Surrender to the Playboy Sheikh

Luke raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you just told me she was too busy to do the catering for your business meetings?’

‘Kick a man when he’s down, why don’t you? Anyway, she’ll change her mind.’ Karim had every intention of changing it for her.

‘Maybe I can help,’ Luke suggested. Karim had explained the situation to him before the match. ‘Cathy has some great ideas about revamping the café here—if you ask her nicely I’m sure she can come up with some menus for you and organise the catering. If it helps you out of a hole, she can use the kitchens here to sort out whatever you need done.’

‘You’d let me poach your staff?’ Karim asked. Luke had bought the health club three months ago and was in the process of making it reach its proper potential—a gym and spa bursting with vitality and an excellent café.

‘Borrow. Temporarily. To help you out,’ Luke corrected.

‘But you’d want advertising or something in return.’

‘I’m not that much of a shark. And I wouldn’t make an offer like that to just anyone.’ The corner of his mouth twitched. ‘But I’ve just thrashed you at squash. And you’re my best mate. So, as I’m feeling terribly sorry for you right now, you should take advantage of my good nature.’

Karim laughed. ‘Ha. You wait until next Monday. I’ll have my revenge.’

‘In your dreams,’ Luke teased back. ‘Come on. We’re both disgustingly sweaty and smelly—if we hang around here, bickering, we’ll put off all my customers.’

‘Whatever you say, boss.’

After a shower, they grabbed a cold beer in the bar.

‘You’re still brooding,’ Luke said.

Karim made light of it. ‘Just sulking about losing a match to you for the first time in a month. And by such a huge margin.’

‘Are you, hell. You don’t waste energy being competitive over something unimportant.’ Luke paused. ‘She must be really special.’

‘Who?’

‘The woman you’re brooding about. Let me guess. Five feet eight, blonde, curvy and just lurrrves parties?’

Karim laughed dryly. ‘That’s your type, not mine.’

Luke grinned back. ‘Don’t kid yourself. I go for brunettes. Preferably ones without wedding bells in their eyes.’

And just in case they developed wedding bell-itis, as Luke had dubbed it, nobody ever made it to a fourth date.

‘Actually, she’s nothing like the type I usually date,’ Karim said thoughtfully. ‘Try five feet four, mid-brown hair and very hard-working.’

Luke blinked. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘I wish I was. If she were a party girl, I’d know what made her tick. Lily…’ Karim blew out a breath. ‘She’s different.’ And maybe that was why he couldn’t get her out of his head.

‘And she’s the caterer you want to work for you?’ Luke queried.

‘She cooks for the rich and famous. Hand-picked client list.’ Karim leaned back against the leather club chair. ‘She’s the best. And I tasted her food at Felicity Browne’s do, the other night, so I know what I’m talking about.’

He’d tasted her, too…and he wanted to do it again. And again. A lot more intimately.

Luke wrinkled his nose. ‘I don’t like the sound of this. Mixing business and pleasure—it never works, Karim. It’ll end in tears. I’ve seen it happen too many times before.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Definitely.’ Luke raised an eyebrow. ‘So what’s the plan?’

‘I’m going to persuade her to change her mind.’

‘You’re going to charm her into working for you?’

Karim shrugged. ‘I offered to pay her double. She just said that you couldn’t buy people.’

‘Too right. If you can buy them, they’re not worth having around. They’ll be unreliable.’ Luke frowned. ‘And if she drops clients in favour of you, what’s to stop her dropping you if she gets a better offer?’

‘I don’t expect her to ditch long-standing arrangements in favour of me—and she told me up front she had no intention of dropping any of her clients for me. But I also happen to know there are three days a week when she doesn’t have bookings. I want her on those three days.’ Karim turned his glass of mineral water round in his hands. ‘So it’s a matter of getting to know her better. Finding out what’s important to her. And then…negotiating terms.’

‘It still sounds to me as if you’re planning to mix business and pleasure. If you’re going to be her boss, it’s practically harassment,’ Luke pointed out.

