Surrender To The Sheikh
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Khalim swallowed. Her scent was still clinging to the silk of his robes. Unendurable.
‘I must take a bath,’ he ground out.
He had a servant draw him up a bath scented with oil of bergamot, and, once alone, he slipped off the silken robes, totally at ease in his nakedness. His body was the colour of deeply polished wood—the muscles honed so that they rippled with true power and strength.
It was a taut and lean body, though he had never stepped inside a gym in his life—that would have been far too narcissistic an occupation for a man like Khalim. But the long, muscular shaft of his thighs bore testimony to hard physical exercise.
Horse-riding was his particular passion, and one of his greatest sources of relaxation. He felt at his most free when riding his beloved Akhal-Teke horse across the salt flats of Maraban with the warm air rushing through his dark hair and the powerful haunches of the stallion clasped tightly between his thighs.
He lay back among the bubbles and let some of the tension soak from his skin, but not all—not by a long way. Rose Thomas and her pale blonde beauty were uppermost in his mind, and thoughts of her brought their own, different kind of tension. He felt the hardening of his body in response to his thoughts, and only through sheer determination of will did he suppress his carnal longing. But then, he had never once lost control over his body…
Should he woo her? he thought carelessly. Besiege her with flowers? Or with jewels perhaps? He rubbed thoughtfully at the darkened shadow of his chin. There wasn’t a woman alive who could resist the glittering lure of gems.
He smiled as he stepped from the circular bath and tiny droplets of water gleamed like diamonds on the burnished perfection of his skin.
He had no appetite. Tonight he would work on some of the outstanding government papers he had brought back with him from Maraban.
He slipped on a silken robe in deepest, richest claret and walked barefoot back through the vast sitting room and into the adjoining study, where Philip was busy tapping away at the word processor.
He looked up as Khalim came in.
‘Sir?’
‘Leave that, now,’ ordered Khalim pleasantly. ‘I have something else for you.’
‘Sir?’
‘Find out where Rose Thomas lives. And where she works.’
CHAPTER THREE
EVEN after an hour-long bath and drinking chamomile tea, Rose slept surprisingly little that night. Especially considering that she had had a long and heavy week at work the previous week and then gone out with Sabrina on her ‘hen-night’ a couple of nights before the wedding.
She tossed and turned for most of the night as an aching sense of regret kept sleep at bay.
And a pair of black eyes kept swimming into her troubled thoughts. Eyes which glittered untold promise, and a body which promised untold pleasure.
She rose late, and was just getting dressed when she heard Lara’s voice calling her name excitedly.
‘Rose! Quickly!’
‘I’ll be there in a minute!’
She pulled on an old pair of jeans and a simple pale blue T-shirt and walked into the sitting room, where Lara was clutching excitedly at the most enormous bouquet of flowers she had ever seen.
There were massed blooms of yellow roses, studded with tiny blue cornflowers, and the heady fragrance hit her as soon as she entered the room.
‘Wow!’ said Rose admiringly. ‘Lucky girl! Who’s the secret admirer?’
‘They aren’t for me, silly!’ choked Lara jealously. ‘It’s your name on the card—see.’
Her fingers trembling, Rose took the proffered card with a dawning sense of inevitability. She stared down at the envelope, and the distinctive handwriting which spelt out her name.
‘Well, aren’t you going to open it?’ demanded Lara. ‘Don’t you want to know who they’re from?’
‘I know exactly who they’re from,’ said Rose slowly. ‘Khalim sent them.’
‘You can’t know that!’
‘Oh, yes, I can.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘I may have had a few sweet and charming boyfriends, but not one who would spend this much on a bunch of flowers.’ But curiosity got the better of her, and she ripped the envelope open to find her hopes and her fears confirmed.
The message was beautifully and arrogantly stark.
‘The yellow is for your hair; the blue for the sapphire of your eyes. I will collect you at noon. Khalim.’
‘Oh, my goodness! How utterly, utterly romantic!’ squeaked Lara, who was busy looking over her shoulder.
‘You think so?’ asked Rose tonelessly.
‘Well, I’d be in absolute heaven if I got flowers like these from a man! And what a masterful message! You’d better get a move on!’
But Rose wasn’t listening. ‘What a cheek!’ she exploded as her eyes roved over the message again. ‘How dare he just assume that he can tell me a time and I’ll be meekly sitting here waiting, like a lamb to the slaughter?’
‘But you aren’t going out anywhere else today, are you?’ asked Lara in a puzzled voice.
‘That isn’t the point!’
‘Well, what is the point?’
‘The point is that I don’t want to go out with him!’
‘Don’t you? Honestly?’
Honesty was a bit more difficult. Rose had worked hard on her independence and her sense of self-possession—both qualities which she suspected Khalim could vanquish with the ease of a man who had sensual power untold at his fingertips.
‘A tiny bit of me does,’ she admitted, and saw Lara’s face go all mushy. ‘But the rest of me is quite adamant that he would be nothing but bad news!’
Lara sighed. ‘So what are you going to do? Tell him that to his face? Or just pretend to be out when he calls?’ She brightened a little. ‘I could go instead, if you like!’
Rose was unprepared for the shaft of jealousy which whipped through her with lightning speed. She shook her head. ‘I’m a realist,’ she said proudly. ‘Not a coward. If I turn Khalim down again, then he’ll just up the ante—and I am not prepared to be bombarded with charm and expensive trinkets.’
And wouldn’t he just wear her down anyway?