Читать книгу In The Sheikh's Service - Susan Stephens, Susan Stephens - Страница 10

CHAPTER THREE

A GREY DAY in London had taken on a rosy hue, thanks to the unexpected reappearance of a woman who had intrigued him from the first moment he saw her. From pole-dancer to barista was quite a journey. Whether the rush of blood to Isla’s cheeks was awareness of him and how close they were standing, or pique that she had only been doing as his office had requested, delivering coffee, when he had ordered her off site for a breach of Health and Safety regs—

Health and Safety regs?

Was that why his hands had expertly skimmed her body? He already knew what lay beneath the bulky safety jacket. Her fuller figure was his ideal. The temptation to back her against the door and strip her down to last night’s curves was overwhelming—fortunately, there wasn’t time and he had more sense. The one thing that did amuse him was the thought that if Isla had known who he was, he doubted it would have made a jot of difference. This was not a woman to be wooed with status and wealth. She liked you or she didn’t. And right now, she didn’t.

‘Do you mind?’ she said, pushing him away.

That in itself was an intriguing first for him. For such a self-possessed woman—and he had to remind himself that this was the same woman who had conducted herself with such dignity in the undignified surroundings of the club—she was surprisingly jumpy, acting almost like an innocent now that they were one to one.

Yes. He’d stopped her falling; Isla allowed with an appropriate amount of gratitude as she brushed herself down. But, let’s not get carried away. He couldn’t hold onto her until her bones turned to jelly, and she had no more sense in her head than a moth flying into a flame. She flashed a warning stare—and had to acknowledge that he was a gentleman, as he’d let her go. And fate had dealt him a more than generous hand. Douse any other man in a rainstorm, and they would look like a drowned rat. Douse this man and he still looked spectacular. His thick black hair glistened with raindrops, while her hair was plastered to her face—and she probably had panda eyes from knuckling rainwater out of them.

‘Here, Isla...take it.’

She stared at the money in his hand.

‘It’s the least I can do,’ he insisted, thrusting a wad of notes towards her.

‘There’s no need for that. I’m just doing my job.’

The job you want to keep?

‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ she added. ‘If you would like to leave some money at the end of the week for everyone at the café to share, that would be great.’

What was she doing? Could she afford to turn down such a generous tip?

No. Absolutely not, but something felt wrong about accepting such a large tip from a man she hardly knew—and particularly from this man. It was too much, and after last night at the club when she suspected he had doubled Chrissie’s pay, she couldn’t take any more from him.

Cut him some slack, Isla’s inner voice intoned wearily. No doubt everyone who works for the fabulously wealthy Sheikh has more money than they know what to do with.

Maybe. But that wasn’t the point. A small show of gratitude was acceptable, but flashing a twenty? She wasn’t comfortable with that.

‘Thanks anyway...’ She shot him a thin smile and left it at that before braving the icy wind with the memory of his fleeting touches branded onto her mind.

Knocking mud off her boots, she walked with relief into the steamy heat of the busy café. It was good to be back on familiar ground. She felt safe from conflicting feelings here. The customers liked her and she liked them. Charlie said she invited confidences with her easy manner. The truth was Isla needed company as much as anyone else. Since losing her mother and paying off all their debts, she had lived alone in one room above a shop, and she loved the contrast of her busy life at the café. All that company and chat, with breakfast thrown in? What was not to love?

Customers that shook her up, like the man from the building site?

She should forget him. He’d probably be gone by tomorrow.

Forget him?

Maybe not, but she would do her best to keep her mind on the job.

The aromatic air inside the café made Isla’s mouth water. Charlie was a good cook and he fed his staff well. No wonder she was smiling, when she had such a great day to look forward to. Once she finished her shift here, she was due at the university gym. Gymnastics had been one of Isla’s childhood passions in the days before her father walked out and her mother got sick, and now she was grateful to make money out of her skill. She worked every hour she could to fulfil her mother’s dying wish and make her proud.

‘My shift is nearly over,’ Chrissie carolled happily as she joined Isla at the counter.

‘Mine too,’ Isla said with a grin.

After the gymnastics classes she could look forward to a long, peaceful evening. That might involve wearing every jumper she possessed with her feet drawn up as close as she dared to her three-bar electric fire, but at least she had a home to go to. A quick glance at Charlie to let him know that she was back was repaid by a hard stare. Understandably. She’d been gone a long time. But once Charlie took in her new outfit, he began to smile. Charlie wasn’t the only one. She was so wet, and it was so hot in the café that her clothes were starting to steam. Tipping Charlie a wry look, she explained what had kept her so long. ‘I’m to be the Sheikh’s team’s regular gofer. I think they’re going to need lots of coffee while they’re here.’

Charlie was pleased to hear it. ‘Well done for encouraging business.’

‘And look out for the Sheikh when you go back next time,’ Chrissie called out.

