In The Sheikh's Service. Susan Stephens
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Taking hold of her shoulders, Shazim brought her in front of him. The fire he’d made to combat the chill of the desert night crackled on, while the moon beamed down benevolently. Everything was as it should be, but he still got the feeling that everything in his rigidly controlled life was about to change.
‘I think you’d rather be with me, in the tent,’ Isla whispered.
‘Have you learned nothing?’ he demanded, putting her away from him. Impatiently, he toed the cushions into place.
As she reached for him it became clear that she had not. And this time he’d call her bluff.
The air between them was electric as Shazim drew her deeper into his erotic net. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply and shakily as he dipped his head to lightly brush her lips with his. His kiss was like a question: did she want to carry on? Her answer was yes, most certainly.
This time she reached up and laced her fingers through his hair to keep him close. Her senses were full of him. He intoxicated her. He tasted of all things good. He smelled of woodsmoke and sandalwood, and the delicate balance between her fear of physical love and the growing sense that she was safe with him reached tipping point. Realistically, she was in the greatest danger of her life. Shazim’s destiny called him to greater things than a girl by a campfire in the desert. But she had no intention of spending the rest of her life wondering what a night with Shazim would be like.
It’s hard to believe this is my 50th romance. I dreamed of writing one. I struggled to write one. My first book took me eighteen months to write. Honing my craft to the point where my story was ready took me two years—probably longer.
Books and stories provide friends to believe in and an introduction to many different, exciting worlds. At school, essay-writing was the lesson I looked forward to more than any other as I anticipated the moment when I would be able to share my dreams. When I began to write in earnest I collected a box of rejections—and threw them out, thinking I was finished with dreaming. How wrong could I be? The last rejection was from an editor at Mills & Boon, but she asked if I had anything else. It took a friend to point it out. What could I lose by submitting one more story?
One thing I’ve learned—one thing I can pass on to you—is never give up. It doesn’t matter what you’re striving for—keep at it. Learn from everything you get wrong, and put right what you can, then forge ahead. That last push might be the one that gets you where you want to be—and that’s when the hard work starts!
Writing is amazing, though frustrating at times, but the reward of friendship across the world—from readers, fellow authors and other publishing professionals—has been a blessing I could never have anticipated.
Thank you all for everything you give to me.
Susan
In the Sheikh’s Service
Susan Stephens
SUSAN STEPHENS was a professional singer before meeting her husband on the Mediterranean island of Malta. In true Mills & Boon Modern Romance style they met on Monday, became engaged on Friday and married three months later. Susan enjoys entertaining, travel and going to the theatre. To relax she reads, cooks and plays the piano, and when she’s had enough of relaxing she throws herself off mountains on skis, or gallops through the countryside singing loudly.
Thanks to the late Penny Jordan, and to Lucy Mukerjee, my first editor at Mills & Boon, for believing in me.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EPILOGUE
A POLE-DANCING CLUB across from the Michelin-starred restaurant where he was dining with his ambassador was an unhappy coincidence. He should have known what to expect when his people booked the ambassador’s favourite table for dinner. This was Soho, London, England, where strip clubs coexisted happily with top-end eateries, but the ambassador was an old friend, and Shazim had fallen in with the old man’s wish to try something new. The downside was that the ambassador’s son had come along too.
Sitting still seemed beyond the edgy thirty-something. Girls dancing in the club across the road had grabbed his attention. It wasn’t just the guy’s blatant lack of good manners Shazim found appalling, but something more nagging at his senses. Whatever happened, he would not allow the ambassador’s son to harass the girls.
‘Have you finished eating?’ The ambassador’s son stared imploringly at him. ‘Can we look in across the road?’
He was like a puppy on a leash. Shazim had to grab a glass to steady it as he lurched away from the table in his hurry to leave the restaurant.
Shazim caught up with him at the door. His security guys hovered. With a look, he ordered his men to stand down.
‘Aren’t you a bit old for this?’ He angled his chin towards the rose-tinted windows of the club, where shadowy forms were undulating back and forth.
By this time the ambassador had joined them, and there was real danger of a scene. ‘Go with him, Shazim,’ the ambassador begged. ‘See that he doesn’t get into trouble, will you? Please? For me?’