CHAPTER TWO

      TALIB FELT A tingling sensation shoot from his fingers all the way to his groin as soon as his hand came into contact with hers. Something about her touch spoke to him, alerted him. Warned him. Her eyes were a nutmeg-brown, wide and innocent looking and darkly and very thickly lashed. Her glossy chestnut hair was slightly curvy and loose about her shoulders. He could smell her fragrance, an unusual mix of spring lilacs and winter violets. Her skin was clear and creamy, with just a tiny dusting of freckles over the bridge of her uptilted nose that her light makeup hadn’t quite concealed.

      ‘Talib Muhtadi,’ he said, giving the soft little hand in his a gentle squeeze.

      Her tongue darted out over her lips in a sweeping motion. ‘How do you do?’

      Talib waited for the gasp or flicker of recognition, but surprisingly none came. His name was rarely out of the press, along with his best friend from university days, Remy Caffarelli. It was quite refreshing...liberating to meet someone who hadn’t heard of him. He was so used to women fawning over him because he was a crown prince and ridiculously wealthy that he had totally forgotten what it felt like to be treated like a normal person. It was so hard to know if his lovers wanted him for him or for the prestige it gave them to have been seen with him, even if it was just for a few weeks. None of his relationships lasted more than a month or two. Any longer than that and people starting mentioning marriage and he felt that all-too-familiar clawed fist of claustrophobia clutch at his throat.

      He would have to do his duty soon. His father, Sheik Sayid Yasin Muhtadi, had already had The Talk with him. At thirty-two it was time for him to settle down, to marry the bride that had been chosen for him since childhood according to the ancient tradition of his homeland, Dharbiri. He would have to produce heirs, two at least, and take over from his father when the time came. Duty would always come first. It had been drummed into him from a young age. Duty. Duty. Duty.

      Talib had come to London for business, but now that it was complete he had put aside this one last night for himself. He had shaken off his bodyguards and booked into a modest hotel just so he could have one night of freedom without the restraints that being a desert province royal entailed.

      But even with or without his entourage he felt restless. Bored. Lonely.

      He hated that word. It annoyed him. It irked him. How could he feel lonely when he had everything money could buy?

      ‘So...what would you like to drink?’ Abby asked. ‘Apart from champagne, of course.’

      ‘I’ll have soda water.’ Talib smiled a half smile. ‘I want to keep a clear head.’

      She blushed like a schoolgirl and went off to fetch their drinks.

      Talib followed her with his gaze, taking in her slim curves beneath the simple but elegant black dress she was wearing. She had long legs with thoroughbred-thin ankles, dainty wrists and a swanlike neck. Her mouth was full, the top lip only marginally thinner than the lower one and curved upwards in a perpetual Cupid’s bow.

      A kissable mouth.

      A very kissable mouth.

      She came back with a glass of soda water for him and lemonade for herself. ‘What shall we drink to?’

      Talib held her gaze as he clinked his glass against hers. ‘To us.’

      A tiny frown wrinkled her brow. ‘Us?’

      ‘Two single people at a loose end with nothing better to do than pick up strangers in a bar.’ He drank a mouthful of his drink before looking at her again. ‘What?’

      Her eyes suddenly seemed too big for her heart-shaped face. ‘Is that what you’re doing? Picking me...um, up?’

      Talib stroked a lazy finger down the regal slope of her cheek. Her skin was velvet soft and pure as cream. ‘You want a one-night stand, don’t you?’