CHAPTER THREE
HE WAS waiting for her at the airport. One glance at him through the tinted limousine windows was enough to send the courage she’d found to disregard Paolo’s warnings scampering for cover. Standing next to the jet, Khaled seemed taller, even larger than he had done in the salon, his dark eyes fixed searchingly on the approaching car.
Why was she here? What if Paolo was right? What if Khaled was as dangerous as Paolo suggested? Would she have cause to regret defying him?
Already she regretted their argument. He’d left soon after, not staying for dinner, let alone for the night, and she hadn’t heard from him all weekend. No doubt he’d already be winging his way back to the States.
She hated that they’d parted this way. She’d never defied him so openly or so vehemently before, but then he’d never tried to stop her from doing anything either, certainly for no valid reason. If only there’d been some sound basis to his objections, she’d have had no compunction in taking more notice.
But no, Paolo was wrong and he’d have to admit it when she returned in four weeks. Not that he was likely to be around to welcome her home, whatever his vague offer was to sort things out between them.
And even if he was, things were going to be different between them. It was just as well he hadn’t stayed the night. Right now she wasn’t sure what she felt for Paolo, but it sure as hell wasn’t the happy-ever-after love she’d once assumed their relationship to be heading for. Things had changed between them over the past months and not for the better. A change of scenery would give her a chance to get her scrambled thoughts in order.
The driver pulled up alongside the private jet sending her thoughts into further disarray. Why on earth had she imagined they would be flying to Jebbai on a conventional airliner? Of course, she hadn’t known back then that he was a sheikh. Naturally he would have his own plane, more than likely an entire fleet of them.
Then her door was opened and her insulated world in the limousine’s interior was invaded by the unfettered brilliance of daylight, the roar of engines and the high-octane smell of jet fuel. In the time it took to blink he was there, at the door, offering her his hand.
‘Signora Clemenger, I am so pleased you have decided to accept my commission.’
Even over the whine of engines his cultured voice flowed over her, warm and rich in a way that somehow curled into her senses.
She stepped from the car to be greeted by the wind, whipping at the loose tendrils of her hair, and his half-smile, tugging at her self-confidence. Dark eyes shone down on her, a degree of self-satisfaction plainly evident.
She bristled. He didn’t have to feel smug about her compliance; it was only a job after all.
‘Did you ever doubt it, Sheikh Khaled Al-Ateeq?’
If she hadn’t been searching his face she might have missed it, that tell-tale tiny tic in his cheek, the jolt of realisation that caused his eyes to narrow fractionally.
‘I see you have discovered my little secret.’
‘So it would appear,’ she rejoined. ‘Although I very much doubt that I have discovered them all.’
He laughed, throwing his head back and taking her completely by surprise. She’d wanted to warn him, to let him know that she was no ingénue heading off into the desert with a stranger. Paolo’s fears were way off base, she was sure, but in any event, it paid to let him know that he would have to earn her trust.
Yet he laughed in a way that sounded as if he was truly delighted. And she liked the way it sounded. Even more so, she liked the way he looked. His pale blue fine-knit sweater hugged his torso without stretching, the colour contrasting vividly against his deep olive skin, especially where the shallow V-neck revealed a tantalising slice of his chest. Fitted black trousers accentuated his firm abdomen, showing off his long legs to full effect.
There was no doubt about it; he was going to make one dashing groom. She made a mental note for her design plans—if she didn’t do the right thing by the bride, Sheikh Khaled was likely to steal the show.
His head tilted back towards her, catching her frank appraisal and making her wish her eyes had found themselves a safer occupation while he laughed. But she resisted the temptation to turn them away; instead letting them stay locked on to his. He might be drop-dead handsome, but she was no teenaged schoolgirl who could be embarrassed simply by being caught out looking at a man. And he was her client after all. It wasn’t as if she was interested in him for herself.
‘Come,’ he said at last, a smile lingering in his eyes as he ushered her towards the steps, ‘we’ll take care of the formalities inside.’
She took one last look around her, bidding farewell to the now familiar mountain range towering over the hangars and planes to the north of Milan’s Malpensa Airport. Already her life working with Gianfranco Bacelli seemed distant as she climbed the steps into the plane, a sense of excitement building in her veins at this new adventure that not even the too-close proximity of the sheikh at her back could dispel.
He liked what she was wearing, the soft rose-coloured fabric of her dress contrasting with the blue of her eyes and her dark-gold hair, and the style was feminine without being flowery. But what he liked best was the way it moulded to her shape, showing off the roundness of her behind invitingly as she climbed the stairs.
In her wake her clean scent, a hint of perfume, light and summery, was a refreshing relief from the fume-laden air. She smelled fresh and ripe, with not a trace of the fear she’d projected when he’d offered the commission. There was something though—a wariness? Certainly her comment on greeting him had been nothing short of a challenge.
So, she suspected there was more to him than met the eye, yet still she was here. The woman had courage. So much the better. He liked nothing better than a challenge himself.
His eyes followed her progress upwards. It was a long time since he’d had a woman. Too long. He could feel the ache building even now as he watched her ascend, the natural roll of her hips accentuating the curve to her slim waist. Much, much too long.
But he could wait four weeks for this one.
She would be worth it.
And she would be his.