‘Maraban sells oil all over the world,’ he continued. ‘And wherever I go, I am aware that I am my country’s ambassador. It has always been to my advantage that I am able to merge into whichever culture I am with at the time.’
‘So you’re a chameleon?’ asked Rose thoughtfully.
He gave a slow smile. ‘I prefer to describe myself as a man of contrasts.’
Hadn’t she thought exactly that, the very first time she had met him? Rose shifted uncomfortably. It felt slightly disconcerting, alarming even—to be echoing Khalim’s thoughts.
She took a sip from her coffee, then put the cup back down on the floor.
‘So, to business. And I need you to tell me, Khalim—exactly what is it you want?’ she asked him crisply.
For once it was difficult to focus on business—he couldn’t seem to kick-start his mind into gear. He wondered what she would say if he told her that what he wanted was to make love to her in such a way that every man who ever followed him would be like a dim memory of the real thing. He felt the powerful thundering of his heart in response to his thoughts.
‘Let me give you a little background first,’ he began softly. ‘Maraban has substantial reserves of oil in—’
‘The Asmaln desert,’ she put in quickly. ‘And other natural resources include deposits of coal, sulphur, magnesium, and salt.’
Khalim looked at her in astonishment. ‘And how, for an Englishwoman, do you know so much about my country?’ he demanded.
Rose’s mouth pleated with disapproval. ‘Oh, really, Khalim! Once I knew that I had to take the wretched job, I approached it in exactly the same way as I would any other! Information is power, and I spent until late last night finding out everything I could about Maraban!’
His eyes narrowed with unwilling admiration. ‘What else do you know?’
‘That only four per cent of the country is cultivated, nearly all of which is irrigated. I also know,’ she added, ‘that Marabanesh pistachio nuts are considered to be the finest in the world!’
‘And do you like pistachio nuts?’ he asked seriously.
Her mouth lifted at the corners. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t dream of having a gin and tonic without one!’
Such flippancy was something he was unused to as well—at least from anyone outside his inner circle. Yet his mouth curved in response to that frankly mischievous smile. ‘Then I must arrange to have some sent to you, Rose,’ he murmured. ‘A whole sackload of Maraban pistachios!’
It was distracting when his hard face softened like that. It started making her imagine all kinds of things. She tried to picture him doing ordinary things. Going to the supermarket. Queuing up at the petrol station. And she couldn’t. She tried to picture him on holiday, swimming…
Oddly enough, that was an image which imprinted itself far more clearly and Rose saw glorious dark limbs, all strength and muscle as they submerged themselves in warm and silken waters. With almost painful clarity, she recalled just how it had felt to move within the sandalwood-scented circle of his arms at the wedding reception.
Khalim saw the sudden tension around her shoulders. ‘Something is wrong?’
Had he noticed the hectic flush which was burning its way along her cheekbones? She stared fixedly at the pristine papers on her lap, unable to meet his gaze, terrified that his slicing black stare would be able to read the unmistakable longing in her eyes.
‘No,’ she said, with slow emphasis, until she had composed herself enough to meet that challenging look head-on. ‘Nothing is wrong, Khalim. But I’m still waiting for you to tell me what it is you’re looking for.’
Khalim recognised her determination, and a will almost as forceful as his own. It was a heady discovery, he thought as he began to speak.
‘Maraban has one of the world’s most well-run oil refineries and the man who heads it up is taking early retirement.’
‘And you want someone to replace him?’
Khalim shook his dark head. ‘No one could ever replace Murad,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘He has been there for many years, and there have been many changes in the industry during that time. No, I need someone to take oil production into the first third of this century and there are two likely candidates working there at present. I need a man with vision to head it up—’
‘Or a woman, of course?’
Jet sparks heated the onyx eyes, bathing her in an intensely black light.
‘No,’ he contradicted resolutely. ‘Not a woman. Not in Maraban.’
Rose bristled; she couldn’t help herself. She thought about all she had striven to achieve in her life. ‘So women aren’t equal in Maraban?’
‘I think you are intelligent enough to know the answer to that for yourself, without me having to tell you, Rose,’ he remonstrated quietly.