‘She’s her own boss. Technically, I’d be her client.’

‘Same difference. Let it go,’ Luke said. ‘Sure, you’re attracted to her. But there’s a lot riding on these meetings. Screw it up for the sake of—what, half a dozen dates, before you get bored or she gets too serious and you back off?—and you’ll never forgive yourself.’

‘I’m not going to screw it up.’

‘You will do, if you’re thinking with another part of your anatomy instead of with your head,’ Luke advised. He finished his drink. ‘Think about what I said. If you want me to have a word with Cathy, let me know. It’s not a problem.’

‘Thanks. I appreciate the offer.’

There was a tinge of sympathy in Luke’s eyes. ‘It’s tough, living up to a parent’s expectations.’

Not as tough as having no family at all—though Karim didn’t say so, knowing just how sensitive his best friend was about the issue. Particularly as Luke had been the one to walk away. ‘I always knew I’d have to grow up and pull my weight in the family firm some time.’ He just hadn’t expected it to be this way. He’d seen himself in a supporting role, not the limelight.

But all that had changed five years ago when his brother had died. The whole world had turned upside down. So he’d done the only thing possible: given up his PhD studies and gone home to do his duty as the new heir to the throne.

A duty he still wasn’t quite reconciled to. Not that he’d ever hurt his parents by telling them how he felt; and he would never, ever let them or his country down. But no matter how hard he worked or played, he still missed the studies he’d loved so much. Filling his time didn’t fill the empty space inside him.

Karim finished his own drink. ‘I’ve done quite enough loafing around for today. I’ll see you later.’

‘You’re going home to work?’

Karim laughed as he stood up. ‘Says the man who’s going to do exactly the same thing.’ Their backgrounds were miles apart, but Karim thought that he and Luke had a very similar outlook on life. They’d met on the first day of their MBA course, liked each other immediately, and the liking had merged into deep friendship over the years. Karim thought of Luke as the brother he no longer had, and Luke was the only person Karim would ever have talked to about Lily. And even though part of him knew that Luke was right, that mixing business and pleasure would lead to an unholy mess, he couldn’t stop himself thinking about her.

By the time he’d walked home, he’d worked out what to do. There was something more important than money: time. And maybe that was the key to Lily. For the next couple of weeks, his work was flexible. He could fit in the hours whenever it suited him.

So maybe, just maybe, he had a way to convince her.

The following morning, he leaned on Lily’s doorbell at nine o’clock sharp.

She opened the door and just stared at him for a moment.

And he was very, very aware that her gaze had gone straight to his mouth.

With difficulty, he forced his thoughts off her mouth and what he wanted to do with it. ‘Good morning, Lily.’

‘Good m—’ she began, then frowned. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’m your new apprentice.’

She shook her head. ‘Apart from the fact I already have all the staff I need, you can’t be my apprentice—you don’t have catering experience and you don’t have a food hygiene certificate.’

‘And how do you know that?’ he challenged.

‘I looked you up on the Internet.’ She paused before adding, ‘Your Highness.’

She’d looked him up. Just as he’d looked her up, the previous day. On her own website as well as the gossip pages. Nobody had been linked with Lily’s name for the last four years—probably, he thought, because she’d been too busy setting up and then running her business to socialise. Which suited him fine.

He met her gaze. ‘And that’s a problem?’

‘If you think I’m going to let my clients down in favour of you just because you’ve got a title, then I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed, Your Highness.’

He smiled, pleased that she had principles and stuck to them. ‘My title has nothing to do with it. To you, I’m Karim.’

‘Sheikh Karim al-Hassan of Harrat Salma,’ she pointed out. ‘You’re a prince. Your dad rules a country.’

‘The title bothers you, doesn’t it?’

‘Not particularly.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ve met people with titles before.’

And worked for them. He already knew that. And he liked the fact that she was discreet enough not to mention any names. ‘Then what bothers you, Lily?’

