he’d long ago learnt were not possible. He desired her, of that there was no doubt, but it was much more intense than his usual need of a woman. She was unlocking the man within him who long ago had put aside the need for the companionship of a woman. He knew precisely how destructive needs such as that could be. He shut down the train of thought, banished it from his mind, allowing heated lust to fill his mind and body in its place.
‘Are you going to tell me?’ The haughty rising of her brows and the challenge in her voice helped to snap him from the edge of somewhere he hadn’t been for a long time. Somewhere he had no wish to venture ever again—memories of his past, of the life he could have led with the young girl he’d grown up with, the woman who should have become his bride. He pushed them savagely away. Now was not the time to complicate the future with the past and what he’d hoped for.
‘It is not that I disapprove of you,’ he said softly, holding her gaze as other couples now joined them on the dance floor. ‘Quite the reverse.’
‘You approve?’ There was genuine shock in those lovely eyes now and despite the memories she’d almost cracked open he laughed softly.
‘I do, yes.’ He smiled at her increasing shock. ‘You are the first woman I have met who doesn’t attach sentimental nonsense to a wedding.’
She tilted her head to one side and looked up at him, her eyes narrowing slightly with suspicion. ‘This is my job, Mr Al-Shehri. I am merely doing what I have been hired to do, which is to make it the best day of the bride’s life.’
‘So your sense of duty is strong?’ He engaged willingly in the conversation, pleased that he could discover all the finer details about this woman from her, not second-hand through someone else. Private investigators could only glean so much, but they could never inform him of what made a person tick and it was important he got all the answers he needed before he put his deal to her. A deal that would secure his kingdom, Shamsumara, and maybe even set to rest the ghosts of his past once and for all.
‘I’m dancing with you, aren’t I?’ Laughter sparked in her eyes and even though he wanted to keep their discussion on track and on a businesslike footing, he couldn’t help but laugh too.
‘I had no idea it would be such an arduous task for you.’ He propelled them to the edge of the dance floor and towards the exit from the grand marquee, decked out in white and pale pink. The flower arrangements were all of the same white and pink flowers; only the bridesmaids in pale blue deviated from the colour scheme. ‘Shall we enjoy the late-afternoon sunshine?’
‘Are you taking me away from my duties, Mr Al-Shehri?’ She was testing him, of that there was no doubt.
Jafar glanced at Damian and his bride, dancing as if they were one being. ‘I think your duties are over for now. The bride and groom look blissfully unaware of anything except each other.’
* * *
Tiffany didn’t miss the undertone of steely irritation in the best man’s accented voice. All day she’d felt his gaze on her. She’d been acutely aware of him since their first meeting yesterday, in a way that unsettled her, tugging at dreams of love and happiness she’d long since given up on. As she’d sizzled beneath his scrutiny she had tried hard to ignore the disapproving set of his mouth, which had only increased each time they’d had to spend any amount of time together.
She’d also tried to ignore the fact that he was extremely handsome, tall and, with his dark skin, had an exotic appeal she knew had captured the attention of many female guests at the wedding—married and single alike. If circumstances were different, if she weren’t here to work, then maybe he would be just the distraction from life she needed right now. Shocked at the direction her thoughts had wandered, she forced herself back to the present, wishing her best friend, Lilly, hadn’t planted the idea of a casual fling, a one-night stand, as the best way to rid herself of the bad memories of her ex-boyfriend. She just wasn’t that kind of girl. That was why she’d been dumped.
‘Now I do detect a note of cynicism,’ she said as she looked up at him, shielding her eyes from the glare of the late-afternoon summer sun with her hand as they stopped at the edge of the rose terrace. It was obvious this man was as against the idea of marriage as she now was but it was men like him who had shattered her illusion of true love.
‘Do you believe in love and happiness, Miss Chapelle?’ His gaze pierced hers and the vivid green of his eyes was in total contrast to his inky black hair and not at all what she’d expected when she’d been told the best man was a desert sheikh, ruler of a kingdom far away.
Tiffany reeled at the direct question, at his scathing tone. It proved her thoughts of moments ago—he most certainly didn’t. She also was well aware of his reputation with women after listening to the bride chatter with the other three bridesmaids, all of whom were friends and one very obviously smitten with the dark desert stranger.
‘As a matter of fact, I don’t.’ She pushed back her long-held dreams of finding the kind of love her parents had never managed to, standing taller in the face of this man’s challenge. ‘Not that I would ever let any bride I work with know that.’
He looked into her eyes, the connection so intense she could hardly breathe, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking away, of fluttering her eyelashes and enticing him to make her his next conquest. She almost gasped at the thought. What on earth made her think a man like him would want anything to do with her, a woman who, at the age of twenty-five, was yet to experience the touch of a man’s caress and the pleasure of that ultimate intimacy between a man and woman? She’d been adamant she wanted to wait until her wedding night, until she’d found that fairy-tale happy ending.
‘I like you, Miss Chapelle.’ He turned from her, leaving her visibly weak after being under the spotlight of his gaze, but his next words sent her back into the spiral of confusion he’d had her in since he’d taken her hand and led her to the dance floor. ‘I think it’s important to like the person you are married to.’
She looked at his broad shoulders, encased in the dark charcoal-grey suit he wore, and wondered why such a self-assured, bordering on arrogant man couldn’t face her and say the words.
She touched a nearby pink rose, the softness of its petals strangely calming. ‘Yes, I think you are right. After all, if you don’t like the person you marry, the odds of the marriage lasting are pretty slim.’
Her parents were testament to that. As were the arguments followed by stony silence she’d grown up thinking were normal. It was only when they’d split up and she’d been old enough to stay over at friends’ that she’d realised it was far from normal. Those volatile early years of her life had made her resolute in her determination that she would have a happy, love-filled marriage.
He turned to face her. ‘We agree on that, at least.’
‘We do?’ He confused her, one minute talking as if referring to marriage and friendship in general, then as if the discussion were directly related to them. As if they were a couple about to be married.
‘Indeed, yes.’ He moved towards her and the scent of his aftershave, exotic and wild, hit her as it had done on the dance floor. At least this time she wasn’t pressed against his body, feeling every move he made, igniting sensations—hot, burning sensations—she’d never felt before. ‘And therefore I would like to engage your services.’
‘You’re getting married.’ She couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. This man was a playboy desert sheikh who made no secret of the many women he’d loved and left. She’d found that out
