‘There are ways we can bring the candidates to Dhalkur without gossip or unnecessarily raised expectations. There will be a festival here in the capital soon. Traditionally it’s a celebration for the Dhalkuri people but this year we’re expanding it to showcase business, investment and research opportunities to the wider world.’
It was a new direction for Dhalkur and there were still sceptics but Salim was determined to make it work.
‘In association with that we’re hosting a range of cultural, scientific and leisure events that we hope will attract foreign interest.’
He watched her expression change. Her pursed mouth softened into a slow smile and her eyes lit, not with impatience but approval.
Salim told himself it was interesting to observe the turnaround in her. It wasn’t that he liked the quick way she grasped the potential opportunities, or the fact he could easily read her changing mood.
No, this wasn’t personal. It was simply important they were on the same wavelength.
‘So,’ she mused, ‘there will be a range of events that might bring all sorts of women to Dhalkur.’
Salim inclined his head. ‘Either by specific invitation, or at the suggestion of business or cultural contacts.’
‘Which your assistant can arrange?’
Salim smiled. ‘He’s a man with many contacts.’
She sat back in her seat, nodding, her eyes fixed on a distant point as if visualising something he couldn’t see. ‘I like your thinking. Lots of people. Lots of events. A chance to socialise and even, perhaps, see some of the women working among their peers.’
Salim’s mouth hooked up in wry amusement. In six months no one had treated him like this, as an equal rather than a ruler. No one except his cousin, Tara, now queen of the neighbouring country of Nahrat.
What would Tara make of Rosanna MacIain? He had an inkling the pair had a lot in common, both straight-talking, neither easily intimidated, even by a king. In Tara’s case her determination had led her to escape the clutches of his appalling brother but then put her in conflict with the powerful Sheikh of Nahrat, whom she’d eventually fallen in love with and married.
Maybe after all, she and Ms MacIain didn’t have so much in common.
‘I’m glad to win your approval, Ms MacIain.’
That made her start and turn her focus on him.
Did he imagine a fizz of warmth beneath his skin in response to that bright stare?
‘It’s a great idea. But if this festival starts soon there’s no time to waste.’ She began making notes. ‘Let’s start with what sort of woman you want. We need to narrow the options.’
Salim didn’t have a coy bone in his body but it felt plainwrongto have this woman questioning him on that particular topic.
Because the woman who came instantly to mind when he thought of attraction washer.
‘What about physical preferences?’
‘I don’t have a favourite type. Some women are just more appealing than others. It’s not necessarily a matter of appearance.’
Often it was as much about personality. An intellectual equal, not afraid to voice an opinion. Or a great sense of humour, that appealed too.
She looked unconvinced. ‘I’m sorry if this feels too intimate. Especially as we’re strangers.’
She paused and Salim silently corrected her. That was the problem, he realised. Theyweren’tstrangers. Theyhadbeen intimate. He remembered the feel of her body against his, her taste—
‘But we need to specify these things.’ Her lips turned up in a brief smile. ‘Surely it’s better to be a little uncomfortable now than waste your time later if I introduce you to women who just don’t light a spark with you?’
Inevitably Salim’s thoughts veered to that night in Scotland. To the sparks he’d felt as they flirted. Then the conflagration of desire as they melded in each other’s arms. Even leaving the estate, his thoughts turning to Dhalkur and his ailing father, he’d watched fireworks explode against the dark sky and known that if he’d stayed with his fascinating, sultry stranger, he’d be experiencing another sort of fireworks in her bed.
His fascinating, sultry stranger now looked as if she bit back annoyance. Who could blame her? She’d been hired to introduce him to suitable women and he couldn’t even articulate a definition of suitable.
‘Blonde,’ he blurted out. ‘I like blondes.’
His last lover had been blonde.