The Desert Prince's Proposal. Nicola Marsh
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that case, I’d be honoured if you would have dinner with me.’
An instant refusal sprang to her lips. She never dined or flirted, or did much of anything other than focus on work these days, and having dinner with Sam, no matter how nice he’d been, was out of the question.
However, the longer he stared at her with those compelling dark eyes, the more her resolve wavered.
There was nothing sleazy in his invitation, merely a polite request from someone who had already done her a favour by letting her share his taxi.
Why shouldn’t she have dinner with him?
She had to eat, hadn’t she?
Besides, she sensed a kindred spirit in Sam—someone who was so business-oriented that it was rare to take time out to speak to another human, let alone eat with them.
‘I hear that Joseph’s restaurant has a world-renowned chef who spent many years in London. Sampling the cuisine would be a must. And I would love to hear more about your presentation. I’m intrigued. It might give me some ideas to improve my own business.’
‘In that case, how can I refuse?’
She smiled, surprised at how quickly she’d capitulated, more so by the quick glint of pleasure in Sam’s eyes.
He didn’t appear smug or sneaky, or any of the things she’d come to look for when guys asked her out. Instead, he seemed genuinely pleased she’d accepted his invitation, and suddenly she looked forward to tonight.
If there was one thing she was comfortable discussing it was her business, and why shouldn’t she help Sam out? She owed him for the taxi ride.
Dinner would be like the countless other business meals she’d shared with strangers who’d ended up being her clients.
No pressure. No expectations. Just the way she liked it.
Pleased with the way she’d rationalised her acceptance of Sam’s invitation, she sat back and watched as they pulled up outside the beautiful hotel.
‘I’ll make the reservations. Does eight suit?’
‘Fine,’ she said, returning his smile, a small part of her recognising she’d never looked forward to dinner with clients as much as she was looking forward to dinner with this enigmatic stranger.
CHAPTER TWO
BRIA entered the restaurant a few minutes early, confident she’d be the first one there. However, the moment she stepped into the elaborate room with velvet banquettes, brushed-silver table lamps and polished mahogany, she saw Sam rise to his feet from a far table and weave his way through the room, his dark eyed gaze fixed solely on her.
She swallowed, unprepared for the rush of excitement, the little thrill of anticipation that this incredible-looking guy was dining with her. Women’s heads turned as he strode between the tables, not that she could blame them.
He’d changed out of his business suit into black trousers and an open-necked white shirt which accentuated his deep tan. Though his mannerisms and accent screamed British, she guessed he had a Mediterranean background, what with his dark good looks and unusual surname.
‘I’m so glad you joined me,’ he said as he reached her side, his appreciative stare sending warmth spiralling through her body. She stiffened, not used to the uncharacteristic physical reaction to a guy, especially one she wouldn’t see after tonight.
‘Thanks for asking me.’
His eyebrow flicked upward at her short, clipped response, and she inwardly sighed, knowing this was a bad idea.
So she felt slightly indebted to the guy for sharing his taxi with her—that didn’t mean she’d had to agree to his dinner invitation. She could’ve said a polite ‘thank you’ like the super-cautious woman she usually was and left it at that.
Instead, she’d dithered over her wardrobe choice for five minutes too long—exactly four minutes longer than she usually took—and had that weird, quivering sensation in her belly that dinner with an attractive man for the first time in ages might bring her more than she bargained for.
‘You seem a little tense. Are you tired?’
She shook her head, impressed by his perceptiveness, surprised by his consideration. Most guys wouldn’t have noticed she was tired.
‘Actually, I’m starving. The tiredness is par for the course with my business at the moment.’
He inclined his head, a strangely formal gesture that added to his appeal rather than diminishing it.
‘I understand. Please, let us eat so you can retire early.’
Stifling a smile at his formal way of speaking, she fell into step beside him, acutely aware of his hand resting in the small of her back, gently guiding her through the maze of tables.
Heat seeped through the silk of her dress and her skin prickled, utterly aware of his barely-there touch and reacting accordingly.
Thankfully, they reached their table in record time, and Bria slid into the seat he held out for her, wondering if this was all a smooth, elaborate act or if Sam was this polite all the time.
Not that it mattered. She’d never fallen for a slick charmer before—her ex Ellis had been reserved and a tad bumbling, which is why she’d let him into her life—and she had no intention of loosening up now, even if he did have the most amazing, soulful dark eyes.
She had to admit his eyes fascinated her: the darkest of chocolate brown, mysterious, mesmerising.
Eyes that held secrets.
Eyes possessing wisdom beyond their years.
Eyes hinting at a whole host of possibilities she couldn’t begin to fathom.
‘Is there something wrong?’
She jolted upright and hoped she hadn’t been drooling.
‘I’m sorry for staring. That was rude of me.’
And stupid—very, very stupid.
He smiled, and the slight upward turning of his lips softened his face, creating a tiny road-map of lines around those fascinating eyes.
‘On the contrary, I’ll take it as a compliment. To have a beautiful woman stare at a man is the highest form of flattery.’
‘Or insanity.’
The words popped out before she could stop them, but thankfully he laughed.
‘You are a very frank woman. I find that intriguing.’
‘It becomes irritating after a while. Or so I’ve been told.’
She picked up a menu and ducked behind it, feeling awkward and gauche and out of her depth with a guy of Sam’s class. Rather ironic, considering she’d attended the best of Swiss boarding schools and had mingled with politicians, moguls and the upper echelons of society her entire life.
Yet there was something about him, more than his fancy clothes, posh accent and formal speech patterns, some sort of inbred class that stood him head and shoulders above everyone else.
And that alone should have her running as far from the magnetic property-developer as she could get. Class and power were often inexorably linked, often used to control and manipulate and impress.
She should know.
‘Please do not be embarrassed. I value honesty, especially as we have so little time together. Let us share a meal, enjoy each other’s company and talk some more.’
The elaborate print of the menu faded before her eyes as the implication of his smooth words sunk in. The eating part she could do, the enjoyment part was up for debate. As for talking some more, what was so interesting about small talk with a virtual stranger?
Thankfully, the appearance of a waiter put