You do, she thought. You do. It wasn’t his title; she was used to dealing with wealthy, famous people. It was the man. The way her body reacted to him. The way he sent her into a flat spin when he so much as smiled at her. ‘Nothing,’ she fibbed.

‘So. As I said. I’m your new apprentice.’

‘You’re nothing of the sort. Without a food hygiene certificate, you can’t work with food.’

‘I can still run errands. Make you coffee. Wash up.’ He smiled, showing perfect white teeth. Sexy teeth. Sexy mouth.

Oh, Lord. She was near to hyperventilating, remembering what that mouth had done to her. Thinking about what she wanted it to do to her.

‘I could make you lunch,’ he suggested.

She aimed for cool. Since when would a sheikh do his own cooking? ‘You’re telling me you can actually cook?’ she drawled.

He laughed. ‘Making a sandwich isn’t exactly cooking. But if you want to know just how well I can cook, have dinner with me—and I’ll cook for you.’

Lord, he was confident. Most people just wouldn’t attempt to cook for a professional chef, worrying that their food wouldn’t come up to standard.

But she had a feeling that Karim al-Hassan would be good at everything he chose to do.

He was definitely good at kissing.

Flustered, she tried to push the memories out of her head, the insidious thoughts about what Karim might do next after he kissed her again—because he wasn’t going to kiss her again. She was absolutely resolved about that. ‘It’s very kind of you to offer, but I’m afraid I don’t have time.’

‘It’s Tuesday. You’re not cooking tonight,’ he pointed out.

‘I still have preparation work to do. And my column to write. And admin—catering is the same as any other business, with bills that need paying and books that need balancing and planning that needs to be done for future events.’

‘All right. Next Monday night, then. I’ll cook for you.’

This was sounding suspiciously like a date. Something she didn’t do.

‘Or we can make it lunch, if it’d make you feel safer,’ he added.

‘I’m not afraid of you.’ Which was true. She was afraid of herself. Of her reaction to him. She’d never felt like this before. This overwhelming blend of desire and need and urgency. Not even with Jeff—and she’d lost her head over him.

She’d lost a hell of a lot more, too. Her business, her home, her self-respect, and her heart. She’d worked hard to get them all back, and she knew better than to repeat her mistakes.

‘So you’ll have lunch with me on Monday.’ It was a statement, not a question.

The sensible side of her wanted to say no.

But the woman who’d been kissed wanted to know…This man would be a perfectionist. Would he cook as well as he kissed? Would he make love as well as he cooked?

But just as she was preparing a polite but firm refusal, her mouth seemed to work of its own accord. ‘Lunch would be fine. Thank you.’

‘Good. And in the meantime I’ll be your apprentice. Starting now.’

‘Thank you, but I really don’t need an apprentice.’

‘You don’t have to pay me, if that’s what you’re worrying about. I’m giving my time freely.’

She felt her eyes narrow. ‘If you’re trying to get me to change my mind about catering for your business meetings…’

He spread his hands. ‘I’m not trying to buy you, Lily. And time is more precious than money. If I give up my time to help you, then maybe you might reconsider giving up some of your time to help me.’

So he wanted a quid pro quo.

At least he’d been honest about it.

And he wasn’t expecting to push his way into a queue. He wanted some of her non-catering days. He recognised that her time was important and he was offering her something that he valued more than money, too.

Even though she knew her head needed examining—the man was a definite danger to her peace of mind—she took a step back from the door. ‘Come in.’

Karim smiled, and let her lead him to her kitchen. ‘So, boss. First off, how do you take your coffee?’

‘Milk, no sugar, please. And I’m not your boss.’

‘I can take orders.’

He was teasing her. No way would this man take orders. Give them, yes.

She must have spoken aloud because he laughed. ‘Habibti, I can definitely take orders. Just tell me what you want me to do.’

