She realised then that Salman hadn’t moved back, and now they were almost touching. With a spurt of panic Jamilah moved, but her heel caught in the luxurious carpet and she felt herself pitching backwards. At her helpless cry, two big hands came around her waist and hauled her up again. Breathing heavily, from fright and unwanted sensation, Jamilah could only look up into the black pools of Salman’s eyes.
His fingers tightened on her waist and he said ominously, ‘You’re coming to Paris with me.’
CHAPTER FOUR
IT TOOK a few seconds for his words to sink in, and then Jamilah started to struggle. Her hands were on his arms, and the feel of his bunched muscles was scrambling nearly every thought. Even so, she managed to get out, ‘No way.’
The thought of going anywhere with this man, much less back to Paris, had cold, clammy horror sinking into her bones. He wasn’t releasing her, and Jamilah stopped struggling. It was futile.
She asserted stiffly, ‘I’m needed here.’
To her utter relief Salman released her then, and she took a hurried but careful step back. He lifted up another piece of paper and showed it to her. ‘I think you’ll find that a copy of this is probably in your office, too.’
Jamilah took it and read, the words swimming before her eyes. She saw that it was from Nadim.
Jamilah should go with you. There are going to be some important people there from the biggest stables in Dubai, and I’ve already set up some meetings. Unfortunately the meeting in Paris coincides with the annual yearling sales here in Ireland, otherwise I’d go myself …
She looked up, and dropped the piece of paper to the table before Salman could see her hand start to shake. How could Nadim do this to her? And then she answered herself bitterly—because she’d put on a great show of making them believe that she cared nothing for the fact that Salman was going to be in Merkazad. And this was no more of a request than Nadim had made of her in the past. It was quite usual for her to go to meetings like this if he was otherwise occupied. After all, she did run the Merkazad stables.
She looked at Salman in shock, something else occurring to her. ‘But it’ll be a disaster if you go. Are you planning on going to any of the meetings with the leaders?’ Before he could answer she said, ‘Do you know how much damage you could do to Merkazad and Nadim if you insult a leader at something like this?’
She saw something unfathomable cross Salman’s face. For a moment it looked like pride. As if she’d injured his pride. His jaw clenched. He smiled, and it was hard, harder than she’d ever seen. ‘Which is precisely why you should come with me. You don’t want to have a loose cannon wrecking Merkazad’s reputation, do you?’
He was mocking her. She knew that. And she knew she deserved it. Even though she didn’t believe he could be trusted with such a responsibility. This, after all, was the man who had left the running of his country squarely on the shoulders of his brother for as long as she could remember. Even when they’d been teenagers, and they had been home for the holidays, Salman had regularly eschewed the lengthy lessons in Merkazadi rule and law that Nadim had had to endure in preparation for his role. And yet, for reasons unknown to her, Nadim had never called him on it.
The tension between the two brothers had always been palpable, and Jamilah was aware that this was the first time Salman appeared to be softening in some respect—taking an interest even if it was somewhat forced and clearly unwelcome. Did she want to be the person who sabotaged that?
If she was to make a fuss and insist on staying in Merkazad she’d merely be proving to Salman that to her the thought of returning to Paris with him equated to a minor mental breakdown. Her one saving grace at the moment was that he believed her to be over their brief liaison.
She came to a reluctant decision and told herself she was doing it for Nadim and for no other reason. ‘Fine,’ she said, as blasé as she could, as if it was costing her nothing. ‘I’ll go to Paris.’
His dark eyes bored into hers so intensely that she started to get hot and tingly. She wanted to ask him to stop looking at her like that, but that would only give away the fact that he had an effect on her. As if he wouldn’t know that already from the wanton way she’d reacted to him in the shower. Her lower belly felt hot.
He smiled, and her world tilted crazily. ‘Good. You can stay with me.’
Jamilah faltered as she turned to leave. She looked back at him. ‘But … surely you’ll stay in your apartment? I can stay in a hotel.’
Salman shook his head. ‘I sold that apartment years ago. I’ve been living in a suite at the Ritz. I have a spare room. You can stay there.’
Panic setting in, Jamilah blustered, ‘I can look after my own accommodation.’
Salman waved her suggestion away. ‘Don’t be silly. The meetings are taking place at the Ritz conference centre so it’s the most practical solution.’
Jamilah stepped out of the plane and breathed the cool November Paris air in deep. She felt stifled, having been cooped up on a small private jet with Salman for a few hours, even though he’d kept himself to himself—surprising Jamilah by immersing himself in documents. She’d seen the headed paper and known they had to do with the meetings and that had surprised her even more. She’d fully expected him to toy with her mercilessly during the flight, but she might as well have been invisible.
Much to her chagrin that hadn’t made her feel relieved or … good.
She felt Salman nudge her back. ‘Are you going to stand there all day?’
Quickly she hurried down the steps and into the waiting chauffeur-driven car. She heard Salman greet the driver by name, and had to assume the man was his personal driver. Within minutes they were joining the hectic stream of traffic, headed for the centre of Paris.
Emotion surged within Jamilah, despite her best attempts to keep it down. She hadn’t been back to Paris once since that fateful time. She’d been to Nadim’s stables, which were just outside Paris, but not to the city. And yet here she was, with Salman.
Salman was acutely aware of Jamilah, resolutely facing away from him, looking out of the other window. He could see the line of her exquisite profile. Those long dark lashes. She’d tied her hair back in a chignon, and in her long dark coat she could have been any of a number of stunningly beautiful women in this city. His chest tightened. She was so much more beautiful than any of those women.
He’d had to immerse himself in work on the plane just to stop himself from giving in to a primal impulse to drag her into the sleeping cabin at the back and ravish her. And then, to his surprise, as he’d read up on the topics for the meetings he’d found his interest being stirred and ignited. For the first time in his life he’d felt something proprietorial for Merkazad rear its head. That feeling of vulnerability made his skin prickle uncomfortably.
Jamilah turned and asked huskily, ‘Why did you sell your apartment?’
The unbidden answer rose up inside him. Because I couldn’t stand to live there after that day …
Jamilah watched as something enigmatic lit Salman’s eyes, and felt something in her own chest contract. But then it passed, and he looked away, shrugging. ‘I grew out of it. I wasn’t sure what I wanted instead, so I moved into the Ritz and I’ve been there ever since.’
‘It must be a bit … impersonal living in a hotel?’
Salman looked back and smiled devilishly, every inch of him the supremely successful businessman in his charcoal suit and black coat. ‘It suits me perfectly. And my needs.’
At the way he said needs Jamilah could feel colour flaring into her cheeks and looked away again. She could well imagine that it did serve his feckless needs. No woman being brought into the suite of a hotel would be