‘Of course I will,’ Isla teased Chrissie. Privately, Isla doubted that the Sheikh would be seen until His Royal Sereneness turned up to cut the ribbon on his new buildings and declare them open. In her imagination, the Sheikh of Q’Aqabi was as hard as nails, as rich as Croesus, and as tall, dark and sinister as could be—but compulsively enthralling, all the same.

Realistically, Isla reflected as she got back to her work, the Sheikh was probably shrivelled, pot-bellied, and grumpier than Charlie.

* * *

Young. Challenging. Proud. Interesting. But too innocent for him, and he didn’t have time to waste on challenges. Interesting? Isla was certainly interesting.

Would he pursue his interest in her further?

Stuffing the twenty away in the back pocket of his jeans, he stared after her. She was proud, and he got that. She’d been offended by money. How would she react if he offered more? Money could buy most things in his world...

But could it buy him everything he wanted?

He doubted that any amount of money could buy Isla. Her grey eyes had flashed fire when she’d seen the twenty. She’d no doubt guessed he was responsible for padding her wages last night. She was resourceful and adaptable. She was also an innocent who had trespassed unwittingly into his dark, sensual world. He wondered about her past experience with men. She was attractive, so there must have been some, though her air of innocence suggested that none had breached either the defences of her body or her heart. He should know better than to play games with a girl like that, but she attracted him. Mild on the outside, she reminded him of a volcano about to erupt, and he wanted to be there when that happened.

He found her beautiful, with that particular peach-like complexion so common in this part of the world. Her hair was rain-soaked, but he remembered it from the club, when it had been long and unruly, and had glittered gold beneath the lights. Her eyes were grey and expressive. Small and lush, she warmed him in a way he hadn’t been warmed in a long time, and her strength of character warned there would never be a dull moment. He liked that idea. As a mistress, she showed definite potential, but could he take her innocence and then discard her when he’d had enough?

A casual affair was unthinkable for him. He had everything to prove to his country. His reckless youth, and the tragedy that had detonated, would take a lifetime to repay. He would do nothing to rattle the sound foundations he was building in Q’Aqabi. His duty was to find a suitable bride. He did not have time to waste thinking about a new mistress. He must harden his heart to Isla, even as another part of him hardened in lust.

He summoned his colleagues in the hope that work would distract him, but, however many lectures he gave himself on the subject of forgetting Isla, he couldn’t help but anticipate the next coffee break, and another encounter with the spirited barista.

* * *

She didn’t go back to the building site. She came up with another plan. Coffee could be left with the security guard, and he could deliver it. Charlie readily agreed to this. They were so busy, he couldn’t spare his staff for any more lengthy visits.

The following day Chrissie took over for her, as Isla had to be at the library. She wasn’t exactly avoiding a certain person, but she wasn’t exactly courting trouble, either. She wasn’t used to handling such a compelling man, and she didn’t want to appear as if she was overly interested in him. She had the best of excuses. As the prize winner, she was expected to be on duty at the library when the Sheikh of Q’Aqabi finally arrived to tour the university facilities. The head librarian welcomed her with particular enthusiasm as Isla knew more than most about successful breeding programmes of endangered species, having majored in that subject on her course.

The Sheikh’s visit had provoked great excitement, and Isla was up earlier than usual getting ready for her duties at the library. She didn’t want to let anyone down.

Having tied her hair back neatly, she viewed her pale face in the mirror. She’d missed sparring with the tough guy from the building site, but today wasn’t a day for daydreams, but a day when she could do something to help repay the university that had been so good to her. Checking the lapels on her plain grey suit, she told herself firmly that her racing pulse had everything to do with finally meeting ‘the invisible Sheikh’, and nothing at all to do with the fact that she might have to cross the building site to get a coffee at some point in the day.

To give herself confidence, she slipped on her red high-heeled shoes. She loved them. They were a sale buy, and so unlike her, but what better day to wear them than today?

She wasn’t the only one who was excited, Isla discovered when she arrived at the library and the air of anticipation was infectious. It had transformed the customary silence of the hallowed halls into a tense and expectant waiting room.

The Sheikh of Q’Aqabi was pouring money into the university, and had donated several ancient manuscripts from his private collection. The head librarian explained that he would want to view them, and that was where Isla would step in.

She glanced at the entrance doors yet again. Whatever he looked like, the Sheikh was obviously a fascinating man. Closing her eyes, she drew a steadying breath. Being in the library usually soothed her, but not today. And then she heard a buzz of conversation, heralding the arrival of the vice chancellor and his party. She prepared herself for the sight of a sheikh dressed in flowing robes, and was quite disappointed when the tweedy academics arrived with a group of men in business suits.

But spearheading that group was—

She lurched to her feet, the scrape of her chair screeching through the silence.

Everyone turned to look at her. The man from the building site stared straight at her as if she were the only thing of interest in the entire, echoing space.

Why hadn’t he said?

Why was she so slow on the uptake?

She realised now that the man who had told her to call him Shaz was, in fact, His Serene Majesty, Sheikh Shazim bin Khalifa al Q’Aqabi, the major benefactor of the university, and her number one sparring partner.