She knew he wasn’t talking about coffee or anything of the kind. There was a sensual gleam in those amber, wolfish eyes that suggested something completely different. That doing her bidding would be his pleasure—and most definitely hers.

‘Coffee,’ she said, before she did or said something to disgrace herself. Like telling him to carry her upstairs and rip all her clothes off and make love to her until she didn’t know what day it was any more.

Coward, his eyes said. She knew he knew damn well what had just gone through her mind.

‘Lots of milk or just a dash?’ he asked.

‘Somewhere in the middle.’

‘OK. Carry on with whatever you were doing, and I’ll make coffee.’

She sat at the little island in the centre of her kitchen, where she’d set up her laptop earlier that morning. So much for editing her article on summer food. How could she possibly concentrate with this man in the room? She was aware of every movement he made, even when she wasn’t looking at him.

She typed and erased the same three words a dozen times.

This wasn’t going to work. It was going to drive her crazy, him being in here. Invading her space. Looking in her cupboards for china—she bit back the words before she told him that she kept the mugs in the cupboard above the kettle, because she didn’t want him knowing that she was watching him instead of working.

She forced herself to concentrate on the screen of her laptop.

A few moments later he brought a mug of coffee over to her—along with a plate, with a little gold box sitting on it.

Her heart missed a beat.

Then she shook herself mentally. Stupid. Even if he was a sheikh and impossibly wealthy, of course he wasn’t going to lavish jewellery on her. They barely knew each other.

Besides, she recognised the embossing on the box: the name of a very exclusive and extremely expensive chocolatier.

‘Is this what I think it is?’ she asked.

‘That rather depends on what you think it is.’

‘Unless you’ve recycled the box, this is definitely chocolate.’

Again, his eyes glittered with amusement, as if he’d guessed the crazy idea she’d had a few seconds before. ‘It’s a new box,’ he confirmed. ‘I wasn’t sure if you preferred white, milk or dark.’

She opened the box. He’d bought two of each sort. Enough to be a thoughtful gesture, but not so much that she felt too uncomfortable to accept his gift. From what she’d read about him online, he could’ve afforded to buy the contents of the shop with his spare change, and still had enough left over to buy the entire stock of the florist’s next door—but he’d been restrained rather than over the top. He’d remembered what she’d said to him about not being bought.

And she liked that.

‘As long as it’s chocolate, I like it,’ she said. ‘But, as there are two of each, I think you should share them with me.’

‘Thank you. I accept.’ His tongue moistened his lower lip briefly. ‘I have to confess to a weakness for chocolate. But I like mine dark. Rich. Spicy.’

How could the man make her think of sex when he was talking about chocolate? Breathe, Lily reminded herself.

He sat on the pale wooden bar stool next to hers—not close enough to crowd her, but near enough for her to be incredibly aware of his body. The first time she’d seen him, he’d worn a dinner jacket. The last time, he’d worn an expensively cut business suit. Today, he was in jeans, very soft denim that just screamed out to be touched, and a collarless white cotton shirt. It made him look younger. Approachable. And incredibly sexy.

No. Sexy was bad.

He was just…

She gave up trying to describe him, because her mind filled the gap with all sorts of descriptions that made her heart skip a beat. Hot. Touchable. Kissable.

This couldn’t be happening. Shouldn’t be happening. They moved in different worlds. No way could anything happen between them.

Except maybe a fling, her libido reminded her. A hot and very satisfying fling. Something temporary. No strings, no promises to be broken.

And the idea sent her temperature up another notch.

Lily reached out to take a chocolate from the box, to distract herself, and her fingers brushed against his. She found her lips parting automatically, inviting a kiss, and felt her cheeks flame when she realised that she was staring at his mouth. When she lifted her gaze she saw that he was staring at her mouth, too.

Remembering.

Wanting.

All she had to do was move towards him and she knew he’d touch her, his fingertips skating across her face and then sliding behind her neck to urge her closer. And then his mouth would touch hers. So lightly. Asking. Promising.

