lips, the creaminess of her skin. ‘A pity indeed,’ he agreed, briefly bowing his dark head before sweeping away from her across the ballroom.

And she watched him go with a thundering heart.

‘They’re leaving!’ called someone, and Rose looked across the room to see that Sabrina had changed out of her bridal gown into a silvery-blue suit and was carrying her bouquet, Guy in an impressive dark suit at her side.

Everyone began to surge out of the ballroom to wave them off, but Rose hung back. She could see Khalim talking to Guy and she found herself unwilling to face him, aware of a dull sense of an opportunity lost, an opportunity never to be repeated.

She saw Sabrina turn and teasingly hold her bouquet of lilies above her head while every female present lifted their arms in hope of catching it. Even Rose eagerly raised her arms to catch the waxy blooms as they came flying in her direction, but the redhead beside her was more eager still.

‘Gotcha!’ she shouted as she leapt into the air and pounced triumphantly on the bouquet.

It’s only a tradition, Rose told herself dully as she watched the girl ecstatically smelling the flowers. Why would catching a bunch of flowers guarantee that you would be the next to be married? And it wasn’t as if she even wanted to get married, was it? These days lots and lots of women in their late twenties were electing to stay single.

But when she looked up again, it was to find herself caught in the lancing gaze of a pair of glittering black eyes.

I have to get out of here, she thought, with a sudden sense of panic.

CHAPTER TWO

IN A daze, Rose left the Granchester and found herself a taxi, but afterwards she couldn’t recollect a single moment of the journey. Not until the cab drew up outside the flat she shared in Notting Hill did reality begin to seep back into her consciousness as she tried to rid herself of the memory of the dark prince, with his proud, sensual face.

She let herself in through the front door and put her handbag on the hall table, relieved to be home. And safe.

She loved her flat—it was her very first property and occupied the first floor of a grand old high-ceilinged house. But it was an ambitious project for a first-time buyer and the repayments on her loan were high, which was why she had taken on a flatmate—Lara.

Lara was a struggling actress who described herself as Rose’s lodger, but Rose never did. Equality was something she strove for in every area of her life. ‘No, we’re flatmates,’ she always insisted.

It was a typical bachelor girls’ home—full of colour in the shared areas and rather a lot of chaos in Lara’s bedroom—because, much as she nagged, there didn’t seem to be anything Rose could do to change Lara’s chronic untidiness. So now she had given up trying.

There were brightly coloured scarves floating from a coat-stand in the hall, and vases of cheap flowers from the market dotted around the sitting room. And the bathroom was so well stocked with various lotions and potions that it resembled the cosmetics counter of a large department store!

‘Anyone at home?’ she called.

‘I’m in the kitchen!’ came the muffled reply, and Rose walked into the kitchen to find Lara busy crunching a chocolate biscuit and pouring coffee into a mug. Her staple diet and my coffee, thought Rose ruefully as Lara looked up with a smile and held a second mug up. ‘Coffee?’

Rose shook her head. ‘No, thanks. I think I need a drink.’

Lara raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘But you’ve just been to a wedding!’

‘And I barely touched a drop all day,’ said Rose grimly. She had deliberately avoided liquor so that she would have all her wits about her, and then just look at the way she had behaved on the dance-floor! She sighed as she poured herself a glass of wine from the cask in the fridge.

‘Are you okay?’ asked Lara curiously.

‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘You just seem a little…I don’t know…tense.’

Tense? Rose sipped at her wine without enjoyment. She could see her reflection in the pig-shaped mirror which hung on the kitchen wall. Her face was unbelievably pale. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost. Or a vision maybe…‘I guess I am,’ she said slowly.

‘So why? What was the wedding like? Awful?’

‘No, beautiful,’ said Rose reflectively. ‘The most beautiful wedding I’ve ever been to.’

‘Then why the long face?’

Rose sat down at the kitchen table and put her wineglass down heavily. ‘It’s stupid, really—’ She looked up into Lara’s frankly interested brown eyes. ‘Did I ever tell you that Sabrina’s new husband is best friends with a prince?’

Lara’s eyes grew larger. ‘You’re winding me up, right?’

Rose shook her head and bit back a half-smile. It did sound a bit far-fetched. ‘No, I’m not. It’s the truth. He’s prince of a country—more a principality, really—called Maraban—it’s in the Middle East.’

‘And next, I suppose you’ll be telling me that he’s outrageously good-looking and rich, to boot!’

Rose sighed. ‘Yes! He’s exactly that. Just about the most perfect man you’ve ever seen. Tall, and dark and handsome—’

‘Oh, ha, ha, ha!’

‘No, he is! Honestly. He’s divine. I danced with him…’ Her voice tailed off as she remembered how it felt to have his body so tantalisingly close to hers. ‘Danced with him, and—’

‘And what?’

‘And—’ No need to point out that she had got a little carried away on the dance-floor. She squirmed with remembered pleasure and glanced up to see Lara’s open-mouthed expression.

‘Oh, Rose, you didn’t?’

Rose blinked as the implication behind Lara’s question squeaked its way home. ‘No, of course I didn’t! You surely don’t imagine that I’d meet a man at a wedding and hours later leap into bed with him, do you?’ she questioned indignantly.

But you did it in thought if not in deed, didn’t you? mocked the guilty voice of her conscience.

Lara was looking at her patiently. ‘So what happened?’

‘He, well, he asked me to go for a drink with him once the bride and groom had left,’ explained Rose.

‘What’s the problem with that? You said yes, of course?’

‘Actually,’ said Rose, in a high, forced voice, not quite believing that she had had the strength of will to go through with it, ‘I said no.’

Lara was blinking at her in bemusement. ‘You’ve lost me! He’s gorgeous, he’s royal and you turned him down! Why, for heaven’s sake?’

‘I don’t know.’ Rose sighed again. ‘Well, maybe that’s not true, I suppose I do, really. He’s so utterly irresistible—’

‘That’s usually considered a plus where men are concerned, isn’t it?’

‘But he would never commit, I know he wouldn’t—it’s written all over his face!’

Lara stared at her incredulously. ‘Never commit?’ she echoed. ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this! Rose, you’ve danced with the guy once and already you’re talking commitment? And this from the woman who has always vowed never to get married—’

‘Until I’m at least thirty-five,’ said Rose with a look of fierce determination. ‘I’ll have achieved something by then, so I’ll be ready! And people live longer these days—it makes sense to put off getting married for as long as possible.’

‘Very romantic,’ said Lara.

‘Very realistic,’ commented Rose drily.