digging into her throat. Clothes that had never felt restrictive before, now felt shrink-wrapped to her body.
He put the glass down on the desk and said, ‘Look, your credentials are not in doubt. King Alix of Isle Saint Croix rang me himself to sing your praises. But the fact is that I did not look for your expertise. My brother hired you in spite of my protests. I would have told you before not to bother coming, but I’m afraid I got caught up in ensuring my business concerns are attended to in my absence. However, I will be more than happy to ensure your return to the UK immediately, and of course you will receive full payment in recompense.’
This man’s casual disregard for who and what she was made Charlotte’s hackles rise. As did his arrogant assumption that she would be so easily dismissed.
She pointed out with faux sweetness, ‘As it was your brother who hired me, then I’m afraid he is the only one who has the power to terminate this contract.’
Sheikh Al-Noury immediately scowled, but it only enhanced the wickedly beautiful symmetry of his features. His gaze narrowed on her and she stopped herself from fidgeting.
‘Are you seriously telling me that you would prefer to stay here in this landlocked sandpit of a country, in a city that is routinely plunged into darkness when the archaic electricity infrastructure fails, rather than be at home amongst your first-world comforts enjoying all of the festivities of the season? My coronation is due to take place a couple of days before Christmas, Miss McQuillan, and if you stay I can’t guarantee that you’ll make it home in time. You might not be married, but I’m sure there’s someone who is expecting your...company.’
It took Charlotte a few precious seconds to assimilate everything he was saying, but what caught at her gut was the way he’d hesitated over the word company, as if he’d had to find a diplomatic—ha!—way of suggesting that there might be someone waiting for her.
Next she registered his obvious disdain for his inherited kingdom—this landlocked sandpit of a country. True, there was something pitilessly unrelenting about the sea of sand on all sides of this ancient city, but Charlotte had felt a quickening of something deep in her soul—an urge to go out and explore, knowing from her research and studies of this region that it hid treasures not immediately apparent.
Collecting her wits, she said coolly, ‘I’m not in the habit of reneging on agreements, Sheikh Al-Noury, and it would be unprofessional in the extreme for me to walk away at this early stage. As for your kind concern about my missing Christmas, I can assure you that I have no particular desire or need to return in time for the holiday. In fact, it suits me perfectly well to be here right now.’
Salim looked at the woman on the other side of his desk—more than a little taken aback. He was used to issuing an order, or, in this case a very polite suggestion—and having it obeyed. But she was not walking out of his office as he’d fully intended—who wouldn’t take pay for nothing?—instead she was sitting opposite him as straight and upright as a haughty ballet dancer, staring at him with eyes the kind of green he’d only ever seen in Scotland, on one of those ethereally misty days. Distracting. Irritating.
She wasn’t remotely his type, so why was he noticing her eyes? Salim preferred his women a lot more deshabillée, accessible and amenable. Everything about her, from her shining cap of neatly bobbed shoulder-length hair to her pristine dark grey suit and light grey blouse, screamed control and order—constraints Salim had rebelled against for so long now that he couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t wanted to upset the status quo.
And yet...much to his irritation...he couldn’t help noticing the fact that her surprisingly lush mouth was at odds with her cool demeanour, making him wonder what other lushness might be hiding under her oh-so-prim and neat exterior.
His gaze dropped to the bow at her throat and he imagined tugging on one silken length—would her whole shirt fall open? As he watched, the silky material moved more rapidly over her chest, as if she was breathing quickly, and when Salim glanced up again her cheeks had a slight telltale flush.
He was well inured to the signs of attraction in women, but it was patently evident that this woman didn’t welcome it. Which was a total novelty.
When he caught her eye again he almost felt the blast of ice along with an accusatory light. She definitely didn’t like being attracted to him.
This intrigued him more than he cared to admit—as did her assertion that she didn’t mind missing Christmas. But he curbed the impulse to ask her why. He avoided asking women searching questions.
Salim cursed himself and shifted in his chair to ease the sudden constriction in his pants. To find himself reacting to a woman who desired him but looked at him as if he was a naughty schoolboy was galling.
He forced his body back under control and stood up. Her gaze lingered around his chest area for a moment before rising. She stood up too—hurriedly. He had a sense that she was usually more composed—if that was possible—than she was now and that thought gave him some perverse pleasure.
‘You’re determined to see out your contract, then?’
She nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘How long did my dear brother hire you for?’
‘Until the coronation takes place. He said that if you require my services after that you can extend the contract yourself.’
Salim thought to himself that as he had no intention of staying in his role as king for long that would be highly unlikely, but he desisted from sharing that information with a complete stranger.
‘As you wish,’ he said. ‘If you really want to stay in this sand-blown place—’
‘Oh, but I think it’s beautiful...’ She stopped, her cheeks going pink. ‘I mean, from what I’ve seen so far. It’s run down, yes, but one can see the potential.’
Salim arched a brow and ignored the pulse in his blood seeing this small glimpse of something like passion. ‘Can one?’
Her green eyes flashed. Once again Salim found himself a little mesmerised by the vivid emotions crossing her face. He couldn’t remember meeting a woman so lacking in artifice. And then something in him hardened. Was he losing his mind? All women wanted something from him—even this one.
Maybe she just wanted the kudos of working for him—it would certainly elevate her professional standing to be the one who had wrangled Sheikh Salim Al-Noury into accepting his crown and toeing the line like a good little king.
He thought of something and folded his arms. ‘Aren’t you worried that by being associated with me you’ll taint your reputation?’
She tipped up her chin. ‘I am here to see that that doesn’t happen, Sheikh Al-Noury, and I’m very good at my job.’
For a second he stood in stunned silence, and then he couldn’t stop a smile—a genuine smile—from curving his mouth upwards. It had been so long since anyone had exhibited such confidence in front of him. And a lack of awe that was as refreshing as it was slightly insulting.
She frowned. ‘If you’re going to make fun of me—’
Salim shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t dare, Miss McQuillan. I’d be afraid you’d put me over your knee and spank me for being naughty.’
The colour deepened in her cheeks, as if she was having trouble controlling
