An Ordinary Girl and a Sheikh. Nicola Marsh
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to capture it.
Silk, he thought, as it tangled in his fingers, brushed against his wrist. Chestnut-coloured silk, a perfect counter to the bronze-flecked green of eyes that widened, darkened as he looked down at her, and the temptation to wrap it round his fist and draw her closer almost overwhelmed him. Almost. He was not so lost …
Slowly, taking care not to touch her cheek, he gathered it, then was left with no alternative but to tuck it behind her ear. Her ear, the smooth, fine skin of her neck, undid all his best intentions. The warmth drew him in, held him captive, and he spread his hand to cradle her head.
Until the last second she watched him, eyes wide as a fawn, but the second before his lips met hers she slammed them shut, caught her breath and, for the longest moment in his life, she was rigid, unmoving. Then she melted and kissed him back.
It was the crash of the tray that brought them both to their senses.
Metcalfe jerked away with a little gasp, looking at him for a moment, eyes wide, mouth full and dark, cheeks flushed, everything she was feeling on display. As if she knew, she looked away, glancing down at the tray.
‘Pigeon heaven,’ she said, breaking the silence, as the birds began to snatch at the scattered food.
He wanted to say something, but what? He couldn’t even say her name. Metcalfe wouldn’t do …
‘I have to get back to the gallery,’ he said, getting to his feet.
She nodded. ‘I’ll bring back the tray.’ Then, when he still didn’t make a move, she looked up at him and said, ‘Diana. My name is Diana Metcalfe.’
‘Like the princess?’
‘I’m afraid so. My mother was a fan.’
‘Diana was also a goddess.’
‘I know. It’s really rather more of a name than one very ordinary girl could ever hope to live up to.’ She swallowed. ‘Most people just call me Di.’
‘There’s no such thing as an ordinary girl, Diana. Each person is unique, individual.’ Then, with a touch of anger, ‘The world is full of people ready to keep you in what they perceive to be your place. Don’t give them a head start by doing it to yourself.’
Diana stared at him for a moment, but he hadn’t waited for her answer. With something that was more than a nod, less than a bow, he turned and walked quickly away.
Was he angry with her?
He needn’t bother. Give her a moment to gather her wits, forget a touch that had stirred her to the core, waking feelings, desires she had thought stone dead, and she’d be angry enough for both of them.
As for that stuff about her ‘place’. Easy to say, when your own place in the world was so far above ordinary that you probably needed an oxygen mask.
What did he know about her life?
Single mother at eighteen. And then, just as she might have turned her life around, her father had been disabled by a stroke, leaving her and her mother having to work full-time, run as fast as they could just to keep in the same place. All dreams on hold for the duration.
Tomorrow she’d bring sandwiches and a flask of tea as well as her standard bottle of water—the full ‘chauffeur’ kit—she promised herself, picking up the tray and tossing the remainder of the canapés to the pigeons.
Always assuming Zahir hadn’t given James Pierce the nod to do what he’d wanted from the moment he’d set eyes on her and organise another driver. For both their sakes.
‘Great start, Diana,’ she said to herself. ‘Professional, eh? Well, that’s a joke.’ Cheek and chat were one thing, but kissing the client? ‘Failed on every count.’
Even if he didn’t pull the plug, she knew she should phone Sadie right now and do it for him. But she didn’t. Instead she walked across to the gallery on legs that felt as if they were walking on feathers. Handed the tray over to a waitress, taking care to look neither to left nor right as she headed for the ladies’ to wash her hands.
But when, a few minutes later, she emerged, the first person she saw, through a gap in the crowd, was Zahir. She could have just put her head down and scurried out, but there was not a chance in the world that he would notice her, flirt with her. His attention was totally engaged by a tall, elegant blonde, her long cream-coloured hair twisted up in a simple stylish twist. Not some foolish girl, but a beautiful woman. Not wearing a hideous uniform, but an exquisitely embroidered shalwar kameez, the kind that cost telephone numbers.
As Diana stood there, temporarily mesmerised, the woman smiled and touched his arm in a gesture of casual intimacy. There was a relaxed easiness between them and she didn’t doubt that they knew each other well.
It was as if she’d been slapped on the side of the head, given a reality check.
Sheikh Zahir was a man who would draw beautiful women to him like a magnet. Beautiful women in beautiful clothes, stunningly high-heeled designer shoes.
He’d kissed her because she was there. Because he could. It was what men did. They took what was on offer without a thought, nothing engaged but their hormones.
For heaven’s sake, she only had to look at him to see how it was. Remember the drooling reaction of the assistant in the toy store.
As for her, well, she was undoubtedly giving out all the same signals and he’d responded to them the same way he breathed. Instinctively.
It had happened to her once before and she knew it didn’t mean a thing. Not a thing, she thought, turning away and finding herself face to face with James Pierce.
He glanced across at his boss, then back at her, and, as if he’d known exactly what she was thinking, he gave her a pitying smile and said, ‘She’s lovely, isn’t she?’
‘Lovely,’ she managed. Then, unable to help herself, ‘Who is she?’
‘His partner.’ Then, while her brain was processing that piece of information, ‘You’d better get back to the car. Sheikh Zahir will be leaving in five minutes.’
She needed no encouragement to leave, escaping into the fresh air where she dragged in steadying breaths as she replaced her hat, her gloves, donning them as if they were armour.
She’d expected the blonde to be with him, but when, a few moments later, Zahir emerged, he was alone but for James Pierce.
‘I’ll leave you to mop up the stragglers, James. I want every one of these people to visit Nadira, experience it firsthand.’
‘I’ve got all but a couple of broadsheet journalists who want to be coaxed but the princess will have them eating out of her hands before they know it.’
The blonde was a princess? Why was she surprised?
‘No doubt. In my absence, will you see Lucy safely to her car?’
‘It will be my pleasure.’ Then, ‘I’ll be on call should Lord …’ James Pierce glanced at her, leaving the name unsaid, making it crystal clear that he doubted her discretion.
‘Thank you, James. I think I can handle any query Lord Radcliffe is likely to raise,’ Zahir replied, demonstrating that he had no such qualms.
Well, he’d kissed her. She was, presumably, at now his beck and call.
‘Berkeley Square, Diana?’ he prompted, as he stepped into the car. ‘Sir,’ she said.
‘Come back and collect me as soon as you’ve dropped off Sheikh Zahir, Metcalfe,’ James Pierce said sharply.
Sheikh Zahir held out a hand, stopping her from closing the door. ‘Take a taxi, James.’
‘It’s no trouble,’ Diana said quickly, not wanting to give the stuffed shirt any reason to complain to Sadie, determined to show him that nothing had changed. ‘I’ll only be sitting