‘I’d also like to interview you at some point,’ she said before she could chicken out.
She saw the flicker of something brittle and defensive in his eyes and the muscle in his jaw tensed. ‘Why would that be necessary?’
‘Well, you’re the country’s ruler,’ she said, not sure why she was having to explain herself. ‘And also because you had a Westernised childhood—you would have a unique perspective that spans both cultures.’
‘I’m sure I can arrange to speak to you at some point,’ he said, but his tone was strangely tight. ‘So do we have a deal?’
She let out a deep breath, feeling as if she were about to jump off a cliff—because in a lot of ways she was... But she’d been waiting for an opportunity like this for a long time.
You don’t want to be a mouse for ever.
‘Okay—you’ve got a deal,’ she said, the surge of excitement at her own daring almost overwhelming her panic.
She reached out her hand, but then long strong fingers folded over hers—and she yearned to snatch it back. His grip was firm, impersonal, but the rush of sensation that raced up her arm was anything but.
‘How long will it take you to pack?’ he asked.
‘Umm... I should be able to fly over in a week or so,’ she said, grateful when he released her hand. She needed to rearrange her teaching schedule, pack up her flat on campus and give herself more time to make absolutely sure she was happy jumping off this cliff.
‘Not good enough,’ he said.
‘I beg your pardon?’ she said, disturbed by the no-nonsense tone, and the sensation still streaking up her arm.
‘I’ll have the contract drawn up and delivered to you within the hour. Is five hundred thousand pounds sufficient for your input on the project?’
Half a million pounds!
‘I... That’s very generous.’
‘Excellent, then we will leave for Narabia tonight.’
We...? Tonight...? What...?
‘I...’
He held up his hand, and the feeble protest got stuck in her throat.
‘No buts. We made a deal.’ He took a phone out of his trouser pocket, and walked past her. The two bodyguards and Walmsley, who must have been lurking outside the door, all snapped to attention as he opened it.
So Zane Khan didn’t just have that disturbing effect on her.
‘Dr Smith will be leaving on my private jet tonight,’ he announced.
Walmsley’s mouth dropped open comically, but Cat didn’t feel much like laughing.
Zane glanced over his shoulder. ‘A car will arrive in four hours to take you to the airport,’ he said.
‘But that’s not enough time,’ she managed, past the constriction in her throat. What exactly had she just agreed to? Because she was starting to feel like a mouse again. A very timid, overwhelmed mouse, in the presence of a large, extremely predatory lion.
‘Anything you need will be provided for you,’ he said, cutting off any more protests by lifting the phone back to his ear and striding away down the corridor, with the two bodyguards flanking him.
Cat watched his tall figure disappear round the corner, her breath locked in her lungs and her stomach free-falling off the cliff without the rest of her.
Problem was, she hadn’t had the chance to jump off this particular cliff—because she’d just been pushed.
CHAPTER TWO
CAT ARRIVED AT the private airfield outside Cambridge four and a half hours later, still dazed from her meeting with the Narabian ruler.