Uncomfortably, she wriggled, wanting to get away, to try and soothe her confused thoughts into some kind of order. ‘Tariq, we can’t lie here all day.’
‘Why not? We can do anything we like.’ He touched his lips to hers. ‘I am the boss.’
She pulled away from him—but not before he had caught hold of her, his eyes narrowed. ‘Something is wrong, kalila?’ he queried softly. ‘You are angry with me because we have had yet another fumble on the floor of the office?’
Isobel smiled. ‘I can hardly blame you for wanting instant sex when I was a willing participant. I just happen to know that there’s a whole pile of things which need your attention. And we are supposed to be working.’
Yawning, he rose to his feet and held out a hand. ‘By the way—I’ve brought you a present from New York,’ he said as he pulled to her feet.
‘Oh?’ She felt her heart skip a beat. ‘It’s not my birthday.’
“That’s a little disingenuous of you, Izzy.’ Walking over to his briefcase, he slanted her a lazy smile as he withdrew a slim leather case. ‘Don’t you like presents?’
She wasn’t sure—her feelings were pretty mixed when it came to presents from Tariq. She wanted to be the first and only woman he’d ever bought a gift for. Not to feel as if she was just one in a long line of women who smiled their acceptance of whatever glittering trinket he had bought them. But she was. That was exactly what she was.
She wanted to tell him that she didn’t need presents. Because she knew him too well and she knew how he operated. Her counterpart in New York had probably been dispatched to choose something for her—just as she had chosen such gifts for his lovers many times before. She had probably even consulted him to find out what the budget for such a gift should be.
But she kept silent. She was curious and scared, knowing that she was in no position to make highly charged pronouncements because of what the outcome might be. Because mightn’t he just shrug his shoulders and walk away?
So she took the box he handed her and flipped open the clasp with fingers which were miraculously steady. The first irreverent thought which crossed her mind was that she was pretty low down on the price scale. After five years of choosing various sparklers for Tariq’s women, she could see instantly that her own offering would not have caused a stratospheric hole in his wallet. No diamonds or emeralds for her.
But in a stupid way she was glad. Precious jewels would have been all wrong on someone like her: they would have felt like some sort of payment and they wouldn’t have suited her. Instead Tariq had bought her something she might actually have saved up for and bought for herself.
Lying on bed of blue-black velvet lay a shoal of opals, fashioned into in a dramatic waterfall of a necklace. Isobel drew it out of the box. The stones were dark grey—almost black—but as the necklace shimmered over her fingers she could see the transformation of each gem into a vivid rainbow.
‘Do you like it?’ questioned Tariq.
Isobel blinked. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,’ she whispered.
‘I chose it myself,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘I liked the element of surprise. In some lights it looks quite subdued—while in other aspects it’s amazingly vibrant.’ His eyes narrowed and his tone was dry. ‘A little like you, in fact, Izzy.’
Isobel suddenly became extremely preoccupied with the jewellery, swallowing down the glimmer of tears which were hovering at the back of her eyes. He’d chosen it himself. To her certain knowledge he’d never done that before—not in all the time she’d worked for him. So did that mean anything? She couldn’t help the wild leap of her heart. Did such an unexpected gesture mean that his feelings for her might be growing and changing? Dared she…dared she hope for such a thing?
‘You do like it, Izzy?’
His question broke into her thoughts and she lifted her head. ‘I do like it. In fact, I love it.’
‘Good.’ There was a pause. ‘I thought you might want to wear it tomorrow night.’
She heard the studied casualness in his voice. ‘Why? What’s happening tomorrow night?’
‘My brother is in town.’
She blinked. ‘You mean your brother, the King?’
‘I only have one brother,’ he answered drily. ‘He flew my sister-in-law to Paris for their wedding anniversary. Francesca hasn’t been back in England in nearly a year, so they’ve decided to come on to London. Our embassy is throwing a formal dinner for them tonight—which I shall have to attend. But tomorrow they want to meet up privately. You’ve spoken to Zahid on the phone so many times that I thought you might like this opportunity to meet him.’
Carefully, she put the necklace back in its case and smiled. ‘I’d love to meet your brother,’ she said.
‘Good.’ Tariq walked through to his private office, calling out over his shoulder, ‘I’ll let you have the details later.’
Isobel waited until the door had closed behind him, then stared at the jewellery case in her handbag, a strange cocktail of emotions forming a tight knot at the pit of her stomach. She might be going out of her mind, but try as she might she couldn’t quite subdue the sudden flare of happiness which rose within her. Hand-picked jewels and meeting his brother were surely remarkable enough to merit a little analysis. Was it possible that, deep down, Tariq was willing to move this relationship on to something a little more tangible?
Cold reason tried to swamp her as she remembered the emphatic way he’d told her that he didn’t ever want commitment, or a family of his own. But measured against that was the terrible loneliness he’d experienced as a child. Maybe now he was coming to realise that people could change—and so could circumstances. That what they had was good. That it didn’t have to peter out after a few weeks—that maybe it could endure and grow. Was that too much to hope for?
But she felt as if she was on shifting sands—her hopes quickly replaced by a strange feeling of foreboding as she remembered something she’d read somewhere.
She clicked open the box to stare at the multi-hued fire of her brand-new necklace, and frowned. Because weren’t opals supposed to be awfully unlucky?
‘YOU look fine, Izzy. Really.’
For the umpteenth time Isobel smoothed damp palms down over her thick mass of curls, aware that she was probably mussing her hair up instead of flattening it. She frowned at Tariq. What kind of a recommendation was that? ‘Fine’ wasn’t the kind of description she wanted when she was about to meet the King of Khayarzah and his English bride Queen Francesca. Not when she felt so nervous that her knees were actually shaking.
‘That’s a pretty lukewarm endorsement,’ she said.
His black eyes gleamed as he captured one of her fluttering hands and directed it towards his mouth. ‘I thought honesty was our mantra?’
‘Maybe it is, but sometimes a woman needs a little fabrication.’
‘No need for fabrication, kalila,’ he said. He brushed her a brief kiss as their car drew to a halt outside the glittering frontage of the Granchester Hotel, but if the truth were known he was finding this very feminine need for reassurance