The croupier pushed over the winnings. ‘I’ll take them,’ Ali announced.
A man standing behind his chair counted up and wrote the total on a piece of paper. Fran gasped as she saw it.
While the man went to cash the chips Ali rose and drew Fran away from the table. ‘Now we will dine together,’ he announced.
Fran hesitated. Ancient female wisdom told her that it wasn’t clever to accept such an abrupt invitation from a man she’d known barely half an hour. But she was in pursuit of a story, and she wouldn’t succeed by refusing the first real break she’d been given. Besides, a restaurant was public enough.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Joey, his jaw dropping. She gave him a wink and swept out on Ali’s arm.
His Rolls-Royce was waiting outside, the chauffeur already standing with the door open. Ali handed her gallantly inside. The chauffeur got in and started the car without waiting for instructions.
When they were moving Ali turned to her, smiling mischievously, and reached into his pockets. From one he produced a necklace of priceless pearls, from the other, a diamond necklace.
‘Which?’ he asked.
‘Whi—?’
‘One of them is yours. Take your pick.’
She gaped. He carried such things around with him, in his pockets?
Feeling as though she’d been transported to another planet, she said, ‘I’ll take the diamonds.’ The voice didn’t sound like her own.
‘Turn your neck so that I can remove that gold pendant,’ he commanded. ‘The man who gives you such trumpery baubles doesn’t know how to value you.’
His fingers brushed her neck, and she took a shuddering, uncontrollable breath. This wasn’t how the evening was supposed to go. She’d come prepared to analyse Sheikh Ali, to dislike and despise him. But she hadn’t come prepared to be overwhelmed by him. It had simply happened.
She felt the chill on her flesh as he draped a king’s ransom in diamonds about her neck. His fingertips brushed against her nape and she had to struggle not to tremble at that soft, devastating impact. Then there was another sensation, so light that she couldn’t be sure of it. Had he kissed the back of her neck or not? How dared he? If he had…
‘They were made for you,’ he declared, turning her to face him. ‘No woman has ever looked better in diamonds.’
‘And you speak from a wide experience?’ she said demurely.
He laughed, neither offended nor ashamed. ‘Wider than you can imagine,’ he assured her. ‘But tonight none of the others exist. There is only you in the world. Now tell me your name.’
‘My name—’ She had a sudden inspiration. ‘My name is Diamond.’
His eyes lit up. ‘You have wit. Excellent. That will do for now. Before the night is over you will tell me your real name.’
He held her left hand in both of his and studied the fingers.
‘No rings,’ he observed. ‘You are neither married nor promised, unless you are one of those modern women who scorn to tell the world that you belong to a man. Or maybe you scorn to let yourself belong?’
‘I belong to no man,’ she said. ‘I belong to myself, and no man will ever own me.’
‘Then you have never known love. When you do, you’ll find that your aloof ideas mean nothing. When you love, you will give, and it must be all of yourself, or the gift means nothing.’
‘And who do you belong to?’ she demanded with spirit.
He laughed. ‘That is quite another matter. But I could say that I belong to a million people.’ Kamar had a population of one million. ‘No part of my life is entirely my own. Even my heart is not mine to give. Tell me about the little man with you. I wondered if he might have been your lover.’
‘Would that have made any difference to you?’
‘None at all, since he made no effort to protect you from me. A man who cannot hold onto his woman is no man.’
‘Do I need protecting from you?’ Fran mused, teasing him with her eyes.
He laid his lips against her hand. ‘I wonder if we’ll discover that we each need protection from the other?’ he said thoughtfully.
‘Who knows?’ she murmured, replying as she felt her role required. ‘The pleasure will come in discovering.’
‘And you are a woman made for pleasure.’
Fran drew a slow breath, shocked at how much the words affected her. She was used to hearing her brains praised. Howard admired her looks but was just as likely to acclaim her common sense. And her common sense told her that, while passion mattered, it wasn’t the whole of life. Suddenly she was no longer sure of that.
He listened to her silence and added, ‘You’re not going to pretend not to know what I mean.’
‘There are many kinds of pleasure,’ she fenced.
‘Not for us. For you and I there is only one kind— the pleasure to be shared by a man and a woman in the heat of desire.’
‘Isn’t it a little soon to be thinking of desire?’
‘We were thinking of desire the moment our eyes met. Don’t try to deny it.’
She couldn’t have begun to deny it. The truth was shocking but it was still the truth. She wondered wildly if she could jump out of the car and flee, but he was holding her hand in a grip that was only superficially gentle. Underneath, it was unbreakable.
He touched her face with his fingertips. The next thing she knew, his lips were on hers in the lightest kiss she’d ever known. It was so light that it might not have happened, except that it was followed by another on her chin, her jaw, her eyes, and again on her lips. She barely felt them, but she felt their effects in the tingling excitement they produced all over her body.
This was alarming. If he’d tried to overwhelm her with power she could have defended herself. But Sheikh Ali was an artist, putting out all his artistry to bring her under his spell. And there seemed to be no defence against that.
She moved helplessly against him, neither returning his kisses nor fending him off. He looked down into her face, but it was too dark in the car for him to find what he wanted to know. Nor could she see the little frown of uncertainty between his eyes.
The long, sleek car glided to a halt in a quiet street in London’s most exclusive area. Slowly he released her. The chauffeur opened the door and Ali took her hand to assist her out. Then she was stepping out onto the pavement, and realising what she ought to have thought of before—that he had brought her not to a restaurant but to his home.
She knew this was the moment when she should act sensibly and run, but what kind of journalist ran away at the first hint of danger?
She gave herself a little shake. Of course there was no danger. What had put that thought into her head?
The tall windows of the mansion were filled with light. One on the ground floor had the curtains pulled back, revealing crystal chandeliers and lavish furnishings.
Slowly the front door opened. A tall man in Arab robes and headdress stood there massively.
‘Welcome to my humble home,’ said Prince Ali Ben Saleem.
CHAPTER TWO
AS SHE entered the house Fran blinked at her gorgeous surroundings. She was in a large hallway, dominated by a huge, sweeping staircase,