He slanted her a look. “I am interested in your level of expertise.”
Olivia’s steps faltered, and he quickly put a steadying arm around her slender waist. “Why?”
At her hip, his strong fingers pressed into her flesh with a bite of pressure. “Because I
am interested in all of you.”
Olivia’s eyes were drawn to his, the surprise in her expression causing him amusement. She looked away, focussing on another tapestry as they walked past it. But now, her appraiser’s eye was far from ready. She skimmed past the ancient pieces, seeing without really noticing. All of her energy was focussed on the enormous piece of artwork to her side. The rarest of all commodities – a prince amongst men.
Olivia had lain awake all night, staring at the peeling paint of the modest two bedroom apartment she shared with her mother in Brixton. Over and over, she’d asked herself the question: What did he want with her?
Olivia didn’t go in for false modesty. If she’d had any doubts about her physical appearance, they would have been washed away by now, by the frequent remarks she received from men.
Unfortunately, Olivia wasn’t flattered by the attention. On the contrary, it made her squirm. Her father had taught her, from a young age, that beauty was nothing aspirational. In fact, he’d encouraged her to downplay her looks in any way she could, leading to a disastrous bowl cut just before her twelfth birthday. His belief – that beauty would only get in the way of the perception of brains – was flawed. Olivia had learned to combine the two. In fact, there had been times when her physical presentation had served her well, and she hadn’t been ashamed to use it to her advantage in order to further her career. That was only something she felt comfortable doing because she knew that her academic credentials were excellent.
She flicked a glance to Tamir and looked away again immediately. He was so handsome and imposing, so tall and dark, strong and powerful, that he sent her pulse skittering with a single look. But therein lay the problem. He was not simply a man she had met, who she found attractive. He was born to rule Talidar, a wealthy, foreign country, skirted by desert on one side and ocean on the other. Any interest he had in her simply didn’t make sense. For a man such as Tamir could have any woman he wanted, at any time. Undoubtedly, he had done so for many years. So why her? And for how long?
I am interested in all of you. Her blood pounded through her body at his accented admission. But was he serious? A man such as him would find it easy to say what was necessary. He was suave and sophisticated, easily able to click his fingers and make women come running. Was she so predictable? So weak-minded, that she couldn’t resist his charms?
He paused outside some dark timber doors, and another set of matching servants pushed them inwards. As Olivia moved past them, she was reminded of salt and pepper shakers, for the way they stood as unemotional sentinels, tall and straight. They wore the same black uniform with gold trim that the others had done.
“Please, have a seat.”
Olivia jumped, her green eyes flying to his face.
Tamir’s chuckle was low and throaty, turning her blood to warm lava inside of her. “You do not need to be afraid, Azeezi.”
“Don’t I?” She lifted her brows in a mocking challenge to his words.
Tamir wiped the humour from his expression. “Sit down, Olivia. I would like to speak with you.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to decline, when the formality of the stunning room broke through to her. Her eyes swung wildly from the gold colored curtains that covered the wall of windows, to the parquetry floor, and the chandeliers that ran down the middle of the room like a jewel encrusted river. The wallpaper opposite the windows was cream and gold, and emblazoned with the Talidarian royal crest. The chair that he was inviting her to sit in was made of walnut wood with gold details; and it was far more like a throne than a simple chair.
She swallowed. Awe-struck, she eased herself into it, and clasped her hands in her lap. She found it difficult to meet his gaze suddenly.
“Are you thirsty? Hungry?”
She shook her head. Though she hadn’t been able to eat all day, she found her stomach was still too knotted to be tempted by food. “What would you like to speak about?”
He disguised his amusement. “Last night.”
“Oh.” She squirmed in the chair, and had it been possible, she would have disappeared into the floorboards. “I see.”
“Do you?” He did not sit down. Standing before her, she had a perfect vision of his strong thighs and firm, flat chest. Though they were encased in the suit, it did nothing to disguise his muscled strength.
Olivia looked up at him in confusion. “Do I what?”
“Do you see what I want from you?”
She took in a deep breath. The speech she’d rehearsed in her mind that morning felt heavy in her mouth in that moment. “I gave you the wrong impression last night, Sultan Al’ani.”
“Mir,” he corrected, pressing a finger under her chin and lifting her face to meet his.
She shook her head. “I can’t call you that. I shouldn’t be here. I hardly know you. You’re royalty. And I’m… not.”
“That is birth, and nothing more. And you hardly know me yet,” he agreed with a shrug, as though it were of absolutely no importance.
“Not ever,” she responded firmly, and her green eyes sparked with a determined fierceness he found enchanting.