Now, while the only thought in his own head should be danger, out of bounds, what he really wanted was for her to lift that seductive little veil and, with that lovely mouth, invite him to be really bad…
Realising that he was still holding her hand, he made a determined effort to get a grip. ‘You are as astute as you are lovely, madam,’ he replied, matching her own cool formality, as he released it. ‘I will be more circumspect in future.’
Her smile was a private thing. Not a muscle moved, only something in her eyes altered so subtly that he could not have described what happened. He’d felt rather than seen a change and yet he knew, deep down, that she was amused.
‘Rose,’ she said.
‘I beg your pardon, madam?’
‘According to her letter, Lucy thought you would make a more relaxing companion than one of the Emiri guard.’
‘You have my word that I won’t leap to attention whenever you speak to me,’ he assured her.
‘That is a relief, Mr al-Zaki.’
Lydia had to work a lot harder than usual to maintain the necessary regal poise.
She had no way of knowing on what scale Princess Lucy measured ‘relaxing’ but she must lead a very exciting life if spending time with Kalil al-Zaki fell into that category.
With his hot eyes turning her bones to putty, heating her skin from the inside out, relaxed was the last word she’d use to describe the way she was feeling right now.
‘However, I don’t find the prospect of an entire week being “madamed” much fun either. My name is…’ she began confidently enough, but suddenly faltered. It was one thing acting out a role, it was quite another to look this man in the eye, meet his dark gaze and utter the lie. She didn’t want to lie to him, to pretend…‘I would rather you called me Rose.’
‘Rose,’ he repeated softly. Wild honey…
‘Can you manage your seat belt, Lady Rose?’ the stewardess asked as she retrieved the glass. ‘We’re about to take off.’
‘Oh…’ Those words again. ‘Yes, of course.’
She finally managed to tear her gaze away from her companion—wild honey was a dangerous temptation that could not be tasted without getting stung—and cast about her for the straps.
‘Can I assist you, Rose?’ he asked as her shaking hands fumbled with the buckle.
‘No!’ She shook her head as she finally managed to clip it into place. ‘Thank you, Mr…’
‘Kal,’ he prompted. ‘Most people call me Kal.’ The lines bracketing his mouth deepened into a slow, sexy smile. ‘When they’re being relaxed,’ he added.
She just about managed to stifle a hysterical giggle. She hadn’t hesitated because she’d forgotten his name. He’d made an indelible impression…
No.
She’d been so busy worrying about whether he knew Rose personally, countering the effect of that seductive voice, that she’d overlooked the really important part of Princess Lucy’s letter. The bit where she’d mentioned that Kalil al-Zaki was her husband’s cousin. As she’d said the word ‘Mr’ it had suddenly occurred to her who he really was. Not just some minor diplomat who’d been given the task of ensuring a tricky visitor didn’t get into trouble while she was at Bab el Sama.
Oh, dear me, no.
That wouldn’t do for Lady Rose. Cousin of the Queen, patron of dozens of charities as well as figurehead of the one founded by her parents, she was an international figure and she was being given the full red-carpet treatment. Right down to her watchdog.
Kalil al-Zaki, the man who’d been roped in to guard their precious guest, was the cousin of the Ambassador, Sheikh Hanif al-Khatib. Which made him a nephew of the Emir himself.
‘Kal,’ she squeaked, slamming her eyes closed and gripping the arms of the chair as the plane rocketed down the runway and the acceleration forced her back into the chair, for once in her life grateful that she had her fear of take-off to distract her.
She was fine once she was in the air, flying straight and level above the clouds with no horizon to remind her that she was thirty thousand feet above the ground. Not that much different from travelling on a bus, apart from the fact that you didn’t have to keep stopping so that people could get on and off.
Until now, what with one thing and another, she’d been doing a better than average job of not thinking about this moment, but not even the sudden realisation that Kalil al-Zaki wasn’t plain old mister anyone, but Sheikh Kalil al-Zaki, a genuine, bona fide prince, could override her terror.
She’d have plenty of time to worry about how ‘charming’ he’d prove to be if he discovered that she was a fake when they were safely airborne.
But just when she’d reached the point where she forgot how to breathe, long fingers closed reassuringly over hers and, surprised into sucking in air, she gasped and opened her eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ Kal said as she turned to stare at him, ‘but I’ve never liked that bit much.’
What?
His expression was so grave that, for just a moment, she wasn’t sure whether or not he was serious. Then she swallowed.
Idiot.
Of course he wasn’t serious. He was just being kind and, for once in her life, she wished she really was Lady Rose. Because then he’d be looking at her like that…
‘You’ll be all right now?’ she managed, still breathless when, minutes later, the seat belt light pinged out. Doing her best to respond in kind, despite the fact that it was his steadying hand wrapped around hers. That she was the one who’d experienced a severe case of collywobbles. Wobbles that were still rippling through her, despite the fact that they had left the earth far beneath them.
‘I believe so,’ he replied gravely, but in no rush to break contact.
It was perhaps just as well that Atiya reappeared at that moment or they might have flown all the way to Ramal Hamrah with their hands intertwined.
Not that there would have been anything wrong with that…
‘Shall I show you to your suite so that you can change before I serve afternoon tea, Lady Rose?’
‘Thank you,’ she said, using her traitorous hand to pull free the seat belt fastening so that she could follow Atiya. Straighten out her head.
Not easy when she discovered that the sumptuously fitted suite contained not only a bed, but its own bathroom with a shower that lent a whole new meaning to the words ‘freshen up’.
‘Would you like help changing?’ Atiya offered, but Lydia assured her that she could manage and, once on her own, leaned back against the door, rubbing her palm over the hand Kal al-Zaki had held. Breathing slowly until her heart rate returned to normal. Or as near to normal as it was likely to be for the next week.
Kal watched Rose walk away from him.
His grandfather, a man who’d lost a throne, lost his country—but not the fortune that his father had hoped would compensate him for choosing his younger brother to succeed him—was a man without any purpose but to enjoy himself. He’d become part of the jetset, a connoisseur of all things beautiful, including women.
Kalil’s father had, as soon as he was old enough, taken the same path and Kalil too had come dangerously close to following in their footsteps.
His boyhood winters had been spent on the ski slopes of Gstaad and Aspen, his summers shared between an Italian palazzo and a villa in the South of France. He’d gone to school in England, university in Paris and Oxford, postgrad in America.
He