And he was definitely not pot-bellied, or shrivelled, nor could his expression be called grumpy. Commanding, maybe. Faintly amused, definitely. And no wonder when he’d seen her in so many guises.

Maybe he’d known all along. Maybe he’d been playing games with her. His security team had surely supplied His Majesty with a full breakdown of everyone he was likely to meet on campus.

And now he was here in her library—the place she loved and felt safest and most at home in; the world of books, where adventures were safely contained within their pages—

There was nothing safe in His Majesty’s eyes.

She stood stiffly as he approached, glad that he couldn’t hear her heart beating.

‘Your Majesty...’ She couldn’t quite bring herself to curtsey.

‘No need to curtsey.’

Her head shot up, and they exchanged a look—challenge, repaid by challenge. She could see the burn of humour in his dark, luminous eyes. He’d known she wouldn’t curtsey—and not because her manners were lacking in any way, but because she was frozen to the spot with surprise, and every inch of her was tingling with awareness.

‘And here we have our very own Athena,’ the vice chancellor stated with enthusiasm, forcing Isla to break eye contact with the royal visitor.

She was standing to attention like a soldier on parade, she realised, trying to relax. She was never this tense. Forcing herself to look into His Majesty’s mocking eyes, she saw the flare of calculation in them as the vice chancellor continued to sing her praises.

‘Isla is our goddess of good order and wisdom, as well as strength and strategy,’ the vice chancellor continued, warming to his theme.

‘And warfare,’ the Sheikh added in an all too familiar husky tone with the faintest tug of a smile at one corner of his mouth. ‘Athena was also the goddess of warfare,’ he explained with a lift of his brow when Isla shot him a look.

‘You two know each other?’ The vice chancellor glanced with interest between the two of them.

‘We met on the building site,’ Isla explained, holding the Sheikh’s burning stare steadily. ‘I work at the café, Vice Chancellor, and I took out some coffee for His Majesty’s team, though I had no idea who he was at the time.’ Her stare sharpened on His Majesty’s amused eyes.

‘And would your manner have changed, if you had known?’ the ruler of Q’Aqabi enquired mildly.

She thought it better not to answer that.

‘Forgive me, Your Majesty,’ the vice chancellor interrupted, obviously keen to break the awkward silence. ‘Please allow me to formally present Isla Sinclair...’

For a second time, Isla dipped her head politely without sweeping the impressive giant standing in front of her a submissive curtsey.

‘You two may well be working together,’ the vice chancellor said with delight, oblivious to Isla’s sudden intake of breath. ‘Isla is our prize winner, Your Majesty, and, according to the conditions of your very generous gift, Isla will be travelling to Q’Aqabi as part of her prize.’

‘Oh, really,’ Shaz murmured as if this were news to him. ‘My people organised the contest, Vice Chancellor, but be assured that we will welcome you with open arms, Ms Sinclair.’

Isla stared at the hand that Shaz was holding out in formal greeting. She remembered the touch of that hand, and she wasn’t too keen on risking the thrill of it with an audience watching.

Muscle up! She was a serious-minded woman; a scientist, a veterinary surgeon—her hand had been all sorts of places. She certainly didn’t balk at shaking Shaz’s hand, even if she knew now that it had a title attached to it.

‘Your Majesty,’ she said crisply, giving him a firm handshake.

‘Shazim,’ he prompted, still holding onto her hand. ‘If we’re going to be working together we should at least be on first-name terms, Isla.’

‘Shazim,’ she repeated politely as shock waves travelled up and down her arm. She loved the sound of his name on her lips—and knew she had to pull herself together. But not just yet...

They were still hand-locked when the vice chancellor coughed discreetly to distract them. Quickly removing her hand from Shazim’s grasp, she linked her hands safely behind her back.

‘Ms Sinclair thrives on challenge,’ the vice chancellor offered with enthusiasm, which didn’t exactly help the situation.

‘You have some interesting students, Vice Chancellor,’ His Majesty commented. ‘I’m impressed by how hard some of them, like Isla, work to pay their fees. We must talk more about grants and endowments, so that everyone who wants to can enjoy the benefit of an education here.’

‘Whatever you think,’ the vice chancellor agreed, flashing a grateful glance at Isla. ‘I know Ms Sinclair works harder than most. Apart from her day jobs, Isla holds a gym class in the evenings for the children of parents who work or study here.’

‘A gym class?’ Shazim’s eyes were alive with laughter as he stared down at her, though his face remained commendably still. ‘You must need to be supple and fit for that, I imagine, Ms Sinclair?’

‘First names, please,’ she implored sweetly with a warning flash in her glance. She didn’t want to spend the next half an hour trying to reassure the vice chancellor about her pole-dancing exploits at the club.

‘Isla runs from praise like a gazelle from a lion,’ the vice chancellor praised her with a smile.

‘A fitting comparison, Vice Chancellor,’ Shazim agreed, flashing her one final mocking look before moving on.