Читать книгу To Kiss a Sheikh - Teresa Southwick, Teresa Southwick - Страница 9

Fariq tossed the file he’d been reading onto the coffee table in his suite. The more he tried to concentrate on work, the more his thoughts turned to his children’s new nanny. At dinner several hours before, he’d found her to be a curious yet intriguing mixture of spirit and intelligence.

He had sworn on the honor of his ancestors not to be taken in by a beautiful face ever again. Was it breaking his promise to think about this woman? She was certainly not the stunning sort with whom he was constantly and erroneously linked. But he’d found her pleasant and surprising.

He looked at the open French doors leading onto the balcony as a noise from outside drifted to him. After rising from the sofa, he walked to the doorway and glanced out. The night was dark as clouds covered the moon. But in the shadows to his right, he saw a figure leaning on the balcony railing outside the rooms where his children slept.

“Hello,” he said.

Crystal whirled at the sound of his voice. Dim light from inside the suite illuminated her as she pressed a hand to her chest. “Good grief,” she gasped, “I thought I was alone.”

“And so you were until I came outside. This balcony runs the length of my suite. All the rooms are connected by it, and from here we can see the ocean. My bedroom is there,” he said pointing to the room past the living area.

“Oh. I didn’t actually understand the layout. I just came out for some air. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

“You didn’t,” he lied.

She’d disturbed him even before he’d discovered her outside his window, a wraith in the night. He noticed that her hair was no longer pulled away from her forehead in the excruciatingly severe style she favored. A breeze from the Arabian Sea blew the strands across her face. Although the exact shade was still hidden by the shadows, he could tell that the length hung down her back and the ends caressed her waist.

Most contemporary women of fashion did not wear such a long style. Clearly, Crystal was not a woman of fashion. Her long hair was lovely. But the temptation to run his fingers through the glossy length annoyed him.

As his eyes adjusted from the light inside to the darkness of night, he noted further details about her. His pulse jumped when he realized she was dressed for bed. Her sleeping attire was high-necked and demure. Looking more closely, he saw that her nightgown was white, fashioned from satin and lace. Somehow that made it more erotic.

She wasn’t wearing a robe—because she’d thought she was alone? Life with his wife had taught him to question everything, and he wondered if Crystal truly hadn’t known of his presence. Or if she had another agenda. But the manner in which she clung to the shadows hinted of a guileless quality that complemented the virginal image she portrayed in her innocent, high-necked nightgown. He swallowed hard, telling himself it was past time to go back inside. But he found that to do so required more energetic determination than he possessed just now.

Moving closer, he stopped just close enough to inhale the seductive scent of her skin.

“It’s late,” she said. “I’d better go in.”

Her voice held a breathy, husky quality that he found pleasing and far too appealing. “Of course. You are still adjusting to the time difference. You must be tired.”

“Oddly enough, I couldn’t sleep.”

“Then please stay,” he said. “Keep me company.”

What had made him ask that? It was unwise and foolhardy to voluntarily seek out a woman’s company—any woman. What was it about this one that dissolved his common sense?

“Okay.”

The single word spoken in her soft tone chafed his nerve endings. He shook his head. Enough of this nonsense. She was nanny to his children. He would discuss them with her.

“Hana and Nuri—are they asleep?”

She nodded. “Like little angels.”

“I wish to thank you for taking their part tonight—with the king.”

“You needn’t thank me. They were behaving exactly like average five-year-olds and doing nothing wrong. Your father has four children. He should understand that.”

“It has been many years since my brothers and sister and I were small. As my aunt said, he left our care to others.”

“Of course. Because he was busy running the country.” She folded her arms over her bosom and leaned back against the wrought-iron railing.

“I am their father and protector. I should have intervened on their behalf.”

“It’s difficult to know what behaviors are age appropriate when you’re not trained in the care of children.”

“Miss Rawlins, is that an attempt to cut me some slack, as you Americans say?”

Her teeth flashed white when she smiled. “It’s just the truth. Most fathers work and only see their children in the evening. It’s the primary caregiver who knows them and can make a judgment about whether or not they’re trying to pull a fast one.”

“Not my children,” he said wryly.

“Of course not,” she agreed. “It’s a parent’s job to think their children are perfect and work twenty-four/ seven to make it so. It will take me some time to get to know them. To interpret what they know and what they’re capable of understanding. I don’t believe it’s right to hold them accountable for something if they can’t comprehend what’s expected of them.”

“They will be held to standards beyond those of the average child.”

“But they are still children,” she protested.

“Royal children. Hana and Nuri will have many more pressures just because of who they are. More will be expected of them because of their high-born status.”

“Too much pressure will crush them if they’re not prepared.”

“It is your job to make certain that doesn’t happen,” he said.

“And I will do my best. But they will also need the influence and guidance of someone who’s been where they are and knows how it feels.”

“Someone like their father?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “And their uncles. And aunt. Johara really has a way with children, an instinctive understanding and empathy.”

“As do you.” He slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks. Her sensible approach and protectiveness toward his children pleased him.

“Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “I was wondering why—”

“Yes?”

“They say curiosity killed the cat. But I can’t help wondering what happened to the other nannies. Why five in a year?”

“It is wise to know the blunders of those who have gone before in order to avoid the same mistakes.”

“I’ll make new ones,” she teased.

“Let us hope they are not beheading offenses.”