Thank you for answering our questions. We very much hope you enjoy your stay!
WELCOME TO
Dear Sheikh Zayn Al-Ahmar,
To ensure that your stay at the Chatsfield is as exclusive and private as possible, we will need to ask you a few questions of perhaps a delicate nature, to ensure that our private security team will be best placed to support you.
If you had to pick your most public scandalous moment, what would it be?
I don’t like to talk about it as it centers around a death in my family.
Was there an even more scandalous event that didn’t make it into the press?
There were quite a few wild parties in my younger years...
What is your biggest secret?
If I told you it wouldn’t be a secret. And I would have to have you killed. I am not joking. I never joke.
What do you love most about Sophie?
She sees me. Not just the sheikh, but the man.
What were your first thoughts when you saw you Sophie?
That I had to kidnap her to minimize the damage she might do to my family. As meetings go, it was not the most romantic.
If your house was on fire and you could only save one thing, what would it be?
Sophie, of course.
What is the naughtiest thing you did at school?
I did whatever I wanted then. There were too many misdeeds to ever count them all.
What is your guiltiest pleasure?
Crime novels.
What is your worst habit?
Sophie says I am entirely too serious sometimes.
What is your favourite film?
The Avengers. In 3D, which I watch in my private theatre. Tony Stark amuses me.
What present would you put beneath the Christmas tree for Sophie?
I bought her a car. It did not fit beneath the tree. Next year we shall acquire a larger tree.
How will you spend your first anniversary as a couple?
Sophie was denied the luxurious things in life for far too long. I intend to take her a private island for a week of pampering.
Thank you for your candour. We will endeavour to ensure a scandal free time during your stay with us!
Abby Green
Gianni’s mouth twisted. ‘You might not want this situation but you want me, as much as I want you.’
The air seemed to throb and shimmer between them with heat and tension, and Gianni stared at her for such a long moment that Keelin almost begged him to stop, but then he lifted his hand and looked at the watch on his wrist. He looked at her again, coolness in his eyes now. ‘A stylist and beauty team are on their way here to get you ready for the party. I’ll be back later to pick you up.’
Clearly nothing she’d said had made one dent in his bid to secure this deal with her father; he was steamrollering ahead and taking her with him.
She put her hands on her hips, aware of the little betraying tremor. ‘Now wait just a minute, if you think that I’m going to just—’
The words died in her throat when Gianni stalked closer, a look of dangerous intent on his face. It didn’t scare Keelin that he might kiss her again, it excited her. But he didn’t.
‘This marriage is happening, Keelin. Now more than ever. And if you don’t start washing off that persona you’ve been playing with for the last forty-eight hours, then I’ll be more than happy to take you to the shower to help you. So what’s it to be?’
ABBY GREEN deferred doing a social anthropology degree to work freelance as an assistant director in the film and television industry—which is a social study in itself! Since then it’s been early starts, long hours, mucky fields, ugly car parks and wet-weather gear—especially working in Ireland. She has no bona fide qualifications, but could probably help negotiate a peace agreement between two warring countries after years of dealing with recalcitrant actors. Since discovering a guide to writing romance one day, she decided to capitalise on her long-time love for Mills & Boon® romances and attempt to follow in the footsteps of such authors as Kate Walker and Penny Jordan.
She’s enjoying the excuse to be paid to sit inside, away from the elements. She lives in Dublin and hopes that you will enjoy her stories. You can e-mail her at [email protected].
This is for Paul Gallant, my Canadian pen pal since we worked waiting tables together in Dublin’s Temple Bar (pre stag/hen party era) in 1990. It’s been a pleasure communicating in the old-fashioned way with you. Here’s to many more years of Irish/Canadian dispatches. x
‘THAT’S THE DEAL, Delucca, take it or leave it. I don’t think I need to tell you that if you leave it the O’Connor brand won’t be affected.’
Giancarlo Delucca gritted his jaw at the arrogant tone. The unspoken insinuation from the older Irish man wasn’t subtle: But the Delucca brand might languish in European shopping aisles for years before making it globally.
Gianni, still reeling slightly, looked at Liam O’Connor, who sat in a leather chair with his back to the impressive view of Dublin’s financial district.
‘And what does your daughter think of this proposed arranged marriage?’
O’Connor’s grey eyes narrowed, and there was a barely perceptible tightening around his mouth. ‘Keelin is loyal to the family business.’
Gianni responded with a hint of incredulity. ‘Loyal enough to agree to a marriage of convenience?’
Suddenly feeling agitated, Gianni didn’t wait for a reply and went to stand at one of the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. He put his hands in his pockets to stop himself from running them impatiently through his hair—a