And this time they were on their own. There was no risk of being disturbed. No reason why he couldn’t scoop her off the chair and carry her up the stairs to her bed.

She really, really had to get a grip.

She edged her chair slightly away from his. His expression told her that he’d noticed. And that he’d guessed why.

‘So what are you doing?’ he asked.

Trying to resist temptation, she thought. ‘Editing my article about seasonal foods. Gooseberries, courgettes and broad beans.’

‘It’s spring now. You’re talking about summer foods.’

‘Magazines work three or four months in advance,’ she explained. ‘So although for my catering work I prefer to buy seasonal ingredients, produced as locally as possible, for this kind of work I can’t.’

‘So you do the pictures as well?’

‘No, the magazine sends a photographer over. I’ve emailed them some rough shots so the designer has some idea of what the finished product looks like and can brief the photographer with the kind of angles she wants taken, and we’ll be setting up the final shoot tomorrow.’

‘So what are you cooking?’

‘Broad beans with pancetta, gooseberry and elderflower fool, and courgette and chocolate cake.’

He looked surprised. ‘Courgette and chocolate cake? Are you sure?’

She smiled. ‘Did you taste the courgettes in it yesterday?’

‘That was courgette and chocolate cake?’

‘Yup.’

He spread his hands. ‘What can I say, other than that you’re a culinary genius, Lily Finch?’

She gave him a tiny bow, acknowledging the compliment. ‘We didn’t tell the kids, either. Until they’d scoffed it.’

‘Kids?’ he queried.

Ah. She hadn’t intended to tell him that. ‘Never mind.’

‘Talk to me, Lily,’ he said softly. ‘Kids?’

She flushed. ‘My friend Hannah, who works with me—she takes my trials to her daughter’s nursery school. Depending on what it is, they either use it for the children’s break-time snacks or offer it to parents in return for a donation to nursery funds.’

‘That’s good of you.’

She shook her head. ‘This might be a nice middle-class area now, but there are still quite a few kids around here who have nothing. Nursery’s the only place where they get to play with toys and books. So this is my way of giving something back.’ That, and offering a romantic dinner for two cooked by Elizabeth Finch at the nursery’s annual fund-raising raffle. Because she owed Hannah for supporting her through the mess of her divorce—and she never forgot her debts.

‘It’s still a nice thing to do.’

She wriggled on her seat, not comfortable talking about it; he clearly noticed, because he moved over to the window and changed the subject. ‘Nice garden.’

‘I like it,’ Lily said. ‘Though it’s not just flowers. There’s a raised bed at the bottom which I use for vegetables, and there are pots of herbs on the patio.’ She joined him at the window. ‘And there at the bottom is my Californian lilac. My favourite shrub—it’s a mass of bright blue flowers in May, and it attracts all the butterflies.’ She shook herself. ‘But this isn’t getting any work done.’

‘Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.’

‘I can’t think of anything.’ Well, she could—but none of those things were on the agenda. At all. She raked a hand through her hair. ‘I just need to finish editing my article, and make sure I have all the ingredients in so I can make at least four sets of everything tomorrow—one finished article, two showing the cooking process at different stages, and a spare in case there’s a last-minute hitch.’

‘Give me your recipes, and I’ll check the ingredients for you,’ he said.

‘Thanks, but I’d rather do it myself.’

‘You don’t trust me?’

‘I’d rather do it myself,’ she repeated. ‘I can see at a glance if I need anything. It’s quicker than explaining.’

‘You’re not a team player, then.’

Not since Jeff’s betrayal. She’d vowed that she’d never, ever have another business partner again. It had been devastating to lose the restaurant she’d worked so hard to build. Even though it meant that Amazing Tastes couldn’t expand, it also meant that she couldn’t lose the business she loved because of someone else’s failings. Been there, done that, worn the T-shirt to shreds. ‘I don’t have a problem with my colleagues in the kitchen.’

‘But you have a problem with me?’

She nodded. ‘You’re…distracting.’

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