‘Your people believe you’re not interested in them?’
He shrugged, those wide shoulders spreading. ‘Many do. Or at least...’ He paused, as if choosing his words. ‘I spent several years scandalising polite society with my “reckless, self-absorbed, self-indulgent lifestyle”. Some find it hard to believe that’s over.’
Anxiety forgotten, Tori twisted towards him. ‘That sounds like a quote.’
‘Sorry?’ His eyebrows crinkled in confusion.
‘The bit about being reckless and self-indulgent. It sounded like someone else’s words.’
Ashraf’s eyes widened and she read his surprise. Then his gaze became shuttered. Clearly this wasn’t something he’d allow her to pursue. But whose words had made such an impression?
‘You’re not reckless and self-indulgent now.’
It wasn’t a question. How could it be when Tori had first-hand experience of Ashraf’s character? He’d tried to protect her in the desert. He’d searched for her for over a year, never giving up. He’d accepted his role as Oliver’s father without question, without even hinting about the need for a paternity test. No avoidance or denial, just unflinching acceptance of the circumstances and a determination to do the best he could.
One black eyebrow rose as if he doubted her assessment.
‘Well, you’re not.’
It was true that he’d been notorious—as Tori had discovered when she trawled the Internet. But for the last two years he’d barely been out of Za’daq. Every photo showed a serious, almost grim man, usually surrounded by a flock of courtiers or regional leaders. News reports about him focused on social and political issues, regional trade discussions, health improvements and so on.
However, older reports revealed that the younger Ashraf had lived a lifestyle that kept the paparazzi on its toes.
Skiing at the trendiest resorts, escaping to fabled islands in the Pacific and the Caribbean, frequenting exclusive clubs, casinos and the sort of parties that fuelled the media’s insatiable appetite for gossip.
She’d found photos that had made her stare. Prince Ashraf stumbling out of a casino in the early hours, accompanied by not one glamorous model but three, all looking as if they’d like to eat him for breakfast. A long-distance shot of him diving, naked, off a billionaire’s yacht after a week-long party. Even the grainy quality of the shot hadn’t disguised his taut, powerful frame, and Tori’s pulse had tripped to a rackety beat.
‘You sound very sure of my character,’ he murmured, and she couldn’t work out if he was annoyed, intrigued or merely making an observation.
Tori shrugged, turning to the view. This time those rugged hills didn’t fill her with quite the same dread, though she still found herself clasping her hands tight.
‘There’s a lot I don’t know about you, Ashraf, but we’ve shared some intense experiences. Self-absorbed isn’t how I’d describe you.’
‘Howwouldyou describe me?’ he asked after a heartbeat’s silence.
Tori sucked in a breath.
Magnetic. Sexy. Disturbing.
And one step ahead of her since the moment he’d confronted her in Perth. Tori felt she was playing catch-up with someone who knew the rules in a game she had yet to learn. And yet...
‘Decisive. Obstinate, but with a well-developed sense of responsibility. Used to getting your own way.’
Tori heard a crack of laughter but refused to look at him. She’d seen him smile, felt the full force of his attractiveness, and wasn’t ready to face it again. Not when she was so out of her depth.
‘If only that were true. Being Sheikh means tempering my impatience for change so I can persuade others to see my vision for the future.’
Curious, unable to resist, she finally turned, noting the tiny lines bracketing his firm mouth. Lines that spoke of weariness and restraint.
‘I thought the Sheikh of Za’daq had absolute power? Can’t you just make a decree?’
‘You’ve done your homework.’
‘A little. I haven’t had time to discover much.’
Again Tori experienced that plunging sensation in her stomach. Everything had happened so quickly.
‘There’s plenty of time to learn all you want to.’ He paused, ebony eyes resting on her in a way that made the blood sizzle under her skin. ‘And you’re right. Technically I have the power to do as I wish. But in practice the Sheikh works with the Royal Council, which is made up of powerful provincial leaders. It would be madness to institute major change without bringing the Council on board.’