The Sheikh's Shock Child. Susan Stephens
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‘ARE YOU SURE you wouldn’t like to sit down?’ the man she knew so well, and yet not at all, invited.
Sitting so he could tower over her was the last thing she wanted to do. ‘If you’re standing, I’m standing too,’ she said as he left the desk. This seemed to amuse him. And he still towered over her. So be it. She had no intention of allowing His Majesty to win every point, even if her pulse was racing out of control.
‘Forgive me for keeping you,’ he added with a penetrating look. ‘I have a lot of work.’
‘So I see,’ she replied calmly.
He studied her face. She studied him. Anything to take her mind off those mesmerising and all-seeing eyes. His headdress was called a keffiyeh. It moved fluidly as he moved, before falling back into place. She could try to be as objective as she liked, but when he angled his stubble-shaded chin to stare down at her, the lure of those eyes was irresistible, and as much as she wanted to hate him, the woman inside her wanted him more.
‘And now I’m all yours,’ he declared with the faintest of smiles.
She doubted that, and, for the sake of retaining her sanity, returned to studying his stylish robes. The keffiyeh was held in place by a rope-like agal made of tightly plaited gold thread that gave it the appearance of a crown. It could barely contain his wild hair, which was just as thick and black as she remembered, both from that night long ago, and from her forbidden dreams, when she had often run her fingers through those springing waves. Each time she woke when that happened, she was consumed by guilt.
How could she consider touching a member of the despised Khalifa family?
Just the thought made her angry. Yet here she was, standing in front of this same man with her body yearning for his touch.
‘I don’t have much time, Ms Dillinger,’ he informed her sharply.
‘And neither do I,’ she replied, lifting her chin.
Calm. She must remain calm, Millie thought as his eyes drilled into hers. After Saif’s profligate reign, she could understand that Sheikh Khalid was in a race against time to both put things right, and keep things right in his country. But that didn’t mean she had to cut him too much slack.
‘It’s been a long time, Millie,’ he said as if they were the best of friends. Of course, he had no reason to resent her. She’d kept out of his life, and got on with her own. ‘You’ve done well,’ he remarked. ‘Engineering, isn’t it?’
That shocked her. How much did he know about her?
The Sheikh of Khalifa would make it his business to know everything about the people he encountered, she reasoned. ‘Marine engineering,’ she confirmed in a tone that didn’t invite further questions.
‘You haven’t strayed far from King’s Dock.’
‘Why would I?’ snapped out of her before she had worked out whether he was stating a fact or asking a question. Either way, how and where she lived was none of his business. ‘I owe Miss Francine a debt of gratitude I can never hope to repay. And I love her,’ she added with some challenge in her tone.
Instead of taking offence, something mellowed in the Sheikh’s eyes and, turning, he asked, ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘Yes, please.’ She hadn’t realised how dry her throat had become, and was half expecting him to suggest she get it herself, or, failing that, he might ring a bell and have a steward bring it for her. It was a pleasant surprise when he pressed a panel on the wall behind his desk to reveal a comprehensive wet bar. He poured two glasses of water and, when he held hers out, their fingers brushed and she inhaled swiftly.
‘We need a lot more time than I can spare for you tonight,’ he said, appearing not to notice her response. ‘And I suggest you learn to relax and trust me.’
Trust him? Was he serious? They were a long way from that. Sheikh Khalid might be much older and more experienced, but she was not a fool, and would work on keeping a clear head. That was far more important than relaxing.
Try thinking clearly in front of all this darkly glittering glamour. How could she avoid noticing the sharp black stubble coating, not just his chin, but the thick column of his neck when he tipped his head back to drink. She could only imagine what he’d look like naked—
She had to stop that right now. Thoughts like that were dangerous and inappropriate.
‘A refill?’
‘Yes, please.’
Their fingers brushed a second time. He knew, she thought, and could sense her arousal as sweet clenches in secret places begged her to forget the past. It was almost a disappointment when he chose to put distance between them, by moving away to lean back against the wall.
‘Why are you frowning?’ he asked.
Was she? ‘This meeting has obviously come as a big shock for me.’
He shrugged disbelievingly. ‘And yet you must have volunteered to come on board with the laundry, and when I invited you to chat in my study, you accepted.’
She should have found a member of staff to question about that night. Why hadn’t she?
It was too late to wish she’d played this differently, Millie concluded. So, what now? How would it end? She shivered involuntarily. There was something in Sheikh Khalid’s eyes that stripped her bare, right down to the depths of her soul.
* * *
He had been forced to put distance between them. Millie’s allure was like an atomic charge to his senses. All he could think about was taking her over his desk...parting her legs and bringing her the release the hunger in her eyes said she so badly needed. Pressing her down beneath him, hearing her whimper with pleasure when he cupped her, worked her, before stripping her, so he could press his hard frame against her yielding softness—
He refused to submit to such carnal urges. Millie might be a beautiful woman, and the bond between them might have strengthened beyond belief, but the desire to protect her was intact. As was the desire to soften that stubborn mouth and turn her limbs languid with contentment. He was a stranger to hesitation and yet found himself contemplating a lengthy seduction, when what he should be doing was sending Millie back to the laundry without delay. It would be kinder for her. He must concentrate on choosing a bride, not a mistress.
But there was a yawning gulf between right and desire. ‘Please,’ he invited, indicating the chair opposite his at the desk. ‘Why don’t we both sit down and make the most of this short interview?’
* * *
Reluctantly, Millie sat down. I can handle this, she told herself firmly, but when the Sheikh sat across from her and steepled his lean, tanned fingers her mind was full of sex. She blamed the erotic images hanging on the wall in the gilded stateroom.
There was no one to blame but herself, and she’d feel worse if she didn’t confront him with the real reason she was here. ‘I want to know what happened that night,’ she said. ‘After I left the Sapphire, what happened?’
The Sheikh stared at her without speaking until all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickled. And then, instead of answering her question, he stood and came around the desk.
‘What makes you think I saw what happened?’ he demanded softly. ‘I could have heard about the accident second-hand.’
‘Accident?’ Bridling, Millie shot to her feet.
‘The coroner’s court agreed with that supposition,’ the Sheikh pointed out calmly, in no way rattled by her response.
‘And closed the case,’ she agreed, angrily clenching her fists. ‘Does that seem fair to you?’
‘I