In The Sheikh's Service. Susan Stephens
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away.
‘Forgive me if I startled you,’ the man who had been leaning against the pillar murmured in a deep, intriguingly accented voice. ‘They said I’d find you here.’
She calmed herself, telling herself rationally that every man wasn’t out to hurt her. She also had to think about Chrissie, who depended on this job. She wasn’t going to make a fuss unless she had to.
And, if she had to, she could shout louder than most.
‘Can I help you?’ she demanded in a tone that sounded scratchy and tense. The man seemed to take up most of the available space in the small room, so there was nowhere else for him to be but close. He was a stunning-looking individual, not that that made it any easier to be alone with him.
‘I wanted to apologise for the disturbance to your act.’ His dark stare remained steady on her face. ‘A man was ejected from the club while you were dancing. You’re very good at your work, and I wanted to say how sorry I am for the interruption.’
‘Thank you.’ Smiling thinly, she reached for the door handle to show him out.
‘May I give you a lift home?’
Her eyes widened in shock. ‘Oh, no, thank you. I catch the bus. But, thank you for the offer.’
‘You catch the bus alone at night?’ he demanded, frowning.
His reaction brought a faint smile to her lips. ‘Public transport in London is quite safe. The bus drops me at my door.’
‘I see.’
He was still frowning, giving her the sense that this was a man who was used to being obeyed.
He might be a devastatingly good-looking individual with an air of command and a custom-made suit, but she was an independent woman who could look after herself.
‘So. No lift?’ he queried, raising a brow as if he thought he could change her mind.
‘No lift,’ she confirmed. She had a keen sense of self-preservation. She always had her bus fare home, and she would be using it tonight.
‘Perhaps I’ll see you again,’ he suggested.
‘Perhaps,’ she agreed lightly. Taking a firmer hold of the door handle, she swung the door wide and stood aside.
‘Goodnight, Isla.’
Alarm bells rang. ‘You know my name?’
His firm mouth slanted. ‘The manager told me when I asked to speak to you.’
Isla’s brain cogs whirred. The manager would not allow a customer near a girl without a very good reason. So what was this man’s excuse? Making an apology for a disturbance at the club? She didn’t think so.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded, feeling unsettled, as well as slightly annoyed by this blatant breach of club protocol.
Her question seemed to amuse him. ‘My friends call me Shaz.’
‘Goodnight, Shaz,’ she said pointedly.
She remained outside the door, pressed against the wall, wanting to keep some distance between them. The fact that he had made enquiries about her had only added to her unease—that and his sheer, brutal machismo.
‘Goodnight, Isla.’
His eyes had turned warm and humorous, prompting her to soften enough to say, ‘I’m glad you enjoyed the show.’
Her body tingled when he gave her one last appraising look. She was relieved he was leaving, and yet almost regretful knowing they would never meet again. When he rested his hands lightly on her upper arm, she gasped out loud, but he wasn’t done with her yet. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against her cheek—first her right cheek and then the left.
Kissing on both cheeks was the usual greeting and leave-taking gesture in many countries across the world, she reminded herself as her heart went crazy, both with alarm, and something else.
Pulling herself together fast, she moved out of his way and stood stiffly to attention as he left. Her senses were in turmoil. Wherever life took her from here on in, the man in the club wouldn’t be easy to forget.
SINISTER HIGH-POWERED LAUNCHES announced the arrival of the Sheikh’s team. The lead launch was sleek and black, while smaller vessels swarmed like mosquitoes in attendance as they cut a foaming path up the River Thames. The vessels were all heading for the same pontoon, about a hundred or so yards from the café where Isla was working at one of several part-time jobs that helped to pay her tuition fees at the university.
‘Hey, Chrissie—come and look at this,’ she called out.
Staff and customers alike were held riveted by the sight of the fleet arriving. A sight like this was just what Chrissie needed to cheer her up. The family emergency had been resolved—sort of—but Chrissie was still worried to death about her father, who had been brought home by the police after being arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct. The only blessing was that last night had ended so well for both girls, with a better than expected pay-out from the club.
A mystery benefactor had left the extra money, the manager had explained to Isla, to make up for the disturbance at the club. She guessed it must have been the man who had introduced himself. The money couldn’t have come at a better time, as she had been able to hand it all over to Chrissie to pay her father’s fine.
That wasn’t the only good thing about last night, Isla recalled, touching her cheek. It was the first time in years she’d come into contact with a man who hadn’t given her the creeps, and this was especially odd, as the man last night had been a paean to masculinity.
It was just a kiss.
Yes, but it was a kiss she would never forget.
‘What’s up?’ Chrissie said, joining Isla at the window. ‘Oh, wow...’
Isla rubbed her sleeve across the heat-misted window so they could both get a better view of the powerboats as they slowed in preparation for docking. She was glad to see Chrissie looking more relaxed as they crushed up comfortably against each other. Just dealing with the fine had been some consolation, though the problem with Chrissie’s father was unlikely to go away.
Men were leaping ashore to secure the ropes on a pontoon as new as the fantastic new development springing up next door to the café. This was all part of the same Thames-side university campus being funded by His Serene Majesty, Sheikh Shazim bin Khalifa al Q’Aqabi, a legendary philanthropic figure in a world weary of shallow celebrity. At thirty-five, the Sheikh was not just one of the richest men in the world, but was also practically invisible to the media. His immense power and wealth allowed him to remain beneath the avid radar of celebrity, which made any sighting of him all the more exciting. The new buildings he was funding included a veterinary science department, which Isla was particularly excited about as she had recently won the most amazing prize for her research project into endangered species. The prize included a trip to the Sheikh’s desert kingdom of Q’Aqabi to see for herself his world-beating nature reserve. And to work there one day, she hoped.
‘Isla! Chrissie! Stop daydreaming and get back to work!’
Both girls jumped into action as their boss, Charlie, yelled at them. Prize winner or not, Isla was still impoverished after so many years of study. She had yet to secure her first position as a veterinary surgeon and, like many students, her finances were precariously balanced. If she lost even one of her part-time jobs her future career could be in jeopardy.
The activity at the pontoon proved addictive, and Isla glanced repeatedly out of the window as she worked. The uniformed crew had moored up, and rain had begun to pelt down as a party of men disembarked. Dressed disappointingly in traditional western work clothes, rather than the flowing robes of her imagination, they strode up the pontoon in arrow formation towards the building site.