‘So one day you will inherit Maraban?’ she asked, and saw his eyes grew wary.
‘Some far-distant day, I pray,’ he answered harshly, aware that her question had touched a raw nerve. Reminded him of things he would prefer to forget. Things which simmered irrevocably beneath the surface of his life. His father’s health was declining, and the physicians had told him that he would be unlikely to see the year out. The pressure was on to find Khalim a wife.
He stared at the blonde vision sitting opposite him and his mouth hardened. And once he married, then sexual trysts with women such as Rose Thomas would have to stop.
Rose saw the sudden hardening of his features, the new steeliness in his eyes. She shifted back in her seat, knowing that the atmosphere had changed, but not knowing why.
Khalim’s breath caught in his throat. Her movement had drawn his attention to the soft swell of her breasts beneath the armoury of her linen dress. She could not have worn anything better designed to conceal her body, he thought, with a hot and mounting frustration—and yet the effect on him was more potent than if she had been clad in clinging Lycra.
In Maraban, the women dressed modestly; it had always been so. Khalim was used to Western women revealing themselves in short skirts or plunging necklines, or jeans which looked as though they had been sprayed on.
But Rose, he realised, had somehow cut a perfectly acceptable middle path. She was decently attired, yet not in the least bit frumpy. Contemporary and chic, and so very, very sexy…
He felt another swift jerk of desire. He must rid himself of this need before it sent him half mad. The sooner he had her, the sooner he could forget her. ‘Shall we go?’ he asked huskily.
Rose stared at him. The black eyes seemed even blacker, if that was possible, and she knew exactly why. The waves of desire emanating from his sleek physique were almost palpable. Her mouth felt suddenly dry; she knew instinctively what would be next on the agenda. She must resist him. She must. He was far too potent. Too attractive by far. Did she want to be just another woman who had fallen into Khalim’s bed after a brief glimmer of that imperious smile?
No!
‘Why, certainly.’ She smiled. ‘I have a lot of work back at the flat which needs catching up on.’
He ignored that, even though her offhand attitude inflamed him as much as infuriated him. She would be much more cooperative in a moment or two. He had not misread the signs, of that he was certain.
And Rose Thomas wanted him just as much as he wanted her…
He stood up, and Philip appeared at the door of the restaurant almost immediately.
‘Come,’ said Khalim.
‘Aren’t you going to pay the bill?’
‘Philip will settle it.’
Rose walked out to the car, where the chauffeur was already opening the door. It was unbelievable! Did none of life’s tedious little chores ever trouble him? ‘I suppose you have someone to do everything for you, do you, Khalim?’ she offered drily, then wished she hadn’t. For in order to answer her question he had barred her way, and she could see the light of some glorious sexual battle in his eyes.
‘I have never exercised my right to have someone bathe me,’ he returned softly.
‘Your right?’ she questioned in disbelief. ‘To bathe you?’
‘Why, of course. All princes of Maraban have a master…or mistress of the bathchamber.’ He shrugged, enjoying the spontaneous darkening of her eyes, the way her lips were automatically parting. As if waiting for the first thrust of his tongue. Yes, now, he thought. Now!
‘So where do you want to go from here, Rose?’ He dipped his voice into a sultry caress, allowed his mouth to curve with sensual promise. ‘Back home to work? Or back to my suite at the Granchester for…coffee?’
His deliberate hesitation left her in no doubt what he really had in mind, and as she met the hard glitter of his eyes Rose couldn’t deny she was tempted. Well, who wouldn’t be? When every pore of that magnificent body just screamed out that Khalim would know everything there was to know about the art of making love and a little bit more besides.
But self-preservation saved her. That, and a sense of pride. One lunch and one arrogant invitation! Did he imagine that would be enough to make her fall eagerly into his bed? She stared into a face which had ‘heartbreaker’ written all over it.
‘Home, please,’ she said, and saw a moment of frozen disbelief. ‘I have a mountain of work to do.’
CHAPTER FOUR
THE intercom on her desk buzzed and startled Rose out of yet another daydream involving a black-haired man in silken clothes, throwing her down onto a bed and…
‘Hel-lo?’ she said uncertainly.
‘Rose?’ came the voice of Rose’s boss, Kerry MacColl. ‘It’s Kerry.’
‘Oh, hi, Kerry!’