it?’ she muttered feverishly.
‘My PA is informing me that someone has arrived to see me,’ Shahir breathed, not quite evenly.
The silence hung around them, suspended, heavy with uneasy undertones. Kirsten could not meet his eyes. Indeed, she could not bring herself to look at him at all. With a sudden moan of unconcealed distress, she sped past him to yank the door open, and she fled as though an avenging angel was in pursuit of her.
Shahir drank in a deep, shuddering breath. Every natural instinct urged him to go after her and apologise for what had transpired, but his staff were already looking for him and Kirsten was obviously upset. It would be foolish to risk a scene that would attract adverse attention to her and increase her embarrassment. What the hell had got into him? He was furious at his loss of control, and could not work out how it had happened. It was as though his libido had hit an override button that had switched off all moral restraint.
Waiting in the elegant reception hall, Lady Pamela Anstruther tapped an impatient foot. Through the glass insert in the fire doors she watched a breathtakingly beautiful blonde girl emerge pell-mell from an office along the corridor. The doors flipped back noisily one by one until the youthful blonde finally rushed past her in tears.
A minute later Shahir came out of the exact same doorway, a forbidding reserve stamped on his devastatingly handsome features.
The attractive brunette’s calculating gaze hardened and veiled as she angrily considered what she had just seen and came up with the most likely explanation.
Kirsten stared at herself in the cloakroom mirror. Her green eyes were raw with guilt and shock. Her lips were red and slightly swollen, and tingling. Her body felt hot and tight and wickedly different. Shame engulfed her in a terrible drowning flood. Prince Shahir had been talking gravely about the damage to her father’s field. She remembered the way she had been looking at him while he spoke and she wanted to die on the spot. He had asked her what she was thinking about because he had noticed that she wasn’t listening properly. Only a very bold woman would then have told him that she was wondering what it would be like if he kissed her! How much more obvious an invitation could a woman give a man? It had been the provocative equivalent of telling him outright that she fancied him. Inwardly she cringed. She was to blame for what had transpired because she had tempted him into touching her.
Finding an empty office, she got on with the job of emptying the bins and dusting and vacuuming. But, as hard as she tried, her response to that kiss kept on coming back to seize hold of her thoughts. In her whole life it had never occurred to her that a man could make her feel like that, and she was shattered by the passion that had lurked undiscovered inside her until that moment of revelation. She was even more devastated by the excitement and pleasure she had felt in his arms. He was a stranger, she didn’t even know him, and yet she had found him irresistible—had been so lost in the delight of it that he could have done anything he wanted to her! She felt even worse that it had been him and not her to call a halt to their intimacy.
It was a relief to finish for the day. The staff locker room was very quiet because her usual shift had finished hours earlier. Buttoning her jacket, Kirsten crossed the coach yard to her bicycle. A man who had climbed out of an opulent sports car a few yards away was staring at her in a way that made her feel uncomfortable, and she dropped her head and quickened her step.
‘Hold on a minute…’ the man urged as she reached for her bike. ‘Let me have a proper look at you.’
A bewildered frown denting her smooth brow, Kirsten focused on the tall, thin man in jeans approaching her. ‘Sorry…were you speaking to me?’
‘You are stunning…’ He walked slowly round her, staring at her from every angle with frowningly intent eyes. ‘If you’re photogenic as well, I can make you the discovery of the decade!’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Detaching her bike from the stand, Kirsten began to wheel it swiftly away.
‘Look, I’m Bruno Judd.’ The man hurried after her. ‘You may well have heard of me—I am an internationally acclaimed fashion photographer. I don’t act as a modelling scout in the normal way, but you’re very eye-catching and I’d like to take some photographs of you.’
‘No, thank you.’ Eager to get rid of him, for she thought he was a weirdo, Kirsten climbed on to her bike in haste.
‘Did you hear what I said?’
‘Please leave me alone!’ she muttered fiercely, and pedalled away, leaving him standing staring after her with an air of disbelieving annoyance.
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